Unpacking

i have a ton of things to get done today, but it’s been a strong start.  My morning chores are mostly done.  i ran a quick errand for toothpaste, mouthwash, floss and hair dye.

That reminds me, i had a dream last night that i had a very short pixie cut, with baby soft pink hair.  i looked like a happy fairy.

In all reality, Sir Raven warned me she would shave my head if i ever dyed it a non approved of color.  i believe her.  So. Yeah. Not gonna happen.

My Master told me once about watching a fear class, wear a knife was used to give the sensation that the slave’s hair was going to be cut off.  Directly after the workshop, the slave was overheard to have said, “I know my Master would *never* do that.  My hair is just too pretty.” When Sir Raven heard that, i knew without asking that she’d have scalped me on the spot.  She isn’t over fond of vanity in a slave, shall we say.

Not to mention, i’d have to be a total idiot to think, ‘My Master would NEVER…..” about too many things.  It’s not productive or helpful.  And it’s kind of frightening, but in a way that makes me feel safe with it’s familiarity.  When she announced in a podcast that she’d show up and kill a person who would take me away from her, i thought mildly, “oh.  i wasn’t crazy.  She was just giving me time to get my head back together by letting everything around my fall apart and i’d come back home.”  Sir Raven often lets me know, in ways big and small, that i am only safe here with her.  It is something i believe deep down in my bones-that everything would crumble again around me without the safety she provides.

It’s quiet and safe here, in the sense that i never have to worry about not having my basic needs met, not to mention having luxuries like expensive dinners out. In the sense that i never have to worry about someone busting in our door.

i always have what i need to do my jobs.

She gives me freedom, in so many ways.

For me, it’s freedom to be able to shop, do laundry, get medicines, have a dinner party.  The normal things sighted people take for granted.  It’s all close to me now.  i can do it all by myself.

Sometimes, it’s too much freedom and i mindlessly binge my frustrations.  The Pleasant Demeanor is what is required here.

i need to do some unpacking work, and i’m going to write it out.  So i may be writing a lot, free thinking, family-of-origin stuff.

There is a project for my class, which is an autobiography of my Ethics.

i have to deal with this somehow, and am looking to find a balance, between truth and lies.  i can’t even start that project because it’s too tightly packed.

i need to let go so badly.

So. Very. Badly.

i don’t even want it, because i don’t want to wonder how long i will have to make that last.  i don’t want it.  Some days, i see my failures, the doctors and sick days, and i think that no one else would ever want me.

Then i light a candle, pour myself a hot cup of french press, and give thanks that i have the ability, the clarity, and the permission to take time to write.  i have been amiss about that lately.  i haven’t even had the chance to write about my birthday, which was special because i got to spend most of the day with Sir Raven. Karida, Sir Raven, Karida, and i met up at Bryant Park.  We saw my friends, the Lions.  Karida bought socks and stuff, from the second-best-gift-store-in-New York.

We had lunch at Karida’s Favorite Place: Dallas Bar B Que.  Honey chicken is always delicious.

We thought we were all going to FAO Schwartz, which is *closing* (tearing up) but Master decided no.  She didn’t want to go.  Karida was already tipsy from her Texas sized drink.  i was permitted a soda.  i didn’t want to be away from Sir Raven, so we went home to relax.  Well, Sir Raven relaxed.  i read my text book, happy to be with her.

The whole reason i wanted to go, was to get pictures with the Giant Bear in there and Sir Raven.  It was the bear she offered me, teasing me, but she would have done it.  Heh.  Frederick is already the perfect bear.  Levi is my best nap buddy. Georgianna my sister-bear. And  my leather bear Jenny-from-the-block, which brings the sex appeal.

i feel like i’m missing a Pride Bear.

Am i right?!  Heh.

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Poor Master

i woke up with such tightness at the base of my head and neck that it felt like it was in a vise-grip.

Sir Raven was first to the French Press and poured her coffee.  i let us run out of half-and-half, which is basically a sacrilege, and all we had was the sweet creamer.  That is what i use for iced coffee that I make for Sir Raven.  She doesn’t like change and certainly doesn’t like anything to fuck with her morning coffee.

Personally, i consider it to be a household emergency to run out of coffee.

So, um, that was one fail.

i forgot to send her a daily list again, which i realized when she came home early.  i had finally determined that i definitely had a migraine, reached for the medicine, and dropped the cardboard box of pills into the tub.  Naturally, my back is so tight i can’t bend and reach them.  We also have a white-on-white situation, which means trying to fish it out wasn’t working out.

She nearly always comes home to me neat and clean, make up freshened, smelling nice.  i’ll change my dress if i need to or shower a second time.  i brush my teeth, put on lipstick, fix my hair.  i make the effort for her.

Today, she came home to my hair all frizzed out everywhere, in pjs, and missing many daily tasks being completed.

i was laying in the dark, but jumped like Pavlov’s dog at the sound of the wind chimes on the door.  Master’s home.  And i look a hot mess.  i walk to her and take her bag, serve ice water and wine.  i have just realized that i also let her run out of beer.  Which is another no-no.

Um.

Shit.

She skips kissing me, mentions my crazy hair, and sits in her chair.  When she goes to the bathroom, i ask for her help to pick up my medicine.  i take it the second she brings it to me, apologize for looking a hot mess, and she takes the gentlemanly route and ignores the entire situation.

She asks me to recite my day again, and i’m smart enough this time to add in that i forgot to send my daily list to her.  Then i’m dumb enough to mutter, “That’s as close as i can get to mutiny.”

Um. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Jesus Jade!  Shhh.

“Mutiny?” She says, her voice tight and low.  i know that voice and my cunt tightens in fear and then is wet, from fear.  My mouth opened and some words came out, evidently words that were acceptable somehow.

She asks about school and i tell her that i’m still confused over my test, the one i failed.  As it turns out, she never heard me say that last night.  She only heard about the other class, and the test i got a perfect score in.

Damn.  Sigh.

i was surprised when i told her i failed something last night, and she said nothing at all.  i thought i had gotten away with it and we were moving on when she said nothing.

i go shower, shave everything, and put my hair up in a simple pony tail.  i add blush and chapstick, the new perfume she likes, the one we agreed instantly was the scent of “Pleasant Demeanor,” if pleasant demeanor had a smell.

i wear a dress she likes and half bow in front of her, grinning.

“That’s my girl,” she says, a smile in her voice.

“Yes, this is what your good girl looks like for you,” I agree, in what has become our ritualistic response.

We kiss then, lots of little girl kisses, and giggles.

i run out for her beer and the half-and-half.  i take down the garbage and recycling on the way, so at least some more of my chores were done, even if it was done late.  She accepts it, without pointing out that it should have been done.  i just couldn’t until i had enough medicine.  “Poor Master,” i agree, as i serve her beer.

We talk for awhile and i thank her for giving me a life where i feel safe in our home, safer than i’ve ever felt in my life, anyhow.i thank her for being such an amazing provider that i never have to worry about the rent note being paid, or not having lights.  She thinks about money in a way i have learned to understand, and respect.  Quality comes from spending money, and quality counts because it lasts.  She provides for me to have the look she wants, getting my nails and toes painted.  What she had to go through to get me on pointe?  Nearly four years.  Poor Master.

She goes into the kitchen, which is freshly mopped, and cooks dinner.  That was a huge surprise, but it was really thoughtful.  Everything is clean in there but i hadn’t put the clean dishes away.  Ugh.  Poor Master.

She is across from me, laughing, and singing with her earbuds in.  So the Goodliest Master is happy, despite all the mess ups.

Things only other slaves will understand…?

1. i know i am a slave because….

*i don’t have a credit card, though i would have years ago.

*i have never thrown her strap out the window.  It’s possible i may have mentioned wanting to a time or ten. 😛

Yes, i have actually done that to other Masters.  More than once.  In one home, i took to getting nervous before he’d get home, having that, “Oh, shit, something is wrong” feeling…and hiding another belt in the basement where they stored boxes for moving.  The man was a Navy Seal and those men are always fucking prepared.  By the end of the Summer, he was down to five.  Every time i think about them moving and finding belts in boxes, i start laughing all over again.

*i didn’t go to the Black Lives Matter demonstrations and marches, though i felt it was almost not moral for me to sit home.  i know for sure she was only protecting me and it was partly a blind problem, but also a not my little girl, not my slave sentiment expressed.

*That bothers me more than never attending a Pride event.

*There are times that if i was just her wife, which could never happen since i’m already her slave first, i’d avoid running errands in bad weather.  When i day dream about having a windfall of money, my first thought is that she could retire, we could travel together.  My second thought is about less pain.  My third is paying off my student loans, and going for my Doctorate.  Then i think about buying our building, just to knock down the wall and make the next apartment and the one above into one home and keeping the rest at a reduced rent with improvements.  Then i admit to myself that if money were no object, i’d have no issue sending someone else to run errands.  Roman slaves had slaves, and even though i don’t want that or anyone to cook or clean for my Master but me, i wouldn’t mind sending someone or having a driver some days.

*i have always felt filled with pride to say i am her slave.

* Days when i have to struggle the most to please her and work through the pain make me stronger.  They make me feel the best about myself, when she never has to know it was a struggle at all.

* i offered, in all humility and sincerity, asked if i could just serve and not talk anymore.  i seem to always have communication that is bad, no matter how hard i try.  i’m just not good at talking in groups or something.

2. i believe we are soul-mates, and sometimes that means we have what the other one is lacking in some manner.  We take turns with who is more feeling oriented.  i’m just more inclined to express that with warmth, and having comfort food and drink on hand, and knowing small details.  She goes to medical appointments galore, pays the copays, protects me, and reminds me to be mindful.  Cheerful obedience is the only choice.  Well, the other choice is the hard way–which–is that really a choice?  The only choice i have there is to refuse to give a reaction at all, but i tried that once, and the stand off was lost by me with a cost that was too heavy for us.

3. Sir Raven was shortly obsessed with the idea of tattooing me, something i’ve successfully avoided in the past.  Barely.  Ugh. Anyhow, she got me thinking about it, and then changed her mind.  It moved onto branding, which i’d love, because i could feel it.  She lost interest again.  On the plus side, she also lost interest in having my dimples pierced, because the rates of infection and facial scarring are high and it could reduce my earning potential in the future.  i’d love to have a tiny diamond in my nose, but she vetoed that idea.

4.  When i tease Sir Raven, thanking her for leaving her big debit card and not the regular house card, and telling her i’m off to Tiffany’s with someone, her friend texts me with, “Are you trying to get us killed?”

5. i will stick my head in a Lion’s mouth.

6. Waiting for the train in the subway, wet from the rain, a moody Sir Raven muses, ‘I should put this cigarette out on your chest,” and i reply by opening my blouse.  I say, “It seems you lack conviction on this point, Master,” after i  step closer.  I’m only 85 percent she won’t do it.  She knows me, knows i won’t make a sound besides an intake of sharp breathing, a sound that will get lost in the tunnels.  She knows i’d just take it.  For her.

i know i’m a baby girl because….

1. i woke up at 6:15 yesterday morning, made french press, and started working.  But first: breakfast.  i made myself smores over the gas stovetop at 6:30 am.  Heh.

2. i worked all day, other than when i napped a few times, fixed pancakes, took two tests.  i failed one and made an A on the other.  So that means i need to go over the entire readings from before because i clearly forgot everything.  i had massive technology fails as well last week, which took time away from study.  Hot mess.

3. i want a rainbow bear from Build a bear for Pride.  Last year we had two picnics for Pride, which was so amazing.  i felt so loved and my Master, who sometimes has Daddy feelings for me, made the whole day and planned everything.

4. Every time i see a certain Goddess, i just want to sit in her lap.

5. Sir Raven tucks me in, brings me bears, knows who my nap bear is, and what all of my friends names are.

6. She brought me a sippy with the Lions on it.  Huzzah.  i have a Hello Kitty one too.  😀 That is functional, as i have dropped so many things in the last two months that all of our glasses are broken, basically.  i served Masters out of coffee mugs at some point.  Um. Slave Fail.

7. There are a lot of slave fails lately.  The failing test, the way i forgot to not be silly and not be small enough, the house not done, lists not turned in, clean laundry not put away, and we ran out of half-and-half today.  It’s adding up.

8. i spilled hot sake on all of the Masters and no one got mad.  That is baby girl Super Powers, Man.

Firsts

Today was the first morning i woke up in my country and had equal civil rights.

i couldn’t stop smiling yesterday.  i had to listen to the news three times before i was sure i heard it correctly.

i thought about growing up in the rural south, our little house against miles of orange grove.  The only people i knew who were gay then were butch women.  i was afraid if i was a lesbian, it meant i’d grow up and be something that would never feel like me.  i’m unapologetic about being a girl, femme, woman-child.

When i got older, i thought being a lesbian meant i’d never have a family.

i was thirty four years old before i even lived in a place that would allow me to legally adopt or foster a child, a long held desire of mine.

i was thirty-four when i first moved to a place that would have allowed me to legally marry my Beloved Master-

but-

every time we travel, i still had to think, “God Forbid, if something happens and they won’t let me in to see her in the hospital.”

i’ve had this happen before.  i’ve been thrown out before.

To complicate matters, Sir Raven and i could not say we were sisters and have it believed.  It actually can happen, that a black person has my skin tone and hair texture.  Oh, yes, and my hips.  While a sibling has her stunning skin tone and her thin hips and runners build.  Her body makes such a beautiful line and her lips and hands are perfection.  i digress.  Anyhow, try and explain that to a white person who lives and works with only white people and says white things to you.

As Sir Raven pointed out when i wanted to kiss her everywhere last night:

people still hate us.

We were standing across from the Dallas Bar B Que where a month earlier, a man was beat with a wooden bar chair for being gay.  Where last summer people were shot in the face, in front of their lovers, for being gay.

We are still open season, yes.

Yesterday still made me smile.  Waking up today with civil rights has filled my heart with pride.  i have been this proud of American only one other time: when we elected Obama.  Twice.

We have equal rights now.  It will take time, but it can’t remain Them/us forever now.

i know it doesn’t affect us directly in some ways, but the choice is now a real choice.

Love is me running out to get a mani-pedi so i looked nice, changed my dress, and met Sir Raven for our date with a bottle of cold Moet.  i carried it from the Bronx to Manhattan.  And love is her carrying it all of the way back home.  Getting me tipsy on a truck bench in a trashy Trailer park bar, being the first person i called when i found out that love won, and being the woman i couldn’t stop touching all night is priceless.

We met a friend for a laughter-filled meal over wine and rosemary bread.  i got a Shirley Temple from a waitress who seemed to “get us” right away.  It’s always fun when my pigtails and dimples finds another Big in the crowd.  Or a Sadist.

Hands down, the waitress was the Sadist variety.

And since there wasn’t a damn thing she could actually do, i enjoyed myself too.  Heh.

The other two?  Not so much.  Sir Raven would–has–slapped me in public.  Grabbed me by the collar once.  She routinely sheppards me along in ways that are gruff.  i don’t trust the Goddessy One too much either in that department.  Yeah.  No.  It might be a good thing i got a Shirley Temple with a ton of cherries instead of another drink.

The things about male Sadists is they have other needs.  They want their dick sucked with enthusiasm at some point, and they want a sandwich.  Ice water and a cold beer.  Most of the time i have a cigarette, and then go cook dinner.

Female Sadists have needs too.

They need to see you in a ball, covered in welts, blood, bruises, snot, and tears….wrapped around their feet.

The bitch about being a masochist is i am keenly aware when people around me need to feed, and it’s almost entirely too tempting to put my head in a lion’s mouth.

That second, when the energy shifts are you are well and truly fucked, well in over your head and no getting out kinda fucked, is when things get fun for me.

When i actually want out and can’t get out is where i thrive in an s/m sense.  Force is my biggest turn on.  Fear.    The close control in my day-to-day life keeps me close to her.  i’m literally always thinking of ways to be useful, get more done, please more, look nicer, try harder, be better.  My life is contained, there is no chaos, it’s calm.

Master, thank you for all of the wonderful firsts we have shared together.  You have blessed my life in so many ways, gave me a home and a family to take care of, and let me see the Priest, man, woman, and child in you.  Thank you for being my first.  Vout et nul autre.

Tangled

My mind feels tangled.

i have too much to do and everywhere i look things are half done.  i have a ton of things to revise and write for school.  i spend my life writing, reading, thinking-all glorious-and with a constant stress to get it all done.

Clearly, i haven’t had time here to decompress.  And i need that.  This is my only outlet of free thought, of expectations that are my own.  Honesty wins out here over everything else.  Honesty wins.

i’ve been having extremely vivid dreams again: my brother, about ten, wrapped up in my arms.  i’m holding him tight.

i can’t ever think of him that age without also seeing him in the kitchen, my mother in a hysterical rage, things flying and glass breaking.  Her screaming glory has begun.  She kept telling him to take out the garbage, it didn’t get done, and she eventually got around to doing it herself.  She took care of the garbage herself by dumping it over his head, and there was coffee grounds stuck to him, an egg sliding down his face.  A single tear.

i drew in my breath.

i put my body in between them and got her down the hallway to get her away from him.  i mouthed the words, “i’m sorry,” and followed her out.

This was the tricky road.

It could turn on me at any time.

It was like playing a game of Russian Roulette with more than one bullet.

i always worried and wondered what he thought that i let her scream about him at me, her comments designed to be cruel-he was less than the garbage-we both were.

The rules were simple.  i had to agree, with enthusiasm, that she was correct.

So, yes, we were shit.  Yes, we ruined her life.  Yes, we caused the bad men to come in.  Especially me.  They could see i was a worthless whore.  Of course.

If she spit in my face then or bitch slapped and i had no reaction, but a bowed head, it could be over.

i had said, “i’m sorry,” enough.  The right way.

If i had not been sorry enough-

and really what is too much when you are a child who knows she is worthless, that no one wants her, and that bad people are attracted to me and hurting the whole family because of me-

So. Yes. i became sorry.  i bowed my head.  i said it with feeling.  i felt sorry.  i feel sorry.

My hands went behind my back, so there was no way to make a defensive gesture to protect my face and head.  i got a broken nose, black eye, and second degree burn scar to show for it when she thought i might have thought about hitting her.

i confess i did, as a child.

My brother said he was going to grow up and marry me.

So did my boys.  Well, my first was going to grow up and be Super Man, kill his father, and marry me.  So we had to work on that concept a lot.  i learned play therapy from doing it, and i’m not sure how anyone could learn that from only reading.  It takes a patience to find the story, see the teachable moment.  And it’s like magic.

If something happens in your day, and it isn’t pleasant, i do feel sorry that i couldn’t have found a way to fix it, prevent it, circumnavigate, clean, smile, repeat.

i’m an obsessive fixer.

i look every. single. time. i leave a room to see what i can do to make it better.

i don’t feel i’m equal to other people.  i am a slave as both property that belongs to my Master and as a social status marker.

And i do feel sorry.

Rage, fury, contempt, anger, frustration, and hidden fears-

they are all sorrow now.

i should have found a way to make it better.

i should have pushed myself harder.

That doesn’t mean that i don’t have self worth, or self esteem.

The very way i live, in M/s with Sir Raven, can cause struggle there.

Overall, though, i strive to be comfortable in my skin.  i know what i’m good at.  i take pride in myself and my work.  i am pleasant, hard worker, sweet smelling, femme, tender, sensual, and funny.  i’m also a good home-maker, cook, and whore.

i don’t feel bad about myself, as a slave or baby girl* (thanks to Master Kaddan, for pointing out the difference to me).

Sir Raven could have done way better than me in the figure department, but she took what she liked.

Every thought. Every. Single. One. drifts back into–i need to let this all out–please hurt me, please take this anger away, please force it out.  Hurt me.  Force me. Take me.

You are what i want to be tangled up in.

Awake

It’s officially Friday.  12:03 am. Thank Gods.

It’s been a very long week here.  i’ve had some great successes, but struggled vainly to get everything done.  Monday brought the mess all over the house, which i cleaned til about 7pm.  i was working all day to dust everything ,scrub out the plaster and drywall mixed with the worker’s muddy feet, and have a meal ready to serve.

I’ve been to the laundry mat three times this week.  Once was an exercise in futility, as i found every washer and dryer was in use.  The third time i had to wait twenty minutes for a dryer to become available.  i just felt fortunate that i could read my text book on my phone, had good earbuds to hear it and drown out a screaming child, and the time and money to get everything done.

i’ve been working hard to get my morning chores, which take about three hours on light days, finished before it gets too hot or humid.  The afternoon chores are errands and prepping dinner, which is easier than scrubbing anything.  Sir Raven has been reminding me to keep the air conditioning on and be as comfortable as possible.  She has blissfully decided to buy a new unit, which i’m thankful for as fibromyalgia makes it difficult to cope with getting overheated.  i appreciate that she pays close attention to when i run fevers, am sporting bruises she didn’t put there, am limping, and makes plans to help in practical ways such as a newer a/c.  She also thoughtfully picked up my meds for me today.

i’ve struggled to keep up with reading for two classes, get groceries we couldn’t buy in bulk at BJs, and keep the house clean and sweet.  i have returned to meditation, which i do after i clean in the mornings, shower and put on make-up, and dress.

The downside is i have not had a nap one single time this week.  And i’m exhausted.

i’m awake right now because i just turned in a second paper about eleven pm, my mind is still considering other points for the Case Studies, and i’m waiting to make sure Sir Raven is asleep before i carefully crawl in bed beside her.

When i’m overly exhausted or take extra Cymbalta, i talk in my sleep all night.  She needs her rest and to be able to sleep through it, which can only happen if i’m awake longer.  Heh.  Poor Master!

This week we did something that i’m immensely proud of.  We released a podcast that is….well… brutally honest.  i listened to it this week, when i was folding laundry and cleaning.  And when it was over, i just couldn’t wait to touch her, breathe her in, have her home with me.  We have come so far.  We believe in each other.

She is able to tell me she is going to make some changes, without me internally and silently imploding, thinking something horrid is going to happen.  i’ve learned that control is just her nature and tinkering with me is a byproduct of that.

i’ve learned that there may always be times that she needs distance, physically and emotionally.  But that woman knows where her home is, and i trust her to always come back home to me.  i have (mostly) stopped personalizing it when she needs to be distant and aloof.  My Master is an overloaded introvert sometimes, and i can trust her to go away in her head for weeks if she needs to.  i don’t know if she has noticed this occurring in spurts over the last few months.  i do, beccause i revolve around her.  So whatever she needs, wants, orders-i can make adjustments and give it to her.

That doesn’t mean there are no times that i long for her, emotionally, sexually, physically, and masochistically.  i do.

Her biggest demand, that i keep my energy small and contained and always have a pleasant demeanor, takes a great amount of strength and dedication.  Sometimes, i feel like i’m truly and utterly desperate to blow off some steam.

To that end, i’ve treated get-togethers and podcasts like i was on recess.  It was a time i could count on to not be totally silenced and not have to control myself so tightly.  Sir Raven wants me to be how i am with her when we are alone and i’ve had time to make some mental adjustments to give it to her.  Recess has been cancelled (lol).

It will be a good thing for me to learn how to keep myself small in groups.  i tend to disappear all together or jump in with both feet as i can.  Perhaps greater balance is in order.

Today, i’m thankful for my friends, who reach out to me and understand when it takes me time to reach back.  i’m thankful that my friends don’t judge me for getting frustrated and instead remind me that i won’t change anything here, so i need to find a way to adjust myself.  🙂

i’m grateful for faith, love, compassion, dedication, and hard work.

Ugh

 

more beading to do

  

after the second ceiling repair

  

can you see the drywall and the mess fron the rain all over sir ravens floors?

    

this *is* my pleasant demeanor face in the mess