Series | TES Fest 2022
Essay #4 | an Ugly Confession & the Delight of Rediscovery
CONFESSION | Somewhere in the last 18+ months I lost all feelings of sexiness. Actually it's worse than than that. I no longer felt attractive, I couldn't quite recognize my own body movements, and I flat out didn't feel comfortable in my own skin. It was almost as if I'd lost complete connection with my physical self.
Just typing all those words is difficult. I feel like I failed myself somehow even though when I look back I see so many personal triumphs. I'd mentioned elements of the issue a few times to a handful of folks, but no one seemed to be able to relate, and it's only in writing this post and looking back that I can truly perceive the depth of the issue.
There's no way to cover in a single post everything that transpired between the Fall of 2020 and March of 2022, but I believe many factors contributed to my lost physical connection.
- A 7-month hibernation during the second Covid wave that left me without any human touch.
- Lack of dick, sexual energy, physical S&M play. (My neuro-demisexual-ness is a pain in the ass!)
- My focus on spiritual growth and adoption of consistent meditation practices.
- The stress of a very close family member's treatments for early stage cancer. (All is well now! YEAH!!!)
- Deep grief in the unexpected death of one of my closest friends.
- Working 12+ hours a day in intense mental mode.
- Too many zooms and too few in-person.
- Zero physical engagement with the Lifestyle.
Over the last four months, I've purged tons of clothes that no longer felt like me, drastically shifted my diet, lost weight, reduced my pandemic-centered anxiety, and in general tried to get the mental, emotional, and physical elements of me aligned in harmony again. However, as the date for TES Fest creeped closer I couldn't avoid the truth...I could not find a single sliver of feeling sexy. As I browsed all my revealing kink clothing, all I felt was apathy and maybe even a hint of...discomfort. I couldn't remember the last time I'd shown more than a shin or arm of bare skin to another person. I was ready to just pack vanilla.
Then I video chatted with each of my sisters. Silent issued me a social challenge I needed, but it was only at DeeDee's insistence and tough love ("Bitch, get it together! This is a chance for us to bask in WIITWD!") that I shopped online the weekend before the con and packed anything sexy at all. I was so disconnected and at a loss for what to wear, I just packed 50% of what I had left after my purge.
Every evening of TES Fest as I grudgingly returned to my room to figure out what to wear, I had to force myself not to grab a simple tank and shorts. My lack of feeling sexy was compounded with the rut of two years worth of WFH comfortability, but the expectations of my Tribe to show the fuck up gave me the push I needed to reach for the kinky sexy pile instead.
Before I left the room, I'd do a quick review in the hotel room's full-length mirror (something I lack at home) to be sure I was at least presentable. Each glance at the reflection staring back at me was a bittersweet curiosity. I could remember this version of me before the pandemic, but I still couldn't fucking feel it in my soul. It was what it was.
Then I'd walk out of the room.
Every step...every roll of my hips...every move of my spine. Every swish of my ass...every shift of my breasts...every fuckin breath I took brought MY BODY in contact with long forgotten materials. The smell of leather comforted my spirit. The chainmail skirt jingled quietly with my stride teasing my ears, as its weight shifted in perfect harmony with my walk. The myriad of sensations saturated my my nerve endings, flooding my mind with signals to remember and recalibrate. The dance of fringe across my nipples and hips, the tight grip of my corset at my waist, the firm hold around my calves of my Doc Martens, even the very air on my skin were like a Dominant lover's touch, forcing me to surrender and take what they gave.
Each evening—despite my initial reluctance to change—pieces of myself that I'd misplaced after 29 fucking months of living in the blandness of the vanilla physical world began to settle back into place. The generous compliments kind folks sent my way surprised me, bringing a blush to my checks, but their words became small dabs of glue to help hold my rediscovered pieces in place until I can fully cement them back into my being.
By Sunday night under the flicker of stars and against the backdrop of another fantastical parade of beautiful kinkily-dressed kinksters, a new dawn of rediscovery settled into my soul. For the first time in years, all of me aligned. My bones and muscles and skin felt like mine again, their movements once again smooth and familiar. Finally, I was at ease with myself again. ~sigh~
~DominaKat
Comments
Post a Comment