some nothing

I was driving recently past a fast food chain and a memory hit me - something I hadn't thought about almost since it happened three years ago. It was the night Master and I were attending our first BDSM party as a pair. I had limited "scene" experience, and it felt like an honour to accompany him as his own for the first time - so naturally I was nervous. I wanted to be seen with him, and to make him proud. But as we were getting ready to leave, something happened... a conflict with someone important to him. He spoke to me gently and suggested I go alone, and he would join me at the party later... after he sorted the issue out.

I didn't want to go alone. I had looked forward to arriving with him... as his. To be without him felt shameful, and lonely. I wanted to wait for him... but he said no.

I am ashamed to say it, but on that night out, I did not have faith in my Master's word. Driving to the party, I was convinced he would not come at all. I thought I would wait for him there all night, looking at my watch, trying to excuse him to the other guests, to convince them that, no, I hadn't really been abandoned. Until finally I would leave, still alone. Thinking this, I pulled over at the fast food place and sat in the car park for a long time, trying not to cry. Because, in my mind, what this meant was clear: I was not important. He did not care about me. I meant nothing. And I felt sure I would be forgotten that night.

But I wasn’t forgotten. He did turn up at the party, to my relief and surprise.

Now, three years later, I still belong to him. Despite my failings, my weakness, my uncertainty. Despite what can only be described as my crisis. On this one issue, I still find it difficult to have faith in my Master’s word: I am something to him.

Why is it so hard for me to accept that I could matter? Being nothing hurts, but it feels real, and easy to slip into. Being something, that feels so warm… and safe… and frightening. It feels vulnerable, which is somehow worse than pain. The more I mean anything to him, the more I need him, until I don’t know where I am in this anymore. My sense of place becomes soft, until I need his cruelty, desperately, to bring me back. His derision makes the world solid again.

Too much care and I can’t stand it. Too much malice and I can’t stand myself. Can I find a space in the middle, where I can be both his something and his nothing?

I can’t tell what is possible anymore, and I’m not sure I even want to think anymore. My head can’t cope with the questions it’s trying to ask. It tries, and then…… Crisis. Escape.

But escape is not permissible. Master will not allow it. He will keep me for as long as he desires. And just that, helps me to feel safe again. I don’t need the answers, and I don’t need to cope with this alone. I can let go – I have no choice. The answer will be found, or it won’t – all I have to do is obey him, letting my own will go. Easy to do, when I don’t know where it lies anyway.

And here, in his firm grip, without choice, is where I find that balance: I am important enough that he will keep me; and I am insignificant enough that he will use force if he must. This feels peaceful. This feels like love.

Resurrection

Okay. It's time to confess.

I thought it was over.

Almost three years ago I told Blknight that I thought Master and I had no future together. Our lifestyle committments were just too conflicting. And as recently as 24 hours ago, I thought that, plus my own failings, had finally gotten the better of us.

At one point along the way I had a fairytale in my head. I was doing so well, that I became far too confident. I took to my training well. I was pleasing my Master and making him proud. I was learning so fast, and making so few mistakes, that I thought I could be his perfect slave. It was only a matter of time, I imagined, until he would find me deserving. He would give me a collar, and I would know that I was Good Enough.

Over time, reality replaced the fantasy. I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect. I cannot take Master's pride for granted. At times, I disappoint him horribly. And I can work as hard as I like, but it doesn't mean I will earn anything. Often, just being adequate is hard enough. So of course, I have ended up doubting myself. Often, I have feared being replaced. Some days, I have convinced myself I am worthless.

So last weekend, when Master said he had given up, I thought he had given up on me. I know its not what he said - he was referring to scheduling... to problems with meeting people for play. But that doesn't stop my mind hearing it differently, and this time I heard the end. So 24 hours ago, when I knew in my gut, that him not answering my message meant he was fucking another slut, I felt sure I knew what would happen. All it would take was for him to find an adequate slut with fewer committments than me. And then she would take my place, become his number one, and I would be nothing.

But then he ordered me over to taste her residue on his cock. He had me wear her damp lace panties and inhale her scent from his sheets. He fucked me while he made me listen - desperate, struggling, and wet - to the details of his pleasure with her. He tied my hands and attached the TENS to my tits, and my cunt, and he gave me my Reminder Lesson. You are my slut, my hole, my slave. You are not free.

Amazing how my confidence can be restored - by having the woman I am jealous of almost literally shoved in my face... by having the Master I am afraid of losing, remind me how insignificant I am... because it means it is possible for me to keep my place. If I work hard enough.

Weighing Love

Master asked me the other night, if I thought that perhaps loving him might be unfavourable. I was surprised at the question, firstly because he so rarely mentions such thoughts to me. While I know very well that he thinks carefully about my role and training, it is always a surprise when he shares any inkling of his contemplations. I guess that in itself is a reason why I feel compelled to be sure I answer him fully and clearly when he does.

He had just finished using me – but not before telling me how much he had enjoyed another female sub the night before. I had been afraid, and when he confirmed my anxiety, I burst into tears. His question came later. I had truly never thought of it in this way before – that loving him might not be beneficial, not only because it can be painful, but specifically because of my insecurity about his enjoyment of other women.

I think part of the reason the idea is new to me is simple defense. I need to feel that loving him is worthwhile. Because it has caused me so much grief, I simply cannot question it. Reasons why it might not be perfect do not come anywhere near as easily to me as reasons why it is good and right.

Firstly, it gives him greater power, and thereby ensures my obedience. To disobey or disrespect him carries not only the risk of punishment and pain, but far greater than that: the fear of real loss. Loss of his approval, loss of his desire, and most of all, loss of his presence. All of that has meaning because I love him.

And the flipside of that is his approval and praise has real value to me. I am increasingly motivated to please him each time he tells me I have done well. His smile, an affectionate touch, or a rare kiss is an invaluable incentive because of my love. He could give me any number of cocks or orgasms, but the greater reward is always him showing pleasure in me. I doubt his approval would have such significance if I did not truly adore him.

Thirdly, loving him gives me great loyalty. I am naturally a loyal person, but for love, my faithfulness is fierce. And it needs to be, for a slut such as myself not to sleep around, or even touch myself without his knowledge. Temptation is enormous. I know full well that without love to keep me on track, I do give in.

And perhaps biggest of all, is that love compels me to self-sacrifice. The moments when I am overcome with the sheer rolling current of passion and adoration for him, I want most desperately to prove the depth of my emotion by giving him all I can. I know there is simply no way I could promise so much to him without being driven by love.

So loving him is a good thing, an important thing. And I feel like I want to stop there, not think more on the subject at all. But that would not be answering the question that Sir posed to me.

I love him. And when he likes someone else, it withers me. But I think the real reason for that is not my love, not directly. It is fear – that I cannot be loved.

……..

For two days this blog has been sitting here, incomplete. How do I finish this? How do I explain? I am so afraid…

Perhaps by saying again, that I do not expect my Master to love me. It is right that I offer him my heart without return.

… but I need to please him. I need to earn his approval, his pride. I need to feel that I am good enough, in some way. I need to make him smile. Because it makes me worth something.

And what if I don’t make him smile? And what if someone else does? I have no place, then. I am nobody. If I do not deserve his pleasure, I deserve nothing at all.

I know it’s not the slightest bit rational. I know Master has plenty of enjoyment to go around. Someone else pleasing him does not make me please him any less. But I fear I already please him less, that I’m just not good enough to please him more. So others are terrifying, not because I feel they lessen me, but because I already doubt what I deserve.

As I write this, it occurs to me that there is one real measure of what I deserve: what my Master chooses to give me. I should have faith in his appraisal. It is far more trustworthy than mine.

Passer Pipiabat

It’s a strange quirk of fate that the book I am reading lately is a collection of love stories. Why I picked it up, I don’t know – it is not my usual subject of choice. But it turns out to be a selection I feel close to. Each story has a unique pain, a sad passion, and an uncommon truth – just like mine, in a way.

Two years ago when I first began to tell my Master I loved him, I knew it would mean pain. But I had to make that offering. It was part of my surrender. I felt I would earn something. What; I no longer know. Approval? Affection? Tolerance of my flaws? But not for him to love me back. I never thought he would give me that.

There is a woman, I will call her ‘Elle’, who my Master adores. She seems to my limited knowledge to be so many things I am not – independent, successful, strong-willed, and beautiful. And most important, she has my Master’s love.

…I apologise, Sir, for such a bold assumption, but this is how it appears to my eyes.

So, why, if I never thought he would love me and never presumed to wish for it, does it ache so much to see his smile when he speaks of her? It is not the competition – I know very well that she and I can’t fill the same place in my Master’s life. And yet, it is the comparison. The very differences between us that make me safe, are the same things that break my heart. Every distinction between Elle’s life and mine, becomes proof of my inferiority – why else would Sir be so happy with her? She deserves something – something wonderful – that I do not.

And yes, I do want my Master to be happy. Even as it breaks me, that his happiness can be better given by someone else, I do feel glad for it. And I try to make him even happier, when he is pleased by her. I look hard for ways to serve him; I name my jealousy but suppress my sadness; I try with more determination to satisfy him when he fucks me. And sometimes, I feel like I succeed. Sometimes, I earn his praise. But love can’t be earned. It can only be given, and not to me.

A long time ago, when I submitted to Sir J, he fell in love with another submissive. At first I was happy for him, but soon I realised what that meant for me. I may have kept my place, but not his attention. I was soon wanted less often by him, and found myself waiting. When I had my turn, he was distracted and lackluster. He stopped correcting me as if he could no longer be bothered. More and more frustrated, I eventually lashed out and told him what I thought, in an effort to provoke him into putting me back in my place. I was horrified that he didn’t. Instead, he told me I was right, let me go, and focused completely on her.

This is certainly not the same. Master Paul is nothing like Sir J, and Elle is not his sub. My role and feelings for my Master now have little resemblance to what they were back then. But there is one element that remains the same: I was not as desirable as someone else. Even with no love for Sir J and not a great deal of respect for him, it cut me to be second best. And now, with far more of myself at stake, it feels crushing.

How is it possible that someone so far away, who barely knows of my existence at all, has so much power over me? If she were ever to take up residence with my Master, as his partner, she would have me as her slave without effort. Just her existence is enough to remind me of my place, bring me down to nothing, and show me that I am weak and small.

Sometimes it feels unfair. I know I am an incredible slut for him. I know I give him far more than her, and make far greater sacrifices to please him. A part of me feels I deserve “something”… she gets love… how do I get to be something special?

Maybe I don’t…?

Maybe I just get to love him and suffer for it. At least that is something I can do somewhat contentedly. Something I can feel is my blessing. Master may not care enough to give me love, but sometimes he cares to give me pain, and I am grateful. When he hurts me, I feel like I am something to him.

Please, Sir… Please may I have some more pain…?

Take it from me

Sixteen months ago when my Master first told me to blog, his instruction was that I should begin by writing about love. I was afraid then, and while I still am in some way, it is tempered by other things: most strongly the compulsion to please him. Some say that all emotions are made up of measures of fear and love.... that I'm not sure of, but I know that my feelings for Master can be summed up in that way. Fear, love, fear, love... fear of love... love of fear.... my most basic and most passionate self has its time through him.

I have learned to love him with a great deal more abandon since then - but by that I don't mean any degree of romanticism. It still amazes me that some people can remain, persistently, drawn to love as a cure.... as a resolution.... as a faith...
Love does not overcome. It does not give any more than it takes. Love is not an ideal of joy - it is an ideal of power.

The love I feel comes with a sense of sorrow, of liberation, and of death. It is utterly disempowering, an emotional sacrifice. It is no less consuming than it was sixteen months ago - what has fallen away is doubt.

Because it is beautiful in its pain. Owing to it. Those who only see beauty in the benign aesthetic are losing out - only half living. Incredible bliss lies in our most agonising emotions - because they contain so much life. Living - really living - is not about the accumulation of happiness and avoidance of suffering..... it is immersing oneself in both.

I am emotionally masochistic. I can take measures of sadness, and hurt, and guilt, and shame, in the same way that I do the strokes of a hand, a whip, or a knife - the goal being to surpass my resistance, embrace the feelings, and accept the bliss that is pain.

The shame when my Master is disappointed. The bitterness of his care for others. The hurt of believing that he does not love me. The horror of inevitable loss. These things are the grief that is love.

Love and cake

I don't know if its something in the stars, something about the end of the year approaching, or just chance... but it seems like everyone I know is having a crisis in some way or another lately. Death, separation, reassessment, breakdown.... but mainly the stuff that's far too complicated to mention. These are times when you find yourself deep in shit, like it or not - and the only options are drown in it or swim in it.

Master has had quite a share of it lately, and while it would be inappropriate for me to give details, it takes its toll. Without diminishment, I feel for him - as a small, helpless animal feels for her owner who may be powerful, but not invulnerable. When Master suffers stress, it feels like the only thing I can offer is my loyalty - so having been near him for the last two nights has been the simplest of blessings. I don't know if it helps him, but being able to give him something that he wants makes me feel a little less powerless against his strain.

I have been feeling the pressure, too - but I've also never felt so looked after. Following the surrender I made the other week, I was unsteady. But telling Master my worries, everything became calm and clear... my fears disintegrated into trust. There is nothing at all like being with someone who truly understands you... enough to feel comfort in the presence of your darkest thoughts.

And today, I was having a bad day at work. One of the worst. And just as I was wishing I'd stayed at home, a card arrived, from my beautiful Sista, and her Max, brightening my day. Making me feel lucky, amongst the shit.

slavery is in the eye of the beholder

I watched a DVD tonight that, among other things, featured an interview with a male slave. His final response before the scene changed was "Love? No. I don't love my Mistress." And it made me wonder - is he truly a slave? I guess that depends on your perspective. Sista asked me once what I thought was the difference between a submissive and a slave. I found it hard to answer in general terms - I only know what makes the difference for me. For someone else, it might be about rules or freedoms, but for the slave its a state of mind. Only their owner can judge how sufficient that is.

So I guess its not really my question to ask if the man on the video was a real slave. But I do question, if he does not love his Mistress, is he truly owned? It seems to me that he keeps something for himself.

The first time I met my Master he said to me "A slave does not get to choose what they give up. You must give everything, and then wait to see what is given back." At the time, what scared me was the thought of giving up my freedom, my choice, my control... but love was the hardest thing I've had to give him. Everything since then has seemed trivial, not worth holding on to. When I gave him my love, that was when I really started to become his.

Love makes belonging to him a purpose in itself. Of course I know that loving someone doesn't make just anyone a slave... but for me, that was where I crossed that line, and gave him everything I had to give.

Niche

I just love to be close to my Master.

This is a wierd thing for me. Historically, in my vanilla past, I've never really been the cuddly type. Even in love, I could spend about five minutes snuggling up to a partner in bed before wanting to draw back into my own space. I'm just not the affectionate type - with an equal, anyway...

But being owned brings out an entirely different side to me. I get a real sense of joy from lying next to him, with one hand on his chest... or with his arm around me... or kneeling beside him while he watches TV, resting my head on his knee while he strokes my hair.... these moments are beautiful to me.

Perhaps its because I don't get to choose them or control them. With Master, unlike a vanilla boyfriend, every kiss is a privilege, and every embrace something earnt. If he chooses to show affection towards me, I feel grateful.

I think its more than that, though...

When I am physically close to Master, I relax into him and smell him. I have a sense of being much smaller than him, and fragile. I feel simultaneously lost and safe. When I lie in his arms, I surrender to them. A hug between us is not just a show of affection, it is a show of my submission and devotion to him - and in turn, his acceptance of that.

I know that, for vanilla types, cuddling up together can have its own meaning, and be a wonderful thing, but for me it never was. So maybe this means that I was always meant to be this way?

Hooked

I've long hated the idea of being dependent on anyone. It probably sounds silly here, but I'm actually a very independent, in-control kind of person. Perhaps thats what makes giving up control so powerful for me. Or maybe thats just nonsense, and it would be a powerful experience for anyone. But anyway...

I asked myself tonight, to imagine a scenario. Imagine I'm not involved in D/s at all. I'm happily attached in a totally vanilla relationship. (Already a stretch...) My guy goes away for a week, to the other side of the country, for work-related stuff. And on the night he is due to return, I get a message from him saying sorry, but he won't be back til the following morning. How do I feel? Pretty annoyed, probably pretty sexually frustrated. But I'd deal with it.

Master has been away for a week and I got exactly that message tonight. How do I feel? Fucked up. I cried. I wanted to scream and throw myself on the floor and kick my legs. I sulked. I feel like a child.

A long time ago, before I could say the 'L' word out loud, I remember Master asking me "How do you feel about me?" I said as much as I could at the time: "I need you, Sir." It was an easy answer, but very truthful. I have needed him since the beginning.

So what is it that has brought about this dependence? Is it a natural consequence of intense power exchange? Or is this something more specific to the way Master has shaped my attachment to him? Or is it just something characteristic of me? I worry about this sometimes. It may just be my own discomfort with it, but I worry that he finds my dependence an inconvenience. Other times I wonder if maybe he likes it. And sometimes I think maybe he likes it to be there, but unexpressed until the right time.

If you love someone, and the object of your love has immense power over you, and you, none over them, perhaps that will always create a dependence on them. The powerless seeks the beloved powerful... seeks their approval, their kindness... or their meanness.... anything of them. Anything to know they matter, that their existence has some effect on the powerful other... yes, I can see how it might be unavoidable.

Dependence makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I don't want to need. Anything. But he makes me constantly aware that I do. I fucking do. I console myself with a reminder that it is just another way he owns me. That he owns whatever it is inside that seeks to be fulfilled by my need for him.

I barely even care about how well I am expressing this tonight... except that it is for him. It has been a long week without him, and I feel drained knowing that he was going to be here within a couple of hours, and now..... who knows when. Thats the worst. The not knowing when. All the times I go nuts not seeing him, compared to the times I cope, the difference is in knowing when. If I at least know what hour to look forward to, I can hang in there without regressing to nadi the child.

It has been lonely looking after his house for him, but also a comfort to be surrounded by 'him' in so many ways. And the comfort of doing things I know would please him, if he were here to see them. It is an honour that he entrusted me with such a responsibility. But now I'm past it. I just want him back. I want to kiss him. I want to smell him, touch the soft skin on his face. I want to hear him breathe. I want to feel his arms holding me, his weight on top of me. I want to tell him I love him, and that I've given him my life.

I'm delaying going to bed, it will feel empty. But maybe I'll dream about him, and maybe when I wake up, he won't be far away....

nadi, forever

Sir, today I mentioned that I still think a lot about you marking me, and I would like to take the opportunity to share my thoughts, if that is ok....

I remember very clearly on the day we first met in person, you saying that if you ever collared me, you would brand me. I took that very seriously, Sir. You know how devoted to you I have become since that day, and it probably wouldn't surprise you to know that I want to be collared by you very very much. I fantasise about it, but I don't mention it because its something I feel I should not ask for. Partly that's because of what your comment about branding meant to me: that if I am ever collared to you, that is how seriously I should be prepared to take it.

In the last twelve months I have been internally transformed. I understand things about myself, and about life, that I never thought I could, and I've found a new part of myself via a relationship I thought was beyond me. Everything I am for the rest of my life will be altered by the experience of being owned. No matter what happens, some part of me, hidden or right out in the open, will forever be 'nadi'.

I felt very unsure about the idea of having something permanent on my body representing ownership of me. I was worried about what would happen if later, I was no longer yours, and I regretted being marked. You know I am very dependent and attached to you - what if I lost you and a mark of your ownership came to be a painful, hurtful thing for me, associated with what I had lost? I was also worried about possible future owners, and their dislike of it, and possibly feeling pressured to be marked again one day to counter this. I keep thinking, I am only 27 - I will have many years of play yet, how many of them will I actually be yours for? You know how my mind works - as much as I love you, I can't trust that, and my assumption is always that it can't last.

I am very lucky to be owned by my Master. I sincerely believe I will never find anyone else who could understand and accept me like he does, who could see straight into the dark cellar of my heart like he can, who could take me there, even farther still, and show me the way back... teaching me to be me in my rawest form, all the while holding me securely like he does...

A few months ago I had another thought, though... What if I regret NOT doing it? You have taken me further than I ever thought I could go, Sir, taught me so much, and you are very special to me. I may be inexperienced, but I'm observant enough to know that a Master like you is extremely rare. In all likelihood, any future "owners" I may have will be measured against you inside my mind. There is a good chance that I won't find one who comes close for a long, long time - IF I find one at all.

I want to offer him everything. If there will ever be anyone in my life who deserves so much, it is unquestionably him. He will always be the one who saw through me and showed me my potential. He will always be the one who taught me that, whatever I am, I am ok. He will always be the one who knew nadi, and made her real.

I promised myself I would wait until I had known you for one year, and see what I thought of it then. So I could be sure. And a year isn't even that long - if I was talking to another sub and they said this to me, I would think she was NUTS! But I've found that in those few months, I've only wanted it more. Its almost a year now and I'm finding myself longing and fantasising for you to mark me - with a collar or without.

I think that perhaps I need to earn it. I know it is your choice, not mine. And so I should not ask. I am letting you know my thoughts and feelings currently, and thats all. I know you will do what is best for me, Sir.

your nadi xx

I am honoured that he has allowed me to give myself to him as much as I have. I want to continue to have the chance to please him in every way I can. I want him to be proud of his property. If one day I deserve it, he will fully accept me as his, and I will be marked for life, inside and out. Even if he one day releases me, I will still, in some way, remain his.

Mmmm, tamed...

The last few days, I've been thinking of him even more than usual. With a gentle smile on my face. Sometimes, I whisper to myself, fuck I love him. Its probably partly the afterglow from him sharing me with a man whose name I didn't know the other day, leaving me feeling utterly used... but I keep going back to the time before, when he fell asleep and I left without waking him - he looked so peaceful and beautiful. Will he find it strange that I used the word beautiful? Lol... but that's the only word that comes to mind, for when someones appearance brings on a reaction that isn't so much about how they look, as how they make you feel. I looked at him lying there, and I wanted to touch him, kiss him, absorb him somehow....

Its got to be close to a year since I met Master by now, and I keep thinking lately about how far I've come. I've gone from a slut-out-of-control to... well, like he said the other day, still a slut, but he controls when I fuck... and who... and how... and if I may orgasm, and at what point. A year ago there was no way I would have thought I could give someone that much control. If he had said to me straight away that this was his plan for me, I would have run a mile. And he probably knew that. So he took me through it slowly, taking away my freedom bit by bit, gently enough and with enough reward that I actually enjoyed it. All along I've marveled at his shrewdness - he did what I thought was impossible: he tamed the slut. And no doubt he's not done yet.

He also did something even more challenging. I was unwilling to love him, and he not only coaxed me into doing that, but into admitting it. At first painfully, through horrified tears, torn between wanting to give myself to him and wanting to protect myself... but then slowly I've dragged myself into accepting, and then enjoying it. I still feel the fear, but its also exhilarating. I have never been this vulnerable to anyone. And I think the excitement of knowing that, makes me love him even more.

A year ago, I was looking forward to a good kinky screw. I knew I wanted more, but had someone come along and offered me what I really wanted, I would have been far too scared to take it. I even remember saying to him one night, that I wanted it all - only because I thought it wasn't possible. He told me it was, and I didn't believe him. He has proven I was wrong, and I want to hug him and tell him he's a delightful smartass.... in the most positive, respectful, complimentary way, Sir... ;)

Absence

Funny, the things that make you miss someone. People talk about a particular song, or a street name, or a time of day that brings on that sense of nostalgia and makes them long for the one they love. For me, today, it was a true anti-romantic's cue. I was alone in a park and I saw a man alone on the other side of the grass, looking at me. It triggered memories of things I'd done for Master, and of things he'd said, and made me repeat back to him. Promises, hopes, and fantasies.

I miss him so much I feel sick. I feel alone.

Please let me come home, Sir...

Happy Day

I've always had a thing against Valentine's Day (yes, I'm another one of them). No, its not because of loneliness, but more because, despite my attachments to washing powder, I'm just not into romance. I'm more comfortable with this time of year when I'm single: all the defiant single women get out and have a few drinks, making it a good time to get laid. Its also a nice chance to send flowers to my friends and let them know they are special. This morning, for example, I left a velvet rose on the front doorstep for Betty to find when she went out (shhh! don't tell her it was me...;))

To me, valentines day is really best spent celebrating friendship. Maybe I prefer that because the unexpectedness makes it seem more genuine... or, maybe it really is just because I'm such a cynical old commitment-phobe.

Whatever it is, here's a thought I'd like to share on this V-day:

nadi's anti-valentine links:

Anti-Valentine's cards (the source of the image above)

Sexy Greg (note: sarcasm)

Condom Day (thats more like it - let's all get shagged)

The Velocity of Gary (A movie I personally enjoyed, but had terrible reviews, about a slutty bi guy named Valentino, his boyfriend, and his girlfriend - played by the very sexy Salma Hayek).

The other kind of minutia

I fucking love him! I want to laugh and scream about it tonight... maybe its the 3 beers I've had...

... or maybe its the past week of missing and absolutely craving him, feeling crushed with the weight of wanting nothing but my Master, feeling pain and hurt and emptiness, longing not for the sex, or the s&m, or the power, but just to be with him... wrapping my arms around my body for some kind of comfort, wishing they were his arms... waiting for his arms...

I am such a love-cynic I want to laugh at how ridiculous I am. Allow me to demonstrate:

A while ago, through circumstances I won't bother detailing, Master gave me a box of washing powder from his house. Suddenly, the rate at which I washed my clothes seemed to increase. I confessed to Betty one night: the truth was, I was getting pleasure from the fact that my clothes now smelled like his. She said, "Honey, thats called romance." Tonight, I put some washing on and was disappointed to find the box empty - nothing left but the usual brand I buy. So disappointed I almost didn't even wash my clothes. Fuck, I've become a laundry romantic! How the hell did that happen??

Sometimes I genuinely ask myself that. Sometimes I wonder, how did someone do this to me? I was so determined not to be this way, not to have someone on my mind like this, constantly wanting to tell them "I love you, I miss you, I love you, I miss you..." That's not me, goddammit!
But it is me. It's absolutely me to surrender, and to serve - with my heart, as well as everything else. And of course, the credit is his, for recognising that, and for being strong enough, and patient enough, and wise enough to draw that out of me.

Expecting to give

Twice now I have been asked - once by Sir J, now also by Betty - "Does he love you?" The first time my answer surprised me, and I wondered if it was just the moment. But last night, the second time I was asked, the answer was still the same. First of all, I don't know. Second, and more importantly, I don't need to know.

There is no reason why he should love me, and, if he did, there is no reason why he should tell me, or why I would ask. I love him, and that means he owns me more completely. I don't need him to love me in return, I only need him to accept my love - and me.

Humans like to think that when we love someone, we need to possess them. The truth is that loving someone means that they possess us. For the first time in my life I'm really able to embrace that - to say I will continue to love you, Sir, without expecting anything in return. I guess thats what "unconditional" means.

Questions I couldn't ask

How does it feel to own another human being? When I say that I love you, that I am yours, body, mind and soul, does it give you joy? Is having a whole person at your disposal, to do with what you will, anything like the warm bliss I feel at being that person?

Do you think of me, Sir, as tenderly as I think about you? When you ask "how much do you love me?" and I struggle to express it, do you trust that I do love you? Do you understand the fear I feel? Do you know just how much you own me, and how easily you could break me?

When we met, did you decide that this new slut would become your property, or like me, did it take you by surprise? Did you want to rescue me from my self-destructiveness, or was that a side effect? Did you see straight through me the way you seemed to, or was it just confidence and luck? When you stripped away my dignity and exposed my dirtiest self, then praised that, did you know it would make me need you? Did you know it would make me love you? Was it kindness? Was it just a way to bring out what you wanted? Or did you deliberately use my vulnerability, even as I could see what was happening to me, but was powerless to resist it?

When you pointed out the origin of my son's name, did you really know it, or were you just observant and attentive to items in my house? And how did you know my surname?

Some questions that I could never ask, and some that I would never get an answer to if I did. But I surrender to that, as I must - humans all have curiosity, but when we push for it to be satisfied, it is only for a sense of control and power. So I leave these mysteries alone, except in my imagination. None of the answers would make a difference, anyway: because I love you unconditionally, Sir.

A guest house

Written 24 December, blogged today due to being offline for a while.

When I saw him today I felt swept away. I know that’s when somebody has really gotten into me: I’m suddenly caught up in their every physical detail, admiring with new eyes their now perfect form, regardless of how they may have looked the day before. All at once, he is radiant to me. I want to run my hands over him, caress him, smell him, taste him. If we were vanilla I would do all of that, hungrily, giving him no choice, but ironically if we were vanilla I wouldn’t have this kind of desire. So I content myself to simply gaze at him, indulge in some gentle, permissible touches, and ride that internal wave of feeling.

In most arenas of my life I have been fearless – I embrace change, I forgo caution, I dismiss security and risk anything for something beautiful and inspiring. But not so when it comes to emotional risk. Then, as much of this blog has pointed out, I prefer to hide away in a cool place so I don’t have to miss the heat when it passes. I was terrified when he first suggested I did, or would, love him. But, to my own twisted fascination, it seems my surrender has proven greater than my fear.

And the fear is withdrawing steadily. A small part of me is alarmed to notice this – as if somehow, staying afraid of something could offer protection from it. A bigger part of me is just bemused at the whole situation. Will I ever, in my life, freely offer love to anyone, or will it always be necessary to wrench it out of myself by force? A question I may be able to answer in another twenty years.

To begin with, I couldn’t say I loved him without battling with myself to form the words, and then breaking down into sobs of grief, feeling as though my body would implode. A few times he had to "assist" it out of me. I still hesitate, but now I have been able to offer it once or twice spontaneously – even in writing, shock horror, lol.

So, I’m not quite fearless about this yet – but the fear is offset by a kind of acceptance. I still believe I’ll one day be dismissed, and heartbroken. But it’s true what my favourite musician once wrote; that’s when you know you’re really living.

One crowded hour

"As long as you are the biggest slut in this city, you will always have a place with me."

There is no doubt in my mind that I am - for those reading this who know me, if you find that hard to believe, rest assured there are things that would surprise you yet. And I don't see myself having any trouble remaining that way in Master's terms - I spent many years and much energy trying to repress my most shameful thoughts, and if I haven't succeeded in changing yet, I never will.

That takes care of the first part of this sentence, now what of the rest of it? Always a place for me? Always? I want to trust my Master - and I should. But to believe in a statement like this feels so dangerous - I can't even let myself consider it. Its like a gift I don't want to open, out of fear that the contents will bite me - far safer just to admire the packaging from across the room.

Its not even as if I've got a traumatic story to tell that would explain it - no more than the average person goes through by age 30. I only have a pitiful justification to be so cynical, but I believe that rejection is inevitable. "Always" doesn't exist. Nothing is constant. It might not be soon, but one day, no matter what I do, he won't want me. It feels so wrong to discredit his statement like this, but I mean no disrespect. Rightly or wrongly, I believe this is universal.

This is what makes it painful to love him. Look at it like I do, and love has no power or great meaning, it's just an intoxicating precursor to loss. When I give him my love, I am giving my future pain and grief.

I no longer have a choice. And that doesn't even have anything to do with D/s and our agreed arrangement. He accepts me, and that is all the power he needs. He sees my darkest, most shameful parts, things that horrify even me, and he doesn't shy away from them. He accepts me more than I can accept myself, and that is enough so that I cannot walk away. I wonder, does he realise, when he reminds me that I am unable to leave, just how true that is - agreements and promises aside - because of my feelings alone?

Of course he does.

"Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything." (Katharine Hepburn)

"What's the matter, not used to loving your Master?"
The day he said that to me my heart froze. I thought, oh shit, I don't....... do I? The idea circled in my mind for days and I obsessed about it, analysing my feelings and trying desperately to pinpoint the nature of his hold over me. I came up with a detailed understanding of power and how he had obtained it, and that consoled me a little, though it didn't really answer the question. I was terrified. I didn't want to give him that. I wanted to give him my body, my mind, my freedom, my loyalty and obedience.... but not love, I wanted to keep that to myself. Thinking I could, made me feel safe.

But the truth of it is, I can't. If I am to be truly his slave, I cannot withhold anything. I need to offer all I am able to give. And not even because he wants it - but on mere principle. He has the right to everything. It is up to me to lay it all out for the taking, and what he does not accept remains on offer - his if he ever would like it. If I can love him, I must offer him that.

I know, I know, "love" is some magical force that we are subject to, rendering us powerless against our fate as we fall under its spell, unable to choose who we might like to give it to, right? Yeah, right. I have my doubts. (I never was the romantic type, lol...) It seems to me that many of us choose who we love, whether for conscious reasons or unconscious ones. We are able to love anyone who meets a need in us. It is just a matter of allowing yourself to.

So, once I realised I was withholding something from him, I knew my task. I knew I could love him, I just needed to open myself to it so I could offer that sincerely. It is a long, ongoing process of giving up control, locating my greatest fear and gradually prying its long-stiffened fingers loose, uncovering what makes me most vulnerable.

I am still afraid - a big part of me would sooner offer my own death. But theres a funny thing about love: it brings along with it that unique kind of bliss. It is, as the song says, a fresh feeling. Even while a part of me mourns over this, I can't help also feeling happy. It makes the fear just bearable.

Minutia

Many months ago, I was a contented slut. I had plenty of naughty and kinky fun and no attachments to anyone. I would meet a new player every now and then, have them over to my house for a good time, then send them on their way and decide later whether they would be invited back or not. I was often submissive in their presence, but always in control of the bigger picture.

I remember meeting one new man very well. He was warm, confident and lascivious in our chats without being sleazy. He seemed experienced but not concerned with proving himself. He complimented me, but certainly did not suck up. I liked him immediately, and without even seeing a photo I invited him to my home. Our first meeting surprised me with its intensity and honesty. He had a way of seeming to see straight through me and compel me to expose myself to him – not just physically, but mentally and psychologically, which was a far more intimate experience than I was used to. It was not long at all before I would come to call him Master.

Later, during that first meeting, came a small exchange with big significance for me. He asked my son’s name. When I told him he asked me the spelling. As soon as I answered, he said the name of the not-too-well-known figure that I had named my child after. At the time of writing, he remains the only person who has ever made that link without me prompting it.

I told a good friend this story recently and she said to me: "Minutia. The tiny things make all the difference." When he made that connection, it changed the way I saw him irrevocably. I thought, this is not just a new fuck. This is big. Months later, as I find myself loving him, I believe it started with that moment.