Age is a state of mind.

Johnny is younger than me. Not by much, a couple years, but when I found out, I was really, really confused. I like to consider myself fairly progressive in my thinking, but it has never occurred to me to be with someone younger than I am. I think that I have always felt conflicted about the fact that though I look younger than I am, and though I have periods of very real silliness, in many ways, I feel much older.

It is not uncommon for people to make statements to the fact, as well: Are you really only 25? Are you really that young? I know I am not that young in experience...or maybe I have been 25 for a long time. I know I wasn’t a kid for very long. Circumstances made that impossible. I wasn’t allowed to be scared or angry, or resentful or needy. I didn’t allow myself that luxury. Other people needed attention, so I let it go.

And so now, in this kink, when issues of age and control come up, I am really, really conflicted. Part of me wants to be a child about things, wants to throw tantrums and say no, and resist, resist, and not ask for permission, and not allow external control over my behavior. Part of me, a big part, would rather sit in pain over ask for anything. I would rather degrade myself than let someone else control me. And it’s happened that way.

And sometimes, he gets tighter then. And I hate that, and I don’t. Like with the lotion. I got a bad sunburn and I was told to put lotion in the fridge and then apply it after breakfast. I stuck it in the freezer instead and left it for awhile. When I decided I wanted it and went to get it, he told me to ask properly. That phrase makes me bristle inside. I hate it. I hate it the way you hate your teacher asking if you’ve done your homework, the way you hate your mother asking if you’ve cleaned your room. You just blank out at that point, and me, I go entirely stubborn.

No one is going to tell me what to do. No one is going to be that patronizing.

He already said I could after breakfast. I didn’t want to ask, and certainly not properly. It was all I could do to grit my teeth and force “canIgetmylotion” out of my mouth.

No, ask properly.

There is was again. I fucking hate ‘properly’. So, I said no. Over and over again. And then it becomes a test of wills. I didn’t even want it anymore, but now, it’s not about the lotion, it’s about whether or not I am going to ask. And I don’t want to. And sometimes, he lets it go. And so then, I win. Sort of. I mean, I get no lotion, but I don’t have to ask.

But this time, he told me to go get it and put it between my thighs. To leave it while he toddled off to do something. I was livid. And something else. Something I will get to shortly. All the cool was being sucked away by my hot, hot thighs. My back and shoulders were still burning and he was taunting me. And then, when he returned, he told me to put it back in the freezer. And there it still sits. And I want it. And I asked, but I have not gotten a response.

So, the other part of me. The part I don’t like to admit is there, the part I loathe about myself. The little girl part. The part that wants to be taken care of, to be read to, and sang to, to be looked after, to have decisions made for, to be entirely in the custody of someone else.

I hate that part.

It makes me feel creepy and weird. It’s unnatural. Unnatural to me, in any case. I am not a little girl. I never have been and I can’t be now. But when he does those things, when he says things like, “No arguments, just do what you’re told.” Those things are these scary little triggers for me.

There are many parts of why I am terrified of this. It’s about me and my perceptions. If you never believed that you were inferior to the adults in your life, you always saw yourself as able to manipulate and negotiate them, as smarter, as stronger, as able to care for them in ways that they could never return... In one way, I don’t trust anyone to take of me. I don’t believe I truly need it or deserve it. I see people who do need it as weak. I see myself as superior to them. I don’t trust them.

And he is younger than me. And on paper, I should be taking care of him. And he wants me to take care of him, so it is constantly a conflict for me to see it reversed. But sometimes, he knows what I want, or what I need, and I let myself be a little girl, or inferior in some way. And in that space, I am very, very comfortable. I can forget those worries and let him read to me, sing to me, control my actions, control me. I like it. It feels like floating. It feels weightless.

But in the morning, when I wake up, and I am not sick or tired or in someway vulnerable, I hate myself. I know I was weak, pathetic. I know I caved. And I want to defend that fast. It is hardest for me to ask, for me to say, “Yes Sir” or “No Sir” when I have been vulnerable. It’s hardest then to be that little girl. And it’s confusing for both of us.

I’m sure, in a way, he feels like he has had some sort of break through and is frustrated when I shut that off again. I’m frustrated for not letting myself stay there and be happy. But I really, honest to God, don’t trust that anyone would want that from me full time, and in the off moments, it really fucks with my image of myself as invincibly numb. So I have to destroy it.

I have to laugh in its face, in his face. I have to be stubborn and deflect all feelings of tenderness, because I am really ashamed of that part. I am ashamed of wanting something from someone else, and most of the time, I feel so damn undeserving of it. And asking requires a feeling of deserving.

And how can I ask him? I should be taking care of him, and making everything easier and lighter for him. And I have the audacity to say, “Fuck you, take care of my shit first”? I can’t do that.

I don’t know what I want. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know anything. And the closer we get to all of that, the more I want to shut it all off.

But, I do like him. And I do love him. And one day, maybe I’ll figure it out.