Seven minutes.
That’s all it took to make me go from having a good day to being extremely depressed.
And it was my fault.
Tonight is Master’s bowling night, and we had agreed that I would be home by 4:30 in the afternoon so I could make dinner.
I got home at 4:37 and walked into the kitchen to find him already putting everything together.
It was a simple dinner tonight. He bought something from a place called “Supper Solutions,” which provides meals that are almost entirely prepared. Tonight was Cincinnati Chili, and all he had to do was add the ingredients to a skillet, let it simmer for a few minutes, then add the other ingredients to cook for awhile.
Correction. That’s all I had to do. And I didn’t do it because I wasn’t there.
Master told me it was okay, and what was important was that I tried to get home on time.
But I feel like shit. I keep making little mistakes, and I feel like they’re piling up, even though Master said I’m better already than any slave he and M’Lady have ever had in their household.
I’ve always had a problem with getting to places on time. Ever since high school when I first got a car of my own, I was always running late to school.
I’ve never learned how to correctly compensate for the unexpected. I’m horrible at estimating how long something will take.
And I get weird when I start to realize I don’t have enough time. I get fixated on completing the task at hand, even if it means I’ll be late, and people will be sitting around waiting for me.
It’s a strange mental block that has affected me all my life, and one that has made many people annoyed at me at times over the years. Particularly my ex, who gets sick of me saying I’ll pick up the kids at 10 in the morning, only to show up at 10:30 or later.
I told Master about my problem tonight, and he said he’s going to try and figure out how to work with me to fix it.
Tonight, though, he told me not to worry about it.
And yet, here I am, crying about disappointing him as I sit at the desk in the little side room they have for me.
I told Master tonight that this is a dream come true for me. I feel I’m in the place in my life I’ve sought so desperately for years, ever since I realized I’m a slave at heart. Possibly, it’s the place I’ve sought all my life without realizing it. And I feel like I’m screwing things up.
Master hugged me tightly and told me it’s alright, and to get on with the night and not worry about it.
But he knew I wasn’t letting go of it, because simply I can’t let go of it very easily. Serving him and M’Lady and Mistress is one of the primary focuses of my life now (the other focus being my children), and the idea of failing at that strikes me horribly to the depths of my soul. That may sound like hyperbole, but it’s truly how I feel.
*sighs*
Mistress. I miss the hell out of her.
She’s the reason I was late. I was at her house today, and I kept delaying leaving her because I still love her so much.
I went over today to pick up a carload of things, and we almost immediately began kissing tenderly. After a moment, she pushed me back with a slightly annoyed look, and when I asked her why she did that, she told me, “I want to jump your bones, that’s why, and you don’t have time for that.”
I really want to make love to her again, too. She’s a hell of a kisser. A lot better than Master, I have to admit. Mistress says that’s because she’s a girl, and she just might be right about that. *chuckles*
Mistress is so laid back. We went out for lunch at Arby’s, and she treated me to a French Dip with fries and soda. It tasted like a feast. Master has me prepare decadent dinners each night, but there’s never any comfort food around the house. We never go out for pizza or a Whopper or a Taco Bell burrito. Instead, we have things like moussaka (well, something that resembled moussaka last night). Every morning Mistress would have me make her breakfast, usually eggs and toast and maybe bacon or sausage. Master and M’Lady almost never eat breakfast (this morning was an exception when I made grits and Master requested a bowlful). For lunch, Master usually eats just a store-bought sandwich. I’m sure they eat more because neither of them is underweight by any means, but what they munch on is a mystery to me (although I think they tend to snack late at night, because I’ll often wake up in the morning to find dirty dishes waiting for me near the sink).
Mistress is laid back in so many other ways. Around her, I always know I’m owned. She demands very specific things. But she doesn’t usually demand they’re done in an overly specific way. Well, she wants the laundry done the way she likes. And she likes meals made in a particular fashion. And her bed is made in a certain way. And … okay … she’s particular, too. Maybe I just got used to her after awhile, and I’m still nervous about Master because I’m in the initial stages of learning his ways. That, and I have to learn M’Lady’s ways – and even Master admits that she’s so precise about things (she has obsessive-compulsive disorder, or OCD) that it drives him crazy as well.
But still, it was wonderful to be with Mistress again, even for a couple of hours, because I felt I could really let my hair down around her.
And she clearly loved me being there.
She reminded me today that as part of agreement with Master, she retains partial ownership of me. As a result, she’s told Master that she wants me to spend the day with her on Thursday so that I can clean the house top to bottom in preparation for a date she’s having Friday night.
I can hardly wait. I strongly suspect that cleaning the house isn’t the only thing we’ll be doing, and that if the bed has already been made when I get there in the morning, I’ll have to make it again by the time I leave that night. *grins gently*
I hate to say it, but I haven’t had sex once since Master took me in. It’s clear he would like to do it with me, but he has erectile dysfunction disorder, and he simply can’t get it up enough. He loves to cuddle, though, and that is a wonderful thing, and I’ll live with the joys I can get.
Mistress told me today about all the fun she had at parties on Halloween and Halloween Eve with female friends of hers, and I felt, I admit, a bit envious, because I knew I would have gone with her if I had been with her.
I told Mistress today that I feel something’s clear. I need to be with Master. I’m the right slave for him, and he’s the right Master for me. I’m trained to provide his needs, and he’s able to fulfill my needs as well by taking responsibility for me, financially and otherwise.
But I desire Mistress more, I think. I have more thrills and more fun with her. She’s two years younger than I am, and we’re both single women. She’s less set in her ways. We understand each other.
*sighs*
Somebody who read this blog told me I’m an extremely lucky slave to be in my situation. And I know I am.
It would be perfect if I could experience the joys of both life with Mistress and life with Master together.
Actually, I can. And I I can truly count my blessings for that.
*smiles*
*sighs and looks more serious*
Okay, I started to end this post on that note, but I figured it was worth explaining that there’s more to my depression today than just being late … although that was enough by itself.
Last night I viewed a gallery of some very creepy transformational fetish works by Ian Samson. I went there out of curiosity because somebody on StuckPosing said they were looking for a comic of his in which a young woman is transformed into the heart (yes, the internal organ) of a baby dragon.
That site was creepy. And addictive. I couldn't stop until I had viewed everything and taken it all in. I feel rather weird today mentally as a result. Not exactly in the most chipper of moods. Rather disturbed, actually. I just couldn’t get some of the most cruel ideas and works of art out of my mind, and they’re still haunting me.
So, I would say, regarding that site's images ... mission accomplished (for the artist, at least). For me, I think it might have been better if I had never looked at the site, so … if you’re like me, I recommend you not check it out. *shrugs with a sigh*
Transformational stories are incredibly addictive to me, by the way. They’re like poisonous potato chips. Once I start eating them, I can hardly stop, and then when I finally do finish, I usually feel disgusted in a way that lasts for a long time. The advantage of potato chips is that I could (if I was that type of person) vomit them out. I don’t do that, but I could. Unfortunately, I can’t vomit the truly horrible images I get from some of the cruelest transformational stories out of my head, as much as I wish I could.
(Speaking of transformational stories, mine got published on “The Legacy of Timeless Beauty” story archive. Hurray!)
On another note, I got a bit sad yesterday about a different subject … missing my kids.
On the Newsweek web site, there was a review of a book that attempted to prove scientifically that life exists after death.
It isn't often that an online book review leaves me in tears. But the following words, posted at the end of this review, did.
"Is there comfort in the idea that Max (the reviewer’s younger son, who passed away) lives on as a disembodied consciousness in a parallel universe? I want him here with me now, and I would gladly trade my prospects for Eternity for the chance to hug him one more time."
I can't imagine what it would be like to lose one of my two children. And reading those words made me want to be with them so very, very much.
I’ll be with them tomorrow. Master was a little bothered at first today when he realized that my plans to be with my kids tomorrow conflicted with his plans to have me with him when he taught a class at the Sanctuary on Master/slave relationships. After calling my ex to see if we could change it so I could be with them today, I found out my ex needs to be at an evening class meeting and so I need to pick up the kids at school and be with them for awhile. That’s great for me … the more time the better … but I felt concerned Master would be annoyed, and when I mentioned to my ex I might need to leave around 6:30, my ex started making me feel extremely guilty for “abandoning the kids in favor of that guy” even though my ex would be home by that time. Fortunately, Master told me that, although he was disappointed, he wanted me to not hurry with my kids, and so things are okay. But … that conversation happened this morning, and so that’s another reason why I got depressed for disappointing Master again tonight by being a bit late.
Back to the subject of the book that was reviewed in Newsweek, the problem I have with so many books from both sides of the recent theology debates is that they assume the readers are Christian. I am not. Although I was raised Southern Baptist, I have been a shamanic practitioner for almost 15 years. My personal experiences have given me no doubts regarding reincarnation, but there is, naturally, no way anybody but I would see them as proof of anything. I believe my spirit guides have given me what I need for my life's path, and that is that.
With that in mind, I firmly believe that were my children to die tomorrow, that I would very possibly see them again, in one form or another. I might even see them again in this life. Maybe even soon after their death.
But, still ... humans resist change. I would want my daughter to remain my daughter, a human little girl, bright and bubbly, who loves dressing up as a cat even when it is rather inappropriate. And I would want my son to remain my son, a human little boy, determined and energetic, who loves to invent bizarre contraptions with Legos.
Such is life. And death.
And so it goes. *sighs and smiles wistfully*
La kajira!
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