My spirit feels light and happy.
i’m still bathed in the exquisite peace from Friday. Letting go and being free about S/m seems to have opened me up in unexpected ways.
Yesterday was MasT and the topic was good: Gender and how it effects M/s. I think that we carry our culture with us into the dungeon and our bedrooms. We don’t really place a high value on submissive people in our culture, especially those whose motivations are coming from them responding to who they are. It might be easier in our culture to think of M/s as something people do. Culturally, it makes sense and its easy to put the whole explanation for M/s on our genitals. Because, hell, anything goes as long as the point is to get off, right?
Well, not so much.
I think that “reasoning” is absurd.
I think it does slaves a great injustice because we associate submission with female and female means weak.
Female is strong. Submission is strong. Slavery is strong.
I feel a great deal for men who are slaves and who are continually devalued for responding to who they are and what feels right to them. It makes me sad as a slave and a woman.
I raised boys, three of them, and it was one of the best things that has ever happened to me. It healed me.
My first child, that I started raising when I was 18, taught me how to play cars and build forts and wrestle on the floor with abandon. I thought, then, that I was teaching him about women and how he felt about me, as his mother figure, would translate into how he felt about all women. I wanted him to see me get dirty, work hard, throw balls, race him and sometimes win. I also wanted him to be comfortable being nurturing and bought him dolls. I explained I wasn’t good at sports and this was a chance for him to show me what a good friend he could be. i’ll tell you the child celebrated when I managed to hit the ball and said kind words when I didn’t.
When I got older, it was painful for me to understand that each of my three boys had a biological mother who failed them and that was a part of their work in life. To deal with contradictory messages of what it meant to have a mother, how to deal with being nurturing people, how to express yourself emotionally in a world that doesn’t support that well if you happen to be male.
The funny thing is there are people who automatically assume that I don’t like men because i’m a lesbian. Again, how absurd. I think of my three boys and how I had to love men as a whole to honor the fact that they would not remain babies (despite their promises), they would grow up and be men. It made me a more whole person to have raised boys. That is what I mean when I say mothering them was healing. I had to face my own value-laden assumptions and consciously provide opportunities for them to be whoever they would become. I was delighted when all three loved feeding their stuffed animals and chose bottles with great care.
People who were just barbarians in my book suggested that allowing this would make the boys gay. I thought that was strange since the comment tended to come from men who were fathers themselves.
I always thought, but never said, that when I saw a man who was wearing an apparatus to allow him to breastfeed his child didn’t turn the man gay. It was a powerful image to me. I thought the man looked strong.
These are the things I think about when I think about male submissives as a whole. That even a man feeding his own child brings out nasty anger because we are so little equipped to allow people to just be who they are.
Humans might be more nurturing, if given the chance.
The other side of it is that you have to allow people to nurture you at times.
Sir Raven nurtures me in lots of ways that make me feel comfortable. They aren’t the stuff Hallmark rights about but it works well for us.
The Marine, on the other hand, cuddles. Massages the deep knots in my shoulders with such strength, my eyes closed in thanksgiving. Had she asked me, I would have declined. It seems like something that is sort of a big deal to ask for. Touch though is a language I appreciate because I had to work to embrace it.
When we went out to eat after the meeting, I was at the table in between them. i’m a lefty, so I eventually had to stop holding hands with Sir Raven under the table so we could eat. On my other side, her hand stayed on my lap for a long time. Though she couldn’t know, most of my right leg above my knee is sporting deep bruises, from every angle. Her hand on it reminds me and makes me smile.
Life is good. There is always so much to feel genuine gratitude about.
I have things half-started here and there right now. I need to get some errands done, hopefully before it rains again. I had a hard time getting to sleep in the storm, though psychologically the storm was very nice.
This may be terribly disjointed but i’m posting anyhow. 🙂