Sometimes, it does get better…

i’m feeling better.  i got everything on my list done but one thing.  i love my phone because its so easy to text now.  i asked permission to not do laundry today because it was raining a lot.  She said that was fine, which was kind of her.  In many ways, she goes out of her way to be kind to me.  She knows absolutely that i’d do it in any weather or any amount of pain if she ordered it.

i scrubbed out the frig.  Every week, i take everything out of the frig and wash it down.  i took all of the garbage and recycling down.  i’m making a pot roast and have cleaned the rest of the house.  All of this makes me feel better.  Everywhere i look is clean and shiny.  Even my playpen has neatly folded blankets.

The grocery store here has been transformed into a veritable paradise in comparison to before.  Lots of organic produce, fruit, a whole seafood section, and vegetarian options galore.  It takes me longer to shop because everything has shifted around.  It also makes me a wee bit worried about white people coming and ruining every damned thing, as they are wont to do, either through willful entitlement or ignorant extravagance  i sure hope not.  i don’t want to be priced out of our apartment.

Sir Raven recently mentioned wanting to find a larger place.  i know she would love to have an office and that we could use more room, especially now that we entertain regularly.  It would also be nice to have dedicated spaces, like an area for me to work in, so i’m not in my playpen doing everything.  We both do art and would love to have a dedicated space that could be organized for this purpose.  i figure it will happen, somehow, if it is meant to be.  i could clean a whole lot faster if we were spread out and i’d do damn near anything to have a dungeon room.  i think it would improve matters dramatically.

That could be magical thinking on my part, i’m not sure.

In any event, i got myself grounded.  i’m back to focusing on how to better please my Master, which is what i’m always thinking about when i’m not busy getting too into my own head.  Where it is messy.  And murky.  And sometimes smelly from the rotting tapes that play, especially the ones with only the hatred in my mothers face captured hundreds of times at the sight of me.

i belong to Sir Raven, not anyone else.

Thank God and her Orisha..

Ache

i’ve been here a few different times to write, started at the blank page, and felt i had nothing to say.

i’m having a lot of physical ache, the bone deep kind, and a strange issue with a swollen right calf.  i’ve been walking more and even done yoga a few times.  i’m feeling a lot of frustration with the pain and some deep shame about my body.  i’m feeling some hatred.

i’m having some emotional ache, the soul searching kind, where i feel deep pain at the lack of s/m.  Where i don’t feel desired or lusted after.  i wonder if it’s my body.  And then i feel shame because everything else in my relationship is pretty damned amazing.  We truly enjoy each other, laugh all of the time, share affection and quiet times.  We have been working on a big art project, which is going well so far.  We hang out and watch tv, and i always encourage her to relax, rest, enjoy her time away from work.

i am frustrated at the fibro, always holding me back.  i’ve gone to bed crying twice in the last two weeks because the pain was so bad.  i am working hard at keeping the house up, doing everything on my lists most days, doing yoga and sometimes meditation, and walking close to two miles a day.  i’m trying to eat right but find myself careening wildly from obsessive thoughts about cupcakes to obsessive thoughts about weight loss, neither of which is helpful.

i wake up many times a night, most nights.  i sleep the best when i nap when Sir Raven is home.  i cherish those times when i feel safe, when i know she is safe, and can get some good sleep.

As always, there is so much to be grateful for.  Sir Raven loves me just as i am.  She thinks to tell me i’m beautiful sometimes, and it seems to come when i really can appreciate it.  She thinks to let me know i’m sexy to her, the way she will stop to fondle a breast, to run her hands in my hair, or touch my throat.  And i need those messages.  i can’t pretend that i did not grow up in a culture where sex is shorthand for saying those things, for making statements about relationships.  Really, our relationship is deep full, honest, and wonderful.  We have sex and do s/m on her terms, just like everything else in our relationship.

i’m grateful to have the time off of school, so i can focus on my health and the lack of stress is helpful.  i’m trying to use the time to work on my health and weight.  i’m trying to view this in positive terms, which is not always working.

i really need to be here writing more often.  i might feel less stuck. 😛

Snow on the First Day of Spring

This morning, i remember waking up enough to sleepily ask, “Master, is it time to wake up?”  She said, “No” and i curled up tighter in the blanket and went back to my dream.

The morning opened slowly.  i took my medicine and made my french press.  i enjoy chatting with friends and doing chores.  i needed the rest after yesterday, when Sir Raven let me out of the house to enjoy spending a leisurely afternoon of lunch and shopping with Karida.  i hurried through the morning chores yesterday, unable to leave before the bed was made, the house swept and mopped, the bathroom and kitchen scrubbed.  Then i ran out for groceries for the weekend because the forecast for today may mean that i wouldn’t be allowed outside.

Karida and i met up at Barclay’s Center and went off to enjoy a blissful lunch of honey chicken.  i bought a meal for Sir Raven as well, which Karida thoughtfully carried around.  We tried to go fondle the princess charms at Pandora but it was stuffy, hot, and crowded in there.  We looked at the clothes in Uniqlio and wistfully wished the little girls section carried our sizes.  Then we shopped at Target.  i bought wood hangers that we have been needing, a headband, and a white scarf to better cover my head for spiritual ceremonies and times i’m instructed to cover my hair.

We found bunny ears and walked around the store together wearing them.  Some Bigs stopped by at every section, to say how much they liked our ears.  i forgot i was wearing mine and was out the check-out when Karida pulled them off of me.  i was about to be a Bad Little Bunny and walk out with them on accidently.  i can’t imagine that phone call home: “Daddy, i’m at Rikers because i forgot i was a bunny!”  On the other hand, i’d probably be the one person there offering to not make their phone call home because i can only imagine the beating i’d get for being so stupid.

i have a deep-seated fear of the police though and i’d guess i’m far more afraid of the police than i am the strap.

Fortunately, Karida snapped some pics of us as bunnies and was smart enough to make sure we didn’t get into trouble.

i was late getting home and Sir Raven wasn’t too pleased.  She was a lot happier when she got her honey chicken heated up.  i had a pain spike right before we left Target and i struggled to get back to the train and walk home from the station after an hour ride.  i thought about calling Sir Raven, and asking her to carry me.  i figured she’d say, in jest, “Who is the Master here girl?”

Today, once i was able to move with the darned barometric pressure shift from hell, i quickly dressed and ran out for flowers.  i changed the linen on the table by the altar to red and pink lace.  i bought roses, in Shango’s colors and placed them in a red vase flanked by pink candles.  Spring is a time of renewal and i pray for a constant renewal of our love and passion.  Once Sir Raven is home, i’ll light the candles and serve champagne.  i have water charging on the altar because i can’t put it outside in the snow.

i also feel really good about remembering the last time it snowed on the first day of Spring.  It’s a really strong memory of my mother and something good.  We went horseback riding-a surprise for me, because i love horses.  We were in Virgina and we were riding when it started to snow.  When we got back to our rented vacation apartment, i soaked in a deep tub and watched the snow fall all afternoon.  i wanted to remember the day clearly because i was aware that i was loosing sight.  It was really blissful.  We lit a joint and drank wine and laughed together.  She had been trying to micromanage her horse, who was busy taking a dump and ignoring her orders.  Later in the vacation, she took me to P. Buckley Moss’s artist space, and it was one of the few times i have cried from joy.  i had a beautiful print that i spent hours choosing, one of a horse with the sunset behind him, that i had always dreamed of having the artist sign.   We did laugh a lot, my mother and i.  i made her laugh so hard on that vacation she peed herself.

Sir Raven and i laugh together all of the time, and its one of the best things about us.  Tonight, i am hoping to give her a relaxing evening and warmth inside our home, despite the snow coming down hard.  i’d love to celebrate with heat and passion of our own…a girl can always hope her Master wants to use her.  🙂

First Girl

Sir Raven warned me, early on, that should she ever choose to have someone else join our family it would fall to me to provide instruction.  i’m here first, at this point three years in, and i know a great deal about what pleases her and how she likes things done.  It makes sense, from a logical standpoint.  It doesn’t take into account some things that i don’t understand how it would work.

You know how slaves and submissives are constantly proclaiming, “I’m not a doormat!”

Well, in some ways, i am.  i can’t count how many times in life i’ve been told by someone well-meaning that i should “just stand up for myself,” or “just stop being walked all over,” or being reminded, “You are not a doormat.”

In almost any group, i tend to be the most passive.  i’m the person who will make the beds of Master’s and slaves alike, with no compunction about doing it.  i’ll take the dirty jobs and don’t think that is bad.  i don’t have many personal boundaries at all, both from a nature and a nurture standpoint.  i don’t evaluate orders before executing them.  i tend to be the most flexible person in any group, able to be happy to do whatever i think is most pleasing.  i think of myself last, always, if at all.

So, i could be First Girl one day.

We had some trial runs, basically, and what i learned is that i am extremely comfortable explaining what Sir Raven wants and needs done.  i’m comfortable making sure someone has the tools for the job and an adequate understanding of what the final product should be.

i’m extremely uncomfortable if the person balks, or goes ahead and does their own thing, or gives me an attitude problem when i genuinely trying to help.  Then i don’t know what to do and i become very passive, because i’m upset and confused.

Also, Sir Raven doesn’t want to hear about every frustration and annoyance in my life.  i don’t blame her a bit, who would?  That tends to bleed over into relationship frictions as well, where i am disinclined to share problems with her and i don’t know where to draw the line about what she needs to know and what can remain unsaid.

One item that compounds it is that the type of person Sir Raven would choose to be another family member is going to by default be more aggressive than i am.  She wants some push back, some banter, some decisiveness, some aggressiveness or maleness-just not from me.  i suppose those traits don’t preclude a person being able to take directions from me, but it does tend to work out that way.

Personally, i only have interest in being First Girl because it’s what Sir Raven wants.  Personality wise, i’d make a far better Second Girl, i think.  That would make zero sense here though, since i have been here learning her ways for so long.

Right now, we are both happy with is just being us.  i’m very thankful that she doesn’t feel lacking with just me and that we get time to have a strong foundation, come what may.

Poor Master

Sir Raven had a bit of a tough morning.  i padded into the livingroom at a little after 8 this morning, heading directly to the french press which Sir Raven had already poured.  “Morning, sleepy head,” she greets me, and i smiled over the mug at her.

She enjoys reading on her phone, which is her morning custom, as i sit quietly and have my coffee and wait for my meds to do something.  All was well until she started getting dressed.  i could hear long sighs coming from her chair until i asked what she was going through over there.  Her laces are too long.  Her shirt needs to be ironed.  Fraiser isn’t on tv.  The weather report contains more snow for later in the week.

Poor Master.

She doesn’t want to head back to work any more than i want her to.  i always wistfully wish we were independently wealthy, just so we could spend more time enjoying each other.

“Poor, sweet Master,” i say in consoling tones.  It’s her long day and i confirm her orders for dinner tonight, which i thought she had changed but wasn’t positive.  It will give her something small to look forward to at least.

We sit in companionable silence, letting the morning unfold as it will.  i offer breakfast, which she declines.  When she is ready to leave, she kisses me.  Then she remembers something she left in the bedroom and leans down to kiss me again, pausing to ask, “Didn’t we just do this?”  i hold her face in my hands for a moment, kiss her again, and say, “Two kisses!  Your morning has been rough but mine just got perfect.  It was like “snacktime and lunch!”  We both laugh at the silly gogurt commercial imitation.

i also feel a bit off after her vacation week.  i keep glancing over at her chair and her slippers.

We had such a lovely break.  We enjoyed going out to eat several times, the orchid show at the Botanical Gardens, way too many hours learning how to use my iphone, seeing Cinderella at the movie theater (okay, so i enjoyed it), and laughing a lot.  i had my MRI, which wasn’t a great start to her vacation.  She waited to take off the collar until right before we left.  i had asked nervously, the night before, if she was going to put it right back on when we got home.  “Jade!” she had said sharply.  “That collar is mine, girl  I’ll decide when it goes back on.!”  And i had bowed my head, in acknowledgement and shame.

After the MRI, she got me a cup of coffee to help perk me up, and then we went out to eat.  Before the drinks arrived, she surprised me by pulling the collar out of her bag and locking it back around my throat.  It’s quite heavy to have carried all that way but quite an honor to have it back, to have her think so much about my well being, and that she understands that the permanent reminder of her ownership means everything to me only because she means everything to me.

i have so much to be thankful for, every day, and i thank her daily for all of the ways she shows me love.  The most important way is that she takes her Mastery of me seriously, holds me a high standard, and quickly gets me back on track when i try to step off her path.  Usually, i do this by beating myself up for not doing enough, even when Sir Raven is the only person who can decide this.  i’ve learned how to self-correct this faster and have gotten better at focusing on the value of obedience to her will over everything-including service.

1950’s

At the last MAsT meeting, I was asked by someone what my slave did for a living? I said she works from home. Now I’m not sure if it is that people don’t listen or that it’s a man thing, but he replied it must be nice for slaves to stay home 1950 style?

Humm, was all I could reply and then I excused myself.

Here’s the thing, I don’t know about 1950 style, I knew what he meant, but I’m a woman of color and all of the women in my family worked. My mom and aunts had it better than my grandmother and great-grandmother. But even they worked.

My Great Grand owned a farm and from her I learned about farming, apple and peach trees, beans, potatoes, strawberries. chickens for eggs and a cow. Which we milked. Us children picked all of this and learned how to pickle, and can. My Great Gran made her own bread and other baked goods which she sold. We even churned butter, none of this is as glamorous as it looks on TV. She also was a mean seamstress, which was passed on to my Grandmother.

Speaking of which.

My Grandmother would take us kids most Fridays (and by us kids  I mean the “girls”) down to 34th street, we would walk through Macy’s and she would look at every dress in that place. (which might be why I have such an aversion to the place).

When she was finished  we would go to El Barrio to the material stores, where every woman that worked there knew her.  After, we would buy fresh fish and meats from the different vendors and head home.While we seasoned the meat and put things away my Grand would start cutting  brown paper into a pattern. For the rest of the weekend, while we were there she would be in her room cutting and sewing. By Monday, she would have the dresses we saw in the window or in the store.

Her living room was where she entertained and wore he new digs, it was also her showroom. Red crushed velvet chairs with gold backing, plush pillows on the couch, and mirrors on the walls. A beautiful chandelier hung from the ceiling (growing up I hated that thing. each crystal had to come off and be cleaned) There were times women were there getting fitted and trying on their new dress that my Grand made for them. As I grew up I learned that my Gran wanted to be an interior designer, but couldn’t, I also found out that my Great Gran wanted to be a fashion designer, but couldn’t. Us children were encouraged to continue to be excellent students, keep our heads in books and learn all we could.

It may appear from this master’s point of view life for women, were roses and wine in the 1950’s and maybe it was for some. Wax on poetically about it. But for the women in my family (and I suspect other women of color) that were born before the greatest generation became the greatest generation it was always about finding a way to live their dream. My mom and aunts had it better than their grandmother and mother, and although I am a child born in the 1960’s I had it better than they did. But “better” is relative. My girl, my slave who works from home does just that. Work. Any master who thinks that keeping and making a home for them is easy and keeping a clean home is easy is an idiot. Does he think that it’s magic that food appears in that magical box called the frig in the kitchen?

I guess out of sight out of mind applies for this master. For me, I know the work that my slave does in our home. and that doesn’t include the times I call up and request something.

So, here’s the thing. It may “appear” that we have a 1950’s dynamic, but I am well aware of the work that goes into that.

She’s a full-time student and has already cleaned the house, done laundry, rode the bus to pick up her medicine, shopped for food and started cooking. I’ll call up in the middle of the day and say. “let’s have sandwiches for dinner.” As I approach the door I’ll smell  the stew chicken she had started to prepare earlier in the day, the house smells good. But you know what we are having sandwiches, and in the morning she’ll hand me my lunch. Stew chicken and rice. 🙂

It ain’t easy working from home.

PS

I know why this master has this view, I invite you to do a google image search on black working women in the 1950’s.

On: Loosing Yourself

We had a new MAsT member come to our group.  In the slave circle she asked, “What happens if you loose yourself?”

Several slaves said they did not loose themselves or even parts of their identity.

i calmly said that i have.

i have lost access to my sexual parts, my ability to enchant, to choose, to have a default setting that is mine, to have a separate identity or want to have one, to have any inkling that i could have a good or worthwhile life without Sir Raven.

And that is okay with me.  Life is a trade-off and i have yet to have any truly valuable experience as a woman that did not include some kind of self-sacrifice.

i lost parts of myself as a mother, as a teacher, and certainly as a daughter.

As a mother, my life centered around teaching, guiding, loving, and giving to others.  i lost the opportunity to be care-free, wild with abandon, or have youthful mistakes effect only me.  And i’d do it all again.  My youth was traded for something higher, something better than i could have been without motherhood teaching me lessons and filling my life with a constant source of joy.

As a teacher, i could not enjoy many forms of self-expression.  i was young and never had a “drastic” hairstyle, or got a tattoo, or drank in public.  i remained celibate for years, in fact, because i was dedicated to the profession and lived in a state that forced me to choose between teaching and loving women.  And i’d do it all again because i learned more than i taught.

Being a slave is no different.

i trade parts of myself, part of my self-expression, part of my youth, a sense of my individuality in favor for something better than i would ever be on my own.

Without Sir Raven, my wonderful Master, i would not have the ability to learn about myself and grow as her slave. We need each other as a counter-point, as a completion, as a training ground, as pebbles rubbing against each other to become smooth and graceful.

Being a woman and a slave allows me to give of myself in ways that are unique to me, even if i must loose parts of myself.