Water on Stone

I don't think it's fair to say that he is changing me -- I think we are changing me, that our dynamic is subtly altering my way of thinking.
Because changes there are.
Nothing dramatic, mind you.
I haven't, like, run out and gotten a vanity plate that announces "FUKT01" to the world, or anything like that.
But I'm not reacting to things the same way I did four years ago, either.

You may remember that the whole reason for this blog's name is because I had SUCH a hard time reconciling myself to being referred to as a bitch. Oooh, I didn't care for that at ALL!
Yet now, not only do I adore being called, "my bitch" but he's even coined a diminutive version of the term that actually makes me go all girly-mushy and weak at the knees. (*rolls eyes at self*)

But we can't let that comfort rest, can we? Oh, no. Instead, his next step has been to add "whore" to the list of verbal praises given. Now, whore, as SP can tell you from personal experience, is NOT a word that I've ever been able to accept with any degree of grace or equanimity.
("Duck and Cover!" would be a more accurate description of the reaction previous usages have elicited…) And I won't lie -- the word still disconcerts me -- but only for a second now. Then the beginnings of a tingle start at the back of my mind and I find myself nodding in agreement...

But even that's not enough, apparently.
Patient, sneaky determined dominant that he is, he's also been pushing the envelope on a more physical level, exploring my reactions to, hmmm... what to call it? It's not exactly exhibitionism. I'm not having to expose any naughty bits, thank you, lord. (And my neighbors thank you, too...) But the venues for activity are getting a little more public, rather more risky... and a lot more trepidation-inducing.
Hmmmm....

A subbie friend asked me if I found this a turn on.

I'll be honest... "Hawt!" is not the first thing that comes to mind. The reaction I most register is surprise -- because I haven't balked at all.
He tells me what I am to do, I point out the aspects of the situation that unnerve me, he says, "OK"... and proceeds to wait calmly for me to continue. Which, without further thought, I do. And not because I'm certain he'll protect me -- he actually goes out of his way to convey the impression that his attention is focused entirely elsewhere from the areas where I'd hoped for vigilance. Rather, he puts me in a situation that, before meeting him, I would never have been able to picture myself enduring. At least, not without much annoyance, squealing, and slapping of hands.
Yet the current reality has become one where none of my previous concerns seem to matter. To a point, in fact, that beggars belief.
The situation certainly registers, there's still a tiny voice in the back of my head trying to trigger my fight response... but it's not getting anywhere.
Because somehow, that self-protection is no longer my job.
THIS, right here, right now, has turned into the only thing I care about.

It's a very weird realization for me. And the most disconcerting part of it all is that I'm not even appalled in hindsight. Distance does not change my perspective. Instead, I'm still wrapped in the happy certainty that I've got my priorities right.
Really, really odd...

Mind you, I haven't completely succumbed to his channeling yet, either. My nipples remain unpierced, for example.
But I strongly suspect that the fact that I've dummied a pic in photoshop just to see what they would actually look like on me is an indication of further shifting ground ahead...
oh my