If You Prick Me, Do I not Bleed?

I was listening to a podcast over at The Perverted Negress , yes you read that right, were Mollena and JP from Canada were talking about why tops don’t blog. Their theory was very enlightening once you get past them derailing from the topic of transparency. Some of what they had to say was in line with how I thought about the subject of why tops(male) don’t blog more. But I go farther with my theory. I believe we don’t get to read from the top side because most things that are written is very sexualized. and by most I mean the few that I’ve come *across. They not only have a lot of ass fucking going on, but a lot of dick sucking, which of course comes after the ass whipping. Which I’m totally for, but the top might be setting themselves up to be charged with assault. If a sadist top writes how they tied up, duct taped and then beat the shit out of the bottom and at some later date the bottom and the top have a falling out, said top might be charged with assault if the bottom leads the powers that be to the blog.

Yes the same blog that the top has been writing about all the deadly things they have been doing to them. Of course a disclaimer could be posted saying the blog is intended for entertainment, which is one way of covering your ass. I can totally understand this reasoning for not writing, but then there’s the other part of my theory. I haven’t come across many blogs where the top is writing about the emotional stuff. Now I know you’re reading this, and you might be thinking, “hey you don’t do much writing here on your own blog, pot calling the kettle black?” And you’re right, I was asked about that to which I replied I write all the time. And I do, I’ve been keeping a journey in one form or another since I was 20 years old. And all of my writing is in my journey, which I carry in my bag.

I have thought that I might copy some of what I write in my book, then I thought I might ask the girl to transcribe it, but that would mean I’d have to send it to her via email, which means I might as well write it for myself, which means…yeah it stays in the book.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with talking about the emotional stuff, shit happens as masters we feel and have feeling. and for me as an introvert I have a lot going on in my head. I have no problem thinking about it, and then talking about it with the girl. Further more in my defence I don’t hink I ever wrote about tying the girl up duct taping her mouth and beating the shit out of her, then making her suck my dick,

Which now that I’ve written this sounds like sounds like a great idea.

 

 

Daddy

In the beginning of our journey the girl referred to me as daddy. To say I was uncomfortable would be an understatement, not for the reasons some may think. How and where I grew up that word was not something you heard children call their fathers, but what women called men. Men that were not their fathers, these men were they guys who the girls were sweet on and also happen to be the drug dealers. Other times it was the men who had women who worked for them on what we referred to as the point (see the HBO special Hookers on the Point). So my knee jerk response in my mind was, “does she think I’m a pimp?” I knew she didn’t but she was there and I was here. In time and when she was finally here to stay I took to monitoring this word. We had one or two conversations about it, and although I understood how she became comfortable to use this word, but every time she said it my hackles would ruffle. This said something about me, than it did her.

Fast forward a year later and this word has never sounded so sweet to me.

If anyone ever tells you that being the one on top is a cake walk, roll up the New York Times and beat them about the head and neck. It isn’t, there are times I want to throw myself on the floor kicking and screaming, or times I want to pull the covers over my head and refuse to get out of bed, to eat worms as the girl would say.

But…

I pull the covers off and swing my legs over and stand to face the day. I take the time to access what needs to get and be done and form a plan, then work on implementing it. I am responsible for how we succeeded or fail. I had to make a decision to send the girl to another state after three months of trying to achieve something here. It got to a point I wasn’t sleeping. I removed the collar knowing she was trying not to cry and took her to the airport to put her on a plane. I knew this would cause more stress for her and tried to not let my stress show. I got daily updates from her, but I not being there to help was a lesson in not having control.  It bothered me, go figure?

Four days later I was back at the airport to pick her up, when I called out to her, she threw he arms around me hugging me. “Daddy, I’m home.” the escort turned away as I tried to pull her away and explain that I was here to pick her up.  He said he figured as much as he walked away and I tried to thank him.

A little over a year and I can say, yes Daddy feels like home.

 

Miles

1,130 miles separate us right now.

i curse all of them.

i keep thinking of you coming home to a house without lit candles, of the long line of your body leaned back on your chair.  i keep thinking of the collar next to you, deprived of my throat.  Security checkers might not understand here, under the hazy sky.

i don’t feel like i’m at home in the place of my girlhood.  The light is too bright, the sky too full of white clouds, the grass too green.  

No buildings that make me smile, and no smell of home, no altars, and no you.

This is the place where we birthed us.  Slowly.  Every word measured, giving way to cautious joy.

i held my breathe, waited, wanted.  i told you my secrets and imagined the girl that was you, climbing trees and kissing girls in forbidden places.

The first time we slept in the same bed, i prayed you would touch me, and when you did, i felt like i could breathe again.  Just your hand on my back, strong and steady.

That is you.

Strong. Steady.

Under the Florida sun, i woke up without you, and felt a sudden sadness.  It feels like a part of me is missing, waiting.  i’m thinking, hoping both that you are well and that a part of you feels lost.  Like me.  Adrift at sea.  

You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.

You are home.  To me.  

i know this had to be done, this trip, and also facing what it feels like to be not by your side.

The collar is empty, next to you, and i wonder if your long fingers have touched it and felt me inside of that metal.  Felt my love, my sweat, my adoration, me.  Touch it.  That is where i live.

All else is blasphemy.

i need you to want me home, to need my silly jokes and my unabashed joy when you come home, grabbing your cap and wrapping my arms around you, crushing your lips.  It’s never a delicate homecoming.  

But it’s real.

Strong and Steady.

i need you.  

i’ve always needed you, even if it doesn’t sound strong to my ears to need someone, need them in ways we don’t have words for.

You are everything that matters to me.

i can’t wait to come home, to cross the distance that divides us, to be at your feet again, where my life began.  

Got Education?

i have been educating myself since i was reading before kindergarten.

i was always drawn specifically to race relations, our sordid American history of begrudgingly “accepting” new groups only after they make it clear that they are us and certainly not those other people.  

i’m not sure to what extent it formed my early self-taught education that my mother always said i’d grow up and marry a black man.  Like it was a forgone conclusion i’d spend my life fighting and dancing to my own drum beat, which is amazing given how much pressure there is to just fit in in our lives.  

We call is assimilation.  We consider our “melting pot” to be a success story of sorts.  You know, if you are white, rich, able-bodied, attractive, heterosexual and therefor never have to deal with the unpleasantness of not being able to assimilate.

You know you have privilege, a Master-Status of superiority, when it hits you in the face that other people didn’t consider that privilege to be a norm.  

Like the day i walked into a dirty classroom with old textbooks the white school had thrown away, stamped “discard” in angry red ink, and felt humiliated that i had always just assumed that every school got new textbooks.   i was raised in poor schools and was familiar with having not enough textbooks to go around, not being able to take home books because there was only one set to serve many different classes of students.  i had never thought, however, that other schools got what our schools threw away.

i was horrified about the message implicit in the red-ink stamped books.  i spent hours with a little tub of rubber cement, meticulously covering each “discard” with card stock printed with helpful notes.  

i never considered myself to be white.  i’m Italian and proud of that, in the way that only a minority raised in the face of clearly being unwanted as “different” in rural, poor towns can be.  

i certainly don’t discount my white privilege.  Those “discard” books made me sob tears of shame.  i made it my mission to shut up and learn, to ask questions even when i thought the answers should have been obvious.  

i used the same tact in every way i was different in life.

i shut up and listened and observed for many months in the dungeon, in the classroom, in life.  When i thought i had something helpful to add, or needed to interject when i saw the ugly that can come from one different group to another, i said it.  

i have spoken up about gay rights, racism, classism, ageism.

There are times my roots can climb up and trip me, rob my of my vocabulary, where my experiences make me feel patently unsafe.

It isn’t safe, not really, to speak up for what you think is right.

There are times i simply lack words.  There are times i’m too damn exhausted to say one more word.  But then something ignites my rage at the unfairness of life as we know it, and i’m ready for the fight.

People expect less from me.

Because i’m legally blind.  Because i’ve lived below the poverty line.  And quite possibly for other reasons i cannot begin to understand.

My instructor, meaning to give me high praise i’m sure, sent a note with my grade that read, “You accomplished more and worked harder than the normal students.”

My first reaction was to laugh at the word normal.  What else could i do besides see the humor of the situation?  Get angry?  i’m too tired for that.  The “A” felt simultaneously fantastic and terrible.  Linked to being judged against “normal” students, i outdid them. Based on her other notes, this was clearly unexpected.  Even though i appreciate the acknowledgement of how much harder i worked and that i know this is quantified in the sheer number of hours she can readily see, the standard of greatness is “normal” people.

That “A”?  Is it because i outworked the “normal” people?  Or what?

The man at the store i frequent and who i chat with on occasion sees only a blind woman.  When he saw Sir Raven and i together, he thought she was my caretaker, because he assumed i couldn’t live alone or take care of myself.  

i was so stunned that i just stared at him, unsure of what to feel rage about first.  My first thought was wondering if he was being racist.  My second was the ice-water-in-my-face-in-slow-motion realization that people see a white cane and not a person.  Surely blind people don’t fuck.  Don’t have relationships.  Don’t have “normal” lives.

And then i had to bite my tongue, because i have to be aware, always aware of who is around because the odds are if they are going to get violent it is her they would go after.

What would the world feel like if i could just tell the truth?

If everywhere i went, i could say i was her slave.

What would it feel like for us to be legally recognized, socially recognized, as what we are?

We want so badly to believe our own press in America, i doubt that will ever occur.  Which is silly, considering that we have a class system that places people into indentured servitude, prison sentenced that are life-terms based on race.  What would be so bad about calling things what they are?

i am always leery of what to say.  Wife?  (seems like the most honest answer we can say)

Partner? (that always sounded so sterile to me)

Lover? (seems graphic to ears that spent way too long in the south) 

i’ve got to say it’s decidedly inconvenient and uncomfortable to not be able to just say the truth, all of the time.  

People see what they want to see.  Or what they expect to see.

Every time i smile politely at something i can’t see and refuse to keep pointing out how i can’t see it, i’m helping them not understand.  People have no intelligent concept for what it means to have no peripheral vision, no working left eye, seeing through floaters/flashers, distorted colors.  Not even people who should know better.  Blindness makes people uncomfortable and they behave like its contagious.  

Is it “normal?”  i guess not.  It’s my normal, my newest version of normal.  

i get tired of it being my job to speak for others.  

i get even more tired speaking up for myself.  

Being seen is exhausting, which is funny, considering.  

 

Better

So, some of the stress and pressure is easing up a bit.  

After two days of the house looking like a construction zone, the falling down bathroom ceiling is finally fixed.  On the way out, the guy took a dirty mop, which had been used to clean up the mess the ceiling kept making for two weeks, and sort of smeared the cement around on the floor.  

Poor Sir Raven was happy to see a man with a mop in his hands and not be expecting some kind of fantasy to take place afterwards.

i was scrubbing his boot prints, drywall dust, and paint splatter for a few hours but it looks like a home again and…after two weeks…we have a working shower!!  🙂

Sir Raven helped me put the house back in some semblance of order, cleaning and rehanging the shower curtain, and putting the bathroom supplies back in the bathroom.  She didn’t have to do anything, of course, and it makes me grateful that she did help out.  Afterwards, i poured her a glass of wine to celebrate her shower.  

It’s been stressful, not being able to cool off after long hot days here.  It’s been stressful not knowing when it would get fixed.  

My Math class is over and i’m onto a new class.  That was stressing us too.  Sir Raven had to read an entire chapter to me and i know it stressed her that i was being tested on materials i couldn’t see.  

We are not great when things are out of her control.  We just aren’t (shrugs).

Now that i have some medicine, i can see how much pain was a constant source of stress and fear for me.  i have been a bit closed off at times from trying to manage it but couldn’t really see that til now.  i had thought that Sir Raven couldn’t differentiate between me just being quiet for her and me being quiet from shutting down because i don’t want her to have to deal with this part of me.

Now that i don’t have to be so worried because there is something i can do about it when the pain becomes too much, i can see that i was shutting down emotionally.

i have my trip planned to Florida to take care of what i need to do.  i don’t want to go, don’t want to be away from Sir Raven, but it’s just what i have to do.  i’ll get through it.  i’m trying to focus on the good of the situation, be logical about it, remind myself that it will just be three days.  i’m breathing through it.  i’m hoping that once that is over, that the pressure on Sir Raven will come down some more as well.

i can be her confidant, helper, and supporter but i can’t do much to alter her stress levels other than obey and try to be cheerful.  i think that things have happened outside of her control in the house have had a bad impact because this is her space where she can control everything.  i feel badly that some of the stress has been directly about me: medicine, doctors, paperwork, and now a trip that requires we be apart to deal with some of it.  It’s been a lot.  

i am looking forward to everything getting back to normal and feeling that i can be pleasing to my Master again.

When life gets stressful, we count on our dynamic even more, we depend on it more.  This is why we roll our eyes when people say that life “gets in the way of the dynamic.”  It might get in the way of S/m, and for us life does, but our dynamic stays in place regardless of what life throws our way.

Even when it is a time of struggle, i depend on her control and our way of life together.  i can honestly say that i am happier overall than i’ve ever been.  i’m also grateful for the collar i live in because it reminds me that she finds me worthy to be hers and to serve her, even when i’m not feeling the best about myself.  My place is secure because of my honest efforts to obey, submit, give, and accept what is, rather than the outcome of every moment.  The collar is a reminder that we both know that i know my place.  Every time Sir Raven asserts that about me, i feel a rush of humility and pride.  

i genuinely adore her and i won’t ever forget how lucky i am that she took a chance on me.

Roll Tape

It’s been a long, long, long few days.  The kind that zap out everything and leave you bone tired inside.

Yesterday, we went to the doctor.  The drive there was pretty hellish.  The bridge had a bad accident, needing a helicopter evacuation, both ways.  i prayed and prayed some more.  Silently.  But still.

And then there was the back up that lasted half an hour while planes from JFK were getting ready for their landing above our heads.  It looked like the beginnings of a bad action movie.  i kept half expecting the planes to fall out of the sky.  They were close and it was just a strange and unsettling thing.

Two hours, a lot of it not moving, and no air conditioning.  

i was silent for most of the ride.  Poor Sir Raven, a city mouse, hadn’t driven in years and was going to a place we’d never been.  We were stressed anyhow because of the stress we have had with doctors.

i spiraled wildly between desperate fear and tremendous gratitude.  i mean, my God, if that drive isn’t the Grand Gesture, i don’t know what is.  Yes, i have fears of having panic attacks in cars, i do, even though i’ve gone years without one.  It really was a hard ride.  

It seems…well…odd that i feel congratulations are in order when i don’t seem to be approaching panic and can keep myself calm in long car rides, especially those that feature many accidents and huge tractor trucks, with a nervous driver to boot.

Whatever.

i’ll just keep congratulating myself on things that normal people do every day without fanfare.  😛

i’m also deeply grateful to my Marine, who kindly lent us the use of her jeep.  

The doctor’s appointment itself went well except, and this is HUGE, they can’t fill out my paper.  So, i have to go back to Florida to my old doctor, without Sir Raven.  And i’m a hot mess about it.  Really.

i spent Seven hours (seven!) on math today, made an A on this weeks homework, and then flunked the test.  Sigh.  Groan.  Yeah.  

Then i rushed out to do laundry, pick up wine, go to the local pharmacy, and get groceries.  They had the tv blasting in spanish and the radio blasting in English, and i was beyond over stimulated.  Ugh.

And then i came home and started crying.  

That just isn’t like me.  It really isn’t.  But we have been sitting around, waiting for the next medical shoe or paperwork shoe to drop, for over a week.  i kept telling myself to “hang on” and everything would work out.  But it didn’t quite and now i had to go back to Florida.

It triggers me.  

i see that.

The medical appointments where i don’t want to admit the past domestic violence, the fear, the hiding for so long, it all hangs in the air.  It’s exhausting.

Feeling like a burden is exhausting.

Having to reach out and trust people is not my forte in life.  It really isn’t.  i’m trying to learn how to do it gracefully but its unnatural for me.  Trusting Sir Raven is one thing, and believe me when i say i have constant reasons to be overwhelmed by all of the ways she shows me i can trust her and can believe in her.  It is awe inspiring.  

It’s easy for people to talk the talk about being a Master.  i don’t think anyone thinks about what it could entail, or what might have to be done to protect the property.  

It is a strange thing to understand that i don’t shoulder my stress alone anymore.  But i don’t.  There is always someone who is going to care more than me, because it’s personal to her when i hurt, when i’m scared, when i’m sick. 

The tape started today.  

The one that tells me i’m a burden to everyone (which is just a little overblown).  The one that says i’m one mistake away from an avalanche, the fear barely contained.  Poverty wasn’t that long ago that i can wipe it away.  Survival mode was just three years back.  Less.

And when i think of that, i try and cut myself a teeny bit of slack.  When i remember it’s only been three years out of the hell, and what a life i’ve helped build, it’s nothing short of a miracle.

And so i carefully stamp out on the tape again.  Try and erase parts.  Quit crying.

Sir Raven went to the pharmacy for me for meds i can’t get at the local place.  See? She is an angel.

She came in while i was cooking and didn’t give me a second to run up to her for a hug.  She quietly took off her own boots, in the bedroom, and didn’t really speak to me.  It’s just not how we do things.  Every day, its the same loving greeting, ice cold water, wine, and slippers.  But not today.

She is stressed too.  This difference is a part of how it shows.

Sometimes, you know you are a slave by quietly accepting that, even if the timing is horrendous.  If i wasn’t a slave, if i wasn’t her slave, i would have been bawling somewhere.  Because i’m just that tender right now.

But…the math class is nearly done.  i turned in the final.  We get three chances per test, so i have two more to redeem myself for the final quiz.  i have at least have a strong B.  i was just wanting to give her an A in this class, because i’ve never made an A in Math before in my life.  i’m pretty damn close.  It could possibly happen.

Time to sleep.  Everything may feel better in the morning.  It’s a new chance, anyhow.

 

i’m alive :)

Some things are changing here and while they are good, it hasn’t been without some growing pains.

Mostly because if something isn’t going smoothly, i turn it inward, feel i have to strip search myself for errors, accept all of the responsibility for fixing it.

It’s silly and i know that in my head.  i do.

i had a really hard time moving past that place because i couldn’t write about the changes taking place.  It wasn’t encouraged, i’ll put it that way.  So, i was just stuck inside of my head for awhile.

Normally, if one area of my life is having issues, i can look at other areas for growth and goodness. These last few weeks, well, it felt like i couldn’t see anything but how i was failing all over the place.

The Math class is in it’s last week and though its taken me ten times longer than the other students, i have about a low A score, overall.  The tests have been cumulative and bi-weekly, which is about the worst recipe for disaster for my LD brain.  That has taken up oodles of time and energy but i’ve almost survived it.  The saving grace has been that the tests can be taken three times, and the highest grade is recorded.  Nonetheless, it was a major hit to me to study all week and then get the first test score back that showed me flunking the material because too many kinds of problems were going on at the same time.  

Physically, i’m at the end of my rope.  i’m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired.  After seven months, i’m about at the end of my capacity to put on a happy face and get on with it.  The days that are miserable seem to outweigh the good ones.  It’s like i have a good day (which i measure by accomplishments, not my level of pain) and then get paybacks for two days.

i’ve had major medical worries because i’m at the end of my supply of neurontin as well.  

i’ve had paperwork come in en masse, all medical related, and major stress because it directly effects money if it isn’t done.  

Then there were some communication break downs, largely because i can’t see faces and misunderstood the underlying messages and internalized the negative feedback i was getting.  

Oh, yes, and the bathroom ceiling started coming down in the middle of the night.

And we weren’t sleeping hardly for days at a time.

All in all, it was a bit much.

Bit by bit, it’s getting better.  

i have a doctor’s appointment for Thursday and i’m hopeful that it goes well and i get everything i need taken care of.  

 

 

i’m also hoping that the various bruises on my body remain unseen while i’m at the doctors. (sheepish grin).

In the middle of all of that chaos, we had some good times.
Some very, very good times.

i am beyond thankful that Sir Raven beat me a few times in the midst of life being stressful for both of us.

She also planned a picnic for Pride, complete with two trips to Botanical Gardens and a picnic basket. i was really moved by this gesture. She did it as a total surprise and went far out of her way to make pride special for us. i also appreciate the hour or two she spent agonizing over Pride Routes, trying to figure out some way to accommodate what everyone needed to have a good day. Being shoved in between barricades and people jostling my body in high heat and high humidity with zero chance of shade just wouldn’t work for any of us.

So, the pride picnic happened instead. It was really lovely.

Oh, and, i had a birthday so maybe i’m another year wiser. This year, i didn’t make a wish except to have another year that is as incredible as this one has been. i truly have everything i ever wanted in life, at the same time, except for health. And we are working on that so it may even out soon. i’d appreciate any positive energy possible being directly at my medical care and paperwork being taken care of in the way i need it done.

i’ll be writing more soon, hopefully. 🙂