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.


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.


In Service To

We hear a lot of how the slave is in service to their owner/master, today I thought I would talk about the service of the master. this varies from master to master but the ones that I know all talk about how we perform service. Our service is to the household.

Masters, if you don’t know make decisions that benefit the house, even if we don’t like them, even when things need to get done. We serve the house. Yesterday I wrote how the girl  was not  allowed out due to the weather.  So, the laundry didn’t get done, and although I knew we would need a few groceries that might not happen as well. The girl needed a new phone and the one I ordered didn’t meet my needs for her and I had one day to return it and decide on a new one. As she is legally blind I need her to have something that has accessibility as a feature. There’s one phone that will give her the freedom I want her to have and that is the iphone.

Oy !

I was a bit feverish and the girl had a bad night which means I had a bad night, but I had to hit the road and get to the sprint store.  I spoke to a few people who have iphones and did some reading, so while on the bus I went over in my head again the pros and cons of this soon to be purchase.  I don’t want her to be robbed-the iphone is the most stolen phone and for good reason. I need for her to feel safe while out using it all while making sure she has the means to interact with the world and give her the independence she deserves and needs. After all my mastery is about lifting her up, which is really all about me. 🙂  Now I have to find a bag that is practical enough for all the things she carries and her new phone. Then I have to control the fuck out of how she need to set it up as not to whip it out and fumble around just to answer it. That’s a post for another time.

Since the girl was home bound for the day, on my way home I wanted to pick up a few things but kept feeling like I was going to throw up, so I walks the long way home to check out the sidewalks to the supermarket and got my ass home.

Now she has an iphone which starts a whole new adventure with her learning how to use it. I had to explain to her that she’s in service to me and Siri is in service to her. LOL Buying this means that I had to dip into our reserve budget and will have to sacrifice some things next month, yep I’m also in charge of the budget for the house. Every two weeks there is money transferred to the house account card that the girl uses for all thing pertaining to the house. Every morning during winter as part of my morning walk to the bus to work, I report on how the sidewalks and street are. And make the decision if she can go out. There are times as you, the reader may know that I tell her to stay in and rest. In the morning our talk while we have morning coffee she informs me of what she needs to do for the day. I may veto some things and doing that, I know there are things that are not going to get accomplished, she serves me and I serve the house and that means I have to suck somethings up, and hate it.

Yep I know some may think she does all the sucking, but nope. 🙂

Six more weeks of winter, oh myyyy

It’s been a winter wonderland here in our little part of the world, the girl had been benched with all the snow. I tend to make sure she stays in because of the ice and that fact that she can’t see the color white. It would seem to those looking in that I’m keeping her away from the things that she usually does, but it’s part of me taking care of her. Do I want the laundry done, wine bought or food in the house? Hell yeah, but her safety comes first. so while I brave the elements and shop for food, buy cigs etc for us she complains that she should be doing these things.

The first Sunday of the month is our MAsT meeting, and we had a great time, the weather was wonderful and although the groundhog did say there would be six more weeks of winter we had no idea that it would kick in on Monday. 🙂 way to go groundhog. 🙂 I was really surprised at the meeting when she kicked off the discussion. She is a wealth of information and I’m always so proud of her when she puts it out there, although she’s a TNGer she has a lot of life experience and finally after a year or  more of attending the meeting I think, she is starting to feel that the meeting is home to her. Before she really settled in here I know she must have thought what most people do about the big city. There must be thousands of things to attend? But the M/s community is very small here, unless you want to party all the time, conversing and being around folks who live the life and talk the talk of M/s the pickings are small. MAsT is one of the only places where we can be around people that are like us, and we live for the first Sunday of the month.

On a side note, the girl has had a few bad pain days, and I had to clamp down on her to take it easy, to rest and focus on her school work. To me that’s more important then having wine in the house and so what if I have to have a sandwich for diner. I remember hearing LS talking about sitting in a MAsT meeting and hearing the male masters talk about how their slave was sick, and they had to wash dishes. OY, big whoop!

As she wrote it was my birthday and I don’t like a lot of fuss, after all I’m not a spring chicken, I’m an old bird or as a few of us call ourselves chicken hawks. But the girl did get me a few things which I’m over the moon about. Cufflinks with book pages from pride nad prejudice and a steampunk pocket watch, how cool is that?

cuffs and watch

The C word

These past months have taught me a few things about myself that I already knew. One thing particular is how I communicate, I don’t do well when people talk over each other nor do I do well when I’m continuous interrupted. I’m not saying that I can’t understand whats being said I just have a hard time focusing.I’m told that this is the way women communicate. Some might say and by some I mean me it’s alright because I can at least pick up on the important parts of the conversation. But for me the whole conversation is important. Which begs the question, which parts are important to whom? I may not think it’s important not to let my mind wander while listening to someone to go on about how they felt about a situation, but will be very interested in when they get to the part of how they are going to handle the situation. I’m told I communicate the way men do, this being the case because I was socialized around boys and men.

I’m old enough to have developed tricks when it comes to communication. And when it comes to women I’ve learned albeit difficult to focus on the whole thing. Did I mention it’s difficult? I’ve also been known to jot down some points, or with their permission to record it always letting them know that I’m doing this for my benefit.

One thing no one ever talks about when it comes to communication is the listening part. And along with listening believing that what the person is saying is true for them. People have a thing for trying to change your mind, to challenge your truth. Don’t let them, even if you are a pleaser of people, even if like me you believe somethings are about compromising. Compromising is good as long as you’re not getting the shitty end of it all the time and as long as you can live with the compromise.

I’ve been looking back at how I communicate, the girl says at times I communicate abstractively  (if that makes sense?) And I do with women, I believe this is because when I communicate as “men” do, I’m accused of being harsh or rude,un-feeling. which is not my intention. With women I had to learn to soften my voice which is feet in its self since my voice is a bit deep in nature, take a moment to think about how something is going to sound. All of this gets exhausting, and I default to not saying anything at all. Which at times is not good, I’m an introvert, I’m in my head a lot so yeah, it gets crowded in there.

Most recently I’ve been doubting if I am communicating my needs, wants and desires. And I have, I just think that maybe people were not listening. Granted the English language is the bastard child of languages so it’s no wonder it can be difficult to communicate , but we keep at it.

I for one started to believe I was in a scene from the Princess Bride.

God Bless The Child

I’ve been getting my house in order in more ways than one lately. I’ve had some repairs that needed attention for sometime, and it didn’t look like it was going to be taken care of any time soon. These things were not something the girl should do, not because she’s a girl, but because she’s my girl. I  made a call to the supper letting her know that I wanted to be the first one to have my apartment inspected. and like magic things got done. The kitchen sink which leaked due to the faucet was replaced for 20 dollars., and the pipes were tightened under the sink. The toilet  flushes properly now as well. The organizer that I bought for the girl to keep her toiletries in order was missing two hooks, and just looked sad. I went and brought her a new one. Overall the cost to me was 12 dollars and car fare. But things need to be done. The girl does a great job with making our home a home, but it’s my job to maintain it and not wait and see if things will get done. Lesson learned.

I often say it’s the little things that impress me, but sometimes I impress myself. God bless the child that has her own.

Master, Sir, Daddy

The other night while the girl and I were sitting around talking about last year, I made mention that I was going to be doing some things different this year. Not that there’s much change that happens in our home often, but, I believe much of my thought process has been on the daddy side. It’s time to change that, not that I’m not willing to be a daddy, her daddy, but I have to be more aware of when it’s time to be bad daddy and not really give a fuck.

This year she will get back to doing yoga

We will have more rituals during the day

We will have a more ritualistic beginning middle and end of our week

This doesn’t mean that I want to micro manage her, because god knows that is a pain in the ass and not the good pain either, but given the situation of the past few months I think it’s best to keep the leash pulled tight. Hence the not give a fuck.

I’ve been thinking a lot about daddy and bad daddy. I’ve come to terms with this term, this title and although I always knew it came with certain responsibilities which I don’t have a problem with. It also comes with some other things like, when to be a good daddy and when to bad daddy. The year is still young, and I’m working it out in my head.

The girl never calls me Master, and I never asked her to. She’s only called me that twice that I can recall. Once she was pissed at what someone crossed the line and did. Referring to me as her Master and the second time was when she was getting an ass whipping, which didn’t stop her getting an ass whipping.

In a public place she refers to me as Sir.

In private she calls me daddy.

I look at myself as all of these three things. As her Master the one she is in consent, non-consensual relations with, the one who steers our household and her daily life. As her daddy, I’m nurturing, silly and at times affectionate. Daddy is the one who goes to midtown in December after work to buy her a little Christmas tree because she never had a real Christmas. As her Sir, I’m more of a drill sergeant, this needs to get done make it happen. Breath through whatever shit is going on in your head and make it happen, but now that I’m writing about it that sounds like bad daddy. But with all three I’m still her protector, guide and her shoulder to cry on.

I often wonder if the “s” types ever think who the “m” types go to too have a cry?

Just some thoughts, trying to start a new ritual, writing more.


A Cold Day In Hell

The new year is two days in, this evening I came home from work and while sitting on my spot I joked that tomorrow was our anniversary. She seemed confused.

Her: really I thought it was the 24th.

I thought this was cute, she will not come right out and correct me. Of course I know when it is.

Me: Nope tomorrow will be 8 degrees, a cold day in hell, you know what I said it would be when we did the domestic partnership.

We laugh, it’s been a long time since we have laughed together.

We spent the last two-day of the last year, and the first day of the new year talking about some deep shit. I thought it would be months before we laughed again. I’m glad that I could make her laugh.

I’ve been so bogged down lately trying to figure out how to bring the sun to our household. Hearing her laugh made my skin tingle, it reminded me of music coming from someone’s window and hearing a person sing along with it on a summer’s day. While you too hum along.