first

Where does the whole submissive thing start?
In a different place for each person I suppose.
I've discovered stories I wrote in childhood where the heroine was tied up, or dominated in some form, for some nebulous reason I never get around to explaining. Heck, I was ten. The stories never went anywhere.
There was just this woman, tied up for some reason. Being told what she had to do….All I knew was writing them gave me a funny feeling somewhere around my belly button. Somewhere that seemed naughty....but delicious.
My prepubescent ‘boyfriends’ were the type of guys who seemed to demand respect from guys bigger than they. I loved that. They were always protecting me from being teased. I got that a lot. I was chubby and had glasses, and a big mouth. You either hated me or loved me.
In high school I finally fell in love. He was the only 15 year old with a mustache and a temper. He used to get so angry at me. Sometimes he’d have my arms in his grip, hard enough to bruise. But he never yelled at me, or put me down, or hurt me. I loved it. He terrified me, and made me weak with hunger for something....more. I always knew he loved me and never dreamed he'd hurt me, no matter how angry he was.
He’d get sent off the hockey rink for taking on players larger and older, who thought this short wiry guy was a pushover. J. was never that. He'd bodycheck them into the boards and then get mouthy with the refs. He never let anyone tell him how to behave.
I loved anticipating his needs. Doing for him. Being the one that could calm him down.
He’d just look at his lighter and I’d light his cigarette, even though I didn't smoke. I loved jumping up and getting him anything he chose. Sitting at his feet. It just seemed right.

Looking back I can see he was exactly what I was looking for. A dominant. A person who could keep me under control. I was a brat. I needed to be controlled. It just seemed to make sense.
One day we went to the curling rink so he could introduce me to his cousin. I was in a high spirited mood, feeling proud that he wanted his cousin to meet me. I was just a chubby teen, with glasses, and to me he could have any woman in the world. But he was with me, and claimed he adored me.
I was getting brattier and brattier. Defying his requests to sit still, or to get him a coke. Coming back with smart ass comments, flirting with someone else.
I knew what I was doing. I can recall the exact thoughts that went through my head. IF he loves me he will spank me. Right here, and now in front of all these people.
If he spanks me, he loves me….
I didn’t know why I felt that to be true but I did. If he cared about me, he'd control me. He would not let me embarrass him this way. Embarrass us. My behaviour was not acceptable and his job was to stop it.
In the end, he pulled me over his knee and spanked me until I was red with embarrassment. I was almost in tears but I was so proud that everyone there could see that he loved me. I can’t really recall if I felt any sexual excitement at that first spanking but I had never felt more content, or more loved.
I loved him to death from then on. Even though we didn’t manage to stay together long, and he never spanked me again.
I was his devoted friend for many years and would come when he called. Walk more than a mile on a cold December day just to meet him on a park bench to talk…anything.
Looking back I can see that what we had was a D/s relationship.
It’s taken me so many years to come back to that place.
But finally I’m home.