This is my boycat, Yang. I've had him and his sister, Yin almost 13 years now. They've been with me their whole lives.
There's this routine they do with me, every single morning. Part of that routine has to do with when I get out of the shower, and I'm getting dressed. I lay my clothes out on the bed, sit down and begin to dress.
Yin sits nearby and begins to meow at me, urgently, so I don't forget that this time is also, crucially, mere moments before the high pinnacle of the day, the moment at which I give them wet cat food for breakfast.
Yang plays a part in this ritual too. He sits next to me, and butts his head against me, rubbing it into my arm, my back, my side, my leg, any part of me he can get at, in an earnest effort to let me know, just in case I didn't know, how very much he loves me, how great he thinks I am, how he wishes me joy and sucess and good fortune all day, and... to not forget to give him and his sister their breakfast.
I turned to him this morning, and petted him, and reassured him, "Oh buddy," I said, "I know, I already know."
Yang looked at me earnestly and kept on head butting me.
This is when I was struck with a powerful epiphany. There is a giant venn overlap between my cats, and my own submissive tendencies.
My cats are beautiful, graceful, powerful creatures. They can run fast, leap high, (granted, not as fast nor as high as they used to), are alert, clever, wholly magnificent creatures. At the same time, they are neurotic, insecure, peculiar, and very funny. No matter how many times (thousands) we have repeated this morning ritual, they are never blasé about it. Each morning they're this heady mixture of anxious, nervous, fearful and excited for their breakfast. They go from graceful to goofball.
I am just like this about the things that Missy and Alissa do with and to me.
Every time Missy is going to spank me, or I think I might need a spanking, I become this hesitant, excited version of myself.
Every time I want Alissa to change my diaper, I rub against her like one of my cats, get all clingy and up in her business.
At the prospect of physical intimacy it's like this switch flips in my head, and all the other things I am recede, fade. My lifelong obsession with writing? Off. My daily practice of mindful contemplation? Nowhere.
I broadcast to my partners, loudly, about these pending and very necessary things. The familiar dance we are potentially about to do again becomes EVERYTHING. In that moment, what I am with them, to them, it's all that I am.
It gives me maybe just a little more patience with the cats, and with myself.