As a non-binary feminist scholar, identity has always been at the heart of my pursuit. I am not looking to conquer but to challenge, to question, and to tease out new meanings like the threads of a well-loved jumper 🧥. The thrill and frisson of deconstructing power exchange are intoxicating, my blood sings 🕺 with the rhythm of it. I pause to reflect, to feel it in my body rather than think it in my mind 🤔.
In this space, I feel the sweet sting of vulnerability, the gentle eddies of powerlessness that somehow make me stronger рџ’Є, more alive. It's like touching the rain on your skin рџ’¦ for the first time: fierce, goddess-like. I am swept up in the raw, inviting undercurrents that swirl beneath the surface of traditional binaries, the ones I've been taught to accept without question. But in this moment, I dismantle them, each yielding to my scrutiny like lovers yielding to desire.
And oh, the delicious taste of it all. It's a dance as old as time itself, the teasing dance of power and surrender. It has an untamed, wild beauty вњЁ to it. The sense of losing oneself in the other, and finding oneself again, bedecked in the armor of self-knowledge. The freshly applied red lipstick рџ’„, the steaming cup of tea рџ«–, they become symbols of my autonomy, my authority. I don't need to grasp at power; it finds home рџЏЎ in me. It's an ever-evolving dialogue, a delicate balance between vulnerability and strength, surrender and empowerment. I am in love вќ¤пёЏ with the complex, messy tapestry of it. The dance continues, the dialogue deepens.
