January 28, 2016
Before I go any further, I’ll begin with a disclaimer. If you use the term “slavewife” to describe yourself or your partner, rock on. Good for you! A: Don’t take this personally, B: don’t get all pissy, C: don’t accuse me of thinking I’m better than you.
- It’s not about you.
- It’s not about you.
- I do think I’m better than you, but that’s because I have an over-inflated ego and am an elitist, and it probably has nothing to do with this subject.
This is about me (ego-centric, too!) and the denotations and connotations of the English language as interpreted by my emotional worldview. That is it.
It’s a nice day for a white wedding, yeah!
Master proposed somewhat recently, which hasn’t entirely sunk in yet, as it is Sin in the City time of year, we have a toddler, we own an office, and we’ve got a pretty large commitment going on in our other extracurricular life as well. He did it very publicly and romantically, in front of a large audience and with much poetry, and the reaction of many was, you’re not already married? After about 8 years in his service, plenty of people assume that. Especially since we have a child that is the joint combination of our genes.
First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in the baby carriage!
Everyone knows that’s the proper order, right? And plenty of kinksters/perverts/sexcapadists/leather people choose not to have children. So if we have a child (and heck, especially since we TRIED to have a child), we NATURALLY must be following the traditional path of couple-hood within our culture and society!
And we use that assumption to our advantage in everyday life all the time. It is tremendously more convenient to say to the insurance company when calling on his behalf, “this is his wife,” rather than try to explain that I am his partner (which people unfortunately take less seriously), or his slave. It is often more convenient for Master, when in a work situation with someone on the conservative end of things, to describe me as his wife, rather than explain that I’m a hell of a lot more than a “girlfriend” and we actually meant to have a child together.
Love and marriage, love and marriage…go together like a horse and carriage. This I’ll tell you brother, you can’t have one without the other!
My mother (who Master and my father conspired to get to the proposal event as a surprise for her) was worried about the public proposal; she turned to Master Xornath and expressed concern over how I was to say “no” if I didn’t want to accept it in such a public situation. Master Xornath assured her that it was a topic we had discussed before.
And it was. We have discussed tax benefits. We have discussed employment and insurance benefits. We have discussed end-of-life benefits. We have discussed the benefits in a family where children are part of the equation. Not long ago we went through a whole load of extra paperwork because of the fact that we had a child out of wedlock. We have definitely discussed marriage before. For practical reasons, not romantic ones.
I was (and still am) confident at the moment he chose to propose that he could marry me at any time he chose, given our relationship, that I might or might not be informed beforehand, and that what shape that took was entirely at his discretion. In fact, I have remained so confident of this fact that when we have discussed marriage in the past, I have told Master that while I know I have no say in the matter, I would really like to have a wedding, should he decide that we’re getting married.
He’s been married before. He’s had the big to-do and all of that, it’s not something he’s all that keen on repeating, to be honest. And yet, he still proposed, rather than bringing me to the courthouse and being done with it. He still had me pick out a ring (because he was concerned with me having an engagement ring I loved). He still told me to plan a wedding.
This is NOT because we are equals. It is NOT because I am to be his wife. It is because he is an indulgent Master and gets some measure of joy from my feeling spoiled and taken care of. It is because he likes to see me happy and giddy.
And why did I tell him I’d like to have a wedding, should he decide to marry me? It’s not because a wedding (or a marriage, for that matter) will change the gravity or commitment of our relationship. It’s because, while marriage isn’t an essential checkbox on my “Happy and Successful Life” list, that I’d like to have the experience of a wedding if I’m going to do it. Perhaps this is a remnant of some childhood dream created for me by the society in which I live, perhaps it’s my fairytale dream…though I declared at a very young age that I would “NEVER” get married, so maybe not. Regardless of its origin, I have the desire for the experience, in the case of a marriage (which is not a true necessity in our lives at this time).
I don’t need a white veil, I got a black dress, don’t need a preacher, no no not yet…I’m just a girl, I’m not a wife…
So why the objection to “slavewife?” Why the protestation to a term that could feasibly describe what I am to become?
I am Master’s slave. Every iota of our relationship stems from that original foundation and dynamic. Does he respect my brain, my wishes and concerns, my opinion, my effort, my labor, my individuality? Absolutely. He also sees 100% of that list as his to heed or ignore, to mold or maintain as his own.
That will not change when we have a piece of paper declaring us “Man and Wife”. It did not change when the hospital assigned me all the “rights” when it came to our daughter, as we were unmarried. I am his slave, period. He is choosing to make me his “wife” officially, it seems, but he can just as easily choose to undo that (albeit with more paperwork and fees), without changing the fact that I am his slave.
When I hear someone call herself “slavewife” or a man call his woman his “slavewife,” they seem to be declaring a distinction. “I am not merely his slave, I am his slavewife!” Or, “I am his slave that he takes more seriously than just plain slave,” or “I have a more permanent place in his life than a mere slave!” These unspoken pronouncements make me laugh. The cynic in me reacts to the assumption of permanence, in any romantic relationship, let alone in our world of Velcro collars. The importance placed on the “wife” in this invented word gives me a chuckle as well; I understand the feeling that it gives one (and one’s relationship) more respect in the vanilla world, but does it really command more respect in our world where one can say, “I am his slave,” and people will understand that there is gravity to the relationship?
Sometimes I hear someone call herself a “slavewife” and it seems to be a declaration of equality. “Yes, sure, we have a ‘power exchange’ relationship, but we are equals because I am his WIFE in addition to calling myself his slave. That makes it all better, right?” I didn’t sign up to be Master’s equal. My status as unequal to him is not bred of any natural disadvantage (though I suppose we could call his physical advantage pretty natural to mine), but rather the choice to live in an authority imbalanced dynamic. If I CHOOSE to have someone be the boss of me, why would I want to go around protesting to everyone that will listen that I am really his equal?
I hear “slavewife” and I can’t help it, I immediately assume insecurity. I suppose from the outside, I can see that there are people who treat “slaves” with less respect, as children and unworthy. I know that I have encountered such people, the ones who want to condescend and denigrate…I just don’t accept their treatment. I am confident in the fact that my slavery does not make me less than any of you. In fact, living authentically INCREASES my power on this planet, rather than the opposite. So I hear “slavewife” and think, “oh honey, being a slave doesn’t lessen you as a person! You don’t need to declare wife to convey to me that you’re okay and not abused or mistreated or unloved!”
REMINDER: MY connotations.
I am Master’s slave. When we are married, I will still be his slave. He will introduce me as his wife to the people who he would have done so with before. That will not change the fact that I am his slave. For as long as we are together, that foundation will remain intact. The ebbs and flows of life, the times when regular beatings aren’t possible, or when we are cranky with each other, or when life “gets in the way” won’t change the fact that I am his slave. I am the mother to his child, because he finds that pleasing. I am his Office Manager while he finds that useful. I am his Event Producer as long as he finds that productive. I am his pigdawg, I am his slut, I am his amusement, whenever he desires. I am even his wife, when he wants me to be, sure.
But never his “slavewife”.
Unless he declares it so, of course.
August 10, 2015
The real purpose of giving massage is to foster more depth of feeling for one another in order to bring out the love that often lies buried beneath the pain of everyday suffering. –Robert Calvert
Touch is an amazing thing. It breeds empathy, soothes tension, creates intimacy…of course we want to touch those we love! Lots of us, however, are a bit intimidated when we formalize the process with the word “massage.” Join slave Jazz, a Certified Massage Therapist, in an exploration of how you can take your partner on the relaxation ride of her/his life with the art of sensual massage.
Basic techniques, supplies, setting the mood, sequencing and flow will all be covered. And while sensual massage can certainly be practiced by partners of any (or no) acknowledged power dynamic, Jazz will devote some focus on how this type of intimate touch may be performed as a service enjoyable for all participants.
April 23, 2015
Recently, someone said to me, “Your Master is such a white knight.”
And as I answered, “Yes he is,” I realized that for perhaps the first time, I was saying so with pride.
I was surprised by my reaction; my typical response to White Knights is scorn and derision (even if silently expressed). I have never understood how someone could allow themself to be taken advantage of like that, to fall prey to the ploy of the “broken bird”, and I’ve always resented it in partners.
If you have the impression that I am the perfect (or even a good) slave, feel free to move along.
It can be tough to be in relationship with someone who embodies the archetype of White Knight…MANY people prey on the urge to protect and save and heal, and it’s frustrating to watch someone you love fall victim to that manipulation out of the blindness that comes from their own desire to help above all else.
I have gone through many phases in my feelings about this phenomenon. I have felt pity for the Knight in his naivete; I have been frustrated with the Knight for being so vulnerable to such manipulation; I have settled on the fact that the Knight makes his own bed and must sleep in it; and now, I am proud to say my owner is a White Knight. Where does that sudden (and new) acceptance come from?
Perhaps it finally clicked in my head that it’s not so different from my own situation.
I am love. Yes, that sounds nauseatingly new agey…but long ago, I settled on the fact that as someone with the ability to love more deeply, fully, quickly, and easily than most people, my purpose on this planet (the meaning of my life) is to love. Hell, the meaning of my birth name comes from full and total love. And when I accepted this as my purpose, I accepted the fact that I will also get hurt more deeply, fully, quickly, and easily than most people. Who am I, then, to judge the Knight in his (or her) purpose?
The judgment comes from care and concern for a loved one, sure. But it also comes from jealousy of his attention and effort. And that jealousy stymies his talents and his purpose. I pride myself on never needing to be saved, which is likely precisely the reason I belong to a White Knight. This pride can lead me to feel resentful for the fact that my independence leaves him with extra energy to “save” others rather than putting that energy into me and our relationship. Rescuing people, like loving people, can be exhausting. It makes sense that a White Knight would not actually want to own a broken bird, but rather a strong and competent individual who can rescue him if needed, or at least support him in his rescuing attempts.
Perhaps it is my relief that my daughter will always have a White Knight father she can count on that has changed…all I know is that I’ve somehow found a new appreciation of the tender place in his heart that makes him a White Knight. Will I feel more tenderness towards those who attempt to prey on his archetypal nature? Likely not, but I am proud to belong to one who is called to protect, to nurture, to heal, to save.
Perhaps there’ll be more of this ponderance forthcoming, these are simply notes observing a thought process on my mind…
April 15, 2015
It’s been a hell of a few years…relationships ending, beginning, ending, beginning…Sin in the City being built from scratch, primarily by me. An employee and “family” member who committed a more grievous betrayal than we could have ever imagined. A huge project in another extra-curricular community. New venues for Sin each year. A move. A pregnancy. A baby.
I’m tired just typing about it.
And while I’ve been pretty good at making sure I get a pedicure or a massage from time to time, self care has gone by the wayside entirely, in any meaningful manner. Plenty of people would read that last sentence and think, What a spoiled bitch! Since when does having the time and money to indulge in the luxury of pedicures and massages not count as real self care?
We talk all the time about how those who live lives of service must practice self care in order to care for others; how we must have a filled cup to fill the cups of others, etc. And so it is not uncommon for a caring Master or dominant to require those in service to them to get relaxation or beauty treatments from time to time…it’s good stewardship after all, isn’t it?
But how often do we talk about the necessity for self love in addition to self care?
While I was indeed practicing the indulgences of self care from time to time (ask any full time slave and you’ll hear that leaving Master to go get a massage or a pedicure feels like a MASSIVE indulgence and makes plenty of us feel guilty), I wasn’t practicing the indulgences of self LOVE very often in the past few years.
I certainly didn’t love who I was in spite of and because of my flaws and faults…I certainly didn’t have a lot of compassion for myself.
I AM imperfect. I AM permanently and inevitably flawed. I AM beautiful and flawed and lovable and loved. I just forgot for awhile.
Why write about this now? So much of my life has changed in the past year. I have a daughter who needs a good role model for every moment of her life, who needs to see her mother as a strong and beautiful (imperfect and human) woman, who practices both self care AND self love.
I need to use the self care I practice to strengthen the self love I practice. My life has been changing. Some of those changes hurt me a great deal (I swear, if I have to learn the Love Is Not Enough lesson EVER again in my life, it’ll be too soon). Some of those changes altered my path forever. But self love has become so important in my current life that it is changing the course Master leads me on.
I started yoga again on Monday. I haven’t practiced yoga regularly for about ten years. Prenatal yoga doesn’t count, since they make it easy enough for full term women and it’s really just super modified gentle stretching. The last time I did yoga regularly was probably 2005…and even then, I did it alone, with videos rather than an instructor and a studio.
Both Monday evening and Tuesday evening’s classes have served to humiliate and empower me. It is frustrating to feel where my body is at; humiliating that I am not strong enough, flexible enough, fit enough for every little variation of every little pose. And yet, I glow with pride that I am taking care of myself in this way. My soul sings to be doing something so good for my body and so good for my spirit at the same time…and it makes me feel more deeply loved by me (and by Master for encouraging this), than I have in a long time.
Credit for leading me back upon this path belongs to Master. After all, credit always belongs to him, right?😉 It is exceedingly important to him that we both have regular physical practices to serve as an example to our daughter, and he suggested that I get back involved in both yoga and tai chi, or some other martial art. As our talks progressed, I found that we were re-kindling passion within me for certain courses of study…and so we developed a plan.
For now, I’ll leave it a mystery…I’m sure I’ll be talking about it in bits and pieces as they fall into place. Right now, that bit or piece is yoga.
Monday, was Expressive Yoga. Tuesday was Vinyasa Flow. Tonight is Yin Yoga. Three different nights in a row because I probably can’t have Master as childcare tomorrow evening, and Saturday there are no classes that don’t conflict with his jiu jitsu, and then Sunday morning, the baby and will leave at the butt crack of dawn for Salt Lake City to spend a couple of days taking care of my beautiful girly. Perhaps I’ll find a way to sneak in a class on Friday after getting the truck serviced. I’m so totally sore right now, but I haven’t been this blissed out in years.
There are worse things one could be addicted to, right?
To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance —Oscar Wilde
March 25, 2015
So, as I mentioned, it’s been FOREVER since I’ve written here consistently. Between being busy with the event, and then a giant commitment in a non-kink community in which we participate, and then the event, and then getting pregnant…life has just flown by the past couple of years without any time to do many of those things which keep me grounded. Like writing.
So yeah, a year ago today I woke up in the morning and decided that I should probably take a pregnancy test. I was five days late, and while I had been traveling constantly and under a huge amount of stress, I figured that was late enough that it merited a test. Having been trying for just over a year at that point, I didn’t get excited while dipping my bulk-order test strip into my cup of pee. After all, there was NO way I could be pregnant, given our sex schedule vs. my ovulation schedule that month.
I dipped. I set the strip aside and went to take a shower before checking it. Two red lines. In. The. Right. Spots.
I took a deep breath and immediately Googled “false positives on pregnancy tests” on my phone. Somewhere amidst the claims that false negatives were much more common, was the warning that a false positive could result from letting a test develop for too long (i.e., longer than 5 minutes). Well, I thought, that must be it. Or perhaps these test strips from China have gone bad…even though I’ve never gotten a positive one from this batch before…I’m not really pregnant, no reason to get excited. I finished getting dressed. I didn’t contact Master. I stopped by Walgreens and picked up the most expensive pregnancy test they had. Spending close to twenty dollars, I was the proud owner of a digital pee wand that would actually time itself for me and return an answer of “pregnant” or “not pregnant,” with no lines, plus signs, or happy faces to decipher. Then I went to get the oil changed in Master’s car.
Chores done, I drove to the office, quiet as a mouse and barely breathing. I unpacked my laptop, set it up, and only then did I take my new techno-gadget into the bathroom. I locked myself inside, poured over the instructions and then carefully peed on the stick. I set it down oh-so-carefully (to maintain its horizontal positioning as the directions instructed), and watched the hourglass on the display tick down. I wasn’t about to leave it there while it developed; after all, what if one of the employees walked in and found it?
Wow, no room for doubt when it’s not a matter of colored lines (is the test line dark enough to mean positive?). I texted Master, asking if he was on his way to the office. He didn’t answer, so I called him all of two minutes later. He was headed to another office, where he had a meeting scheduled for five minutes from then.
“Master, can you please stop by the office on your way? I need to talk to you. It’ll just take a minute.”
When he pulled up, I was waiting outside already. I silently opened the car door and sat down inside, pulling it closed behind me. I handed him the magic wand.
Those of you who know Master will be amused to learn that yes, he CAN laugh like a little girl. He giggled, he clapped, he fist bumped the roof of the car.
So, a year later and we have the world’s most beautiful four month old baby girl (yes, I understand I’m biased, but even her pediatrician says she’s the most adorable baby in the world). The last four months have been a whirlwind with very little sleep, learning to produce an event with a newborn demanding constant attention, rearranging of priorities, shifting of life plans, and trying to figure out how to work on our dynamic with all of this (more on that next).
We are both totally completely smitten and over the moon in love. Babies make you dumb, by the way….but gods, we’re happy and blessed.
March 23, 2015
I loved a bottomless pit once…the current state of my love is irrelevant, for we are discussing the past.
I loved a bottomless pit, and no matter how much love, attention, time, or positive feedback I threw into the pit, it was never enough. Everything I tossed that way fell into the deep, dark abyss of the pit, echoing as it made its journey to wherever pits end. And even when our relationship morphed–even when we were “friends”–all I got for the most love I could give was betrayal when I needed my friend the most.
It is exhausting to love a bottomless pit.
It is exhausting and there isn’t room for it in my life.
The topic weighs heavy in my mind right now, because it is a situation that recently repeated itself, though in slightly different form. This pit took the shape of a friend, a friend who was doing some work with me…and who got needier and needier and needier as each day passed.
Master noticed that I was beginning to get frustrated; he noticed that every time my phone chirped in a new text or beeped in a new Facebook message, it was this person. That questions rated by the pit as “OMG important!” were less than urgent. That it was often just an excuse for constant attention.
I am owned. I am now not only a slave, but a mother to an infant as well.
My loving nature makes me exceedingly attractive to bottomless pits, it seems. My desire to validate those close to me, my desire to make sure they know they’re treasured. My natural qualities act like a magnet to those who need constant validation.
But I don’t have time for a pit.
There are enough pits in my life. There are enough areas where it feels I am constantly shoveling, never to see the results. I can’t adopt another pit as a friend…or as a partner. I just don’t have the ability to dedicate my entire being to feeding a pit.
Nor do I have the freedom.
And while this doesn’t mean that I don’t treasure you, pits-of-the-past-present-and-future, while it doesn’t mean that I don’t love you or value you, there’s got to be an end to it. No more can I let you get close if you don’t know how to love yourself or accept love from others. No more can I let you get close if you use passive aggressive tactics to gain the attention you crave. Those tactics make me violently angry, and that’s not the person I want to be.
I’m finding my way back to the path. I’m walking forward in life as his slave. As her mother. And I don’t have room for those who would rather see me fall into their bottomless pits.
March 23, 2015
Yes, the time shift has already passed, but tonight I consider the idea of moving forward in life with the birth of spring.
So much of my life HAS moved forward since I last posted, but there will be time to discuss that in future. For now, springing forward!
We speak of “Spring Cleaning,” and I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I need to do some of that; physically, of course, but much more importantly, spirituality, mentally, and metaphorically. Time to let go of the things that don’t serve me anymore. Time to put out the people who have abandoned me in times of need. Time to move forward from unhealthy attachment based on misplaced love.
Time to move forward.
I am so very lucky to have the love and support I do in my life. My partner/best friend/Master loves me more than life itself and is ALWAYS ready to do the work necessary to keep our relationship alive. We piss each other off royally at times, but he is always here in the end, ready to keep working, still dedicated to us. And I recognize how blessed I am to have that…especially in the wake of being abandoned by someone I loved so deeply in my time of greatest need…I thank my lucky stars that after this many years, we’re both still working every day on us.
Certainly, it would be easier to jump ship sometimes…proof of that exists in spades.
Life catch-up, the quick version:
We had a baby. In November. She is the most beautiful, intelligent, amazing little creature. Yes, I’m biased, but everyone else agrees😉
We completed the third year of Sin in the City. 850 people. Unprecedented growth. Working on next year’s event already.
Master and I are working on some life changes in many different arenas. Those will be revealed at some point, I’m sure.
Being a mother is certainly time consuming. I started this entry 3 days ago…and it’s not long. More later, on a topic weighing heavy on my mind.
March 5, 2014
This was another awesome conference with amazing classes by phenomenal presenters. For those that didn’t make it here’s the rundown of what you missed and my 2 cents on the ones I attended. I highly suggest coming out to Sin In The City next year. After all, it’s a Leather conference, Southwest Olympus contest AND you’re in Vegas …. now that’s an awesome way to spend a weekend.
Friday 11a – 12:30p
Understanding & Meetings Your Needs by Lady Hilary
Pony Play 101 by SubMissAnn
The Floor Gets Farther Down Every Day by Master Tallen & slave george
Are You Cumming to This Class? The Explosive Possibilities of Orgasm Play by RuleOfThree
Stun Gun Fun by Eibon – This class was scheduled for the full 1 1/2 hours but only lasted 45 minutes. This class was perfect though. Quick, to the point, completely informative and one I can definitely duplicate. (giggle) Receiving a free stun gun…
View original post 1,462 more words
March 5, 2014
The article can be found on the Leather Journal at http://theleatherjournal.com/index.php/international-olympus-leather-contest/928-southwest-olympus-leather-2014
As I’m now contributing to the Leather Journal my articles there will be shared here for your reading pleasure and so I can keep track of my articles as well.
It was another great weekend at “Sin In The City” in Las Vegas, NV home of the Southwest Olympus contest. Hope you enjoy the article🙂
March 21, 2013
I was just asked if I make a distinction between being property and a slave. Which meant I had to look at my initial reaction of, “no, duh!” and ask if that was really the truth.
I acknowledge the distinction that many people hold between O/p and M/s. I do not make a distinction in my life: I am his slave, I am his property. But while I don’t make an emotional distinction, I figured I should look at the intellectual distinctions.
Per dictionary.com (albeit, abridged, because I don’t care about “a slave ant” when I’m looking at the definition of slave):
- that which a person owns; the possession or possessions of a particular owner.
- goods, land, etc., considered as possessions.
- a piece of land or real estate.
- ownership; right of possession, enjoyment, or disposal of anything, especially of something tangible.
- something at the disposal of a person, a group of persons, or the community or public.
- a person who is the property of and wholly subject to another.
- a person entirely under the domination of some influence or person.
- a drudge.
Okay, so they’re both nouns…that’s a start, right? The main difference I see in these definitions is that “slave” specifies that we’re speaking about a person, whereas property TENDS to be used to describe inanimate objects. So then, is it merely a question of objectification?
Now, it’d be much more straightforward to answer a question such as this if we could depend on “the community™” to be clear on the precise definitions of words and labels they use before they use them. Alas, my intellectually snooty dream will never come true. A great many people make distinctions and choose to use O/p rather than M/s for a great many different reasons.
I had an ex that instituted the use of the terms “Owner” and “property” in a prior relationship because he didn’t feel worthy of the label “Master”. While he called me “slave” at times, I was never permitted to use the “M word” with him, because the level of responsibility that denoted was frightening to him. For my ex (and some others I’m sure), the very fact that “Owner” sounds so much less personal than “Master” allowed him to distance himself from some of the minute details of the relationship.
There are many people who use the terms “Owner” and “property” because they feel it distances their consensual authority transfer dynamic from the non-consensual chattel slavery of our nation’s history. While that need to distance doesn’t resonate with me (I feel that part of the reason “Master” and “slave” are evocative labels and job descriptions is because of ALL the connotations those words bring with them), I respect their choice to use them for that reason.
I also know plenty of people who use O/p and explain that it’s a more extreme dynamic than M/s due to the objectifying nature of the term “property.” They will say that beyond humanity, the owned is a possession of the owner like any other: car, book, home, property.
Because I like words, and like to use them “properly” (yes, it’s very elitist of me to proclaim that the proper use of a word stems entirely from how the dictionary chooses to define said word), I come back to the definitions. The big difference between “property” and “slave” is that we use “slave” to describe a person owned by another, and “property” to describe an object. The M/s that Master and I practice tends to be very objectifying, so it follows that to me, “property” isn’t at all dissonant with “slave”.
I am nothing but what he leads me to be, whether he leads me to be a footstool, a sex object, a workhorse, a robot, or an awesome human being. I am property and I am slave.