I wonder, at the scene of a traffic accident, after the battered cars have been towed away and the ambulance is gone and all that’s left is the cop, the occupants of the cars, and the dazed drivers, how often does the cop turn to the passenger and say “Here’s your ticket. It’s your fault this happened.”? Hardly ever? Never?
I gave up the steering wheel a long, long time ago. I am just the passenger, along for the ride.
That’s, perhaps, the backbone of slavery. Don’t you agree? Giving up control and settling in for the ride. He gets to do what he wants, use me as he wants.
Even if what he wants is… nothing.
It’s interesting to me that in years past when the activities were too ‘out there’ or too distasteful, he got as much, if not more flack as I did from the peanut gallery. And rightfully so, says I! It was his doing, after all, right? I’m just along for the ride.
But now… now that he wants nothing distasteful, is doing nothing that is ‘out there’, now that he is content with a slave to provide a clean house and clean clothes and hot meals and a slave to do his banking and scheduling and to trim his nails and massage his muscles…
Now I get the flack?
Like I made those choices? Like I drove us here?
When did I get in the drivers seat? At what point did HE just come along for the ride?
I have a couple of theories, actually.
1. Very few people have been reading here for the 8 years I’ve been writing. For some it’s been the whole time, for others it’s been a good long while, and for still others it’s been a few weeks/months/maybe a year or two. So maybe they go back and read a bit of the old stuff, maybe they don’t, but either way, they’re speed reading through (or skipping entirely) 8 years of my life.
Maybe it seems like just last week that I had my boobs nailed down/[fill in the kink here] because it was just last week that they read it/saw the picture. When in reality it was a year ago, or 4 years ago, or EIGHT years ago.
A lot, for me, for US, would have changed in the interim. The interim that was skipped by the new-to-me viewer.
The other theory… well okay I only had one theory. Sue me.
At any rate, Master and I have been together for 9 years. Almost a decade. I’ve seen couples come and go a hundred times over in those 9 years. The blogs especially come and go.
That’s because a lot of stuff happens over the years. Not just to us specifically, though certainly a whole helluva lot HAS happened to us, but to people in general. They grow and they change and they learn. They evolve. Interests change. Hobbies change. Personalities change. Compatibility changes.
I met Master when I was 33 years old. I’m now 42.
I want to talk a little bit about the changes that can occur in a decade.
In the 10 years prior to meeting Master, when I was between the ages of 23 and 33, I:
Bought a house. Got pregnant and had a baby (my third). Had my tubes tied. Got divorced. Lost the house. Dabbled in cocaine. Had no idea what BDSM was, had never heard of it, and didn’t know I was missing anything. Moved–not once, not twice–but NINE times in ten years. Changed jobs 3 times. Lost friends and gained friends. Went through a heavy drinking phase that included black outs, one night stands, and violence. Smoked 2 packs a day. Bought a car. Got remarried and then was widowed. Quit drinking. Discovered BDSM… And so much more I’m leaving out. So many changes in me and around me. So many things that changed me.
The thing is, the 33 year old who had just discovered BDSM was not the same as the 23 year old who had just gotten pregnant. And my 42 year old self isn’t the same as the 33 year old who started blogging. The 46 year old Master I have is not the same 37 year old man I met.
We’re older- not old, not ancient, not half-dead, but older nonetheless. We’ve changed, whether by circumstance or choice it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a case of one of us wishing the other were different or wishing things hadn’t changed. We’ve no regrets.
That’s important. It bears repeating. We have no regrets.
I like to think what Master and I have done over the years was a reduction, as in the cooking term. We came in hot and heavy, boiled away the impurities, and have been reduced to the good stuff. The strong stuff. We’ve thickened and intensified-to us, to how we feel about each other, about our lives together, our future together- and while that makes for very bland blogging material (and I agree, it totally does which is why I haven’t been blogging much), that doesn’t mean that WE think what we’ve ended up with is bland.
We like it here. We’re content and happy and comfortable in this place.
There are a lot of places these days where one can get their fill of kink and fetishes and blood and welts and bruises and suffering slavery. A lot of places host that sort of chest-beating uber dom stuff. The ads on the side bar will take you to some of those places if you’re so inclined to pass me a dollar on the way there (grins). But. That place isn’t here.
That’s just not where we are. Not right now. Maybe we will be next month, or next year, or maybe not ever again. That part will be up to him- where it goes next? His call. His direction. Because I’m just along for the ride. It’s been an enjoyable ride, from day one to day three thousand, it’s been enjoyable.
(Njoy-able? haha. Not today, Sucka!)
That’s not the essence of slavery to me- the scene reports and the tack bras and the pictures? Those were the lowest points of evaporation during the reduction.
I’m less inclined to blog here these days for a couple of reasons. In part because I continue to be the passenger that gets the ticket thrown at her and I find that frustrating. I spent a long while in a state of inner turmoil aligning my wants and needs to match where his are now. Putting away bits and pieces of myself for him. For me, it’s a success story, an accomplishment. Something difficult that I did, for him, something that has driven other people apart. I aligned. I internalized. I did it. I resent being insulted for that. I resent the implication that we’ve (that I have) somehow lost something for it.
It has always been perplexing to me how its glorified for a slave to be aligned to her Master’s evilness but vilified to be aligned with him when he’s not.
I also blog less because even I realize how boring it is to hear “Well, today I got up and made breakfast…”
But that’s what I do. That’s where we are. I serve as I’m told.
He has only to say he’s hungry and I’m in the kitchen making food. He hands me a bill and knows it’s paid. He needs an appointment, I schedule it. He desires an item, I’m at the store. In 9 years, he hasn’t washed a dish, touched dirty laundry, picked his beard hairs out of the sink, scrubbed a toilet, made a sandwich…
He’s catered to, like royalty. I’d wipe his ass if he wanted me to. (He doesn’t…. yet. haha.)
He knows where I am every second of the day. I do nothing, go nowhere, make no decisions without his explicit input, permission or direction.
And that’s just not exciting to anyone but me. I’m okay with that. Maybe bloggable M/s really is about the kink, after all. The leather and the whips, the bruises and the welts. I’m okay with that, too.
But it’s all left me in a quandary as to the future of this blog. Wait and see? Sing my swan song? Keep on with the updates aimed at those of you who are interested in what is, in all honesty, not “a kink blog” but a “my life blog”? (Which would make me very happy, btw.)
Ahh! I don’t know, either. 8 years and maybe I’m finally out of words.
Maybe I need a blog more tailored to where my life is at the moment.
Maybe blogging in general has had its day in the sun.
Maybe I have, lol.
Maybe I need to take a vacation.
See you when I get back from Texas, y’all!
ps. Upon proof-reading I suspect this reads like a plea to have people beg me to keep blogging. It is not that. I just feel like I’m at a crossroads with it, it doesn’t quite feel like “home” as it used to, and I miss that. In time, I’ll figure where to go with it, if anywhere. This was just talking-out-loud, as I tend to do.