Pieces

Normally I would pick a title that is cliche, something like “picking up the pieces” or “putting the pieces together,” but that doesn’t fit.  I’m just sort of noticing the pieces that weren’t there before.  I had either blocked them out, denied their existence, or just was too blind to notice them.  Sorry if this sounds like a repeat of an earlier post.  I am trying to figure this out.

I’m trying to wrap my head around the idea of being little.  I really hadn’t been exposed to littles until a year or two ago.  It wasn’t very common in my local scene and when I was only reading/writing on Blogger there wasn’t a lot of crossover between F/m and M/f.  Most of my references to them before that point came from Dommes blasting men who wanted to be littles and saying they had no desire to “raise another child.”  About the only cases where I found male littles being accepted were from pro dominatrixes that were mostly accepting of littles… for only $250 or more per hour.  In F/m they were also painted mostly as adult babies or people with lactation or diaper fetishes.

This caused a great deal of mental resistance to the idea.  I already perceived myself as a sissy, which had enough hate raining down on it that I didn’t really care to be associated with yet another undesirable label.  When I started interacting in more mixed groups I inherently came into contact with quite a few female littles.  I was able to talk to them and get a much more accurate impression about what it is about.  A while later I was also able to finally meet a couple of male littles that had partners that would allow them to let that side of them surface, albeit on a limited basis.  They were switches and would get maybe 4-8 hours a month of space time.

After some conversations with both them and some caregivers I was pretty firmly convinced that I was not one.  Littles are happy.  Littles are mostly non-sexual.  Littles are “submissive” in a childlike way, looking up to an authority figure.  None of these sounded anything like me.  “That sounds like PTSD,” I was told and I couldn’t argue with it.

What I currently perceive as my little space was something I had always mistaken for slavespace.  The behavior, the inability to resist or say no, and the frantic desire to please and be useful were linked to this.  I can count the number of people I have met that can truly enter slavespace on one hand.  You don’t find that many of them on the internet.  The ones I had met in real life through BDSM scenes were not allowed to use a computer, the internet, a phone, etc., so I had always felt it was like looking for an Amish dating website.  I did manage to interact with one who was currently not owned and another who was asked to read something I wrote and give their take on it.  Both were very emotionally aware and articulate and I came to learn that what I thought was my slavespace is very different than theirs.  When I really thought about it, it made a lot of sense.  While my external behavior and sexual response may have been similar, the internals didn’t match up.

While I have experienced what they had described when pushed VERY hard, the space that I was accustomed to thinking was it had to be something else.

So just what did that mean?  I pretty much ignored this question for over a year.
This year had a series of traumatic memories return to me.  I wrote them out and was able to somewhat heal from them.  Well, heal isn’t the right word.  I learned to accept the trauma that was responsible for a particular part of my current being.

Reaching my little space is entirely dependent upon triggers.  These triggers are nearly all linked to traumatic and pivotal experiences from my youth.  These include but are not limited to:

• Having my genitals made fun of.
• Having to wear any kind of winter hat, but most noticeably girls or womens.
• Having to wear earmuffs.
• Being put into isolation or time-out.
• Being deceived, tricked, or manipulated by false kindness.
• Phrases like, “this is for your own good,” “this is to keep you safe,” and the like.
• Being denied speaking privileges and other forms of communication.
• Being given an impossible task.
• Being called a sissy, girl, gayboy, fag, bitch, etc.

There is a mountain of abuse to draw from. There is a mountain of shame to draw from.
My little believes itself to be unwanted and lacking desirable qualities.  It feels twisted and ugly.  It tries to make up for it by desperately wanting to please.  If an authority figure gives it attention, it adores them and will do anything to please them.  My little will push itself neurotically to please them.  Failure triggers its fear of abandonment, so it will accept any form of rule or punishment as long as it won’t be left alone.

My little does not expect to be treated well.  Kindness creates cognitive dissonance and feels dishonest.  Fairness feels kind.  Cruelty feels normal and consistent with its view of itself.  Punishments feel justified.  “Reminders of its place” feel like favors, because it wants to stay pleasing always.

Because M managed to trigger this space in me when I was young (she would put a hat on me as a blindfold/mask), and I began my sexuality fantasizing around her, a lot of this got linked.  I realize now that my early masturbation fantasies were always about feeling helpless… they were all from my little’s point of view.  The end result is that my little is always aroused, and will constantly attempt arousal if locked in chastity.

This doesn’t sound like any little I have ever met before.  It differs greatly from my adult submissive space in the way that it thinks.   My adult submissive is a bit playful, very affectionate, and thinks rational thoughts.  My little, thinks only in desperation.   Everything feels desperate.

I feel pretty safe that I can abandon the idea of being a sissy.  I have no femininity in me.  I have no desire to be woman-like.  I never really responded to being forced to wear a bra, panties, stockings, or lingerie.  While I found them humiliating, they were dwarfed by the items that trigger my little space. The funniest thing is that I think being called a sissy was a trigger because of its level of cognitive dissonance at not wanting to be one. This changes things, but it doesn’t really feel any different.
I am still who I am.  I don’t even know if little is something I should advertise.  I also don’t want anyone to feel guilty for “bullying” my little.  I am just me… something I had pretty much come to terms with yesterday.

Trying to summarize things for my own peace of mind: I am not a sissy.  I am not a slave.  I am a submissive.  I am a little.  My little is a submissive.  These are the pieces.

I have to mull this over a bit.