So, i’ve been thinking about some things, but was spurred on to write this by a blog written by Kaya, over at underhishand.com.
She makes the salient point that slavery can be damned uncomfortable at times. Were you just thinking of being tied to the bed and wanting to scratch your face? No. Not that kind of uncomfortable.
The kind where, truly and deeply, there is something in our slave DNA that wants to make Master’s happy. We want to make their life easier, calmer, better, cleaner. We want them to have more free time as a result of our work and labor. We want them to be doing what makes them happy. Yes, really.
But days have a way of turning into weeks where one small slave feels about as important as the chair she is sitting on. It’s there and she expects it to be there, ready and willing to hold her weight and ask for nothing in return.
The thing is though….i’m not a chair.
Someone in the comments over on Kaya’s blog disturbed me greatly with her assertion that “slavery doesn’t mean being tied up 24/7.”
Well, no kidding.
We know that. We expected to work hard, perform hard labors, refine our ability to always be full of peace or joy or contentment. Always be ready to be a pleasant conversationalist, a quiet companion, a cook, maid, chef, errand girl. Those of us who have lived this for years know that the times of actually feeling balanced, loved, adored, appreciated, wanted, desired are never going to equal the number of time spent feeling none of those things.
The thing we didn’t realize, going in, was that the thing that Master’s were going to do with all of the free-time we provide is to ignore us outright. And then proceed to ignore their own rules and expectations.
The days that i mind being ignored are fewer than the days i do.
i am genuinely smiling when i make her snack plate and hear her laughing on the phone with other Master’s, calls that linger on for hours, when she has literally said perhaps five words to me in days.
When it does hurt, when i do feel frustrated, the standard advice is to communicate.
First of all, it’s an awkward conversation. It’s awkward because on one hand what i truly want is for her to be doing what she wants to be doing. It’s just that i also want to be one of those things, some of the time. She seems to suffer from the malaise Kaya referred to aptly as “basking.”
In her world, everything is great. She needn’t be bothered with things, like me, that can wait. She is on her vacation from work and her days are full of relaxing and rest. Homemade chili and cornbread, chicken noodle soup and farmer’s market pie. Phone calls that linger. Group dates where she is more interested in the other Master’s than me. Movies and youtube videos. And i want these things for her. i do.
i’d just like to be somewhere in them.
i am constantly surprised that even when the opportunity presents itself daily, there is a lack of s/m, a disinterest in sex, a lack of human warmth, a lack of just simply doing things together.
i perform the mental gymnastics necessary to not push her away like she literally pushes me away. To not beg for attention. To not be a burden by wanting anything for just me.
i write gratitude lists because there is always a lot to be thankful for. i notice the things she has done and lavish her with thanks. i try and change my perspective and want less, need less, go without. Resentment isn’t a good look on a slave. i pour more of my time and effort into cooking from scratch. i try and do things that make the house look more comfy, like buy pillows. i read, or try to. i spend time with my sister. My ability to focus intently, like i need to for school, turns to shit but my Master’s needs are cared for and i struggle on in silence.
Yesterday, the morning started abruptly.
i was on my first cup of coffee, waiting for my meds to do something, when she came in and said, “We are doing this the easy way or the hard way,” while picking up the strap.
i sat, mute, remembering our conversation in the dark the night before. She had asked me if i needed the strap back in our relationship and my mind raced. Several long moments passed as i tried to make my mouth not form the only word it knew: “Yes.”
Had she asked me if i wanted it, that was a totally different question. Want? No. What i want to do is throw the damned thing out the window. But do i need it? Yes.
It appears we both did.
Afterwards, she left me alone for awhile, as is our custom. Then, i got dressed and went out to buy what i needed to make homemade soup and wine. i cleaned the kitchen and made sure the house was ready to receive her guest for lunch. While the Master’s talked, i sat at my Master’s feet and she surprised me by stroking my hair. i realized it had been several days since we really touched or connected.
In a relationship based on control, it occurs to me that punishment might be something that draws us closer. For one thing, i hate the convoluted mental gymnastics that have to happen while i try to follow rules, live under tight control, that feels monitored only by me. Motivated only be me. i start to have dark thoughts, rebellious thoughts. i wonder if the control is still there, if the structure is sound. Punishment tells me it is there and i can relax. It lets me be free to focus on putting myself into the work that needs to be done rather than feeling like a one-woman show of M/s.
Yesterday gave me a sense of gratitude for another reason as well. It put her back in command of the ship, in a way she hasn’t been in months. It let our fears melt away. The house feels lighter. i feel like a huge weight has been lifted off of my chest and for that, i am full of gratitude.