"Thank you for letting me play with your toy" Modu said earnestly to Damascus, after one of our first kinky play dates together, which Damascus requested to witness so he could gauge his comfort level. "Hey!" I objected, my feminist ideologies immediately kicking in. I started to say that I wasn't a toy, I was a person, and a smart and independent one who didn't want to be treated like an object. But those words didn't come out of my mouth, because as I sat there and started constructing the perfect witty socially correct retort, I looked at the two boys smirking at each other, and I reconsidered my objection. They knew as much as I did that I liked being their toy. I enjoyed becoming a plaything, for each of them, in different ways. I love when I am able to turn off my responsible, busy, independent, and stubborn brain to let each of them do as they please with me, or to do what they ask of me. There is something satisfying and liberating about allowing myself to become a sexual object, for a delicious few moments.
I am only a toy because I allow myself to be a toy. It is my choice.