Saturday, December 26, 2009

Day 141- On a Great Chrstmas with My Family, and a Doozy of a Holiday Dinner for Master (Who Liked It) and M'Lady (Who Apparently Couldn't Have Cared Less)

(As is my habit, I'm writing until I'm too brain-dead to function, so I'm posting this without editing it. I'll re-read it for errors tomorrow, but who knows what you'll find in it tonight? *chuckles*)

I feel too tired to write tonight, but I also feel I should do it because I’ve got things to say. It’s been an important week, yet again. It seems weird to me that a lot of people have day after day where they get up, eat, go to work, eat, work some more, come home, eat, watch TV, go to bed, and repeat the cycle over and over. Maybe someday my days will become filled with a dull, drab routine, but not yet it seems.

Of course, the holidays added some unusual spice to the week’s events. Yesterday was Christmas, and a very nice day it was for me – and my family, with whom I spent most of the time. Master allowed me to take Christmas Eve off so I could spend the night with my kids. I brought a laptop so I could work on my blog but … err … well, here’s all I wrote that night …

“It’s close to two in the morning on Christmas. I realize that my son has his alarm set to go off at 5:30 – less than four hours from now. Well, I remember that now. I’ve been … err … testing out the Guitar Hero game I got my kids for Christmas, and I sorta lost track of time. I’m actually at my ex’s house instead of my Master’s. It’s the first time I’ve stayed over here in a long time – as in, almost two years. It feels a bit weird, but it’s okay.”

*grins*

I curled up to sleep on an old (and wonderfully comfy) recliner in the living room, and the next thing I remember was my son’s happy face as he was waking me up in the darkness – at 5:31 AM. My daughter hadn’t woken yet, and as she still believes in Santa Claus, I had to convince my son to not open up any presents until she got down. To my pleasant surprise, he was fine with that, as long as he had a chance to look over his gifts and see what he got before heading upstairs back to bed again. My son still has some problems emotionally, but he’s really starting to making some strides in maturing as a young man, and that makes my ex and I very hopeful about his future, as you can guess. *smiles*

After my daughter awoke, she and my son came down together, with my son feigning surprise at all the gifts, and the rest of the day went pretty much as best as any Christmas I’ve had in a long time. My ex and I gave the kids craft kits and books and science kits and stuffed animals, with almost no electronic toys – the exception being a nifty kinetic sculpture for my son and a top that never stops spinning for my daughter, both of which use batteries to power inner magnets. Oh, and I got them both a “sports resort” game program for their new Wii along with the previously mentioned Guitar Hero, and my ex got a dragon-oriented video game for my son – who very quickly became quasi-addicted to it. (I think I’ve mentioned that my son and daughter are both very heavily into dragons at the moment, especially my son, who works with a dragon spirit and somewhat believes he may be a dragon himself spiritually – which concerns me a bit, from my experience with Dragon in the past. In every case of friends of mine who work with Dragon spirit, before long they believe they’re dragons themselves, something I attribute to the energies of Dragon – although I don’t put it past him to be trying to convince them of such things for his own selfish reasons. Whatever.)

Amazingly, only one of the gifts somewhat flopped – the Guitar Hero. I thought my son and my ex would both love it, but my son said the idea doesn’t thrill him a lot, and my ex suggested I just keep it for awhile to play at Master’s house until my son’s ready for it. Well, I have to admit, the Guitar Hero really rocks (literally) in my opinion, and so I agreed to take perfect care of it (and to make good use of it until my son wants it back. *chuckles*)

Come early afternoon, I headed back to Master’s, mistakenly thinking he wanted me to make some sweet-potato frittatas for dinner. I also wanted to spend time with Master and M’Lady that day, thinking they would be celebrating Christmas in their own way. To my complete surprise, Master told me upon my arrival that he and M’Lady don’t celebrate the holiday season – at all. I knew Master wasn’t Christian, and M’Lady was raised in the Jewish faith, but I thought they’d celebrate something simply for the fun, but no Christmas or Hanukkah in any way shape or form. (Although I’m not Christian either, I do see the holiday as a wonderful cultural celebration, and I spiritually take time to acknowledge the Winter Solstice at least.) I have to admit that I expected they’d have a little something for me as a token of the season, but Master explained to me after seeing my crestfallen expression that he feels gifts shouldn’t be given as an obligation as part of a holiday, but instead they should be given spontaneously whenever the mood strikes him. I see what he’s saying, and to me that shows a much more forthright and generous view of the idea of giving to those you care about and those in need, in a way taking the idea of Christmas and spreading it throughout the entire year.

Nonetheless, it shows why my big British-themed holiday feast for Master and M’Lady that I spent weeks planning and hours preparing and finally presented as a big surprise – wasn’t as big a deal to them as I thought it would be.

After doing some last minute chores on Christmas eve (along with making from scratch a loaf of applesauce bread to bring my ex and kids for their Christmas breakfast), I was counting the hours until the afternoon arrived. Finally at 4 PM I very brightly took Master’s and M’Lady’s nice China from their shelves, brewed a pot of Lady Grey tea, opened a package of sweetened British “digestive biscuits” and place a few alongside the teacups on a tray, then filled the cups and, carefully approaching Master and M’Lady with everything on a tray, announced in my best British accent that it was time for tea. Master was wonderful and very gratefully took his drink and biscuits. M’Lady, who was lying on the couch reading a book, instead uttered coldly, “I don’t drink tea” without even looking up at me.

Oh, well, at least Master liked it, so I was able to take her tea and enjoy it myself in the kitchen.

I then presented Master and M’Lady with a surprise selection of British “Country Living” magazines from several different years dedicated to the Christmas and Winter seasons, and Master graciously took them, but M’Lady only shook her head in refusal.

Undaunted, I thought for sure M’Lady would be won over by the meal I had prepared. And it was a doozy. From scratch, I made country mushrooms in a creamy tarragon-flavored sauce, along with potato scones and glazed carrots. For the entrees, I had to fudge and use frozen stuff, but it came straight from England, so it was authentic – Scottish meat pies, along with a steak and kidney pie. And then, after they had finished all that, I presented steamed plum budding in a brandy sauce, ginger wafers, and to top it off, Christmas crackers – which are these adorable tubes that break apart with a “bang” when you pull them, revealing a toy-surprise along with a paper crown and a joke. (Hoo boy, I’m pretty sure it was the most complicated arrangement I’ve made since coming to live with Master. I was frantically working for hours to get it all ready at the same time, and the number of dishes and utensils I needed to clean afterward was amazing.)

After all the planning and keeping everything a surprise, I couldn’t wait. I spent a decent amount of my own money getting everything together, but I didn’t care – for Master and M’Lady, anything would be worth it, and I just wanted to make them happy for the holidays.

*sighs*

To them, it was pretty much a normal meal. After I proudly presented each of them with a plate loaded with food, they turned on the television, started watching a show, and casually ate what I made without any fanfare. The TV was so loud that I had a lot of trouble trying to explain what I had made.

I made enough for myself of most everything (there wasn’t enough of the steak and kidney pie for me to try, but I figure I’ll get a chance someday). It was hard for me to enjoy it, though, because the television program was so distracting the only way I could get through the meal was to turn off my hearing aids and focus like crazy on what I was eating.

*sighs again*

Finally, Master and M’Lady finished what I had prepared, and I rushed to get the desert and crackers and returned with it all arranged very nicely for them. And then, I realized I simply couldn’t return with all of it as long as the show was still blaring, so I respectfully waited and asked them for that part of the evening to please turn off the TV – and fortunately they did. And it all did turn out fun – Master got a deck of cards in his cracker and very jovially wore the paper crown, and M’Lady got a hair barrette and a good (bad) joke … “Why didn’t the skeleton make it to the New Year’s Eve party? Because he had no body to go with.” Yark, yark yark! *giggles* I had bought an extra cracker in case the others were broken, and Master bade me to open it – and I got, of all things, a shoe horn. Who in the world would give a shoe horn to a child as a present? Those British people are SO bizarre! *grins*

Afterword, M’Lady turned back on the show, not having shown much enthusiasm for anything I did throughout the evening, and I got to work cleaning the dishes. By the time I was done, I was exhausted. In the end, though Master made it all worth it by coming to me, telling me he was very pleased with the dinner, and that it was wonderful, and that he greatly appreciated all my efforts, and then he hugged me, and I truly felt wonderful indeed!!! *bounces*

Well, on that note, I’m going to post this and head to bed. I haven’t even talked about the stuff that happened earlier in the week. Or the fact that I really pissed off Master tonight – so much that he cancelled plans to attend a play party at the Sanctuary BDSM club. But that can wait. Some weird stuff has been going on with me lately spiritually, and so my dreams are calling me. So … toodles for now.

And, as always … la kajira!

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Day 135 - On the Death of One of My Dearest Friends, at the Hands of Me and My Ex, to End Her Suffering

One of the best friends I’ve ever had died two days ago.

And my ex and I killed her.

Her name was Shelby. To say she was a cat seems like it’s not enough. She was truly the best cat in the world. She represented what all other cats should strive to be.

She was as much a person as you or I or anybody else could be.

She was incredibly intelligent, and mindful, and always wanted to know what my ex and I were doing during the almost 18 years that she lived with us. And if she didn’t approve what she saw, she would very vocally let us know.

She owned us. We were her pets and her children.

And she was our daughter.

We were all family, deeply and closely and with intense love.

And she’s dead now. And reality doesn’t seem like it’s right anymore. It seems like everything is skewed. Like nothing makes sense, like nothing means anything anymore.

Her health began deteriorating a couple of months ago, and during the last week we noticed she wasn’t eating or drinking hardly anything. We took her to a vet at an animal hospital we trusted, and the vet struggled to keep her alive, managing to clean out her system and pump her up with enough fluids to allow her one more good day at home.

Last Thursday I spent most of the day at my ex’s house with Shelby. I took her outside, where she used to love to roam, for one last time. I played with her with string one last time. I took her for a “magic carpet” ride in a box above my head, soaring from room to room, for a last time. Mostly, I just lay next to her while she rested, and gently scratched her head or comforted her as she slept, her brown and copper fur under my fingers.

The next day, my ex and I took her to the vet. My ex researched everything possible about Shelby’s condition on the Internet, and I probed the vet with tons of questions. In the end, however, we realized that Shelby was suffering, and we did what we had to do. We held her gently, my ex rubbing her face softly, as the vet gave her a lethal injection. And, suddenly, Shelby collapsed and … just wasn’t there anymore. Her body remained, but without the immense presence that made up Shelby’s personality.

We caused her soul to separate from her body.

I think I went a little insane then. My ex later said he felt the same way, that he too felt like his mind became unglued.

It was especially hard for him. Shelby was mostly my cat during almost all of her life. She and I had a bond that was as close as anything I’ve had with any person ever. But Shelby also loved my ex, and after I moved out, Shelby and my ex became deeply attached. Every night Shelby would scratch on the bedroom door to get in when she wanted, and would order my ex around to be let out as well. Shelby would vocally demand my ex to go to bed when Shelby wanted him to, and then she would curl up next to my ex after he had settled down. When Shelby was ready to get up in the morning, she would walk on my ex’s face, making sure he didn’t oversleep. And through all that, my ex responded one way – with love. Now that Shelby is gone, my ex said he is having the most horrible time sleeping because a critical part of my ex’s nights is gone forever.

Neither of us will see Shelby again in this lifetime. And that doesn’t just sadden us. It infuriates us.

She is our daughter. Our friend. Our family. How dare the universe take her away!

I know deeply in my heart, without a doubt, she’s gone on to another life. But where is she? What’s happening to her? I want to demand answers, but I don’t know how. I feel like a mother who took her daughter to an airport then kissed her farewell with the knowledge that not only would I never see her again, but I would never even know where she went.

I want so much to communicate with her. To know that she’s safe. And I never will, at least not in this lifetime.

Somehow I’ve always felt Shelby and I knew each other before we met in this life. We adopted her from the Denver Dumb Friends’ League animal shelter. I was walking past row after row of cats when I saw Shelby and for some reason just realized she was the cat for me. And she was. My ex has always marveled at how I just knew, and how Shelby truly turned out to be a cat beyond even the most fantastic expectations.

Right before Shelby died, I did a quiet ceremony while holding her, and I talked to my Jaguar spirit guide about her next incarnation. Jaguar said she would make a good mountain lion, but I said I was afraid she would be lonely because I know Shelby loved us so much. To me, Shelby is beyond any restrictions. She may have been a cat in this life, but she was greater than me and greater than anybody I knew.

After talking with Jaguar about that, I tapped into the love of my ex and myself and used it, giving it to Jaguar, while asking Jaguar to direct and focus our love in a way to make Shelby’s transition into the next life a smooth one, and that she would always remember that we loved her. And Jaguar said he would do that, and I felt it happening, and the vet gave her the injection soon afterward.

My memories of Shelby are too many to write down, but a few stand out.

Shelby would always follow us around, determined to stick her nose into our affairs. If we got a box in the mail, she would jump on the counter and sniff it and try and figure it out first. If we got in groceries, she would investigate them and give her approval (or lack of approval) to our purchase. And she was so very vocal about whatever was on her mind, and she thought about a lot, that was clear!

One day her nosiness was her downfall. My ex’s mom is from Puerto Rico, and it’s a tradition there to throw potfuls of water out the door at exactly the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day. Well, one year we opened the front door, and just as we threw out the water, Shelby decided to run outside in curiosity regarding what we were looking at – and all the water landed right on her in the middle of the cold winter night. She ran back in very unhappily, and we bundled her up and dried her off while laughing uproariously.

About a decade ago, we were living in a townhome in Denver near a large field that ran downhill to a wooded stream. Shelby loved interacting with wildlife – in particular, the squirrels. We had a squirrel feeder on the back porch, and Shelby would wait patiently until a squirrel would approach, and then she would take off running to chase the squirrel away. The thing is, the squirrels weren’t really overly scared of her, and you could tell because every so often Shelby would actually get close enough to catch a squirrel, and the squirrel would stop and angrily turn and start chattering at Shelby, who would quickly back away and either stare in indignation or retreat back to the porch. I think Shelby knew it was as much a game as anybody, but she loved it very much.

One day I decided it would be fun to take Shelby down the hill to explore the stream (we had taken her to similar areas a couple of times before), and so with her perched on my shoulder, we headed on our journey. Along the way we crossed over old, abandoned railroad tracks which … turned out to be not so abandoned after all. Just as we were crossing, a restored trolley car came very slowly down the tracks in our direction and blew its horn to alert us. Shelby very accordingly freaked and ran back up the hill as fast as her legs were carry her, clawing me mightily in the process, and she never wanted to go to there again. It sounds weird, but it was a very funny experience, and I think Shelby actually enjoyed the excitement.

She fully trusted me, from almost the moment I first brought her home, to the day she died. She trusted me to take her, turn her upside down and cuddle her in my arms, like a mother holding a baby. And as I would rock her, she would purr the loudest, most wonderful purrs. She would only trust me to do that with her, and it was a trust I valued more than almost anything on Earth.

The last few days have been very tough, needless to say. My ex and I have been together for each other, supporting each other in very important ways. When I had broken down in tears, hating myself for what we had done, my ex would convince me we had done the right thing. And I would be there for my ex when he would feel horrible about our actions in having Shelby put to sleep.

“Death is the price a pet owner pays to relieve their pet’s suffering,” he told me he read online, meaning that we will always feel guilty at making the choice to kill Shelby, but we did it for the right reasons.

Friday, after Shelby’s body was put into a box, I kept wanted to scream. I kept wanting to try and wake her up. I kept feeling like it was impossible she could be dead. The entire world suffered at the loss of Shelby, and what’s amazing is that so little of the world will ever realize that.

Friday after our children got home from school, we buried Shelby in our back yard. My ex and my son said their farewells, and then I read a poem by Suzanne Vega that I felt was appropriate (it’s attached at the bottom of today’s post). I then covered the grave, and we all put rocks on top and walked away.

Well, except for my daughter. She didn’t want to take part in the funeral. She actually seemed almost casual about what had happened. I can’t help but wonder if her cat nature just sees Shelby’s death as a part of life, and she’s handling it in a very sane way.

My ex said Shelby was the sanest of all of us. And I tend to agree.

Master has been wonderful during this time. He gave me almost all of Thursday off to be with Shelby, then all of Friday to deal with the euthanasia and the aftermath, and then all of Saturday to be with my family and try to move on.

Part of me feels like I’ll never truly move on from Shelby’s death. I have two human children. And I had a feline one. And my feline daughter died two days ago. And there’s now a hole in my heart that I don’t see how it could ever be filled again.

Goodbye for now, Shelby. You blessed our lives in more ways than I could imagine. I’ll see you again, someday.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"World Before Columbus"
by Suzanne Vega

If your love were taken from me
Every color would be black and white
It would be as flat as the world before Columbus
That's the day that I lose half my sight

If your life were taken from me
All the trees would freeze in this cold ground
It would be as cruel as the world before Columbus
Sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they never will have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

If your love were taken from me
Every light that's bright would soon go dim
It would be as dark as the world before Columbus
Down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they will never have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Day 130 - On Having Repeated Emotional Meltdowns that Resulted in Me Becoming Owned by Master in Deeper Ways than I Even Realized Was Possible ... and On Making Cookies and Getting a Wii for My Kids

(This is a long blog. Really long. A lot happened since I last posted. I just wanted to warn you.

Also, I put an unedited version of this post up here last night, and Master read it after it went online and … after calling me to my knees at his feet, he brought a few things to my attention this morning.

For one, there’s the cookie eating. I tend to eat food if it’s available, and so I didn’t keep much around my apartment when I was living by myself. At Master’s home, however, the larders and fridge are always full of stuff, so Master has me on food restrictions, in that I can’t eat snacks without his explicit approval. And I didn’t get approval for the cookies. He didn’t punish me, because he said he could understand my submission to temptation in the presence of a big tin full of mouth-watering treats, but he also told me to work harder to make sure I didn’t slip up again. I took the cookies to my ex's house as a gift to my kids to avoid temptation, and Master has approved of my solution to the situation. *grins*

Also, Master wanted me to make sure I corrected a couple of errors. One was that I stated that he would binge eat late at night before bed. It should be noted that M’Lady does that, but Master does not. Secondly, months ago, soon after I had first met Master, I said he was about 70 years old. Afterward I found out he’s actually about 60 years old, but I never corrected his age.

Anyway, on with the post … )


Wow. It’s, err, Tuesday night. It’s been more than a week since I’ve posted.

Last week was a bit different than most weeks. But then, heck, I’ve given up on experiencing a “normal” week anytime in the near future.

But, all kidding aside, the last week and a half have been a real mess.

I’ve been sick on and off. I had several serious crying jags (a.k.a. “meltdowns”) about various things. And, in the end, I wound up binding to Master emotionally deeper than ever before.

It’s definitely been a long week.

Excuse me while I go get a gingerbread cookie, one of a huge batch I made with a bunch of other slaves at a holiday cookie party yesterday morning.

*num num num*

Okay, back. That wasn’t exactly a low-calorie break, as I ate two gingerbread cookies, half an apple-oatmeal cookie, half a mint-chocolate cookie, half an oatmeal raisin cookie, and half of a ginger cookie. *counts the cookies and grimaces*

Yep. I did something wrong. I should have had milk with them, too. *grins* (And, yeah, I’ve been on a diet the last couple of weeks. It’s been working. So far, I haven’t gained any weight, which is realistically all you can hope during the Christmas season. )

Back to the meltdowns … the first happened, of all things, when I was looking in the mirror and lamenting my hair. Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to March 30th of this year, when I was out of town and, at a friend’s insistence, I decided to get highlights put in my hair at a salon my friend said was great. The salon was run by people from Thailand, and a horrible mistranslation occurred. One of my most lovely features has always been my curly hair, and I was telling the stylist how proud I was of it when, somehow, she thought I was saying I hated my hair. To make matters worse, she was clueless, a novice and working without real supervision. First, she chemically straightened my hair. When I found out and freaked, she then permed it, to my shock, and claimed she had fixed it. Then she dyed my hair and put the highlights in. Four chemical treatments over a four-hour period. Yeah, you heard right. She totally destroyed my hair. It’s a miracle it didn’t all fall out. Ever since then, the only way I could wear my hair and look anything short of absolutely hideous was to wear it in a ponytail. Early last week, however, after a busy day that got me tired, I was looking at my hair in the mirror and I started crying and couldn’t stop for a long time. Finally I went downstairs and started working on chores, but it started hitting me again, and Master called me to his side, and I bawled for a very long time in his arms. Afterward, Master and M’Lady said they would contact their personal stylist, who comes to their home to do their hair every couple of months, to come by ahead of time to do my hair. Eventually, I finally stopped crying and went upstairs, and I played SecondLife to get away from reality, and that got me feeling good enough for bed, and I fell asleep safely curled up next to Master.

It’s hard to say what got me to break down and become so depressed like that, but in a way I felt like it was something that had been eating up at me for a long time … although last week was weird in other ways.

One thing unusual was I hardly did any of my normal chores. Instead, I spent several days going through my boxes in Master’s garage. Those boxes, which probably would take up a four-foot by four-foot by 15-foot space, make up everything I own (along with my clothes and my car, which is 17 years old and has a blue-book value of about $500). Well, Master wants me to go through my possessions and shrink what I own even more … which has led me to give things to my ex and to pack up boxes for donation to thrift stores, along with throwing things away. Master wants me to store neatly in my room or on basement shelves (I’ve got a lot of books) the leftover things I really want to keep, and working to figure out all of that kept me busy for a few days. Despite the fact that Master wanted me to do it, I still felt guilty because things were piling up, and the floors were getting dirty. And that got me stressed in a slight but constant way.

Fortunately it was an easy week for cooking because Master got out fancy frozen dinners for most of the days (He buys them at a place called “Supper Solutions,” which is puts all the ingredients together for you for some fancy meals, and all you have to do is cook everything as directed). Last week was my first week for scheduling the menus, and Master wanted to make it relatively easy for me by providing me with a set of six main courses he knew would work, and all I had to do was arrange the right days and figure out the side dishes.

As I may have mentioned before, cooking has become the center of my day, without a doubt. Everything I do in the morning and afternoon is leading up to preparation of the dinner meal, and afterward is the time for winding down, during which I’m given time off. Master and M’Lady do love their food, and they love it done right. Their eating habits are a bit unusual, however. M’Lady always skips breakfast and lunch. Master usually does as well, although sometimes I can convince him to eat something simple (like oatmeal), and he occasionally enjoys making something himself for lunch, like ramen soup or a ham sandwich. Also, M’Lady is notorious for snacking late before bed, usually on leftovers from the previous dinners. So with all that in mind, my dinner planning has to be top notch to serve their desires.

Fortunately, I’m getting the hang of it. Last week I got the meals figured out to their pleasure, and I was able to get them to eat some veggies for a change, hopefully to their lasting benefit. Because he was used to doing it by himself, Master tended to plan the meals such that there’s one thing to eat, usually a casserole, with no side dishes. Last week I fixed for them (alongside the main meal) leafy salads, garlic carrots, mashed potatoes and something called “Southwestern Rice Salad,” which turned out to be more popular that night than the entrĂ©e (and was a hit for lunches the following days). It’s definitely going into the repeat recipes, and I’ve got it listed below.

To make matters even more stressful, Master started getting sick last Tuesday with headaches and achiness, and he’s been fighting it since. It’s been a roller-coaster ride, with him feeling better one day and worse the next, and everybody will be so relieved when he finally kicks it out of his system. Being sick resulted in us cancelling plans to have dinner with another slave Owner and his girl, along with us missing events at the Sanctuary BDSM club. Because Master’s so known in the local BDSM community, everybody’s gotten the word about his ailments, and I’ve had some wonderful offers from other slaves to help out if needed. Master, being the big tiger that he is (he’s physically very big and tall, and Panthera tigris is his spirit guide), has pretty much taken it upon himself to handle his own aches and pains, with my job being to make sure the house runs as smoothly as possible while he’s suffering. He also tends to suffer in silence, so it’s often very hard for anybody to know when he’s having a bad time of it … which doesn’t exactly make my job easier.

I’ve been feeling a bit unusually achy and mentally fuzzy myself during the last week, which is part of why I haven’t been writing. Last night I was determined to catch up, and I just couldn’t do it, and wound up going to bed unexpectedly early. It’s also possibly why I’ve been so emotionally fragile the last week. Like most people, I tend to have the least emotional and mental resistance to depression when I’m tired and sick, and with my history of clinical depression, I always have to be on my guard lest the ice I’m walking on cracks underneath my emotional baggage. Despite that, Master continues to say I’m the best slave he’s ever had, and yesterday he again told me (after I surprised him by putting together by myself this week’s entire meal plan, of which all but one of the entrees will be cooked from scratch) that he is extremely happy with having me here as his slave. My heart sings whenever he says something like that, and truly it did yesterday, especially knowing that by doing that I’m giving him a chance to recover and not worry about things like figuring out the food.

But … last week my emotional strength wasn’t that stable, as I was saying earlier in today’s posting.

Another problem that happened was connected, of all things, with holiday shopping for my kids in the wake of a wonderful gift from Master.

Early last week, I was thinking of how addicted my son is to video games, and how I need him to exercise more. And I had the week before played around with a Wii for the first time at another slave’s home (the one with the Gorean Master). In case you’re not familiar with it, a Wii uses a controller that has internal motion detectors and isn’t connected to the main system, communicating where it is via infrared. As a result, the Wii allows for games where a person can use the controller for truly physical activities, such as tennis and hockey and boxing and air guitar (via Guitar Hero, which the other slave had, allowing us to have a great time playing concerts together while our two Masters talked at length on whatever Masters talk about). Well, I figured if I couldn’t totally wean my son from video games, maybe I could add exercise to them, and so I decided a Wii might be a solution, and my ex agreed.

Well, I had a few hundred dollars left from last month’s expenses, and I was going to use it for the system and a game, and I told Master and ... to my complete astonishment, he responded by giving me as a Christmas bonus the money to not only buy the Wii system and sports package, but also enough to get several games for it – and then he threw in an additional $75 gift certificate he had to make it even cheaper for me if I bought it at Best Buy (an electronics store he frequents). I was so overwhelmed by his generosity that I broke down and cried in his arms, and he hugged me tightly in reply. Looking back, I should have realized that my uncontrolled response to his gift might have been an indication that my emotions for the week were a bit hypercharged, but instead the two of us just accepted my feelings for what they were and went on with it.

That evening I made the mistake, however, of finding out that Wal-Mart was running a sale in which if you bought a Wii you got a $50 gift certificate. I thought that was a great deal, and even though it would be cheaper for me to use Master’s gift certificate, I figured that if I bought the Wii at Wal-Mart Master would be able to keep his certificate for his own use, and I would use the Wal-Mart certificate to buy something else for the Wii as I had already planned. The problem was, however, that the sale was such a success that none of the Wal-Marts in town had any Wii systems left. And things kept getting worse, dragging me into an awful spiral. A clerk at a Wal-Mart I was at said they would be getting some in that night at 11 P.M. And so I went there and they weren’t in stock, and it turns out the clerk didn’t know what he was talking about (although he told several other annoyed customers the same thing). During the next couple of hours that night, and for a couple of hours the next day, I called Wal-Marts all over town, and I was getting such a run around from Wal-Mart employees who had conflicting information that it was driving me crazy. I finally found one that said they were getting just a couple of Wii systems in before the sale was over, but the clerks there were so rude they hung up on me when I asked when they would be on the shelf. I had to complain to a manager before I was finally told they would be available at 10 P.M., but when I called back near then, I was told they would be on the shelf at midnight, then later I was told they would be held back until 7 A.M. the following morning, and … I just couldn’t take it anymore, and Master saw that. He called me to his knees and told me to express my feelings, and I broke down yet again at everything. Master asked me if saving $50 was really worth all the anguish it was causing me, and I shook my tear-streaked face in response. Master then asked me what I wanted, and I said I really wish I had never learned Wal-Mart was having the sale, and, even though Master was feeling tired, he told me he wanted to go with me to Best Buy that night and help me make the purchase of everything.

Afterward, I felt much calmer, of course, but still very frazzled emotionally, and Master told me he hoped I had learned a lesson, which was to go with his wisdom in such matters, and that the pursuit of a few dollars isn’t worth the mental stress it often brings. Hopefully, I’ve taken that guidance to heart permanently.

During the drive to the store and back, Master and I talked, and I told him how this again shows that I’m one of those people who not just wants to be controlled, but someone who truly needs it. Every time in my life when I’ve been on my own I tend to screw things up. Yes, if I had been given more opportunities to screw up when I was young, I might have learned from the process, but I didn’t – my parents controlled me right through college, and then I almost immediately got married to somebody very dominant (with the few months in between college and marriage just going to show yet again my lack of ability to take care of myself responsibly). I told Master that it’s people like me that are truly slaves at heart because that’s what we’re truly best at, having been trained at it and conditioned for it and mentally geared for it (and possibly biologically programmed for it, but that’s a “nature versus nurture” argument that’s been discussed ad infinitum by other people, and I’ll save it for later). Master agrees with my reasoning, and I went to bed feeling good yet again that I’m his girl.

The next afternoon was my son’s birthday (he turned 11), and I decided as a surprise to present the Wii system early, with one of the games as his birthday present. My ex and I had some fun with it, as I gave my son the game disk, and he looked at it happily until he saw it was for a Wii, and he said he couldn’t play it because we didn’t have one, and so I faked a sigh and said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to get one, you think?” and I pulled out the Wii system console from a hiding place, and … Holy cats! Did his eyes light up! *giggles* Let’s just say the ruse had the desired effect! He was saying he felt like he was dreaming, and as silly as that was, it was truly a joy to see such pleasure in his eyes.

What I got for him, by the way, was a Star Wars “Lightsaber Duels” game, in which the Wii controller acts as a lightsaber, allowing the player to combat a host of opponents one after another. It’s actually a quite active game physically if you get into it, and my son definitely gets into it, so the system is already on its way to having the desired effect. I just hope he maintains his interest in working out that way. He’d better, because I pretty much shot my wad financially getting that for them. But then, I hear that kind of spending isn’t exactly uncommon among a lot of parents in regards to holiday shopping. Fortunately, my daughter is easy to buy for, so except for the Wii, gift purchasing has been relatively inexpensive this year.

So anyway, Friday with my two kids was a lot of fun, and that leads to Saturday … the morning of the haircut.

First of all, the stylist was late, and I had to sit around nervously for her to arrive, not being able to do anything but try to figure out recipes.

Finally she shows up and … chaos ensues, from my perspective, anyway. She and Master get to talking back and forth and to me and they try and explain what can be done and will be done and ought to be done and then they ask me what I want and … I get incredibly confused. Hopelessly confused. Horribly confused.

My wolf side freaks out. It can’t handle what’s going on. It can’t deal with the barrage of information. It falls back into fight-or-flight syndrome.

And I melt down and do the unthinkable.

I order Master to stop talking to me and to leave me alone.

And he did that and left the room without a word, anger clearly written all over his features.

And I’m crying throughout most of the haircut session because I’m unsure what’s happening and I’m all upset and I hate myself for upsetting Master.

In the end, the stylist cuts off almost all of my damaged hair, and my hair looks better. It still doesn’t look great because, as things are now, there’s about four inches of healthy hair and about three inches of destroyed hair. And, despite Master saying the stylist was fantastic, it’s clear she could have done better with my hair. She even forgot to cut my bangs, and as a result hair is hanging down ridiculously over my eyes. I think she may have rushed because I was so upset about everything, and I don’t really blame her.

After she left, Master called me to his feet. He wasn’t happy.

He was furious that I behaved like that, not just in his presence, but embarrassing him in his own house.

I started to bawl again, and I begged him to punish me.

Instead, he ordered me to talk and explain myself, and what had gone on in my head during the haircut session.

I tried to make sense of it all as I told him my feelings. I told him about how the wolf side of me had been making me feel like I was in a corner, and how I had responded to that by doing the equivalent of growling and barking and frantically trying to get away.

And Master responded by saying he was told something a long time ago about his own tiger spiritual nature by a wise person. “The tiger cannot be tamed, only trained,” he told me.

And I need to do that with my wolf nature, he said.

And right about then, something changed inside me. Like reality shifted a bit. Like my inner stability moved to a new cornerstone.

I realized I had always chosen to obey Master consciously.

But it was a conscious choice only. As a result, when I became upset about things and started acting instinctively, I would lose control. I wouldn’t automatically obey anymore.

And, with the realization of that hitting me, Saturday morning I made a conscious decision to … submit to Master unconsciously.

It’s hard to explain, but I suddenly felt as if I had let go of the final hold I had on independence and self control.

I felt as if finally I had reached the point where I willingly gave up everything to Master – even my subconscious decision-making abilities.

Oh, I’ll still make decisions for myself. Master wants me to do things, like plan meals, so he doesn’t have to. He has no desire to completely micromanage me or any other slave.

But any such decisions are always subject to Master’s approval – or denial. Always.

I know that, at heart, all the barriers are gone now.

I’m Master’s possession in every way now.

I told him that. I told him how I suddenly felt. And he nodded understandingly, and he asked me whether I think he should punish me.

And I responded that, as his property, such a decision is purely up to him as he sees fit.

And he told me that was the right answer, and he ordered me into the basement.

After we entered his personal dungeon, he ordered me to take off my clothes. He then took off the wall a long, thin wooden paddle riddled with holes.

“This is my pain stick,” he said. “I never use it for play. I only use it for punishment when needed, and punishment is needed today.”

He then ordered me to bend over a workhorse, and he whacked my ass hard with it. And it hurt more than any paddle I’ve ever felt, and tears flowed from my eyes.

I steeled myself, ready for more, but instead he told me to put my clothes back on, because my lesson had been learned.

And that was that. I went to my kids afterward, and we had a great time all day.

The next day, what I had learned Saturday came out in a good way.

As mentioned at the beginning of today’s post, Sunday was a cookie-baking session held at the home of a Master and slave who are friends with my Master. By the time things got good and going, there were about a half-dozen women, at least three of us in full-time slave relationships, and at least one of the others formerly in a submissive bondage-oriented BDSM relationship.

Well, I was really looking forward to going, and I left ahead of time to help set up the place, and … I got lost. I had written the instructions on how to get there wrong. And I called one of the slaves I knew, and she didn’t answer. And I called another one, and she also didn’t answer. Normally, I might have freaked a bit but instead … I thought to myself, “How would I act if Master was here with me?” And that calmed me down immensely.

See, that’s something Master told me Saturday morning, and it stuck. He told me that I need to get to a point where I feel his control of me all the time, non-stop, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I need to allow myself to be his incessantly, without a break, whatever the situation.

And that’s the way things are now. I’m his. Totally. In every way.

La kajira!

p.s. I figure I should mention one other thing – the cookies turned out fantastic. Super fantastic. I’m a huge fan of gingerbread, and this is the best recipe I’ve ever had (it’s been in my family for years, so I knew long before Sunday that it would be a success). I’ve copied it below for everybody’s enjoyment.

By the end of the party, I had a big tin full of both my own and everybody else's cookies (I lost track of how many dozen cookies I had made), and I brought them back for Master and M'Lady to enjoy. They each took one and said it was great, then Master ordered me to hide them out of his sight. Not that he didn't like them, but the opposite -- Master and M'Lady are both diabetic, and Master said there was no way they'd be able to resist the cookies unless I made sure they couldn't find them. After eating a few myself (as mentioned at the beginning of the blog) I've since given the rest away, primarily to the enjoyment of my kids and ex-spouse. *chuckles*

p.p.s. By the way, "Guitar Hero" is addicting, and I don't even own it yet. Instead, I got a copy of a great free game called "Frets on Fire," which is a blast to play, and it's taken up way too much of my time at night during the last couple of days (time that would have been better spent writing this blog or editing my novel). You can download it here, by the way. Enjoy!


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Southwestern Rice Salad

This meatless salad makes a robust side dish, filling lunch or satisfying snack. Try spooning some into low-fat tortillas for a main course. If you're counting fat grams, it's also tasty without the olives.

7 Servings

Prep: 20 min. + chilling

Ingredients
* 2 cups cooked long grain rice, cooled
* 1 cup cooked wild rice, cooled
* (Note: For the rice, use a six-ounce box of Uncle Ben’s “Long Grain and Wild Rice”, preparing as directed but discarding the seasoning packet)
* 1 can (16 ounces) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
* 1-1/2 cups frozen corn, thawed
* 1/2 cup diced red onion
* 1/2 cup diced green pepper
* 1 can (2-1/4 ounces) sliced ripe olives, drained
* 1-1/2 cups chunky salsa
* 1/2 cup reduced-fat Italian salad dressing
* 1 teaspoon ground cumin
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* chipotle chili peppers in adobo sauce (optional)

Directions
* In a large bowl, combine the first seven ingredients.
* In a jar with a tight-fitting lid, combine salsa, salad dressing, cumin and salt, then shake well.
* To make spicier, finely chop one or more of the chili peppers and add to the mix
* Pour over rice mixture and stir to coat.
* Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.

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“Better than Heaven” Gingerbread

1/2 cup butter (softened)
1 cup brown sugar (firmly packed)
1 1/2 cup light molasses
2/3 cup water or apple juice
6 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon allspice

Cream butter and sugar together in a mixture
Add other liquids one at a time
Put together all the dry ingredients in another bowl
Gradually add dry ingredients to wet mixture
Cover tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate several hours
Roll out and cut into shapes.
Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Day 121 - On Teaching Hogtying to Some Leather Lesbians, Having Dinner with a Gorean Master and Kajira, Trying Ethiopian Food, Watcing Star Trek While Wearing a Federation Uniform, Becoming Even Better at Cooking, and Being More and More Controlled by Master in Invisible Ways

Err … I’m a bit behind with this blog. Heck, I’ve been busy. And, for some reason, sleepy most nights, which is when Master and M’Lady give me time to work on my blog and my novel and do any other personal thing.

Friday night I went out alone for the first time since I originally moved in with Mistress (which was more than three months ago). Master gives me a day and a half (or more if needed) to spend with my kids each week, but Friday night he let me go out for the first time by myself to something without my kids. It still had to do with the BDSM lifestyle though. It was a meeting of “COLLAR,” which stands for COlorado Leather Lesbians Area Resource. Or Colorado Leather Ladies Alternative Resource. Or something, depending on who you ask. The main point is, it’s a group of kinky women with no guys allowed.

Master said he’s been to a similar group, but for men only. He found it dull. He said the guys talk about sex, then more sex, then they have sex, then they talk about domination, then sex again.

In contrast, at the women’s group, we talked about hair styling, and about cooking, and about each other’s recipes, and about the cuddling after sex, and so on. At the gift exchange, only one or two presents were even remotely about BDSM. Most were nice normal things, like candles and perfume and coffee.

I was really nervous about going because, to be honest, I’m a bit lonely. I love being with Master and M’Lady, but I really want other people to talk with at times. Other women. Other slaves. Or dommes. Just friends of some type.

I had trouble integrating into the conversations at first, partly because of my hearing problems, partly because I didn’t know many people and felt a bit excluded. At the point of giving up on the idea of making new friends, I was getting ready to go home a couple of hours into it when a young woman in a business outfit and another young woman in a catgirl outfit walked in together. The business woman was holding some rope that was bad quality and all tangled up, and I introduced myself and asked what was on her mind. She responded that the catgirl loves bondage and wanted to be hogtied, but she (the business woman) didn’t know how to do it effectively and … happy lights went off in my brain at their words. During the next couple of hours, I showed them how to properly put somebody into a very secure hogtie that won’t cut off wrist and ankle circulation, and I taught other rope bondage techniques, and I taught proper rope storage techniques, and I got to talking with them and other women and having a good time, and they had a good time too, and ... I went home feeling quite glad I came after all. *smiles*

Master keeps me busy, by the way, in external activities. I definitely can’t say I’m bored, nor can I say things aren’t wonderful here, because they are. It’s amazing.

A couple of weeks ago he took M’Lady and I out to Ras Kasa, a great Ethiopian restaurant in Boulder. I’ve never had Ethiopian food, and it was really interesting. Okay, I didn’t love it, but it was fun to get to eat with your hands. See, they bring everything out family style in a big plate in the middle of the table, and then they give you a bunch of rolled-up fermented pancakes that you use to scoop up the food. No forks or anything. My only regret is I wish I had ordered a beer to go with it, but the spiced tea they served me was pretty nice!

And not long ago we had a Star Trek night, and we all sat around and watched the new Star Trek movie. To Master’s surprise, I showed up downstairs in full Federation uniform, back from my days when I was a huge fan of Deep Space Nine. Yeppers! I’m a former die-hard Trekker!!! *giggles* “Lt. J.G. Jabara Eris, reporting for duty, sir,” I told him as I stood at attention in front of him, my boots clicking together, my tricorder held securely in my right hand. I was really into the Bajorans back in the days of that show, and in that culture the family name goes first.( Just some useless trivia for you, I know. *winks*) Well, we all loved the movie (although the plot is full of holes big enough to fly a starship through), and afterward Master and I talked about Star Trek, and he brought up the fact that his son was in a local fan group. To my shock, it turns out that I was a member of that same group (Deep Space 18 was its name), and I briefly knew Master’s son. Talk about a small world! Well, with that in mind, the next time I saw Master’s son (which was a few days after that), Master mentioned that little fact, and the two of us sat and reminisced about old times a bit, and that was rather cool, I have to say. *beams*

Another fantastic thing about living here is the food Master has me cook. Last week we had some excellent steaks, which I made with sides of garlic red potatoes and orange-glazed beets. Master let me cook the steaks the way I do best, which is a method taken from Alton Brown (on the Food Network show “Good Eats”). It’s a wild, dangerous way of cooking (well, not THAT dangerous) which calls for heating the oven to 500 degrees and one of the surface units set to really hot, then heating a big, heavy cast-iron skillet to broiling temperatures, setting it on the surface unit, plopping the steak in it, waiting a half minute then flipping it, then hauling the heavy thing into the oven, then a minute later hauling it out and flipping the steak over, then hauling it out a minute later, serving the steak and doing it again for each other person! It was a blast, and Master and M’Lady both said they loved the results. *bounces happily*

M’Lady and I share one thing for sure in common – the way we enjoy meat, in that we both like it as rare as possible (and raw if we can get it fresh enough). Suffice to say, the steaks we ate were dripping with juices, and she and I both were literally gnawing them from the bones with distinct satisfaction! *giggles*

I’ve been learning so much about cooking, it’s unreal, and I LOVE IT! I’ve dreamed of the idea of being a chef for so long, but I thought it was just a fantasy. When I cooked for myself, everything was simple and cheap. Burritos. Meatloaf. Chicken pot pie. But here, along with the steak, last week I made Pork Satay Stew (which was heavenly!) on one night, Chocolate Lamb Chili on another night, and Chilled Border Avocado Soup on a different night. My repertoire is growing, my techniques are becoming very refined, and I’m becoming exposed to so many new ideas. Just that aspect of being their slave is truly a dream come true! *sighs happily*

(Just in case anybody wants it, I’ve attached both the steak and the pork satay stew recipes at the bottom of today’s post).

Oh, before I forget ... remember that actor I was so attracted to in a previous post? Well, he showed up at the BDSM club the next time I was there with Master, and I zoomed to him like a moth to a flame and … so did everybody else. He was soooo popular that night, fully the center of attention, and … I hate to say it, I felt a bit outclassed. Okay, and I also hate to say it, but although I thought some of his fetishes sounded really fun, overall, well … I’m not expecting anything’s likely going to come of my initial fantasies about him. Even though my Master and a different Master said they thought we’d be a really cute couple together. And even though the actor wrote me back to say hello. Oh, I don’t know. I mean, really, I don’t see how I could have anything with a free guy anymore. I’m a slave, and things like that are just idle thoughts. And I’m not complaining. Oh, heck, never mind. I’ll change the topic to something more enjoyable.

Such as … having dinner last night with a Gorean Master and his kajira (both of whom we met at last month’s Inner Sanctum at the BDSM club)! Everybody had an absolutely great time. The Gorean Master, to my Master’s enjoyment, was able to take the Gor books with a very good sense of humor and a huge block of salt, and the two of them joked for a long time about the ridiculousness of John Norman’s writing back and forth across the table. Actually, I’m not sure what they talked about most of the time we were there (and we stayed for almost eight hours) because I was with the other Master’s kajira almost the entire time … and I really like her a lot! She’s my age, and we have a lot of things in common it seems (for example, she was a kajira in SecondLife for a long time, just like I was), and we talked (okay, I babbled incessantly) in the kitchen while she cooked (*grins*). At one point during the evening, she totally surprised me by asking her Master if she could play Guitar Hero, and she asked if I wanted to join her. I’ve never played before, but I jumped at the chance, and the two of us were jamming for ... damn, I don’t know, but my fingers were worn out after all the sets we finished! By the end, her Master and mine were both sitting on the couch talking and watching us have fun, and I’m REALLY hoping Master might pick up Guitar Hero for us here someday!

Actually, even more, I’m hoping that slave and I can get together again soon. I really enjoyed being with her. It’s a shame they live clear on the other side of town (and at least 45 minute’s drive away on a good day), but we’ll see what happens. *grins*

At one point the other slave asked me how my Master controls me. She said she wishes her Master would control her more, and micromanage her day with additional detail. Indeed, many slaves enjoy tight control, and I’m one of them. I told her that Master very rarely has to order me around, but his control is quite tight. He has been very effectively training me from the day he collared me, such that I know what he wants without him having to tell me. I’m busy throughout the day. I do a long list of tasks. And I do them in a specific way. I’m very controlled. And the control gets tighter every day that Master gives me more responsibilities and lessons.

For example, this week Master has given me the new responsibility of meal planning. He got out some high-class frozen dinners, which will serve as the entrees for the week, and he left it up to me to determine our daily schedules, regarding when dinner will be served, what will be served, and what side dishes will be prepared, with care given to making sure there is a good flow of different foods and types of sides through the week. It took me awhile to set it up, including researching sides, and I needed to change it a little after showing Master, but overall he was pleased! Hooray!

Well, on that note, I’m heading to bed. I’ve got more I can write about, but I’ll save it for another day.

La kajira!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PAN SEARED RIB EYE

Recipe courtesy Alton Brown
Prep Time: 10 min -- Cook Time: 5 min
1 to 2 servings

Ingredients
1 boneless rib eye steak, 1 1/2-inch thick
Canola oil to coat
Kosher salt and ground black pepper

Directions
Place 10 to 12-inch cast iron skillet in oven and heat oven to 500 degrees. Bring steak(s) to room temperature.

When oven reaches temperature, remove pan and place on range over high heat. Coat steak lightly with oil and season both sides with a generous pinch of salt. Grind on black pepper to taste.

Immediately place steak in the middle of hot, dry pan. Cook 30 seconds without moving. Turn with tongs and cook another 30 seconds, then put the pan straight into the oven for 2 minutes. Flip steak and cook for another 2 minutes. (This time is for medium rare steaks. If you prefer medium, add a minute to both of the oven turns.)

Remove steak from pan, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 2 minutes. Serve whole or slice thin and fan onto plate.

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PORK SATAY STEW

1-1/2 lb boneless pork shoulder
2 medium red or green sweet peppers,cut into 1 inch pieces
1 large red onion,cut into wedges
1 cup bottled thick and chunky salsa
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1 tbsp reduced-sodium soy sauce
1 tbsp lime juice
1-1/2 tsp grated fresh ginger
1/2 tsp ground coriander
3/4 cup half and half or light cream
3 cups hot cooked rice
1/3 cup chopped dry roasted peanuts
1/4 cup sliced green onions

1. Trim fat from meat.Cut meat into 1 inch pcs. In a 3-1/2 quart slow cooker combine meat,sweet peppers,onion,salsa,peanut butter,soy sauce,lime juice,ginger and coriander.

2. Cover and cook on low heat setting for 7-8 hrs or on high-heat setting for 3 - 4 hrs.Stir in cream.Serve over hot cooked rice.Sprinkle each serving with peanuts and green onions.

makes 4 servings

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Day 115 - On My Wolf Nature Coming Out Increasingly Stronger As I Work On My Novel, On Having Killed and Eaten Three White Mice Raw and Whole, On Having a Spiritual Wolf Mater, On Being Unable to Handle Confusing Environments, and On Sympathizing with Fictional Wolf-Born Human Haters

As often happens, it’s hard to figure where to start tonight, as I have several things to write about -- my wolf nature being one of them, so I’ll start there.

The more I’ve been delving into my novel again, the more my wolf side has been coming to the forefront of my psyche.

Last Wednesday I had the strongest mental shift into my wolf mindset that I’ve had in a very long time. It was almost overwhelmingly powerful, and when it occurred, I had trouble thinking straight for a long time.

It took place while I was with my kids at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. They have two wolf exhibits there, both very realistically done. One has a mated pair of arctic wolves looking at a nearby herd of musk oxen, who are backed into a defensive position. The other has a pack of about a half dozen wolves all together looking into the distance at a herd of caribou. I kneeled next to both dioramas and let my mind flow into them, seeing the wolves and the prey and feeling as if I was there. The one with the pack affected me the strongest. I felt as if I was truly there, like I had left my human existence and become the wolf that I am at heart.

My kids were very understanding, as both of them sometimes experience similar things.

The next night, I had a dream in which I was human, but I was with a pack of thin, half-starved wolves who looked like cartoon representations. At one point I saw a hawk flying overhead and I called to it, and it came down and almost lighted on my outstretched arm, making me sure that it knew me.

A few days ago, I spent several hours before bed talking with my novel’s editor about how the last two chapters should potentially play out. We met online years ago back when the novel was just a short story, and he offered to critique it. He’s also a wolf therianthrope, and over time we fell in love and planned to get married. That never happened for a variety of reasons. For one, I’m more than 20 years older than he is (which would make me a cougar. Rowl! *grins*). Also, he’s devoutly Christian, and I’m very Pagan (although we both do shamanic work – and yes, he’s integrated Christianity and working with spirit guides, and I greatly admire him for that). Both of those could have been handled with love, however. The problem that killed the marriage plans in the end was the fact he needs to stay in Kentucky managing his parents’ business, and I won’t move away from the Denver area because of my children. He and I still love each other very dearly, however, both as humans and as wolves.

He’s my wolf mate, by the way. And I mean that in the truest sense. We’ve shared dreams in which we’re both wolves, and we discussed them the next day, having shared the same experiences. And we’ve repeatedly shared shamanic trances during the years, during which we’ve been together as wolves, and we’ve not only mated but raised several litters of cubs. The experience of giving birth to my first litter was detailed in one of the chapters of my novel, but I have the protagonist experiencing it. We had two litters during the springs since then as well. We’ve explored together as a pack, hunted together, played together, slept together and killed together. The memories of that life goes beyond human words.

Human.

*sighs*

That’s what I’ve largely been in my mind the last two years. In early 2008, I returned to SecondLife after a long absence. I soon became hooked, and it took over my mind, to the detriment of both my wolf nature and my novel writing.

But now my novel is coming alive again. And so is my wolf mindset.

I kept getting hit by hard mental shifts into lupine thought patterns during the morning after my long talk with my editor/mate. My Master noticed after awhile and asked if something was wrong, and I told him what I was experiencing, and he patted me on the head and said, “Nice doggy.”

Master understands having spirit guides. He has several, and he takes them very seriously. He also have very distinct past-life memories.

But I don’t think he really understands the idea of species dysphoria. Of the idea that my spirit isn’t fully human. And so I think he doesn’t quite know how to treat me when I bring the matter up.

I’ve been finding that confusing situations are becoming more and more troublesome for me. Places with too many lights and noises. Situations that require my human mind to handle a lot of input. Saturday night was extremely busy at the Sanctuary BDSM club, and I was a crying wreck by the time we left. This morning, Master sat me down to explain a lot of things related to computers and the daily schedule and using a note-saving device on my computer and arranging the monthly calendar and deciding the week’s menu and … I overloaded. By the end of the conversation, I could barely think straight, and I wound up bawling in his arms. Master told me to drink some tea and take some time off. He was very understanding. But then I messed up something while preparing tonight’s meal (it needed two red peppers and I had only gotten one), and I started crying because I was afraid that Master wouldn’t trust my abilities, and he had told me this morning how valuable it was that he could rely on me to get things done right. Master saw me and comforted me again, and eventually things settled down, but all in all today I wasn’t exactly the most emotionally stable person around.

The thing is, when it was all over but I was still tense, I went to my room to rest, and I realized exactly what I wanted.

To run. Fast and free. Through fields and forests.

As a wolf.

*sighs*

I have no doubt my feeling of being a wolf today was heightened by the fact that I spent hours last night reading books related to the “Werewolf: the Apocalypse” roleplaying game. The books are often written as if they’re real, and they bring out a very strong emotional response in me. In particular, I identify with a werewolf tribe known as the Red Talons, who are all wolf-born werewolves who despise the fact that humans have taken over the world. I sought out roleplaying groups to play the game several years ago. Not everybody feels comfortable with somebody playing a Red Talon and taking it seriously, like I did.

“Werewolf: the Apocalypse,” by the way, was a roleplaying game about various tribes of werewolves who were fighting against the coming destruction of the world by an insane deity bent on corrupting life through pollution and evil. It had quite a bit of shamanism alongside very strong environmental issues, and I loved it.

The thing is, I truly identify with the Red Talons. I see humanity as a disease. I loathe my human body.

The Red Talons supplement had me laughing in places and crying in others. The place where I cried was the description of a character who experienced her first change into a werewolf after a tragic event in her life. I’m crying now as I write this. Entitled “Autumn Wolf,” here’s the description: “Born in a splendid forest, you remember hunting rabbits in the woods with your brothers and sisters as a pup. You remember watching leaves fall during your first autumn and the smell of the forest change as the air grew c older. You remember the hunger as snow covered the land and howling mournfully because you thought you’d never eat again, and then the joy as spring returned and the prey emerged to feed you. But most of all, you remember the machines. They came as the leaves fell during your second autumn. You never actually saw them move, but you wandered from a copse of trees and saw what was left of the forest. It was bare as a meadow – worse, because meadows house mice and rabbits to eat. This housed nothing, just the burned stumps of trees and the bodies of any creature left in the way … and fallen leaves. And looking in horror over the shattered remains of your home, you howled in anguish. As the howl wound down, you found yourself screaming with a human throat.”

I can understand the idea of that wolf very, very deeply.

The place where I laughed might be disturbing to some people. It was the description of a particular character with a taste for human flesh, and what it was like for them to experience their first change from a wolf into a werewolf. It was only a brief laugh, I have to say, and it didn’t affect me nearly as deeply as the description of the other wolf, but it’s possibly worth mentioning: “Born on the outskirts of a city, you and your meager pack foraged for food in human garbage. You ate what and when you could, avoided the humans, and lived your life. It wasn’t much, but it was all you knew, even if something inside you yearned for more. And then one night, a pack of humans came for your pack with thunder and fire, and slew all of them except you. You ran, but then a bullet sheared one of your paws away. As the humans approached, you wished that you could have eaten that day. Another crack of thunder and bite of pain, and all thoughts of food were gone. You erupted into a whirlwind of blood and fury, and tore the humans to pieces. When your fury was spent, you remembered how hungry you were. You don’t hate humans in the same way as many Talons do. You understand that they need to be destroyed, but would prefer to corral them into herds somehow so they don’t go to waste. After all , they’ve made such a mess of the land, they should have a hand in cleaning it up, even if it’s just by donating their screams.”

Yeah. I’m a bit twisted in ways. Such is life, and me, and being a wolf in a human body.

On a final note, there was a little bit of silliness … and not so silliness … at dinner tonight.

Master was talking about cheese, and I mentioned head cheese (which is made from the residue of the boiled remains of a pig’s head), and Master said it disgusted him and he’d make me eat some if I brought it up again, and I told him I’d probably enjoy it because I’ve eaten three mice before, heads and all and … Master stopped, cocked his head and wanted to know what I was talking about.

About five years ago, when I was new to the realization that my therianthropy was real, and I was letting my wolf nature come out with full force, I’d often find myself craving to eat rodents and other small animals I’d encounter on woodland hikes. Of course I couldn’t catch them, and even if I could, I knew my human body wouldn’t be able to handle their diseases and such. So I meditated about it, and I felt Coyote encourage me to try a different approach – using “feeder” mice from a pet shop (mice bred to be used as live food for boa constrictors and other large snakes). And I did it three times. I had my own office, and I would get a mouse, let it loose in my office, then, about lunchtime I would stalk the mouse as it scurried around the room. Then, with a pounce, I would clamp my jaws around its back and neck, squeeze tight and break its body, shake it in my teeth until it was dead, and then swallow it whole. It was an incredible experience that felt so wonderfully natural and normal. I stopped only because I eventually found out that there’s a high rate of salmonella in feeder mice.


Master thought that was rather strange, of course, but the conversation moved to other things.

After dinner, however, while I was eating some leftovers in the kitchen, M’Lady asked me why I often take my food there alone instead of sitting next to her to eat, and after thinking about it I told her that I think it's my canine instincts to take my kill and eat it away from the rest of the pack. M'Lady (who knows that I believe I have a spiritual connection to wolves) responded that maybe I could take it under the dining room table for that, and I smiled and said I didn't because I was afraid I'd get the food on the rug, and Master said he could put a tarp down for that, and I asked very happily if that means he might start feeding me from a bowl on the floor, and he said he hadn't given it a lot of thought but now that he realizes how seriously I'd enjoy that, he'll consider it.

Later I asked him again about it, and he again said he’d never thought about the idea of puppy play, although he knew I was seriously into the idea of ponyplay. I’m thinking he wouldn’t be too keen to the idea because, to be honest, it doesn’t exactly fit into the idea of a Victorian household. Oh well. We’ll see.

Well, tonight’s post turned out to be primarily about one topic – my wolf nature. To be honest, I could have talked about that for a long, long time. It’s who I am, and who I have been since childhood. And who I’ll be the rest of my life.

La kajira.

Friday, November 27, 2009

Day 112 - On Victorian Servitude and Being a Maid of All Work, On Getting Flirty with a Very Cute Actor at a Christmas Play, On Being Flogged for my First Time (and Loving It), On Getting My Birthday Spanking, On Coming in Second With Master During a BDSM Competition, and On Having Trouble Watching "Upstairs Downstairs"

I was attempting recently to watch “Upstairs Downstairs,” the British television show from the 70’s about the lives of the servants (downstairs) and their employers (upstairs) in an Edwardian household.

Master and M’Lady desire me to watch it so that I can understand how they would love things to be here. Master often says he considers his household to be “neo-Victorian,” and although he doesn’t believe in emulating Victorian life in a lot of ways, it’s how he wishes to see my service to him. (And, no, I’m not going to get into the debate of “slavery versus servitude” again. I’m sick of that.)

Master has all the episodes on DVD. The problem is that I’m quite hard of hearing, and the DVDs aren’t closed-captioned, and the audio and video from the American DVDs is absolutely horrible, and they’re speaking with deep British accents, so ... I’m hardly understanding a word being said. I was able to get the novelization of the series out from the library, and that’s been delightful to read, but it naturally cuts out quite a bit of everything. Nonetheless, by combining what I’m reading in the novel with what little I can make out from the show, I’m getting a grasp regarding what’s happening.

I also need to understand Victorian servitude because Master desires me to teach a class on the historical roots of modern consensual slavery. Part of it will be to discuss Victorian servitude because, Master said, much of what is expected in modern consensual slaves comes from the ideas of that time period.

From what I’ve seen just in the first half of the first episode of “Upstairs Downstairs”, I can see what he’s saying. Domestic employees are treated by their employers almost like chattel, to the point of being renamed with a “servant” name to which they are forced to respond (just like many slaves have been renamed by their Owners throughout history). The big difference is, of course, any servant can leave their employer ... in theory, that is, as some servants simply weren’t able to find other work (just like many people in jobs of all types today often have to work in awful conditions because they desperately need the job, or because any other jobs out there would be even worse) or had other reasons to remain (such as the fact that many servants came from a tradition of servitude and wouldn’t think of doing anything else).

Oh, yeah ... in case you didn’t notice, I just compared a lot of normal jobs out there today to slavery. I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last, to make that analogy.

I’ve been researching Victorian servitude in other ways, and it’s clear I would be what’s considered a “maid of all work,” which is basically a female servant who does everything. I’ve attached at the bottom of today’s post a good description of it, taken from a book written in 1858 titled “The Dictionary of Daily Wants” (which is viewable and searchable online). Here’s the first paragraph of the definition, though, with emphasis on the last sentence, which makes me realize just how close to home this definition is for me: “A domestic servant, who undertakes the whole duties of a household without assistance; her duties comprising those of cook, housemaid, nurserymaid, and various other offices, acccording to the exigencies of the establishment. The situation is one which is usually regarded as the hardest worked and worst paid of any branch of domestic servitude; it is, therefore, usually filled by inexperienced servants, or females who are so circumstanced that they are only desirous of securing a home, and of earning sufficient to keep themselves decently clad. In many of these situations, a servant may be very comfortably circumstanced, especially if it be a limited family of regular habits, and where there is a disposition to treat the servant with kindness and consideration.”

*blinks*

After looking online, I found out that I’m not the only one with problems with the series. Apparently, people with very good hearing are complaining left and right that the American DVD set is absolutely terrible. The British version, however, is apparently fantastic. Master came in while I was reading that, and I told him what I had found out, and to my delight, he spontaneously ordered the British DVD set for me to watch (he has a DVD player he bought specifically for British DVDs, so that’s no problem). The set wasn’t very expensive, but, even more, he really wants me to watch them, so it looks like I’ll have a better chance soon!

Anyway ...

It’s Friday night, and I’m behind in my posting again. I’m a little loopy tonight because Master flogged me for ... err ... I have no idea how long he was at it.

We went to the Denver Sanctuary BDSM Club for the opening night of a theater play being performed there called, “Who Killed Santa?” It was very silly and funny in places, and fortunately I got to read the script so I could know what was being said.

The guy who played “Tiny Tim” (who was one of the suspects) was quite cute, by the way. And he had a fantastic singing voice. And did I say he was rather cute? *grins*I made no bones about how I felt to Master, and he very nicely let me go to the actor when he was getting ready to leave and tell him I thought he did a great job. And the actor and I talked ... and I told him I was a slave full time ... and he told me he had a list of fetishes as long as his arm ... and he loved getting dressed up like a little girl and spanked ... and I practically melted ... and he wanted to give me his phone number but couldn’t find a pen ... and I told him the lady who runs the club knows my Owner and can give him my number ... and ... I came back to Master dreamy eyed ... and Master knows I’d love to ... err ... get together with the actor some day and ... y’know ...

*giggles*

The night continued to be a good one because later on Master got out his box of floggers, as I previously noted. He soon ordered me into the dungeon, made me take off my shirt and bra, placed me against a St. Andrew’s Cross, and (literally) before I knew it he was flogging me and ... it was my very first time. Yep. Never flogged before tonight.

He kept moving up to more and more intense floggers as the time wore on. First his flogging was soft ... then got harder ... and more painful ... then annoying as hell ... then loosened up ... then sort of flowed together ... then became a very nice stinging ... and at that point Master showed me he had been using a very painful single-tailed whip ... and to me it was a pleasant sensation when it hit me ... and that’s when Master knew I was flying, that I had crossed over ... and instead of flogging me he started rubbing my back and caressing it with a very soft flogger ... and ... after awhile he brought me to a bench ... and ... mmmm ... I was flying tonight ... And I still am a bit ...

Within the last month I’ve tried needle play, paddling and flogging ... and I love them all! *bounces*

Speaking of spanking, I got a rather nasty paddling last Saturday, which so happened to be my birthday. Master brought his favorite paddles, laid them out at the club, made me drop my pants and bend over a bench, and proceeded to whack my ass several dozen times (and I’m not saying exactly how many! *winks*) I was buzzing that night, too!

But the fact that we had done a scene earlier in the night made it even more powerful.

The earlier scene was part of a big contest going on called the MacGyver Challenge. Dominants were each given a bag of random stuff bought at a dollar store, and they had five minutes to think up a BDSM scene they could do with their sub using only that stuff.

Master got some Christmas-tree wire tinsel, hair curlers, a toilet brush, latex gloves and three plastic rulers. Soon I was tied to a pillory using the tinsel with my fingers locked together in the hair curlers in front of my breasts while Master started torturing my vagina with the brush and attacking my nipples with the rulers and gloves. I made sure the judges could see I was having an intense experience, and I think that helped. *grins* I did orgasm at least once while he was thrusting the brush between my legs, so I wasn’t pretending or anything! *chuckles*

Out of 13 teams there, Master and I won second place. First place would have been admission to the club for a year (a $700 total value). Second place was admission to the club’s New Year’s party (a $50 value). We probably won’t go, so Master plans to give the tickets as a Christmas gift to somebody.

We’re heading back to the club again tonight. I’ve amazingly got another night off from cooking because they’re having an after-Thanksgiving buffet there. Beats me what Master and I will do afterward. Probably “beats me” is an accurate prediction. *chuckles*

Hmmm ... Maybe the guy who played Tiny Tim will be there again tonight ... *smiles*

La kajira!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maid of All Work -- A domestic servant, who undertakes the whole duties of a household without assistance; her duties comprising those of cook, housemaid, nurserymaid, and various other offices, acccording to the exigencies of the establishment. The situation is one which is usually regarded as the hardest worked and worst paid of any branch of domestic servitude; it is, therefore, usually filled by inexperienced servants, or females who are so circumstanced that they are only desirous of securing a home, and of earning sufficient to keep themselves decently clad. In many of these situations, a servant may be very comfortably circumstanced, especially if it be a limited family of regular habits, and where there is a disposition to treat the servant with kindness and consideration.

The duties of a maid of all work being multifarious, it is necessary that she should arise early in the morning; and six or half-past six o'clock is the latest period at which she should remain in bed. She should first light the kitchen fire, and set the kettle over to boil; then she should sweep, dust, and prepare the room in which breakfast is to be taken. Having served the breakfast, she should, while the family are engaged upon that meal, proceed to the various bedchambers, strip the beds, open the windows, etc. This done, she will obtain her own breakfast, and after washing and putting away the things, she will again go upstairs, and finish what remains to be done there.

As the family will in all probability dine early, she must now set about the preliminaries for the dinner, making up the fire, preparing the vegetables, etc. After the dinner is cleared away, and the things washed and put by in their places, she must clean the kitchen; and this done, she is at liberty to attend to her own personal appearance, to wash and dress herself, etc. By this time the preparation for tea will have to be thought of, and this being duly served and cleared away, she must employ herself in needlework in connection with the household, or should there happen to be none requiring to be done, she may embrace this opportunity to attend to her own personal necessities. Supper has then to be attended to; and this finished, the maid of all work should take the chamber candlesticks, hot water, etc., into the sitting-room, and retire to rest as soon as her mistress or the regulation of the establishment will permit her.

The duties here set down can only be regarded as an outline rather than a detail, the habits of every family varying, and thereby regulating the amount of labour demanded, and the order in which the duties are to be performed. As a rule, however, a maid of all work, if she wish to retain her situation, must be industrious, cleanly, and thoughtful; and not only able to work, but to plan.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Day 109 - On Gor and How It Still Affects Me Deeply, On Gorean Parodies, On Meeting Goreans at the Inner Sanctum High-Protocol Event, and On Being Nervous about Plans to Have Dinner with Goreans Next Week

Gor! Huh, yeah.
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all


*grins*

Okay, recovering Gorean here, playing around with the lyrics to “War”.

I’m one of those weird cases of a Gorean who hates Gor. To be more precise, I hate the Gor as it’s presented in the books, in which human life is worthless, compassion is considered a character flaw, and every woman is considered by men to be nothing more than a slave (although some simply haven’t been collared yet).

I don't necessarily dislike people who live the Gorean lifestyle. Heck, I really like some of them, and it wasn't that long ago I was seeking a Gorean Master to serve permanently full-time. In about a week and a half, my Master and I will be eating dinner with a Gorean Master and his kajira, and tonight I wrote a long letter to a differeng Gorean kajira I know praising her inspiring devoition to her Master and her beautiful skills in service.

So I don't hate Goreans. But I hate Gor, as it's presented in the 20-something novels written by John Norman during the last 40-plus years.

I’m a kajira at heart ("kajira" is a Gorean word that simply means "female slave"). I'm that in my soul. I am the type of woman that the Gorean books claim all women are. And, as such, I would serve as a kajira joyfully and lovingly on Gor, and I’ve often wished to be there, in a place where all women are beautiful and sensual and ...

But not all women are like me. When I look at the books now, I feel a sense of horror and dread for the lives of the women in the novels, who at any moment could find their existence and freedom stripped forever away from them, to go from being physicians and scholars and mothers to being sex toys in a heartbeat without rights of any kind.

I was a Gorean for years. It’s how I was introduced to the lifestyle. And it’s how many Masters and slaves find their place.

As I've indicated, Gor isn’t just a series of science-fiction books to some people. It’s the basis for a way of life.

The Gorean books are horribly written, without a doubt. Even the most die-hard Gorean will admit to that.

A couple of quite clever parodies have been made of the awful writing, by the way. One is Gay, Bejeweled, Nazi Bikers of Gor, and the other is Houseplants of Gor. Both are worth the read.

Despite the awful writing, there are some actually quite intelligent people who attempt to take something of value out of the books.

Things like honor. And being true to yourself.

And there are not-so-valued things. Such as a belief that all women are naturally submissive to men, and that’s the way evolution intended it.

Things like believing that all women were created to serve the desires of men.

So why do I love and hate Gor at the same time? How can some Goreans be very respectable and honorable, and others be misogynistic and sociopathic?

Well, the thing is ... Gor started off as a pretty fun series of books. There was sex and slavery and action and daring do. There was a great hero and a great (and very intelligent) female sidekick who was his match in every way.

So if you're going to read Gor, the first five books are okay. Hell, I'd have to say that "Nomads of Gor" and "Tarnsman of Gor" are among my favorite science-fiction books of all time.

But after then, they started to spiral downward into eventual insanity.

There's a fantastic article called "Looking North to the Sea, She Finds the Weather Fine", which explains the contrast between the good first books in the series and the awfulness of the later books. It's extremely well written, and worth checking out if you want to understand why Gor can be seen in both good and bad lights.

I wrote a Website years ago about Gor (it's at A Dog's Life: Gorean Thoughts), and I put in some links to a few essays that don’t exactly praise the Gorean way of thinking. I haven’t updated it in awhile, but it’s continued to get quite a few hits over the years, so I keep it up as a resource for people who want to understand a particular perspective.

One of the sites I link to is an essay entitled "Chain Gang", which is possibly the best online article I’ve seen on the subject. It manages to blast Gor in an incredibly intelligent yet entertaining way. I highly recommend you check it out, whether you’re Gorean or not.

I probably should also mention one of the best humorous stories on the Web that pokes fun in a nice way at Goreans, called “Geeks and Greeks on Gor”.

I mention all that because Master and I made the acquaintance of two Gorean Master/slave couples at last Friday’s Inner Sanctum meeting (the monthly high-protocol event at the Denver Sanctuary BDSM club). Everybody at the Inner Sanctum that night got along wonderfully, and it was one of the most enjoyable formal meetings I’ve ever attended as a slave.

The following was written by a Gorean Master who attended that meeting for the first time. His words were so eloquent that they moved more than a few people who attended:
“Only my times of sharing with my unofficial Mentor and dear Friend have left me more silent than sitting with the Masters of the Inner Sanctum. Maybe the greatest tribute to offer these men of wisdom was that they were strong enough to know when to openly share and when to quiet themselves and confidently listen. I was drawn to everything that they had to say. There were 8 exquisitely beautiful slaves there and yet it was as if they weren't even there. Their reality was only evident in the periodical occurrence of each of them tending to their Masters' needs, here and there. Other than that I barely recognized them as being there, at all. Such is the way that it should be. But by the end of my time with these men, it was THEY who were dominating the discussion and it was I who was spellbound and hanging on each phrase. I didn't agree with all of it. It's not required that I do. But there was a profound, quiet sense of tolerance and acceptance that was nothing short of refreshing”


One of those two Gorean Masters we met has since invited my Master and I to dinner, and we have accepted, with plans to attend a week from Sunday. The other Master’s kajira is excited to talk with me again, and I’m greatly looking forward to being with her.

I’m nervous, though, because my time in Gor has left me some mental and emotional scars.

I came to accept the ideas of the book as they applied to life and myself. And I had nightmares, sometimes night after night, about life on Gor for other people. Women who were stripped from a good life and a loving family and forced to become less than nothing, then being killed without the least remorse for the slightest offense.

Gor sucks.

And, yet, a part of me still loves it there.

It was home to me.

Gradually, because of Master and Mistress, Earth has again become more of a home to me than Gor.

But I know I’m drawn there. So we’ll see what happens next week.

Master doesn’t have the total aversion to Gor that Mistress did. Mistress completely barred me from having any contact with Goreans, online or offline, or to read the books. Master, however, knows the effect it had on me, and he believes he can work with me on it, to allow it to remain a valid part of my life.

I still wear my kajira T-shirt when I go out at times ( I got it at CafePress. You can find almost ANYTHING there! *giggles*)

And I still consider myself a kajira.

I think I always might. Such is life.

La kajira!

p.s. For fun, Master sent me the lyrics to “My Kajira”, the Gorean equivalent of “My Sharona.” He wrote it, and he said anybody can use it or reprint it, as long as they attribute it to "Master Grey of Colorado." I thought I’d pass it along here! *chuckles*

Ooh, my little pretty one, my pretty one,
Gonna make you wear my ko-lar, kajira.
Swift as a thalarion, thalarion,
Chase you all the way to Port Kar, kajira.

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira

Come a little closer, huh, a-will ya, huh?
Close enough to look in my eyes, kajira.
Soon you will belong to me, belong to me,
Branded at the top of your thigh, kajira.

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira

When will you submit to me, submit to me,
You cannot resist any more, kajira,
Is it d-d-destiny, d-destiny,
Or is this just a game about Gor, kajira?

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-m-m-m-m-my, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira

Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira
Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira
Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira


p.p.s. A heavy-metal band named Phonetica has a song about Gor called “Slave Raid.” The song doesn’t exactly fit my tastes, but here’s the lyrics if you’re curious:

A ship on the solar tide ride
On dimensional wave bide
The power of lust and greed
Drives a crew into evil deed

Appearing in the atmosphere
Yet no mortal may see or hear
No woman safe in her bed
No virgin pure in her head
No human female is safe
From the harvester of slaves

Bow to me now
You're a slave, not a lover
Please me enough
You'll earn the chains in my bed
Every cell every nerve
Knows you were born to serve
Don't fight the thrall you feel
The pleasure when you kneel

Traveling now to your realm of rebirth
Other side of the sun
Life of collar begun
My Kajira of Counter-Earth!

No woman is free
No woman is saved
Who has not known the leash
Who has not been enslaved

Monday, November 23, 2009

Day 108 -- On Having Made a Six-Figure Salary as a Computer Programmer Before Becoming a Slave, On Writing the Final Chapters of My Werewolf Novel, and On Having Fun with My Former Mistress

Mmmm ….

It’s been a heck of a few days. So many things on my mind at the moment.

I didn’t mention in my last post, but I had a fantastic time with Mistress last Tuesday. I went over and packed up my car with the last of my stuff from her place, and then I cleaned up a bit. And then we fucked like girly bunnies and I came really hard, and so did she, and we cuddled and kissed and … mmmm … And then, for her birthday, I made catfish jambalaya and honey-basil salmon steaks, and I have to say the salmon came out PERFECT in a very heavenly way, and she agreed very nicely. It was a wonderful day, and it reminded me of just how much I miss her and still love her.

Then after I came home that night, I finished up with the first draft of another chapter in my novel, and soon afterward I got all of the previous chapters together in one spot. I’ve only got two chapters and an epilogue left, and I want to make sure it’s done right. So, with that in mind, I’m going to read through all of the 112,000 words I’ve written in all the chapters so far, fix all the little things I’ve taken notes for but never done, and, with all I’ve written in my head, pounce on the last bit of the novel.

“Err … what novel?” you’re probably asking. Okay, I guess I’ve never mentioned it, but I’ve been working on a novel for about three and a half years. I was hot and heavy into it for almost two years, then I entered into my year of hell (in which I was clinically depressed) and lost myself into SecondLife for awhile. Finally, about a month ago, I picked it up again, and to my shock and happy surprise, I’m writing just as fluidly as ever. Everything I had planned with the characters is coming back, and it looks like I’ll be done with the first draft in less than three months.

The novel is about a female wolf-born werewolf who is volunteers for a suicide mission to interact with the local vampires and … what I’m hoping sets it apart is that the main character is by nature a wolf, not a human, and so the perspective and satire on society is quite different than other female-werewolf novels. Of which there are a ton. There weren’t that many when I started writing it, but my delay due to my depression caused me to miss the crest of the wave.

Actually, if I had finished the novel late last year (when I had planned), it still might not be published. First I’d have to find an agent (which could take months or more than a year), then the agent would have to find a publisher (which could take months or more than a year), and with all that I might never be published.

I told Master about it, and he said he’ll guarantee I’ll get published. On Kindle. Master said it’s the way to self-publish in style these days. What I would do is, after the novel is edited to its final draft and ready to go, I upload it to Amazon.com for sale to readers of their Kindle e-book device. I’ll set the price relatively low (probably $2.99 or even $1.99) to get impulse buyers, and with any luck I’ll get a decent amount of cash back. I’m not expecting six figures, but twenty grand would be rather swell.

The market’s still good for female werewolf novels, and I do know how to write, as I was a journalist for a decade. And the book is written in journalistic style, and I do have a wolf spirit, and …

Well, I’ve got my dewclaws crossed it won’t flop.

I’ve got a sequel lined up as well, in case I get an audience.

And I’ve got a third book ready to go, completely outlined and set to write. It’s inspired by what happened to me during the year I was lost in SecondLIfe. I’m determined to make all the time I wasted in there … not be wasted, but instead become useful for my writing career.

Anyway, more on the novel as it progresses.

Speaking of making six figures … well … I used to, by the way.

Yep. A year and a half ago, I was pulling in more than $100,000 a year.

Now I’m a slave, making only room and board and whatever else my Master generously provides for me. Master has set it up that each month he’ll pay for my health insurance, the child support I’m paying my ex, and about $150 allowance for me to save toward unexpected expenses (such as taking my kids to the zoo). Yes, I did say “child support”. Yeah, I was the breadwinner of the family at one point in my life. Did I mention I had been making six figures?

In case anybody’s wondering, the way I was making so much money is that I had somehow lucked into a high-level software programming position for a major company.

And the reason I don’t have it any more is because of two things – the recession, and the fact that, to be honest, I was never a programmer at heart.

Years ago I got into computer science because I wanted to do computer animation, and I didn’t realize that the jobs in that field went to people with art degrees. I hated being a programmer, and I failed at it miserably, and eventually I left it and got a second degree doing what I loved – writing. I became a professional journalist for a decade, and it was a wonderful, stressful, incredible (and quite low-salary) time in my life.

Then children entered our life, and suddenly having a low-paying job I loved didn’t cut it anymore.

My ex didn’t have a marketable degree, and I thought my old computer science certification was useless. But then the tech boom happened, and companies were hiring techies left and right, male and female, it didn’t matter. And so I went to work while my ex stayed home with the kids.

I went from job to job over the next eight years, eventually winding up in a position making more than $100K.

My ex and I were spoiled, thinking it would last forever. So although we paid off all our bills, and we had the brains to pay off our mortgage, we didn’t save much of anything.

But that was then, and this is now. My ex is surviving on Medicare, food stamps, credit cards and the child support I send.

And I’m a slave.

Life is weird, y’know?

On that note, I’m behind in my postings for various reasons, so even though I have more to write about, I’m going to go ahead and get this out for now.

As always, la kajira!

p.s. In a post on the "Slave Registry" message board, somebody asked what everybody's daily chore routines were. I put my my list there, and I'm putting it here as well, in case anybody's curious regarding what my daily life's like workwise. This list, by the way, was reviewed and formally approved by my Master:

Rotating schedule:
• Clean M’Lady’s bathroom top to bottom
• Clean Master’s bathroom top to bottom
• Clean entry and basement bathroom top to bottom
• Clean mudroom counters, shelves, washer and drier and floor
• Vacuum main-floor rugs
• Vacuum upstairs rugs
• Vacuum and mop kitchen floor
• Wipe kitchen counters, cabinets and refrigerator surfaces
• Vacuum and mop main-floor wood floor
• Clean light switches, door knobs and other commonly handled areas around the house
• Wipe office chairs, desks and other often used surfaces
• Look for area where dust has built up and clean thoroughly
• Dust areas of house not often touched (such as glass cabinets)
• Inspect garage and porch, then clean if needed
• At end of cycle, inspect house thoroughly to see if anything was missed

Daily:
• Make Master’s bed
• Discuss evening meal with Master if needed, then prepare, shopping if necessary
• Pick up mail at external dropoff
• Get mail from outside
• Tidy my room
• Empty trash and recycling around the house if full
• Check laundry and do if needed
• Check bathrooms to see if they are out of toilet paper and paper towels
• Check around house and clean up where any dirt or spilled liquids found
• Ensure house is locked up at night
• Microwave sponges on plate for 30 seconds
• Check if dishes need to be done. If so, also wash sponges in dishwasher.
• Check personal e-mail and Fetlife and respond as necessary

Weekly:
• Sunday night: Put out trash (and recycling every other week)
• Wash M’Lady’s bed sheets
• Wash Master’s bed sheets
• File receipts
• Check BDSM community calendar for upcoming events

When time allows:
• Study massage
• Study Perl to assist Master in the future
• Study recipe books to assist Master in the future