from the beginning
When the man who is now my Master first uttered the word “submissive” in relation to me, I felt such a wave of relief. While I knew very little about the world of BDSM, the whole idea just resonated right down to my core.
I could have had many reactions to what He said. I could have told him he was nuts…that I was an ardent feminist and what the hell was he suggesting. I am very well-versed in that, so getting that kind of reaction would have been “in character” (so to speak). Instead, I immediately went to trying to reconcile how I felt as a feminist with how to deal with these feelings inside which now had a name: my submissiveness.
One of the reasons I didn’t fight the term was these feelings of submissiveness go back as far as I can remember. I distinctly remember masturbating between ages of three and four. I place it at that time because one of my earliest memories was masturbating in the room I shared with my baby sister (three years younger than I am).
We had these plastic, battery-powered night lights that were shaped like candles. The tip of the candle glowed and was slightly warm to the touch. I took that candle and put it between my legs and touched the warm tip to my clit. I imagined that it was a real candle and the flame was being held to me. I then imagined a doctor over me, holding my pussy lips open to examine me and using the light to get very close. The feeling of being exposed and opened arouses me even now. The doctor takes two needles and inserts them on the outside of my pussy lips. He then rubs my clit (as I did to myself) until I fall asleep.
Many of my young fantasies revolved around being told what to do. In fact, to this day I really like rape fantasies. I was never conflicted over them, which might be surprising. But I knew they were inside…where they were safe. As long as I didn’t express them outloud and receive some criticism or condemnation for having them, then I knew they were fine.
I wore leg braces as a child, and my mother recently told me more details about that. I was slightly pigeon-toed, which became noticeable when I started walking. To correct this, I needed to were leg braces at night to straighten my feet and point my still growing bones in the right direction. These braces involved special shoes connected by a bar between my legs (and it took all my energy when she was telling me this story to stop myself from saying, “I wore a spreader bar when I was a year old!?”).
I also resisted – as most people would expect – wearing such a device. The doctor said it could take up to year to correct. Apparently, I struggled against wearing them every night for a week. After a week, I would put my feet and legs up willingly for her to put on the shoes and the brace. Because I didn’t resist and my mother was consistent, it only took three months to correct.
I just smiled as I heard these details. Not only is this yet another early indication of my innate nature, but the initial resistance, the training and the ultimate surrender of my will is a cycle I’m very familiar with by now. 
