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-


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.


One thought on “Firsts

  1. morgianacontentlycaptured says:

    Just beautiful.

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