I’m bored. And alone. And I have had all of the conversations about the lunch room lady, who’s breaking up with who (whom?), heavy metal bands, which teacher is the worst and some people’s fashion sense – or lack thereof – to last me a day.
So I shall bring myself here, where the interaction is at least on an adult level. Mostly. ;-)
There is construction here on the road I normally take to work and the detour sends me past a tiny church set back on a corner. The pastor has taken to writing clever slogans (not sure of the right word here. Does God have a slogan?..lol) on the sign since the increase in traffic. Things like “If you’re headed in the wrong direction, God allows U-turns.” and “Plan ahead.
It wasn’t raining when Noah built the ark.” This week’s sign says “Seven days without Jesus makes one weak.” I was thinking as I went past today, that seven days without Master makes me weak.
Which led me to thinking about a discussion a week or two ago on FetLife where I made the comment that Master is my “personal Jesus”. I said more than that, but it doesn’t matter what else I, or the other people who aligned with me, said because most people got stuck right there. Most of the following comments contained some reproach while also proclaiming loud and clear that they don’t think their Master is a God, he’s just a man, and only human and allowed to make mistakes.. and you get the idea.
Naturally I got irritated, which I’ve been doing a lot of lately, because people seem to think that they can disguise insults under “just voicing their opinion!” and that prefacing a rude attack with that disclaimer frees them to say whatever, in whatever manner suits them, and if I find offense with it, I’m the one who’s overreacting or being rude. Fact is, there is a way to disagree and to voice alternate viewpoints without being condescending and rude, and the onus is not on the listener (receiver) to not be offended, but on the speaker to not be offensive.
I certainly would not comment to any of those people who don’t think of their Master as a god and tell them that, in *my opinion*, they are doing it wrong. Because that would be rude. Even if it IS only my opinion, it’s still uncalled for, unnecessary, and said with words that are meant to sting. Thinly veiled insults, protected by the notion that one is obligated to hear the opinions of everyone, like it or not.
It really doesn’t surprise me anymore that every time I branch out onto a public venue I get my hand slapped. I know that I have a brash way with words, that I spit them out like chewed up glass and can’t pour them out like liquid honey, as some people can. But what does continue to surprise me is the hypocrisy that runs amok. Apparently unnoticed. Because if I respond in kind to a tasteless reply, I’m told to stop being so defensive and reminded that everyone has an opinion – when all I’m doing is giving back my own opinion. What they are really saying is that their opinions are welcome because they run mainstream.. and the kind of differing opinion that I may offer – is not.
I was recently reading a thread on TSR (that I am not going to look up to quote accurately, sorry, I have the lazies) but one of the points brought up was in how we (a collective “we” as in ‘the bdsm society’) have an obligation to keep things somewhat palatable for the ‘nillas. That as small strides are made in bringing the public around to accepting that bdsm is not full of psychopaths, serial killers and puppy-bashers, we must not let them see our dirty underwear. So that anyone admitting to a mental illness, or an unsavory thought process, or denouncing SSC and safewords are in fact impeding the progress. We need to be hidden, kept quiet, and we are not invited to the family reunion. The fine, upstanding, respectable folk will do the hob-knobbing and deny that we exist.
What I found rather ironic about the whole exchange was that, some 30 years ago or so, those respectable BDSM’ers were just as fucked up as I am in the eyes of the general public. Their “affinity” for bdsm was still listed as a mental disorder. They’re activities were considered abusive. Now that they’ve become somewhat accepted, they’re putting us where they were.
I have no idea where I’m going with this. I had meant to ask what the hullabaloo is surrounding the idea of worshiping a man, and to mention that perhaps FetLife isn’t going to be any different than any other place has been. Or maybe it’s just that I am incapable of interacting in a setting where I’m required to not be myself in order to fit in.
Anyway, I had another thing on my mind.
A subtle slave-girl was just discussing her return to a temporary employment after being a full-time slave. Given that I’ve also recently returned to work after living as a full-time slave, she echoed some of my own thoughts when she said this:
“I’m thinking that it’s mostly a power thing. Working and earning an income definitely puts me up there on an equal pedestal and suddenly I feel like what *I* think and what *I* need to do are as important as things in His life. When you’re penniless and at his beck and call, ‘Yes, Master’ seems to be the most natural thing in the world, but give me a name badge and money in my wallet and ‘Yes, Sweetie Pumpkin Master’ becomes ‘You fucking want what sweetie???’ (complete with nasty inflection on the sweetie). It’s very interesting. It was almost as if a switch was flipped as I was getting my work clothes ready and organizing my stuff on Sunday evening ready for Monday morning. Before I’d even set off to my place of employment, those simple acts flipped my slave switch to off and when Master ‘suggested’ that I go and get some cuffs for bondage, I replied with a curt, “I can’t, I’ve got things to do!” Not very slave-like of me, was it?
These past few months that I’ve been allowed to follow my vocation and have my slavery as the focal point of my life have been fabulous. I’m not suggesting for a moment that I’ve been the ‘perfect slave’ for all this time, but I’ve enjoyed the uncomplicatedness of it all. When you’re a slave, your Master is the focus, he gets the priority, he gets the attention and generally, within reason, that’s how it works. When you’re working, there’s always a conflict between work and it’s associated activities, not to mention the space in your mind it takes up -worrying about commutes, organizing clothes and lunch and remembering the details of what it is you’re being employed to do. In my case, there just ain’t enough room for Master to receive priority in there too.”
(There was another recent time where I was discussing (again, on a message board) how being penniless reinforces dependency, which in turn reinforces the inability to leave, which in turn reinforces slavery as the only available option. But I’m digressing.)
Her words do echo my feelings on being a working slave. Even though my income is not even one tenth of Master’s, it has given me “power”, it has offered me a tiny measure of equality and independence. I both like that – and hate it. There was a humbleness that came with having to ask to spend a dollar, and to justify the need of the item wanted. While that was something that chafed and was *extremely* difficult for me to do, it cemented my place. Now it seems that I don’t have that and there is void there. It’s a very uncomfortable independence. I’m not sure that Master even feels right about telling me I can’t spend what I’ve just earned, or that I haven’t the “right” to spend when I am indeed contributing.
So there is that negative aspect and that’s not even getting in to the way this job interferes in our lifestyle, and it’s a mere part-time job. It’s majorly messed up both our mornings and our nights, upset the routine, halted play, halted sex, interrupted service –
And the headspace! I can feel the undoing of Master’s work. My job, such as it is, requires me to be social, outgoing, engaging, supportive, interactive. Every day that I successfully entertain a group of strangers, my confidence and independence and personal power climbs. What was it that Master was trying to create? Mindless obedience, extreme dependence. Part of the isolation process involved erasing the belief that I could function in society. It involved reaffirming my intense need for Him and Him alone. It involved controlling my exposure to alternate ideas and life choices. It involved making me believe that here was safety, and out there was scary. It involved not being asked what my personal opinion or preference was, but being told what I would now prefer and enjoy.
I struggle now, when He expects me to be in that same place where He left me. It’s the age-old battle of flipping that switch from employee to slave. I know there are more than a few stay-at-home slaves these days. I envy them now. I miss those days. I think for any that are working, trying to flip that switch is a shared struggle.
When I bring that up to Master, He’s not incredibly sympathetic to my plight. His answer is merely “you expect me to, don’t you? I’m expected to walk out of the office and have my Master-face on when I get home. I have to answer to my boss all day and scurry around pleasing other people, yet when I get home I have to be Billy Bad Ass on a dime. You get to play Miss Independence at your job and when you get home, I expect the same transformation from you. Drop your shit at the door.”
He’s so mean, idn’t He? :P
But He’s right, of course. He generally is. Why should we expect it to be any easier for them? And if we do expect it from them, we damn well better expect it from ourselves, too.
Well that’s enough grown-up talk for one night. I have to go watch American Idol. :D :D
~cunt
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Uncategorized | kaya | 
Friday May 30th, 2008 9:54pm | 
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