In very sharp contrast to the last time I posted, things are going great now, emotionally AND physically AND spiritually. Master, seeing I was in the depths of depression, decided to take over my task-making abilities, and he micromanaged my chore list for most of last week. By the end of the week, I was back to a regular schedule of things to do, and I could put everything in a very effective perspective – and, best of all, I was getting stuff DONE – which cheered me up to no end!
*bounces*
As things are now, the inertia has taken over, and I’m running stuff on my own again, setting my own chores for the most part (although I’m still getting the main tasks for each day approved with Master so he can make sure I’m setting my priorities right).
So things are okay again. Well, for me, anyway. Master has been quite sick with a really awful sinus infection for days. *sighs*
I love winter (the snow and icy landscape remind me of some far-off memories, like from another life. In all seriously, I’ve often felt it has to do with a previous life as an arctic wolf) – but this winter has sucked regarding people getting sick. Master was sick for a long time (experiencing ups and downs that allowed him to function but kept him from having much physical fun) after I moved in, and then I got sick for about a week right after Master finally recovered, and now that I’m well again, Master is sick once more. He’s on antibiotics and resting, so hopefully he’ll come out of it soon. I feel bad not being able to do anything but watch.
Well, I tried to do something. The night before last I did I healing ritual, focusing on his chest (which he said was hurting at the time) and spiritually I found lots of green, bubbly gunk in it (which I worked to remove) – but that didn’t seem to help Master overall, which makes sense because it turns out he has a sinus infection (and I didn’t even do anything spiritually regarding his head, so I treated the symptoms and not the cause), and I’m not really the best at healing rituals. Actually, I wonder if they do much good at all. Yeah, I admit it. Some shamanic workers like to say they can do anything, but I can’t. I do my best to be realistic and base my beliefs on my experiences.
So why do I attempt to do spiritual healing if it usually doesn’t work? Well, it doesn’t work usually if I do it, but I’ve known it to work twice in the past on people I know well. And the thing is, the typical shamanic worker I know will tell you that they personally suck at doing healing – because for a shaman, it’s not them doing the work, it’s the spirits. That’s what makes a shamanic worker different than somebody who claims to be a “magic user” – in my experience, a shaman’s role is to act as a conduit between the physical world and the spirits, but anything that’s miraculous is done is by the spirits, not by the shaman.
A couple of nights ago when I worked with Master, I asked Bear to guide me, and Bear did, and Fox helped as well (which I found surprising, as I hadn’t asked Fox for help – but Fox is M’Lady’s guide, so it makes sense that Fox wants Master healed soon). If two spirits were working to get Master all better, why isn’t he better already, you may be asking? (And the fact is, he’s still feeling lousy – he went to the doctor yesterday, and that’s where he got the antibiotics). The answer is – I don’t know. Maybe Master would be even worse today if Bear and Fox hadn’t helped. Or maybe something’s going on that simply I don’t know about.
Not much proof for your skeptics, eh? I can understand that.
Okay, as I mentioned, two things have happened in my life that got me to believe this stuff is real.
About seven or so years ago, my sister-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She went back to her doctor repeatedly as needed, and the disease progressed, to the point that her doctor said she likely had less than a year to live, and it would probably be just a few months before the cancer started really hitting her body hard. Needless to say, everybody in her family was upset (especially my ex), and I decided to do what I could – I decided to go out into the woods alone with all of my shamanic tools (which I’ll describe here someday) and do a full-fledged healing ceremony on her behalf. She didn’t believe in such things, so I did it without her knowledge. I called upon all of my spirit guides to assist me and to heal her if they felt such a thing should be done, and I was being careful to express my desires but not to demand that they do anything. One spirit out of the others said she would do it. Arctic Fox. A survivor if there ever was one. She said she would make sure that my sister-in-law survived, but she wouldn’t be perfect – she said my sister-in-law would be damaged in such a way that would affect her for life. I told my ex about it, and my ex said we’d see what happened – and the sister-in-law wasn’t told. A couple of days later, my sister-in-law went back to the doctor for a full examination, and the doctor took and x-ray and did tests and … was extremely perplexed – he said he couldn’t understand it, but somehow all of the previous readings must have been wrong because her cancer was gone. Completely out of her system. There was something wrong, however, he told her. Her ovaries were now unusually scarred, in such a way that she would never have children again. FYI, I asked my ex to tell my sister in law about the ritual after that, but I’m not sure if my ex ever did.
About 17 years ago, my ex had had a cerebral hemorrhage. It had happened suddenly, with the result being that my ex lost peripheral vision and had a virtual time bomb in his brain that at any time could explode and cause him to fall over dead without warning. Doctors said death was extremely unlikely, however, and the two of us were faced with a strange and tough decision. I had just graduated with honors from college with a journalism degree and had just gotten offered a job at a small newspaper in Sheridan, Wyoming. My ex had an administrative job at a large bookstore in Denver. We had planned to move to Wyoming together because we felt I needed the initial experience there to get a job at a newspaper in Denver. but he had the hemorrhage literally one day before he had planned to quit his job. He had already told his manager about it (and fortunately his manager said nothing would be mentioned about it). My new job wouldn’t have insurance, but his existing job did. So we decided something tough – for me to go to Sheridan by myself and visit back as much as possible (which turned out to be once every three weeks). While in Sheridan, I became friends with some residents of the nearby Northern Cheyenne reservation, including an old and respected holy man. Although they were quite secretive about many of their beliefs, he took a shine to me and saw my honest desire to learn, and he allowed me to take part in several very intense sweat lodges – in which a very small dome-shaped structure is created out of bent sticks and blankets over a fire pit, into which are put red hot stones that have been heating over a fire all day. A half dozen or more people get inside, barely fitting in, and the leader then pours water slowly onto the red-hot stones, causing flumes of steam to billow into the tightly confined space. It’s awful and suffocating and so incredibly hot and – the point is, the only way to stand it is to turn inward, to seek yourself and to connect to who you are beyond the physical. The sweat-lodge usually lasts for more than an hour, in four segments (with participants getting a break between each segment and being allowed to go outside). Several months after moving to Sheridan, I told the holy man about my ex’s condition, and he talked with other members of his tribe, and, to my happy surprise and honor, scheduled a special sweat lodge just for my ex, to pray for his recovery. I took part of it, of course, and that sweat lodge was very intense, just like all the others. Afterward, a woman who had taken part with me came to me and said she had had a vision while experiencing the lodge, and in the vision she saw a river flowing through a landscape, and blocking the river was a large rock. Then, as she watched, the rock began to melt and break into tiny pieces, and soon it had fallen apart and washed safely down the stream, allowing the river to flow as it should. I told my ex that the next day, and my ex kept it in mind when he saw his neurologist next for a MRI brain scan. The neurologist said with pleasure that, to his surprise, the scan showed that the blood clot in my ex’s brain had broken up and dissolved in the blood stream, and the danger was for all intents and purposes completely gone. FYI, it wasn’t long after that that I returned home to Denver, and my ex and I were reunited.
So, without a doubt, healing can occur in ways beyond physical explanation.
Master’s illness, by the way, has made him susceptible to being unusually cranky, and twice today I’ve pissed him off greatly. One of the times he said is the angriest he’s ever gotten with anybody, and so I’ve most likely seen him at his most extreme. Looking back, the things I did seem minor, but I seemed to be able to press his buttons in exactly the wrong way, the equivalent of a few uranium atoms coming together to create an atomic explosion.
The first was this morning, when a “to-do” list task-managing program on my computer wasn’t working right, and I told Master, and he tried to fix it, and he did something wrong that made matters worse, and I offered a suggestion on what he did that was incorrect and how to fix it, and he told me to explain it to him, and I couldn’t figure out how and so I asked him to just do as I recommended, and he did and he again demanded an explanation, and I finally was able to show him what I meant in ways that I couldn’t explain with words alone, and he blew up and started yelling at me and accused me of being disobedient and disrespectful and refusing to answer his questions, and I started to cry and explained that I had to show him because I didn’t know how to tell him, and he yelled at me and ordered me out of the room. Later he called me back and gave me a big hug and said my suggestion had been correct and had fixed the problem, and I told him I should have told him the issue was the fact that the database table used a “two-column primary key” but I couldn’t remember the terminology at the time, and he apologized for exploding at me and losing his temper, and I hugged him tighter and told him it was okay, for I’d much prefer he expresses his feelings than keep them bottled up, and things went fine from there.
Well, until this afternoon, when I came home from the grocery store and, as I was opening my car door, accidentally caused a brand-new bottle of wine I had bought myself for cooking to fall out onto the garage floor and shatter everywhere, leaving a pool of glass and wine. I stormed inside the house, totally pissed at myself, and, holding part of the broken bottle, launched into a tirade about what had happened, and Master didn’t put up with it and angrily ordered me to go back out to the garage and deal with the mess. After cleaning things up, I went to my room to look up wine on the Internet, since I was going to have to buy another bottle to replace what I had broken, and for no reason my computer started going haywire and started freezing up. I asked Master about it, and Master went with annoyance to my room, and the longer he tried to figure things out, the more frustrated he became and angry at me, and, having become upset as well, I left the house to go get the wine, and I closed the garage door angrily, and Master suddenly stormed out of the house into the garage and bellowed at me, the force of his inner Dragon spirit launching at me with venomous ire, and he chewed me out for slamming the door, and he yelled that he was too sick to deal with all my drama, and he bared his teeth and told me he didn’t care what I did regarding dinner anymore, and he barrelled back into the house and left me alone. When I came back with the wine he was somewhat calm although still annoyed at me because he said he strongly suspected I had done something foolish to cause the problems on my computer, but fortunately he only raised his voice at me about that a couple of more times before finally calming down for good.
The rest of the night was overall a good one, although I’m quite behind in my tasks. I was supposed to clean my room today (he chewed me out this morning because he feels my room has become unacceptably cluttered and far too messy for his standards), and I got it partially done, but with the shopping and the laundry and the cooking and the other tasks of the day, I didn’t quite finish. Okay, I actually still have a lot to do in my room before finishing. And I didn’t even start on my other task of the day, which was to clean the kitchen top to bottom. *sighs*
And yet, I feel better about my position here than I have in a while. Go figure.
This is my home. And I love my Master. Even if he does have an incredible temper.
Who knows? Maybe that’s part of why I love him.
*shrugs and smiles*
To quote Linda Ellerbee (my inspiration and role model as a journalist): “And so it goes …”
*grins*
Toodles for now! I’ll write more when I have a chance!
Showing posts with label Master. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Master. Show all posts
Monday, March 8, 2010
Monday, March 1, 2010
Day 207 - On Being Emotionally Exhausted After Several Weeks of An Incredibly Busy Life, On Making Master Incredibly Angry Twice, On Breaking Down in Tears Repeatedly, and On Having Two Wonderful Kids Who I Miss Very Much
Hey, everybody. You were probably wondering where I went. Truth be told, I was so busy the last couple of weeks I didn’t have time to blog.
“Yeah, right,” you’re thinking. “It’s not that she didn’t have time to blog. She just got lazy.”
No, really! It was an amazingly busy couple of weeks.
Well, the last week was busy. The previous week ...
Okay, last week ... what a week! I started a ponyplay group in Denver and held the first meeting at my Master’s house, I took a long orientation class at a local therapeutic horse riding center in the bitter cold, I worked with my son to put together his annual science project presentation (and as he predicted, we found out that potatoes conduct electricity just a bit better than lemons! Hooray! *giggles*), I attended a half-day conference on women’s health issues, and I did my normal chores and duties and spent time with my kids, all while working to recover from a cold.
Woo hoo!!! *bounces and wags my tail*
The previous week (and a bit of last week), I was knocked out for several days pretty much by one of the worst colds I've had in years. I was sleeping 14-hour days to recover. It was intense. The cold had actually been building up all of the week before last, sapping my mental energy each night more and more.
Fortunately, Master had on hand copies of two great (and very appropriately educational) PBS reality shows. One was called "The 1900 House", and it was about a modern family trying to live as a middle-class family in a Victorian London home. Wow, the mom and oldest daughter were whiny. The other was called "The Manor House", and it focused on a well-to-do family living as Edwardian aristocrats while modern "normal" people took on the roles of their servants -- and BOY did the servants have a hard job of it! I'll talk more about it all later, but I'll say it inspired everybody in Master's household and enlightened us a bit! *grins*
Anyway, those shows allowed me to recover a bit while watching hours and hours of television, and after all that's happened the last couple of weeks, it’s not just the blogging that I'm behind in now. I got behind in a lot of stuff, so much that I was starting to have emotional breakdowns because I had so much to do and couldn’t figure out how to handle it all.
Well, the emotional overload started happening a couple of days ago, actually.
Saturday night, I was dog tired from a long day. I had gotten up early to go to a conference regarding feminine medical issues in town (It’s a weird thing to walk into a fancy hotel and to have a well-dressed woman waiting for you there, and the first thing she asks is, “Are you here for the breast conference?” *chuckles* Okay, in all seriousness, my mom died of breast cancer, and I’m at risk, so it’s not really that frivolous a topic at heart to me). While there I talked with a lot of people about a lot of stuff, and talked to my former surgeon (who was in town for the conference) about some facial procedures he had done on me in the past, and after he examined me for an hour he told me he wants me to come back to his clinic in Chicago when I have a chance for some light follow-up work. After I came back home, I told Master and M’Lady, and they didn’t bat an eyelash - M’Lady turned to Master and said, “I guess it’s time to start looking for a good super-saver flight for her to get to Chicago soon.” To them, getting me to Chicago for some medical work is part of their responsibilities to me -- they’re so incredibly caring about me, it’s unreal! It was just another thing to remind me how blessed I am to have them as my Owners!
After I got back that afternoon, after doing the day’s normal chores, I cooked an unexpectedly time-consuming dinner of Chinese stir fry that took about three hours total of chopping and mixing and cooking and serving and then cleaning all the dishes, and I was so brain dead afterward I could hardly think.
Well, Master had told me he had planned on going to the Sanctuary BDSM club that night, and I suddenly remembered and came down to him, my shirt still wet and my pants still stained with oil, and my hair a mess, and I asked him if he wanted me to go. And he said he had expected me to and asked why I wouldn’t, and I said I was tired but I hesitated because I didn’t want to disappoint Master, and I asked whether he wanted me to stay home, and he ordered me to get some rest upstairs. See, I had thought it was just another normal, typical night, and I’d spend most of it standing at his side or kneeling at his feet while he talked with other people at the club. As you’ve probably guessed, when we go to the club usually, it’s for Master’s benefit, and I’m just there as his companion and servant. I usually don’t mind, because that’s my role in life, but Saturday night, for once, I happened to be unusually tired, so much I didn’t want to go.
I did as he said, but I couldn’t sleep. I just tossed and turned and kept thinking about how lonely I was and how much I wanted to be with Master, even for a little while before he left.
And I went downstairs and laid on the couch near Master until he was about to leave, and then I followed him and saw … a set of boxes of his equipment near the door, including the violet wand, which I’ve been dying for him to use on me since before he took possession of me.
And in shock I asked Master if he was bringing all that to the club for me, and he told me he had planned to.
And it hit me that he had brought all of the toys for me.
And I lost it.
Since the day Master took Ownership of me, I’ve been waiting for him to play with me like that. To take me to the dungeon at the club and do things to me. To tie me up. To electrify me. To have fun with me. To interact with me.
And the night that finally was going to happen, I was too tired.
I couldn’t take it. Kneeled on the floor, I burst out weeping uncontrollably, nearly screaming.
In response, Master announced he would be back in a moment, and he went upstairs. To me, that meant for me to stay there until he returned.
And I kneeled there. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes quietly crying. Sometimes bawling at the top of my lungs. Most of the time, my head was on the floor, my eyes shielded from the world, in wait for his return.
I didn’t know what was going on. I thought he might be near me, watching me. I thought maybe he had left out of the house at one point.
But I stayed there, in obedience. To me, that was my place. I was a slave, and I exist to serve him. And he had told me to wait for him there, and that’s what I did, unmoving except to shift in place.
Finally, after more than an hour, I became a bit concerned because this was very unusual for Master, and I very nervously went upstairs to check on him.
It turns out he was in his room, angry. He had gotten into an argument with M’Lady, and he had forgotten that he had said he was going to go back downstairs, and that I was to wait for him.
Eventually we both calmed down, and we both went to bed feeling generally okay.
But basically, Saturday night sucked. Master stayed home, and I ruined his evening. I fucked up the night for both of us.
And that’s what life has been like lately.
Oh, it hasn’t sucked all the time. Actually, last week was quite good in most ways. But it was very busy and very stressful. More on that in my next blog.
Sunday, by the way, I was still overly emotional. I hadn’t gotten over it yet. I went to Master before going out to my kids and told Master I was having a small problem on my computer when I tried to open some Web sites. As a result, Master wound up chewing me out for most of an hour about the computer and saying I hadn’t been respectful of the fact it’s a business computer attached the house network, and he chewed me out for my disobeying and neglecting of some of his recent instructions, and I wound up making him very angry yet again. He told me he was going to get on the computer I’ve been using and find old files to delete to clear up space, and even though he said he wouldn’t delete my personal data, I got scared and nervous and upset and started bawling again.
Eventually, Master ordered me to leave to see my kids, and by then I was an hour late, and when I got there, I spent the first hour or so just crying my eyes out in the kitchen at my ex’s house while the kids played in the backyard, being very considerate in letting me pour out my emotions to my ex, who fortunately for me was quite caring and understanding that day.
My kids wanted to see me, and I wanted to see them, but I had to calm down first, and slowly I did.
And what did my kids do when they saw I was doing okay?
They walked in to the room together, held hands, and said in unison (clearly having practiced it), “We love you very much, and we want you to feel better and be happy again.”
And then they hugged me, and I hugged them so very tightly, crying again, but with tears of joy and love.
Damn, I miss them so much. It hurts so very much to not be able to have them in my home anymore. But that’s part of my new life, and it’s something I accept as necessary for my position, whether I like it or not.
Still, though, some days it hurts so much to not have them with me anymore.
The rest of the day with my kids was pretty darn good, by the way. I helped them with homework, and we did lots of crafts. My daughter and son both made and painted wooden catapults, and I made a decorative wooden birdhouse (that I’m pretty proud of. *grins*). And we all did some leather crafts using a great starter kit I got last week, with my son making a leather-embossed flower, and my daughter making a very cute cat.
And I tucked my son into bed and laid down with him in the dark for awhile. The ceiling of his room is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars and constellations and meteors and planets, and being him felt like we were huddled together outside under the night sky. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but cry again, but in a good way.
Anyway … leather work is pretty fun, to be honest. My dad taught it to me when I was a girl growing up on a Texas ranch, and I think I’d love to make a purse sometime soon. Something I can show off at the club and be proud of. But that’s for later. As is further writing. For now, bedtime. The only way I’ll be able to do the Herculean task of catching up on this blog is to take it in small chunks, and for now, this one is done.
So … as always …
La kajira!
“Yeah, right,” you’re thinking. “It’s not that she didn’t have time to blog. She just got lazy.”
No, really! It was an amazingly busy couple of weeks.
Well, the last week was busy. The previous week ...
Okay, last week ... what a week! I started a ponyplay group in Denver and held the first meeting at my Master’s house, I took a long orientation class at a local therapeutic horse riding center in the bitter cold, I worked with my son to put together his annual science project presentation (and as he predicted, we found out that potatoes conduct electricity just a bit better than lemons! Hooray! *giggles*), I attended a half-day conference on women’s health issues, and I did my normal chores and duties and spent time with my kids, all while working to recover from a cold.
Woo hoo!!! *bounces and wags my tail*
The previous week (and a bit of last week), I was knocked out for several days pretty much by one of the worst colds I've had in years. I was sleeping 14-hour days to recover. It was intense. The cold had actually been building up all of the week before last, sapping my mental energy each night more and more.
Fortunately, Master had on hand copies of two great (and very appropriately educational) PBS reality shows. One was called "The 1900 House", and it was about a modern family trying to live as a middle-class family in a Victorian London home. Wow, the mom and oldest daughter were whiny. The other was called "The Manor House", and it focused on a well-to-do family living as Edwardian aristocrats while modern "normal" people took on the roles of their servants -- and BOY did the servants have a hard job of it! I'll talk more about it all later, but I'll say it inspired everybody in Master's household and enlightened us a bit! *grins*
Anyway, those shows allowed me to recover a bit while watching hours and hours of television, and after all that's happened the last couple of weeks, it’s not just the blogging that I'm behind in now. I got behind in a lot of stuff, so much that I was starting to have emotional breakdowns because I had so much to do and couldn’t figure out how to handle it all.
Well, the emotional overload started happening a couple of days ago, actually.
Saturday night, I was dog tired from a long day. I had gotten up early to go to a conference regarding feminine medical issues in town (It’s a weird thing to walk into a fancy hotel and to have a well-dressed woman waiting for you there, and the first thing she asks is, “Are you here for the breast conference?” *chuckles* Okay, in all seriousness, my mom died of breast cancer, and I’m at risk, so it’s not really that frivolous a topic at heart to me). While there I talked with a lot of people about a lot of stuff, and talked to my former surgeon (who was in town for the conference) about some facial procedures he had done on me in the past, and after he examined me for an hour he told me he wants me to come back to his clinic in Chicago when I have a chance for some light follow-up work. After I came back home, I told Master and M’Lady, and they didn’t bat an eyelash - M’Lady turned to Master and said, “I guess it’s time to start looking for a good super-saver flight for her to get to Chicago soon.” To them, getting me to Chicago for some medical work is part of their responsibilities to me -- they’re so incredibly caring about me, it’s unreal! It was just another thing to remind me how blessed I am to have them as my Owners!
After I got back that afternoon, after doing the day’s normal chores, I cooked an unexpectedly time-consuming dinner of Chinese stir fry that took about three hours total of chopping and mixing and cooking and serving and then cleaning all the dishes, and I was so brain dead afterward I could hardly think.
Well, Master had told me he had planned on going to the Sanctuary BDSM club that night, and I suddenly remembered and came down to him, my shirt still wet and my pants still stained with oil, and my hair a mess, and I asked him if he wanted me to go. And he said he had expected me to and asked why I wouldn’t, and I said I was tired but I hesitated because I didn’t want to disappoint Master, and I asked whether he wanted me to stay home, and he ordered me to get some rest upstairs. See, I had thought it was just another normal, typical night, and I’d spend most of it standing at his side or kneeling at his feet while he talked with other people at the club. As you’ve probably guessed, when we go to the club usually, it’s for Master’s benefit, and I’m just there as his companion and servant. I usually don’t mind, because that’s my role in life, but Saturday night, for once, I happened to be unusually tired, so much I didn’t want to go.
I did as he said, but I couldn’t sleep. I just tossed and turned and kept thinking about how lonely I was and how much I wanted to be with Master, even for a little while before he left.
And I went downstairs and laid on the couch near Master until he was about to leave, and then I followed him and saw … a set of boxes of his equipment near the door, including the violet wand, which I’ve been dying for him to use on me since before he took possession of me.
And in shock I asked Master if he was bringing all that to the club for me, and he told me he had planned to.
And it hit me that he had brought all of the toys for me.
And I lost it.
Since the day Master took Ownership of me, I’ve been waiting for him to play with me like that. To take me to the dungeon at the club and do things to me. To tie me up. To electrify me. To have fun with me. To interact with me.
And the night that finally was going to happen, I was too tired.
I couldn’t take it. Kneeled on the floor, I burst out weeping uncontrollably, nearly screaming.
In response, Master announced he would be back in a moment, and he went upstairs. To me, that meant for me to stay there until he returned.
And I kneeled there. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes quietly crying. Sometimes bawling at the top of my lungs. Most of the time, my head was on the floor, my eyes shielded from the world, in wait for his return.
I didn’t know what was going on. I thought he might be near me, watching me. I thought maybe he had left out of the house at one point.
But I stayed there, in obedience. To me, that was my place. I was a slave, and I exist to serve him. And he had told me to wait for him there, and that’s what I did, unmoving except to shift in place.
Finally, after more than an hour, I became a bit concerned because this was very unusual for Master, and I very nervously went upstairs to check on him.
It turns out he was in his room, angry. He had gotten into an argument with M’Lady, and he had forgotten that he had said he was going to go back downstairs, and that I was to wait for him.
Eventually we both calmed down, and we both went to bed feeling generally okay.
But basically, Saturday night sucked. Master stayed home, and I ruined his evening. I fucked up the night for both of us.
And that’s what life has been like lately.
Oh, it hasn’t sucked all the time. Actually, last week was quite good in most ways. But it was very busy and very stressful. More on that in my next blog.
Sunday, by the way, I was still overly emotional. I hadn’t gotten over it yet. I went to Master before going out to my kids and told Master I was having a small problem on my computer when I tried to open some Web sites. As a result, Master wound up chewing me out for most of an hour about the computer and saying I hadn’t been respectful of the fact it’s a business computer attached the house network, and he chewed me out for my disobeying and neglecting of some of his recent instructions, and I wound up making him very angry yet again. He told me he was going to get on the computer I’ve been using and find old files to delete to clear up space, and even though he said he wouldn’t delete my personal data, I got scared and nervous and upset and started bawling again.
Eventually, Master ordered me to leave to see my kids, and by then I was an hour late, and when I got there, I spent the first hour or so just crying my eyes out in the kitchen at my ex’s house while the kids played in the backyard, being very considerate in letting me pour out my emotions to my ex, who fortunately for me was quite caring and understanding that day.
My kids wanted to see me, and I wanted to see them, but I had to calm down first, and slowly I did.
And what did my kids do when they saw I was doing okay?
They walked in to the room together, held hands, and said in unison (clearly having practiced it), “We love you very much, and we want you to feel better and be happy again.”
And then they hugged me, and I hugged them so very tightly, crying again, but with tears of joy and love.
Damn, I miss them so much. It hurts so very much to not be able to have them in my home anymore. But that’s part of my new life, and it’s something I accept as necessary for my position, whether I like it or not.
Still, though, some days it hurts so much to not have them with me anymore.
The rest of the day with my kids was pretty darn good, by the way. I helped them with homework, and we did lots of crafts. My daughter and son both made and painted wooden catapults, and I made a decorative wooden birdhouse (that I’m pretty proud of. *grins*). And we all did some leather crafts using a great starter kit I got last week, with my son making a leather-embossed flower, and my daughter making a very cute cat.
And I tucked my son into bed and laid down with him in the dark for awhile. The ceiling of his room is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars and constellations and meteors and planets, and being him felt like we were huddled together outside under the night sky. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but cry again, but in a good way.
Anyway … leather work is pretty fun, to be honest. My dad taught it to me when I was a girl growing up on a Texas ranch, and I think I’d love to make a purse sometime soon. Something I can show off at the club and be proud of. But that’s for later. As is further writing. For now, bedtime. The only way I’ll be able to do the Herculean task of catching up on this blog is to take it in small chunks, and for now, this one is done.
So … as always …
La kajira!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Day 178 - On Having an Awful Time at a Class on Wax Play and Getting Slammed in the Back by an Inconsiderate Dominatrix, and As a Result Having an Emotional Breakdown and Ruining Much of the Weekend for My Master
Almost back to normal reality. Wait. I have no idea what “normal reality” is. Well, I’ve heard rumors of it, but … okay, back to “a-less-chaotic-reality-than-lately.”
Master’s plan for this weekend was taking me to an intensive series of three classes at the Sanctuary BDSM club by somebody named Julian Wolf. And in between the first and second classes, Master and I had been invited to a Mexican dinner hosted by two Master/slave couples in town. Master was quite enthusiastic about the weekend’s events, and I was excited, too.
Things didn’t turn out as planned, as you might have guessed. Perhaps I should have taken the brief visit by Coyote spirit a couple of days ago as an omen. Or as a warning.
The first class was supposed to be a three-hour presentation on wax play, which is a type of BDSM in which you pour melted wax on a person’s body. There’s a lot to learn about it, being that it could be quite dangerous, but Julian is a nationally known expert, and she had two attractive people to demonstrate on.
She may be nationally known, but she was an awful speaker. She rambled incoherently, babbling from subject to subject. She didn’t enunciate very well at all, and with my poor hearing I could barely hear her most of the time. Actually, at first she seemed to be focused and spoke well, but the longer the class went on, the more brain dead she seemed to become, and her presentation got increasingly disjointed. So when Master asked me at first if I could hear her, I said it was okay, but by the second hour I could barely make things out, and by the third hour … I was starting to totally lose it mentally. Then, barely hanging on, I saw the time was up and … but Julian kept going and going and going, not knowing when to stop. So, by the end of the fourth hour (of what was supposed to be a three-hour class), after I had been sitting all that time in a horribly uncomfortable metal chair with my flesh sticking to the vinyl seat (I had foolishly worn a skirt), not being able to hear the speaker very well and not understanding any of the jokes that everybody else was laughing at, and not being really that interested at all in the topic to begin with, I was totally and completely in mental agony. Most likely, the fact I have Asperger’s (a form of high-level autism) contributed greatly to the fact I was unable to handle the situation, but whatever the case, I wasn’t doing well psychologically by that point.
Oh, and I was stressed for another reason, too. A sadistic domme (a female dominant and professional dominatrix) in the audience who seemed to have little or no social skills whatsoever decided right in the middle of the presentation to grab a spiked club and barrel across the seats in an effort to hit somebody she knew in the audience. The domme slammed by accident into the rear of my chair, hitting me hard enough to wrench my back and making me feel unbalanced as if I had been almost knocked out of my chair. To make matters worse, I was totally focused on Julian, trying in frustration to understand what she was saying, and so when I was hit it was a total shock to my emotional balance. Master checked to see if I was okay and told me that the domme was known to be extremely flaky, and then then he went to the domme and confronted her about it. In response, she claimed that she didn’t even realize that she had crashed into me like that. She apologized, but I was still rather hurt and still rather mentally trying to recover from the incident, and didn’t say anything back – that is, until Master got annoyed and ordered me to verbally tell the domme that I accepted her apology. That situation lingered with me the rest of the presentation, making things worse all around.
During the last hour of the presentation, I went into a trance state because I just had to escape. It was actually the best part of the whole experience. As I think I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I do shamanic work, and during the last three years I’ve repeatedly spiritually undertaken trance “journeys” into a non-physical reality, where I’ve lived as a wolf bitch. And that’s what I did yesterday as I sat there, trying to mentally get away from my physical situation. I journeyed as a wolf with my pack. It was so vivid – I was gone from my human body. We were walking through a snowy valley. The light grey female cub from my first litter (about three years ago) was moving slowly toward in the back of the pack, and I could tell she smelled sickly for some reason, which filled me with sadness. We approached a thick section of woods then I smelled the elk beyond it and ran forward. Soon we saw the herd, and I worked around from one side which my mate and our cubs (who make up the rest of the pack) worked around from the other side. We ran at the elk and they started moving along but stayed together. I was approaching a doe when the lone cub from last year’s litter, a white male, ran past me toward the doe’s rear, and to my distress he got kicked hard for his efforts. I started to try and go at her but she stood firm, and then I looked behind me toward sounds of growling to see that my mate, a charcoal grey wolf, had surrounded a very agitated doe along with two cubs from the second litter (a black male and a grey male). As I watched, they proceeded to harass her with their teeth from different sides, ripping her flesh and taking her energy away, until finally she collapsed from her wounds, at which point my mate went in and ripped her throat open. I then came close as he was ripping her abdomen open and was given the chance to grab some meat from her front leg, which I happily began to devour in the snow. The rest of the pack took their turns eating, and I fell out of the trance for a few minutes. When I returned for a short while to the trance, I was finishing eating, and I went to my mate and laid down against him, my head on top of his neck, and we nuzzled and cuddled a bit until the trance ended. It was all so powerful I had to fight to keep from crying physically. I haven’t seen my mate lately – I have to admit that I haven’t journeyed with my pack much at all during the last year for various reasons – and feeling him rubbing against me tenderly brought a great and deep longing to my soul.
The last half-hour of the presentation was complete hell for me, a total nightmare. I was fighting everything I could to not stand on my chair and scream at Julian to shut up, or to run madly out of the room. Actually, that latter option might have been a good idea. At the end, Master noticed that I was totally withdrawn, curled up into a ball of agony in my chair, and he asked for an explanation outside. And I gave it to him in the car.
And he asked me why I didn’t request permission to leave to the lobby. “As I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to be tortured by anything or anybody -- expect by me,” he said.
And I told him it was the way I was raised. By my parents in boring church services. By my teachers in boring school classes. As a journalist covering boring city council meetings. By my ex whenever we’d visit his relatives at boring holiday get-togethers. By my employers at incredibly dull corporate meetings. I was always taught it was rude to leave those things in the middle. It was disrespectful to the speaker. It was disruptive to the rest of the audience. It was just something that wasn’t done, and instead you were supposed to sit down and shut up. It didn’t matter whether I could hear what the speaker was saying or was in mental agony. I just had to take it. Always.
Hell. I’m crying now. All those years of anguish for me are coming back all at once. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t focus because of my attention-deficit disorder. It’s hard to explain to somebody who doesn’t understand.
And I was crying as I told this to Master in his car. I curled up, holding my knees, and told him. And I told him how much I had been shaken by the domme hitting me.
And without further discussion Master started up the car and announced he was driving home. He said he believed that I wasn’t okay enough to go to the dinner or the evening’s class (which was about sadomasochism on the parts of the body from the knees down, particularly the feet).
I tried to convince Master to go to the party, as I could see he was clearly upset, but he said he didn’t have the mental energy to attend a dinner where he would have to worry whether I would be having a breakdown.
And so, with me withdrawn silently most of the way, we went home.
When we got there, he told me he had been embarrassed by the fact I hadn’t accepted the domme’s apology, and he was rather annoyed at me. It took awhile, but I explained to Master that the way I was raised, you didn’t accept an apology just because somebody offered you one. If somebody hurt you, and you were still hurt, they might tell you that they felt bad that they hurt you, but that didn’t get them off the hook in any way, and you were not obligated to accept their apology. I was taught as a kid to take responsibility for my actions, and that “saying sorry will get you nowhere” if you do something careless or irresponsible that got somebody else in trouble. Which is exactly what that domme did to me. Master, however, told me he was taught different, and he expects me to accept apologies from now on, even if I’m still upset or emotionally hurt by what happened. Well, I’m the slave, and I follow Master’s rules, so I’ll do it.
I also had to explain to Master why I was so withdrawn and miserable at the end of the presentation, and he eventually understood what I was going through and why I didn’t leave (although he said he still needs to read up on Asperger’s, although that was only a small piece of why I was in such mental pain. Or maybe it was the primary reason I was. To be honest, I’m not really sure what’s going in my head in that respect, but I do know that being incredibly bored has put me through what feels like intense mental pain all my life – so much that I find waiting in long lines to be almost excruciating, and I avoid them like the plague. Ironically, last night I had a book with me in my purse which I could have happily read in the lobby – that is, if I had the mental state to have known Master wouldn’t have minded me asking him if I could go to the lobby. And, yes, I was actually afraid to ask Master if I could do that. I’ve gotten the impression from Master’s responses to some of my questions at times that he doesn’t like me bothering him by asking things that he thinks I should already know, and because of the way I was trained all my life, I almost instinctually assumed that Master would be annoyed at me for asking if I could wait in the lobby.)
Last night on the way home I was a bit afraid again that Master would finally decide I just wasn’t right for him, and that he would tell me to start looking for a new home. I felt that way despite the fact that during the presentation that very night, Master had turned to me and told me he still is very happy with me as his slave. I’m both deadly scared of being thrown out and expecting it to happen, despite my best efforts. Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up in the head in a few ways.
Once we got home, Master asked if I ever want to do anything at the Sanctuary with him in the public scene. He loves going to the Sanctuary, and he said he goes there to socialize for the most part, learn new things and occasionally take part in a low-key event. But he feels whenever we go there it always ends in me crying or me experiencing a big emotional release, and so I’m pretty much I’m taking the enjoyment out of it for him. And, to my surprise, he said he believed that I don’t enjoy high protocol. Add to that the fact that I don’t enjoy pain (I’m not a “lifestyle masochist”), and he said he really doesn’t know what appeal the Sanctuary might have for me.
I responded that I do like going there – actually, being there with him is usually one of the high points of each week for me, and I’m almost always disappointed when he plans to go and then changes his mind and stays home. The big problem there for me, I said, is because the atmosphere is so wild and chaotic, with people all over the place talking and bumping into each other and hitting each other and screaming in pain. It’s exciting but, for me, very overwhelming at times (which is definitely a symptom of Asperger’s). And when I get overwhelmed, my mental shields drop, and I express the torrent of emotions that are churning underneath. And I do have a lot of emotions churning, that’s for sure – I have an unusual hormonal state, and despite being a middle-aged woman, emotionally I’m very much like a post-pubescent teenage girl. (Master and I actually discussed that the other day, and we joked about doing “age play” – but we laughed and decided against it when we realized that would mean me coming home wearing a ratty t-shirt, listening to heavy metal music, having a boyfriend in a rock band and getting pregnant before graduating high school. Well, okay, maybe not. *chuckles*)
Anyway, regarding being overstimulated, it’s not just the Sanctuary where it happens. I get that way at amusement parks and shopping malls and everywhere that things are going on left and right with loud noises and bright lights. My kids are exactly the same way, which their psychiatrist says is a clue regarding exactly what I’ve got and what they’ve got, and hopefully will point toward finding the right medicine for all of us. With me, I’ve pretty much found the right medicine – it’s not perfect, but it helps tremendously. If you had seen me a year ago before I was on the current dosage, you would realize what I mean. My ex tells my kids’ psychiatrist that I’m a completely different person now, and that’s resulted in my son being put on a new medicine that has helped him to control himself tremendously. Now if we can figure out the right dosage for our daughter, a modicum of calmness might actually be able to descend on my ex’s household at times.
On that issue, Master and I came to a conclusion, and he told me he didn’t mind at all if I left him alone when we’re at the club and that I should go off to a place of solitude when I start getting agitated. The car would be a great place if it wasn’t too cold, we decided, and if not, he thinks the owner of the Sanctuary might have a quiet place somewhere I could go and, hopefully, meditate or read a book or listen to music, all of which have helped me dramatically in the past to calm myself down in tense situations. (At the airport as we were waiting to fly to Phoenix recently, for example, I was extremely glad I had packed my mp3 player at the last minute, because being able to walk around the empty concourses listening to the good tunes filled me with a warm relaxation).
Regarding activities at the Sanctuary, I told Master that I actually do like doing things there, and I was surprised he hadn’t realized that. I told him that, as he knows, I’m an exhibitionist, and I would love to be stripped naked, tied to a cross and experience intense electrical play as he runs a violet wand across my exposed flesh. (Master, by the way, loves violet wands, which is a device that uses glass tubes and metal contacts and creates intense electric shocks for therapy and kinky fun. He’s considered an expert in them, but for some reason he’s never used his equipment on me … yet.) He also knows I would love to be tied up there and left bound and gagged in public. I told him I would love to be flogged there and to use it to enter a trance state – to which he responded that he couldn’t ever find spiritual enlightenment while engaged in public activities in the club, but I smiled and told him that I can pretty much enter a shamanic trance anywhere, and I have (About four years ago, for example, I entered a powerful pre-ritual trance in, of all places, a McDonalds’ indoor playground. I was actually able to transform the sound of children playing into a rhythm in my head that carried me beyond normal reality. Granted, that’s not something normal for me, but a particular spirit … Dragon … wanted to talk to me and chose that avenue of doing it). And as for high protocol, I told Master that I do, indeed, love it. I had told him last month I was sick of it because two draining high-protocol events had been scheduled one night after another, and I wanted to get back to normal service afterward.
Although Master said he agrees that the scheduling of the high-protocol events wasn’t the best, and they should have been spread out, he otherwise didn’t respond much to what I said about the things I might enjoy at the club.
And when I told him that I enjoy going to the club because he enjoys going to the club and I enjoy being his companion, he told me he doesn’t want to do things with me that I’m just “enduring”. He said when we do things together like that, he wants to know that I’m enjoying them, too. In response, I told that enduring things for one’s Master is what a slave does – and that the other slaves I know in the area all tell me the same thing – that giving of themselves to please their Master is what slavery is about, and that definitely includes enduring things purely for their Master’s enjoyment. (I was rather confused that Master didn’t realize and automatically expect me as a slave to be like that, but we were both tired by that point after a long and draining conversation, and so maybe I misunderstood his meaning.)
The conversation moved to me crying again because of us missing the dinner with the other Masters and slaves, and I told Master through my sobs that I wanted to go so much because the dinner was planned to be explicitly low protocol, and finally I might get to really know the other Masters and slaves in a setting that promoted casual conversation. Master said that he was, indeed, very disappointed we missed the party, but there will be other dinners. And, he said, I wouldn’t likely have been able to talk casually at last night’s event because, even though it was low protocol, there still would have been some protocol – and as a result, in comparison with other low-protocol events, the Masters would have likely maintained control of the conversations, and if something I wanted to talk about didn’t interest them, then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it up or would have been quickly dismissed. Such is the life of a slave.
*sighs* I feel Master’s missed so much he was looking forward to this weekend, all because of me, but I wonder how much of yesterday could have been avoided, or how much was something we needed to get through as a Master/slave couple.
Master wound up missing the class on “BDSM From the Knees Down” last night, and he decided not to attend today’s class by Julian on roleplaying. I have to admit, I was really looking forward to the roleplaying class but, after yesterday’s fiasco, I wonder if it would have been worth attending for me. Although I get a lot from some classes at the Sanctuary, other ones leave me telling Master I didn’t understand a word being said – and Master and I realized last night that it’s the classes held in the Sanctuary’s dungeon that are incomprehensible to my hearing. With that in mind, we’ll use that in the future to decide which classes I might plan to attend – and we used that to decide I wouldn’t get anything out of today’s class, despite a topic I’m extremely interested in.
Well, after everything calmed down and we worked everything out (for the most part), we ended the evening by getting Popeye’s chicken and watching the Batman: The Dark Knight movie together (which Master loved but I didn’t really like, to be honest – I thought the Batman with Cat Woman and the Penguin was a lot better. *grins*)
Looking back on yesterday’s events, I’m still tense from it all, and so is Master, clearly. Yesterday really ripped me inside emotionally in a lot of ways, and I went to bed sobbing while tightly hugging my stuffed wolf and stuffed horse. I don’t even know what I was crying about, but I needed release, deeply, and I only found it by going to sleep finally.
Today, I’m still a bit weak mentally and depressed, judging by the fact I’m still a bit on the edge of tears. I think things will be better as a result of this weekend, however. Somehow, better, in ways I can’t even imagine yet.
Actually, I’m sure of it. It was a hell of a weekend. It was, truth be told, a hell of a month, and I’m very glad January is over.
The final thing is, though, that I know I love Master. And I know this is the life I want to live.
The pain is worth it, without a doubt, for me, so that I can become the slave Master wants me to be.
My prayer is that Master continues to find it worth it to him as well, and that he always wants me as a slave as much as I want him as my Owner.
La kajira.
p.s. Yeah, I promised I’d talk about my experiences at the Southwest Leather Conferences in this post. Such is life. You’ll get a full report next time, though. *smiles gently*
Master’s plan for this weekend was taking me to an intensive series of three classes at the Sanctuary BDSM club by somebody named Julian Wolf. And in between the first and second classes, Master and I had been invited to a Mexican dinner hosted by two Master/slave couples in town. Master was quite enthusiastic about the weekend’s events, and I was excited, too.
Things didn’t turn out as planned, as you might have guessed. Perhaps I should have taken the brief visit by Coyote spirit a couple of days ago as an omen. Or as a warning.
The first class was supposed to be a three-hour presentation on wax play, which is a type of BDSM in which you pour melted wax on a person’s body. There’s a lot to learn about it, being that it could be quite dangerous, but Julian is a nationally known expert, and she had two attractive people to demonstrate on.
She may be nationally known, but she was an awful speaker. She rambled incoherently, babbling from subject to subject. She didn’t enunciate very well at all, and with my poor hearing I could barely hear her most of the time. Actually, at first she seemed to be focused and spoke well, but the longer the class went on, the more brain dead she seemed to become, and her presentation got increasingly disjointed. So when Master asked me at first if I could hear her, I said it was okay, but by the second hour I could barely make things out, and by the third hour … I was starting to totally lose it mentally. Then, barely hanging on, I saw the time was up and … but Julian kept going and going and going, not knowing when to stop. So, by the end of the fourth hour (of what was supposed to be a three-hour class), after I had been sitting all that time in a horribly uncomfortable metal chair with my flesh sticking to the vinyl seat (I had foolishly worn a skirt), not being able to hear the speaker very well and not understanding any of the jokes that everybody else was laughing at, and not being really that interested at all in the topic to begin with, I was totally and completely in mental agony. Most likely, the fact I have Asperger’s (a form of high-level autism) contributed greatly to the fact I was unable to handle the situation, but whatever the case, I wasn’t doing well psychologically by that point.
Oh, and I was stressed for another reason, too. A sadistic domme (a female dominant and professional dominatrix) in the audience who seemed to have little or no social skills whatsoever decided right in the middle of the presentation to grab a spiked club and barrel across the seats in an effort to hit somebody she knew in the audience. The domme slammed by accident into the rear of my chair, hitting me hard enough to wrench my back and making me feel unbalanced as if I had been almost knocked out of my chair. To make matters worse, I was totally focused on Julian, trying in frustration to understand what she was saying, and so when I was hit it was a total shock to my emotional balance. Master checked to see if I was okay and told me that the domme was known to be extremely flaky, and then then he went to the domme and confronted her about it. In response, she claimed that she didn’t even realize that she had crashed into me like that. She apologized, but I was still rather hurt and still rather mentally trying to recover from the incident, and didn’t say anything back – that is, until Master got annoyed and ordered me to verbally tell the domme that I accepted her apology. That situation lingered with me the rest of the presentation, making things worse all around.
During the last hour of the presentation, I went into a trance state because I just had to escape. It was actually the best part of the whole experience. As I think I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I do shamanic work, and during the last three years I’ve repeatedly spiritually undertaken trance “journeys” into a non-physical reality, where I’ve lived as a wolf bitch. And that’s what I did yesterday as I sat there, trying to mentally get away from my physical situation. I journeyed as a wolf with my pack. It was so vivid – I was gone from my human body. We were walking through a snowy valley. The light grey female cub from my first litter (about three years ago) was moving slowly toward in the back of the pack, and I could tell she smelled sickly for some reason, which filled me with sadness. We approached a thick section of woods then I smelled the elk beyond it and ran forward. Soon we saw the herd, and I worked around from one side which my mate and our cubs (who make up the rest of the pack) worked around from the other side. We ran at the elk and they started moving along but stayed together. I was approaching a doe when the lone cub from last year’s litter, a white male, ran past me toward the doe’s rear, and to my distress he got kicked hard for his efforts. I started to try and go at her but she stood firm, and then I looked behind me toward sounds of growling to see that my mate, a charcoal grey wolf, had surrounded a very agitated doe along with two cubs from the second litter (a black male and a grey male). As I watched, they proceeded to harass her with their teeth from different sides, ripping her flesh and taking her energy away, until finally she collapsed from her wounds, at which point my mate went in and ripped her throat open. I then came close as he was ripping her abdomen open and was given the chance to grab some meat from her front leg, which I happily began to devour in the snow. The rest of the pack took their turns eating, and I fell out of the trance for a few minutes. When I returned for a short while to the trance, I was finishing eating, and I went to my mate and laid down against him, my head on top of his neck, and we nuzzled and cuddled a bit until the trance ended. It was all so powerful I had to fight to keep from crying physically. I haven’t seen my mate lately – I have to admit that I haven’t journeyed with my pack much at all during the last year for various reasons – and feeling him rubbing against me tenderly brought a great and deep longing to my soul.
The last half-hour of the presentation was complete hell for me, a total nightmare. I was fighting everything I could to not stand on my chair and scream at Julian to shut up, or to run madly out of the room. Actually, that latter option might have been a good idea. At the end, Master noticed that I was totally withdrawn, curled up into a ball of agony in my chair, and he asked for an explanation outside. And I gave it to him in the car.
And he asked me why I didn’t request permission to leave to the lobby. “As I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to be tortured by anything or anybody -- expect by me,” he said.
And I told him it was the way I was raised. By my parents in boring church services. By my teachers in boring school classes. As a journalist covering boring city council meetings. By my ex whenever we’d visit his relatives at boring holiday get-togethers. By my employers at incredibly dull corporate meetings. I was always taught it was rude to leave those things in the middle. It was disrespectful to the speaker. It was disruptive to the rest of the audience. It was just something that wasn’t done, and instead you were supposed to sit down and shut up. It didn’t matter whether I could hear what the speaker was saying or was in mental agony. I just had to take it. Always.
Hell. I’m crying now. All those years of anguish for me are coming back all at once. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t focus because of my attention-deficit disorder. It’s hard to explain to somebody who doesn’t understand.
And I was crying as I told this to Master in his car. I curled up, holding my knees, and told him. And I told him how much I had been shaken by the domme hitting me.
And without further discussion Master started up the car and announced he was driving home. He said he believed that I wasn’t okay enough to go to the dinner or the evening’s class (which was about sadomasochism on the parts of the body from the knees down, particularly the feet).
I tried to convince Master to go to the party, as I could see he was clearly upset, but he said he didn’t have the mental energy to attend a dinner where he would have to worry whether I would be having a breakdown.
And so, with me withdrawn silently most of the way, we went home.
When we got there, he told me he had been embarrassed by the fact I hadn’t accepted the domme’s apology, and he was rather annoyed at me. It took awhile, but I explained to Master that the way I was raised, you didn’t accept an apology just because somebody offered you one. If somebody hurt you, and you were still hurt, they might tell you that they felt bad that they hurt you, but that didn’t get them off the hook in any way, and you were not obligated to accept their apology. I was taught as a kid to take responsibility for my actions, and that “saying sorry will get you nowhere” if you do something careless or irresponsible that got somebody else in trouble. Which is exactly what that domme did to me. Master, however, told me he was taught different, and he expects me to accept apologies from now on, even if I’m still upset or emotionally hurt by what happened. Well, I’m the slave, and I follow Master’s rules, so I’ll do it.
I also had to explain to Master why I was so withdrawn and miserable at the end of the presentation, and he eventually understood what I was going through and why I didn’t leave (although he said he still needs to read up on Asperger’s, although that was only a small piece of why I was in such mental pain. Or maybe it was the primary reason I was. To be honest, I’m not really sure what’s going in my head in that respect, but I do know that being incredibly bored has put me through what feels like intense mental pain all my life – so much that I find waiting in long lines to be almost excruciating, and I avoid them like the plague. Ironically, last night I had a book with me in my purse which I could have happily read in the lobby – that is, if I had the mental state to have known Master wouldn’t have minded me asking him if I could go to the lobby. And, yes, I was actually afraid to ask Master if I could do that. I’ve gotten the impression from Master’s responses to some of my questions at times that he doesn’t like me bothering him by asking things that he thinks I should already know, and because of the way I was trained all my life, I almost instinctually assumed that Master would be annoyed at me for asking if I could wait in the lobby.)
Last night on the way home I was a bit afraid again that Master would finally decide I just wasn’t right for him, and that he would tell me to start looking for a new home. I felt that way despite the fact that during the presentation that very night, Master had turned to me and told me he still is very happy with me as his slave. I’m both deadly scared of being thrown out and expecting it to happen, despite my best efforts. Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up in the head in a few ways.
Once we got home, Master asked if I ever want to do anything at the Sanctuary with him in the public scene. He loves going to the Sanctuary, and he said he goes there to socialize for the most part, learn new things and occasionally take part in a low-key event. But he feels whenever we go there it always ends in me crying or me experiencing a big emotional release, and so I’m pretty much I’m taking the enjoyment out of it for him. And, to my surprise, he said he believed that I don’t enjoy high protocol. Add to that the fact that I don’t enjoy pain (I’m not a “lifestyle masochist”), and he said he really doesn’t know what appeal the Sanctuary might have for me.
I responded that I do like going there – actually, being there with him is usually one of the high points of each week for me, and I’m almost always disappointed when he plans to go and then changes his mind and stays home. The big problem there for me, I said, is because the atmosphere is so wild and chaotic, with people all over the place talking and bumping into each other and hitting each other and screaming in pain. It’s exciting but, for me, very overwhelming at times (which is definitely a symptom of Asperger’s). And when I get overwhelmed, my mental shields drop, and I express the torrent of emotions that are churning underneath. And I do have a lot of emotions churning, that’s for sure – I have an unusual hormonal state, and despite being a middle-aged woman, emotionally I’m very much like a post-pubescent teenage girl. (Master and I actually discussed that the other day, and we joked about doing “age play” – but we laughed and decided against it when we realized that would mean me coming home wearing a ratty t-shirt, listening to heavy metal music, having a boyfriend in a rock band and getting pregnant before graduating high school. Well, okay, maybe not. *chuckles*)
Anyway, regarding being overstimulated, it’s not just the Sanctuary where it happens. I get that way at amusement parks and shopping malls and everywhere that things are going on left and right with loud noises and bright lights. My kids are exactly the same way, which their psychiatrist says is a clue regarding exactly what I’ve got and what they’ve got, and hopefully will point toward finding the right medicine for all of us. With me, I’ve pretty much found the right medicine – it’s not perfect, but it helps tremendously. If you had seen me a year ago before I was on the current dosage, you would realize what I mean. My ex tells my kids’ psychiatrist that I’m a completely different person now, and that’s resulted in my son being put on a new medicine that has helped him to control himself tremendously. Now if we can figure out the right dosage for our daughter, a modicum of calmness might actually be able to descend on my ex’s household at times.
On that issue, Master and I came to a conclusion, and he told me he didn’t mind at all if I left him alone when we’re at the club and that I should go off to a place of solitude when I start getting agitated. The car would be a great place if it wasn’t too cold, we decided, and if not, he thinks the owner of the Sanctuary might have a quiet place somewhere I could go and, hopefully, meditate or read a book or listen to music, all of which have helped me dramatically in the past to calm myself down in tense situations. (At the airport as we were waiting to fly to Phoenix recently, for example, I was extremely glad I had packed my mp3 player at the last minute, because being able to walk around the empty concourses listening to the good tunes filled me with a warm relaxation).
Regarding activities at the Sanctuary, I told Master that I actually do like doing things there, and I was surprised he hadn’t realized that. I told him that, as he knows, I’m an exhibitionist, and I would love to be stripped naked, tied to a cross and experience intense electrical play as he runs a violet wand across my exposed flesh. (Master, by the way, loves violet wands, which is a device that uses glass tubes and metal contacts and creates intense electric shocks for therapy and kinky fun. He’s considered an expert in them, but for some reason he’s never used his equipment on me … yet.) He also knows I would love to be tied up there and left bound and gagged in public. I told him I would love to be flogged there and to use it to enter a trance state – to which he responded that he couldn’t ever find spiritual enlightenment while engaged in public activities in the club, but I smiled and told him that I can pretty much enter a shamanic trance anywhere, and I have (About four years ago, for example, I entered a powerful pre-ritual trance in, of all places, a McDonalds’ indoor playground. I was actually able to transform the sound of children playing into a rhythm in my head that carried me beyond normal reality. Granted, that’s not something normal for me, but a particular spirit … Dragon … wanted to talk to me and chose that avenue of doing it). And as for high protocol, I told Master that I do, indeed, love it. I had told him last month I was sick of it because two draining high-protocol events had been scheduled one night after another, and I wanted to get back to normal service afterward.
Although Master said he agrees that the scheduling of the high-protocol events wasn’t the best, and they should have been spread out, he otherwise didn’t respond much to what I said about the things I might enjoy at the club.
And when I told him that I enjoy going to the club because he enjoys going to the club and I enjoy being his companion, he told me he doesn’t want to do things with me that I’m just “enduring”. He said when we do things together like that, he wants to know that I’m enjoying them, too. In response, I told that enduring things for one’s Master is what a slave does – and that the other slaves I know in the area all tell me the same thing – that giving of themselves to please their Master is what slavery is about, and that definitely includes enduring things purely for their Master’s enjoyment. (I was rather confused that Master didn’t realize and automatically expect me as a slave to be like that, but we were both tired by that point after a long and draining conversation, and so maybe I misunderstood his meaning.)
The conversation moved to me crying again because of us missing the dinner with the other Masters and slaves, and I told Master through my sobs that I wanted to go so much because the dinner was planned to be explicitly low protocol, and finally I might get to really know the other Masters and slaves in a setting that promoted casual conversation. Master said that he was, indeed, very disappointed we missed the party, but there will be other dinners. And, he said, I wouldn’t likely have been able to talk casually at last night’s event because, even though it was low protocol, there still would have been some protocol – and as a result, in comparison with other low-protocol events, the Masters would have likely maintained control of the conversations, and if something I wanted to talk about didn’t interest them, then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it up or would have been quickly dismissed. Such is the life of a slave.
*sighs* I feel Master’s missed so much he was looking forward to this weekend, all because of me, but I wonder how much of yesterday could have been avoided, or how much was something we needed to get through as a Master/slave couple.
Master wound up missing the class on “BDSM From the Knees Down” last night, and he decided not to attend today’s class by Julian on roleplaying. I have to admit, I was really looking forward to the roleplaying class but, after yesterday’s fiasco, I wonder if it would have been worth attending for me. Although I get a lot from some classes at the Sanctuary, other ones leave me telling Master I didn’t understand a word being said – and Master and I realized last night that it’s the classes held in the Sanctuary’s dungeon that are incomprehensible to my hearing. With that in mind, we’ll use that in the future to decide which classes I might plan to attend – and we used that to decide I wouldn’t get anything out of today’s class, despite a topic I’m extremely interested in.
Well, after everything calmed down and we worked everything out (for the most part), we ended the evening by getting Popeye’s chicken and watching the Batman: The Dark Knight movie together (which Master loved but I didn’t really like, to be honest – I thought the Batman with Cat Woman and the Penguin was a lot better. *grins*)
Looking back on yesterday’s events, I’m still tense from it all, and so is Master, clearly. Yesterday really ripped me inside emotionally in a lot of ways, and I went to bed sobbing while tightly hugging my stuffed wolf and stuffed horse. I don’t even know what I was crying about, but I needed release, deeply, and I only found it by going to sleep finally.
Today, I’m still a bit weak mentally and depressed, judging by the fact I’m still a bit on the edge of tears. I think things will be better as a result of this weekend, however. Somehow, better, in ways I can’t even imagine yet.
Actually, I’m sure of it. It was a hell of a weekend. It was, truth be told, a hell of a month, and I’m very glad January is over.
The final thing is, though, that I know I love Master. And I know this is the life I want to live.
The pain is worth it, without a doubt, for me, so that I can become the slave Master wants me to be.
My prayer is that Master continues to find it worth it to him as well, and that he always wants me as a slave as much as I want him as my Owner.
La kajira.
p.s. Yeah, I promised I’d talk about my experiences at the Southwest Leather Conferences in this post. Such is life. You’ll get a full report next time, though. *smiles gently*
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Day 174 - On Getting Pierced by Large Hooks Piercing Through My Chest and Bells Dangling from my Back While Dancing with Wild Naked Abandonment Around a Tribal Altar at a Leather Conference in Phoenix, and On Needing Master More than I Expected and Master Being Disappointed as a Result
YOU CAN POST COMMENTS NOW!!!
*sighs* I found out to my annoyance today that readers of my blog had to be a registered user to comment. Yeah, it’s possible that not many people really wanted to say anything, but in case you do, I’ve fixed it now so that ANYBODY can comment. I found out because Master said he had commented on my blog, but I hadn’t realized it, and I checked my settings and found out that only people with a LiveJournal ID could leave comments, and to top it off I wasn’t being notified when they did. Well, that's fixed now, like I said. FYI, after searching through things, I also found out that a very nice person (who has his own blog at www.esclaves.org) happened to post a very warm comment regarding my January 1st blog. So, for that, thanks!!! *bounces and waves in his direction*
Things are getting back to a type of normalcy since the Southwest Leather Conference last weekend.
Hoo boy. Do I have a lot to write about.
And I’ve got a few souvenirs, which include 14 scabs from where pieces of metal entered and exited my body. I’ve also got the two hooks that were sunk into my chest, four bells that were hung from my back, a rose-quartz crystal hung from the flesh directly over my heart, a very sexy (and stretchy) cigarette dress that hugs my body like nobody’s business, a nicely illustrated convention T-shirt and some wild memories. Oh, and about three extra pounds spread around my body from eating too much at too many buffets.
Talking about the convention will likely require two separate blog posts, so I’ll jump into the part I’m sure everybody’s wondering about – the Dance of Souls. You can get the basic background info here, which is pretty informative regarding its history and such.
I’ve been told that the mental, emotional and spiritual aftereffects will be hitting me repeatedly over time, possibly when I least expect it. Maybe. I’ll see, but at least I won’t be surprised if it happens.
Imagine a room half the size of a basketball court. In the center is a large wooden altar that’s made from a big square of wood made from four large poles elevated by four more large poles, with very thick hemp rope crisscrossing along the top and chains running along the top edges.
Imagine a bank of drummers pounding out a beat that’s fast and furious and shakes you to your very core.
Now imagine nearly 100 people, many of them fully naked, dancing around the altar. The bodies of all of these people have been pierced in multiple places. Almost all of them have metal bells hanging from their back or chest. Many of them are also pierced by large hooks, from which they hang from the altar’s rafters on thick cords or pull against each other using metal rings. The pressure against the hooks causes the skin underneath to be pulled out, often several inches or even more. Blood flows from many people’s wounds. A few people even allow themselves to hang completely, their entire body weight pulling down against the hooks that are attached by cords to chains above them.
I was part of all that.
Four metal bells were in my back, hanging from loops of fishing line that had been threaded through my skin. Another bell was similarly attached along with a quartz crystal and a glass pendulum to my chest as close to my heart as possible.
Along with that, thick metal hooks had been thrust completely through my skin above each breast, and were jutting out about halfway between the nipple and the bottom of my neck.
Besides the bells and hooks and crystals and rings in my earlobes, I was very happily completely naked. I didn't miss my clothes at all.
I had originally planned only to get four bells. Master had told me that hooks were advanced, and I was a beginner.
But Master wasn’t there, and when it came time for me to be pierced, I decided on impulse to take it to the next level beyond the bells. And I’m glad I did.
If Master had been there, I wouldn’t have gotten hooks most likely. But to our mutual disappointment, he wasn’t. Instead, he had to stay in the hotel room, sleeping off a bad cold.
The fact that Master wasn’t there had very important repercussions, which I’ll discuss later.
Back to the hooks. Master said they were salmon hooks with the barbs taken off. You can look them up on the Internet easily, but to give you an idea of the size, the distance between the holes left by the hooks going in and coming out of my skin is between an inch and a half and two inches.
If you saw me, you’d probably think I would have been in extreme pain as I leaned back near the last few minutes of the dance, my hooks tied to cords which I had attached to a chain above me. I looked down a couple of times and saw my skin was stretched out what seemed like at least two inches away from my chest.
Instead, there was no pain – only a feeling of pressure as my skin was contracting between the two hooks, bringing them toward each other.
My eyes were closed, and I was talking to Wolf spirit. I remember asking him what the big deal was. I remember asking him why the feeling of my skin being squeezed tightly like that was supposed to have some type of mystical effect. And I remember him saying it might not have that much of an effect for me because I’m already used to talking with him and other spirits on a casual day-to-day basis. But I got the impression that he felt it might help energize that connection, making it stronger than it’s been in awhile.
Judging from some experiences I had at the convention before the dance, it’s clear that my spiritual awareness was, indeed, already active. But judging from an experience I had two days after the dance, I can also say that my awareness may quite well have become more focused than before. More on that later.
The bells, by the way, didn’t have nearly as much as an effect on me as the hooks. At several points during the experience, I took a break from the hooks and danced furiously in place, making all of my bells ring in time with the drumming. And after awhile of that, I was starting to definitely trip out.
But it was the hooks that truly made the experience something incredible. If you had asked me ahead of time if I would have dared to do it, I would have told you “no,” but something compelled me that day to reach beyond my limits.
To do something that would make Master and me both proud of my courage.
Instead, I caused Master to be embarrassed and regretful. Not at me, he said, but at himself, for not following his own instincts – which were to not let me go at all.
Master had done the Dance of Souls before, and, with the knowledge of how powerful an experience it could be, he planned for both of us to do it together. He booked reservations long in advance, and we were both greatly looking forward to it.
Then, two nights before the dance, he came down with a cold, which became increasingly worse as the dance approached. Finally, the day of the dance, he told me he wouldn’t be able to attend, but he encouraged me to do it by myself, even though we both knew I would miss him greatly.
Master told me not to think of him, but to keep my mind and my spirit at the dance. I thought I could, and I did ... for awhile.
From the time of the piercing to the time of the final farewell, the dance ran for more than three hours. About halfway through, I saw something breathtakingly beautiful happen in the middle of the dance floor. A very powerfully dominant Master collared her slave with a gorgeous golden collar while surrounded by a group of well wishers all swaying their hands in emotional and spiritual support. After the collar was snapped into place, the Master and her slave, both bedecked with bells and hooks, danced together in incredible passion and love. When I saw that, I felt so deeply moved that I simply had to contact my own Master. I had to see him, to touch him, to feel his skin against mine, to hear his voice. And so, wrapping a blanket around my body, I went outside the dance room and used the phone to call him. Instead of the tender reception I expected, he answered gruffly, telling me he had been asleep and ordering me to get back to the dance. I hung up the phone and tried to return, but soon tears filled my eyes, and the most I could do was stand at the edge and stare at the others in the room.
Along with the dancers and the drummers, there were more than 100 other participants – witnesses. They were there to watch, to observe, to be there to validate what we as dancers experienced near them. Among the watchers were several slave friends of mine from Denver, and when they saw my distress, they came to me to help. And we talked, each of us sharing our feelings about our Masters. What they said to me is personal to them, but for me I told how heartbroken I was that my Master was up in the room, choosing to sleep rather than to come down even briefly to see me when I had let him know how much I wanted him at that moment. Yes, I knew he had an awful cold and needed the rest. But I was hurt emotionally – a lot – and the tears flowed from my eyes in response to the pain in my spirit.
Eventually I went back inside the dance room, but soon I couldn’t take it and, without telling anybody, I put my clothes back over my hooks and bells and, against the rules of the dance, went upstairs to the room. I felt I had to see Master, more than anything in the world. But when I went up there, instead of finding him reading on the couch or surfing the Web on his computer, I found the room darkened, with him asleep. I was extremely disheartened and paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. The decision was taken out of my hands by the telephone ringing. Master jerked awake and grabbed the phone to hear somebody telling him I had run off and asking about where I was. Master told them I was there, then he hung up the phone and angrily faced me, glaring at me, and soon, instead of the tenderness I most needed at that time, I was faced with my Master furiously ordering me out of the room and demanding that I get back downstairs and don’t come back up until I was done.
Of course, I felt horrible beyond words. I returned to the dance floor and confronted the slaves who had called Master, and they told me they had been genuinely concerned by my disappearance and were mortified it got me into such serious trouble with him. My three slave friends gathered around me and expected me to help me get my piercings removed, but I told them I would fucking complete the dance if it killed me, and I marched over to the altar and attached the hook cords above my head, determined to make the most of the remaining time.
Only a quarter of an hour remained in the dance, but I have to say that those fifteen minutes were possibly the most powerful, most meaningful of the whole experience. It was then I truly went beyond myself physically. I didn’t care about limits. I just wanted release from the deep, dark feelings I was experienced, and I found that catharsis in the hooks pulling so tightly against my flesh. Getting my skin pierced seven times for the hooks and the bells hurt like crazy, but that was nothing compared to the pain I felt from feeling so isolated from Master then, and, in the end, I felt a deep sense of relief and release as I felt the cords tugging tighter and tighter, dragging my skin further and further from my muscles and bones.
Sooner than I wished the drumming changed its tempo, and the closing ritual began. It was a simple one, in that we all lowered ourselves to the ground to center our energies into the earth. I was still tense, still anxious, but I worked to let it all flow out.
At some point, I heard that Master was looking for me, that he had asked about me outside the dance room, and had left to wait for me elsewhere. I went outside the dance room and asked for him, and somebody found him and he came to me and told me to meet him in the lobby after my piercings were removed.
Slowly and carefully, my hooks and cords were safely taken off then packaged for keeping, along with my bells, the crystal and pendulum (which I consecrated in my sacred grove two days later, but I’ll talk about that in my next post). My clothes were put back on. And I knew Master awaited.
I didn’t know what to expect from Master. I was actually worried in the back of my mind that he was going to tell me that this showed I wasn’t the slave he wanted, and he was going to tell me to look elsewhere for a Master. I wondered if I could survive living on my own while working at Starbucks or somewhere. I was scared and confused. My mind wasn’t exactly working on a rational, logical level.
I found him sitting in a chair, calmly awaiting my arrival. I approached with my head down and quickly kneeled in supplication at his feet, and he gently led me back to the room. Once there, I explained what had happened, why I had done what I had done, and I begged forgiveness. To my complete surprise, he looked at me sadly and said he was the one who made the mistake. He said his instincts had told him that it was too early in our relationship for me to go to an event like that on my own, but he let me go anyway.
A year from now, he said, he expects I’ll be strong enough to do something like that without needing him with me.
I sighed and accepted his words, feeling remorse for the day’s events.
It hit me a little later what he said.
“A year from now.”
He expects that I’ll be with him for a very long time, despite what happened.
I mentioned that to him on the drive home back from the airport the next day, and he told me matter of factly, “I’m not running a training house, where I release you from your collar after awhile.”
We’re together. Possibly – I hope – for the rest of our lives.
The day we left from Phoenix, as we were packing, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to take the hooks back with me to Denver because Master and I only brought carryon luggage, and the hooks wouldn’t pass airport security screening. Fortunately, a Master-slave couple who were good friends of my Master was in the hotel lobby, and they said they’d take the hooks back to Denver for us no problem.
It turned out that this slave was the person who encountered Master when he came to the dance to look for me. She told me that Master was concerned that I would be a bit mentally loopy from walking around with all the hooks and piercings in me, and he had wanted to make sure I got back to the dance safely. The slave saw him and, as a registered witness to the dance, she went inside and found me as I was leaning back in a near trance state, the hooks pulling so very tightly against my flesh as I previously described.
“You looked so beautifully peaceful,” she told me as we stood together that next day, me holding the box with my packed hooks. “I knew that everything was fine, and I let your Master know that, which was why he knew it was safe to leave you and wait in the lobby.”
I told the slave what had happened regarding the problems with me and Master, and how horrible I felt about it, and how disappointed he was with himself. Her response was to smile, gently hold my hands and tell me not to worry.
She said that what happened between Master and me would be just a “pebble” on the road we’re going to travel together during our lives. Just a minor bump in the road, she said.
I told Master later what she said, and Master replied with a smile that “she’s a very wise woman.”
I agree with Master 100 percent. That slave's Owner is an extremely blessed man.
The dance was three days ago. As you can guess, it’s going to be a long time before I get over what happened.
I’ve got a lot more to write about regarding the conference and what happened afterward, but you’ll have to be patient and wait for my next blog posting for that, which should be in just a couple of days.
Until then, as always, with true joy in my heart ...
La kajira!!!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Day 157 - On the Death of Yet Another Deeply Beloved Feline Friend, On Cracking Up Mentally Under Stress, On Failing Master While He Was Gone, and on Otherwise a Truly Sucky Week in Many Other Respects
It’s 1:30 AM Monday morning and I can’t sleep.
I’m a mess tonight emotionally.
The last few days have been bad, leading to now. After tossing and turning, bawling in my bed, screaming in tears, I had to do something, so I got up to write.
Saturday I had to bury another friend. I’m sick of it. I still haven’t gotten over the death of Shelby, the most wonderful cat that could ever be part of a person’s life.
About 17 years ago, my ex and I opened our door one morning to find a thick-furred female cat outside, wanting to come in. A few weeks later she gave birth to three beautiful kittens in our bathroom. We found a home for her and for one of the kittens, a male. The two females, both a tortoiseshell and a calico, we kept.
The calico we named, appropriately, “Callie.”
She was a real cuddle muffin. She always wanted to play, and when she chased string, she was fast and furious. She would always sit on a book you were reading, wanting to be petted. She climb onto your shoulder while you were sitting at the computer and would fall asleep. She’d butt her head against yours to rub you and make contact with you.
Her purr was so incredibly loud and wonderful.
She had a stroke recently. She was old, and her body was failing. We took her to the vet the week before last, and the vet said she would recover if we gave her potassium and thyroid pills. The vet was a good vet, but she made a mistake. Instead of recovering, Callie got worse. Her back legs started giving out, and three days ago she couldn’t walk at all anymore.
It was clear she was dying. Friday the vet confirmed that a blood clot had caused her legs to fail.
Callie clearly was ready to go to her next life. I spent Saturday morning holding her close, playing with her a last time, letting her sleep in my arms. She purred and purred, loving every touch of my fingers along her cheeks and ears.
We took her to the vet that morning. Callie normally hated car trips and the vet’s office. That morning, she was peaceful and curious. She curled up in my ex’s lap, and was purring as the vet gave her the fatal injection. Callie then gently fell into an everlasting sleep.
None of us could imagine a better way to go to our next life.
I buried her in my ex’s back yard that afternoon. I had to pour boiling water to soften the frozen ground so I could dig the grave. Afterward, the mud was sticking to every bit of my clothing.
Things were stressed at my ex’s all day, as you can imagine. At one point I cracked. My daughter put her sweater down on my keys. When I went to get something out of my car, I couldn’t find them. I frantically searched the house for more than an hour. My ex has a spare of my car key, so I got in my car and went through it top to bottom. I scoured the back yard with a flashlight to see if my keys fell out of my pocket into a snow bank. I couldn’t take it. I was afraid I’d never find my keys again. I became afraid my Master would punish me horribly and lose trust in me for losing his keys. I couldn’t think straight. I collapsed into a corner of the room near the front door and started biting my arm very hard. I used to do that a lot during my year of hell, the period of depression I went through last year, but I haven’t bitten myself in a long time. But I bit myself on Sunday, again and again, hard enough to draw blood. When by chance I moved my daughter’s sweater and found my keys, I still felt awful. It took me a long time to get over it all.
Basically, Saturday sucked.
I found out from my ex about Callie’s condition Friday night while I was at the other slave’s house. Needless to say, it put a serious damper on the evening. Another slave and her Master had come over that night, and we were all planning to stay up late and have fun, with the slaves pampering the Masters and goofing around among ourselves. I had brought everything with plans to spend the night. The slave there made a wonderful dinner of beef stew. I could hardly taste it. I couldn’t enjoy the evening anymore. I wound up going home.
I have to admit, I don’t think I really trust the Master of that house. It’s hard to say exactly why. But he seems to have a mean streak. He smiles in a mean way. His slave told me that he hasn’t had sex with her in months, but he explicitly forbids her from masturbating, saying that her only satisfaction will come from him. He’s being considered for a three-year contract that would cause them to be uprooted and move to New York, and she hates the idea, but he’s explicitly forbidden her from asking him anything about the details of the contract. She said during dinner, desperate to talk to anybody, that her Master pushes her away at night when she tries to touch him in bed. As expected, he wasn’t happy that she aired his dirty laundry like that, but I could see the need in her eyes to express her thoughts. Later, she said she had to say it then because he wouldn’t let her talk about such things when they were alone.
But that’s all one sided. I only have her view on things. And yet, I can see the way he looks at her. I can see his expressions. The way his eyes move. His non-verbal body language. I don’t really trust him.
So even before I got the news about Callie, the day hadn’t been that fun at the slave’s house because of her problems with her Master.
The day before, Thursday, was one of the worst days I’ve had with my kids in a very long time. As I’ve indicated in previous post, we’ve been having wonderful times together and building up a tight bond. Thursday they seemed determined to break me emotionally. They taunted me and flat-out refused to do as I said. The simplest homework assignment was a nightmare to get them to do. I was tense and nervous the whole time I was with them. Something was out of kilter, left of center in a bad way.
And the day before, when I went to see my former Mistress, wasn’t great. After I dropped Master and M’Lady off at the airport, I drove to Mistress’s house, but a snowstorm hit just as I arrived. Not only that, but Mistress and I didn’t really hit it off that night. I didn’t feel any spark with her anymore. I enjoyed being with her, but I couldn’t sense the attraction we used to share so strongly. So when I announced I had to leave early because of the weather, we both simply agreed it was the thing to do, and without even a kiss goodbye she bid me on my way.
And then today. Sucky day. Master and M’Lady gave me a list of things to do, and I didn’t do them all, and I tried to catch up as much as possible today – without success. They expected me to do a lot of household chores with them out of the way, but I’m more behind than ever. Master wanted me to write an outline for my historical slavery presentation, but I didn’t yet. I was supposed to clean off the ton of unneeded files on my computer that’s clogging up the nightly backups. I didn’t yet.
And they got me a copy of the movie, “Up,” which I’ve heard is fantastic, and Master recommended I watch it while they were gone.
I spent almost four hours trying to watch the movie. Four horribly frustrating hours shot to hell.
Master has a cabinet bank of two DVD players, two TiVo’s, a stereo, a TV cable box and a Wii. They’re all controlled by one very complicatedly programmed controller. He left me instructions on how to play DVDs. I did something wrong, and the more I tried to fix things, the worse I got, and the more desperate I became. At one point, I tried to reset the TV and wound up turning off the powerstrip where everything was attached.
I told Master on the phone, and he was rather annoyed. I bothered him in Las Vegas to get him concerned about something I messed up that he can’t do anything about until he returns. I felt horrible, and I’m afraid of his wrath when he comes back. I feel like total shit.
Afterward, I took the movie upstairs, thinking to watch it on my computer. The damn movie disk doesn’t have a menu or English subtitles. I’m hard of hearing, and I have to have subtitles. The TV downstairs would have had subtitles, but my computer doesn’t. I tried everything, downloading more advanced DVD players and downloading subtitle files for “Up.” Nothing worked.
So, after spending almost four hours trying in vain to watch a movie, time that I desperately needed to catch up on my chores, I lost it a bit. I screamed into my pillow and cried for a very long time. Finally I decided to get up and write.
I hate technology sometimes. Really, truly hate it.
I had high hopes for this week. I thought I’d have some time for a bit of freedom in Master’s absence.
The week was fucking awful.
I wanted a break from the same old routine. I got a break, and I was broken in the process.
Master and M’Lady will be back this evening. I both long for them and dread their reaction to my failures.
Such is the life of a slave.
La kajira.
I’m a mess tonight emotionally.
The last few days have been bad, leading to now. After tossing and turning, bawling in my bed, screaming in tears, I had to do something, so I got up to write.
Saturday I had to bury another friend. I’m sick of it. I still haven’t gotten over the death of Shelby, the most wonderful cat that could ever be part of a person’s life.
About 17 years ago, my ex and I opened our door one morning to find a thick-furred female cat outside, wanting to come in. A few weeks later she gave birth to three beautiful kittens in our bathroom. We found a home for her and for one of the kittens, a male. The two females, both a tortoiseshell and a calico, we kept.
The calico we named, appropriately, “Callie.”
She was a real cuddle muffin. She always wanted to play, and when she chased string, she was fast and furious. She would always sit on a book you were reading, wanting to be petted. She climb onto your shoulder while you were sitting at the computer and would fall asleep. She’d butt her head against yours to rub you and make contact with you.
Her purr was so incredibly loud and wonderful.
She had a stroke recently. She was old, and her body was failing. We took her to the vet the week before last, and the vet said she would recover if we gave her potassium and thyroid pills. The vet was a good vet, but she made a mistake. Instead of recovering, Callie got worse. Her back legs started giving out, and three days ago she couldn’t walk at all anymore.
It was clear she was dying. Friday the vet confirmed that a blood clot had caused her legs to fail.
Callie clearly was ready to go to her next life. I spent Saturday morning holding her close, playing with her a last time, letting her sleep in my arms. She purred and purred, loving every touch of my fingers along her cheeks and ears.
We took her to the vet that morning. Callie normally hated car trips and the vet’s office. That morning, she was peaceful and curious. She curled up in my ex’s lap, and was purring as the vet gave her the fatal injection. Callie then gently fell into an everlasting sleep.
None of us could imagine a better way to go to our next life.
I buried her in my ex’s back yard that afternoon. I had to pour boiling water to soften the frozen ground so I could dig the grave. Afterward, the mud was sticking to every bit of my clothing.
Things were stressed at my ex’s all day, as you can imagine. At one point I cracked. My daughter put her sweater down on my keys. When I went to get something out of my car, I couldn’t find them. I frantically searched the house for more than an hour. My ex has a spare of my car key, so I got in my car and went through it top to bottom. I scoured the back yard with a flashlight to see if my keys fell out of my pocket into a snow bank. I couldn’t take it. I was afraid I’d never find my keys again. I became afraid my Master would punish me horribly and lose trust in me for losing his keys. I couldn’t think straight. I collapsed into a corner of the room near the front door and started biting my arm very hard. I used to do that a lot during my year of hell, the period of depression I went through last year, but I haven’t bitten myself in a long time. But I bit myself on Sunday, again and again, hard enough to draw blood. When by chance I moved my daughter’s sweater and found my keys, I still felt awful. It took me a long time to get over it all.
Basically, Saturday sucked.
I found out from my ex about Callie’s condition Friday night while I was at the other slave’s house. Needless to say, it put a serious damper on the evening. Another slave and her Master had come over that night, and we were all planning to stay up late and have fun, with the slaves pampering the Masters and goofing around among ourselves. I had brought everything with plans to spend the night. The slave there made a wonderful dinner of beef stew. I could hardly taste it. I couldn’t enjoy the evening anymore. I wound up going home.
I have to admit, I don’t think I really trust the Master of that house. It’s hard to say exactly why. But he seems to have a mean streak. He smiles in a mean way. His slave told me that he hasn’t had sex with her in months, but he explicitly forbids her from masturbating, saying that her only satisfaction will come from him. He’s being considered for a three-year contract that would cause them to be uprooted and move to New York, and she hates the idea, but he’s explicitly forbidden her from asking him anything about the details of the contract. She said during dinner, desperate to talk to anybody, that her Master pushes her away at night when she tries to touch him in bed. As expected, he wasn’t happy that she aired his dirty laundry like that, but I could see the need in her eyes to express her thoughts. Later, she said she had to say it then because he wouldn’t let her talk about such things when they were alone.
But that’s all one sided. I only have her view on things. And yet, I can see the way he looks at her. I can see his expressions. The way his eyes move. His non-verbal body language. I don’t really trust him.
So even before I got the news about Callie, the day hadn’t been that fun at the slave’s house because of her problems with her Master.
The day before, Thursday, was one of the worst days I’ve had with my kids in a very long time. As I’ve indicated in previous post, we’ve been having wonderful times together and building up a tight bond. Thursday they seemed determined to break me emotionally. They taunted me and flat-out refused to do as I said. The simplest homework assignment was a nightmare to get them to do. I was tense and nervous the whole time I was with them. Something was out of kilter, left of center in a bad way.
And the day before, when I went to see my former Mistress, wasn’t great. After I dropped Master and M’Lady off at the airport, I drove to Mistress’s house, but a snowstorm hit just as I arrived. Not only that, but Mistress and I didn’t really hit it off that night. I didn’t feel any spark with her anymore. I enjoyed being with her, but I couldn’t sense the attraction we used to share so strongly. So when I announced I had to leave early because of the weather, we both simply agreed it was the thing to do, and without even a kiss goodbye she bid me on my way.
And then today. Sucky day. Master and M’Lady gave me a list of things to do, and I didn’t do them all, and I tried to catch up as much as possible today – without success. They expected me to do a lot of household chores with them out of the way, but I’m more behind than ever. Master wanted me to write an outline for my historical slavery presentation, but I didn’t yet. I was supposed to clean off the ton of unneeded files on my computer that’s clogging up the nightly backups. I didn’t yet.
And they got me a copy of the movie, “Up,” which I’ve heard is fantastic, and Master recommended I watch it while they were gone.
I spent almost four hours trying to watch the movie. Four horribly frustrating hours shot to hell.
Master has a cabinet bank of two DVD players, two TiVo’s, a stereo, a TV cable box and a Wii. They’re all controlled by one very complicatedly programmed controller. He left me instructions on how to play DVDs. I did something wrong, and the more I tried to fix things, the worse I got, and the more desperate I became. At one point, I tried to reset the TV and wound up turning off the powerstrip where everything was attached.
I told Master on the phone, and he was rather annoyed. I bothered him in Las Vegas to get him concerned about something I messed up that he can’t do anything about until he returns. I felt horrible, and I’m afraid of his wrath when he comes back. I feel like total shit.
Afterward, I took the movie upstairs, thinking to watch it on my computer. The damn movie disk doesn’t have a menu or English subtitles. I’m hard of hearing, and I have to have subtitles. The TV downstairs would have had subtitles, but my computer doesn’t. I tried everything, downloading more advanced DVD players and downloading subtitle files for “Up.” Nothing worked.
So, after spending almost four hours trying in vain to watch a movie, time that I desperately needed to catch up on my chores, I lost it a bit. I screamed into my pillow and cried for a very long time. Finally I decided to get up and write.
I hate technology sometimes. Really, truly hate it.
I had high hopes for this week. I thought I’d have some time for a bit of freedom in Master’s absence.
The week was fucking awful.
I wanted a break from the same old routine. I got a break, and I was broken in the process.
Master and M’Lady will be back this evening. I both long for them and dread their reaction to my failures.
Such is the life of a slave.
La kajira.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Day 152 - On Being Alone Without Master, On Making Mistakes and Being Held More and More Responsible for Them, On Master's Wonderful Generosity, On Being Giving (and Having a Lot of Fun With) the Best Vibrator Ever, and On Giving My Phone Number Out to A Horny Guy Without Master's Permission
Master’s gone, and I feel weird.
He and M’Lady flew out to Las Vegas today to attend an adult-industry trade show, leaving me all alone in the house until Monday afternoon. I haven’t been alone (except while driving in my car) for months, and I have to admit that the big house feels a bit spooky tonight.
Give me a chance to go hiking, and I can go out by myself (or in the company of a dog) for a pretty darn long time. But I’m at heart a country girl – I grew up on a ranch in Texas – and when I’m in a developed area I prefer to not be alone.
I remember the first night I spent in an apartment after my ex and I divorced almost two years ago. We had been together for almost 20 years. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I cried almost non-stop, and at some points I was wailing in anguish. A lot has happened since then, however, and I’ve gotten used to solitude, to a degree. But I’ve never been happy with it, which I figure is part of the reason I was so addicted to SecondLife – because I wanted the feeling that there were always other people within easy reach of my thoughts, ready to interact with me. There was always another world besides this one I could escape to.
I went through a year of hell during the following 12 months. I experienced the darkest depths of my life and sank to truly the deepest pits of my soul.
But that was then, and this is now. I don’t want to escape from reality anymore. I’m closer to my children than ever before, and we love each other deeply. I’ve found true fulfillment being a slave for a man who I believe is one of the best Masters anybody could ever hope to encounter. Things aren’t perfect, but I’ve found peace and happiness.
If you want to compare life as a slave to a video game (which is a strange concept, I admit), then lately I feel like I’ve “level upped” -- in that now that I’ve pretty much achieved the necessary level of experience at the rudimentary skills of Master’s household, he’s both hitting me with more complex assignments and penalizing me more harshly when I fail. He’s increasing his level of expectation of me as his slave, which makes me feel good at knowing he’s satisfied with my past performance while making me more stressed at having to deal with his fine tuning of my abilities. When I made little mistakes at first, he put up with them – but now he very clearly shows his annoyance (at least, some of the time). Fortunately, though, I’m now have enough self confidence at what I’m doing that seeing his dissatisfaction doesn’t make me want to crumple into a ball of tears. Instead, I realize that it’s an indication that he knows I’m worthy of tougher situations and I’m being held to higher requirements of perfection.
Enough rambling on the subject – time for a case point, being last week, when he called me on the carpet (actually, on the hard-wood floor at his feet) over the fact that I bought brown eggs from cage-free chickens at the supermarket. During one of our first shopping excursions together, I recommended to Master that he purchase “cage-free” eggs because I thought they were more humane for the chickens, but Master told me he did not want to spend the extra money for what he considered a “political” issue. A few days ago, when I was shopping, I saw that the cage-free eggs were on sale (for less than a dollar more than normal eggs), and I bought them along with the rest of the groceries. That night, however, after he had a rather frustrating day, Master expressed his annoyance and disappointment in me because he felt I was directly disobeying an order and wasting money against his explicit instructions. He was very stern and very intense in his expression of unhappiness, and made no bones about the fact that he expected me to give him my full obedience in all things as his slave without exception. I was hurt and ashamed, but it was a case of misunderstanding, and I explained it to him calmly (and a bit nervously). I thought it was the amount of money that originally concerned him, and the fact that the eggs were on sale (plus the fact that this brand of eggs had added anti-oxidants) made me feel I would be able to make a judgment call and to make the purchase without asking his approval.
We talked in circles for a little while before we fully understood each other, and Master made it very clear that his orders were ORDERS, and that I was not to ever make an exception to his instructions without asking him first. Once he was confident I understood that, he dismissed me, and after I had left the room he took it upon himself to research the validity of whether there might actually be a valid reason to purchase cage-free eggs. He concluded from reading some Internet articles that there is no health benefit to cage-free eggs, the diet of the hens is the same as for hens in cages, cage-free hens might still be in extremely cramped quarters, and there is no government regulation regarding the term “cage free,” so in light of all that he said he doesn’t want me to purchase cage-free eggs in the future. The fact that he took the trouble to research the issue after our discussion truly warmed my heart and showed me yet again how wise and considerate he is as a Master, and together we grew closer from the incident, I feel.
A few days before that incident, another issue arose. That time, I really upset Master, so much that we missed an outing at the Sanctuary BDSM club. Well, what happened is that one night a couple of weeks early I had forgotten to check the stove was off before we left (I had cooked dinner as normal that night), and I told Master about my concern just as we were pulling out of the driveway. He stopped the car, clearly annoyed, and told me to check it and come back in a hurry. I did (the stove was safely off) and we went on our way, with Master telling me never to do that again. Unfortunately, the night after Christmas, I did do it again, but worse. After we had left the driveway and were starting to go down the street, again to the Sanctuary, I suddenly thought for sure I had left on the stove, and I told Master of my concern. Immediately seeing his anger at my words, I said I would call M’Lady and ask her to check the stove. And I called over and over as Master drove further and further from the house, but M’Lady didn’t pick up the phone. Eventually Master turned around and went back, and I ran in – only to find that I had turned off the stove after all. I ran back out to Master, only to find that he was coming back inside with his “toy” bag (of floggers and paddles), and he took off his coat and hung it up as I watched in with deep guilt in my heart. We would have been about 15 minutes later than planned, but Master was so upset at me that he cancelled plans entirely. He said he had lost all desire to go that night after what I had done, and he went upstairs and spent the rest of the evening on his computer.
The thing is, if I had been a new slave, he might have expected such mistakes, but now he’s expecting that I won’t be so irresponsible, and when I was, it really irritated him. I was crushed by what I had done, because I knew I had ruined the evening for him, and my life truly is dedicated to his happiness. But I didn’t scream or break down emotionally. I took it calmly. After collapsing dejectedly but quietly onto the floor near the couch, dazed, I thought about the situation for a long time, calmed myself down, and decided to move forward with the evening by apologizing to Master, swearing I would find a way to make sure from now on that I have a safety checklist I go over before leaving the house, and then I did chores into the evening (completing a very long assignment that involved sorting a huge stack of nearly a half year of household payment receipts). I also realized I hadn’t been able to get hold of M’Lady because I had incorrectly programmed Master’s cell phone as his home phone. Master seemed okay by the end of the night, but I stayed largely away from him, letting him wind down in peace while doing my best not to bother him, and we went on with our lives, with me hopefully becoming a better slave in the process.
And that’s not all, folks. Remember that big Christmas dinner I made for Master and M’Lady? Well, I got the idea for it after I a trip to my chiropractor in a nearby city a in early December, and afterward I went shopping casually at a nearby store that specializes in imported British goods. I bought several of the necessary items at the time, and the shopkeeper (whose parents owned the place) became friendly with me. I had met the guy several months earlier before I was with Master, at a time when I was considering being a copywriter, and I had attempted to convince the guy to contract me to make a Website for his business. He’s a computer Luddite, with no e-mail address or anything, and he couldn’t see the value of advertising his store on the Internet. Nonetheless, after all that time he remembered me when I came in, which was a bit flattering. By the end he was flirting just a bit, even to the point of suggesting we could get together when he was off work, and I smiled at the idea and told Master later, feeling a bit good about the attention. The guy is cute is a nerdy Rowan Atkinson type of way, and thoughts of him popped into my mind at times afterward.
Well, right before Christmas I needed to head back to that area, and while there I made it a point to stop by the shop to get some final things for the dinner preparation, and that guy and I flirted again -- a lot, I have to admit. By the time I left the shop, I was so flustered and overcome by lustful desires that I gave the guy my phone number and, in response to his request, said I’d be looking forward to going out with him for coffee (or possibly something more private) after the holidays.
That night I told Master about what I had done and let’s just say that he wasn’t very happy. At first I was a bit crushed, because I thought Master would have encouraged me to have some fun with the guy. But Master made it clear to me that HE was my Owner, and it was NOT appropriate for me as a slave to give out my phone number to a man and to lead him on without my Owner’s specific approval. My time and my life aren’t my own anymore. They belong to Master. And it hit me just how right he was, and how wrong I had been, and how I had let lust overcome my devotion to my Owner. Master wasn’t overly angry, but he just wanted to make sure I was put in my proper place and remembered my situation in his household. It was like a glass of water was splashed in my face, in that it woke me up and made me realize I had been slipping a bit in a few ways – possibly because we had not had contact with other people very much for weeks because Master had been feeling run down. Whatever the reason, after that all sunk in, my lust flowed out of my system like water down a drain, making me also realize just how little the guy at the shop and I actually have in common. I love to read about history and watch science-fiction movies and cook fancy meals and discuss philosophy and seek spiritual insights, all while being a dedicated slave. When I asked that guy what he does on his days off, he told me he cleans his house, watches American football and watches European car racing. Err … yeah. He wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to. And that’s not enough, Master said. If I’m going to have an intimate relationship with somebody, he said, it’s going to be somebody that is worthy of my respect and has substantially more in common with me than that guy. *smiles warmly* Master again showed me just how wonderful he was by protecting me then. By the way, that guy called me up today and left a message saying he wanted to get together. Master told me I should call him back and let him know the truth – I’m a slave, and my Master doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for us to get together, and to leave it at that. And I will.
Yet, in the face of those mistakes, I realize that they stand out as exceptions, and both Master and I know that. I’m still working to find ways to manage my time more effectively, and I’m working every day to find ways to improve my talents as a slave. But overall, despite my relative newness to being one full time, Master continues to say I’m the best slave he’s ever had, and that truly feels me with a deep pride.
And just as I continue to be diligent in my dedication to Master, he has been repeatedly surprising me lately with gifts and expenditures, which he says he considers an aspect of what a very strong dedication to taking responsibility for me. As I have devoted my life to his needs and desires, he is making sure my own needs and desires are met in various appropriate ways.
One wonderful (and amazing) example is when he decided to take my former computer and get it all fixed up for me to give to my kids for schoolwork and other uses. I had a good (and quite fast and powerful) computer that was a few years old, but I had inadvertently let dust accumulate in it to the point where it caused a micro-spark one day that fried the computer’s motherboard. I wailed at my stupidity at the time, but it happened as I was moving in with Mistress (the woman who owned me before Master), and she let me borrow another computer to use. The computer sat unusable among my possessions for months until Master recently asked me about it and decided that he didn’t want a perfectly good computer that could be fixed to remain broken. Master wound up spending hundreds of dollars and hours of labor getting it repaired and replacing the DVD drive, all without even a request from me, but simply because he decided it was the right thing to do. I marvel at Master’s generosity and huge heart at doing things like that, and such things make me love him all the more.
And then there are the little but equally wonderful things. Like when I casually mentioned the other day that I had seen something in the basement that sparked my curiosity. It was a vibrator commonly known as a “rabbit.” (Here’s a similar one I saw a picture of on the Internet). Master’s response was he would get me one and let me try it out. *gulps* Soon I was lying naked on my bed, with it firmly pushed up my moist pussy, and the rabbit’s little “ears” nestled firmly against my clit. The vibrator he got for me has five different types of pulse settings, and I tried them out one at a time until … BOOM! One of the settings – which does a slow pulse, then a faster one, then a faster one, then a really intense one, then starts over with a slow one, over and over and over again, REALLY set me off with orgasm after orgasm! If somebody turned me into a mannequin then and there with that thing stuck in my vagina for the rest of my existence, I would have been a happy girl, I tell you that (Okay, maybe not perfectly happy, but it was the fantasy flowing through my head at the time. *giggles*) The vibrator also had a button causing it’s bulbous end (which was deep in my vaginal cavity) to swivel, and that was rather nice, too, I have to say. *bites her lip and blushes* I came down to see Master about a half hour later and express my great appreciation, but he seemed to already know what I thought of it because he said he has heard what sounded like “a wild animal caught in a bear trap” in my room. To be honest, I was actually trying to be keep my responses quiet because, had I actually let out what I was feeling at the time, my screams of orgasmic pleasure would have alerted the neighbors for at least the surrounding three or four blocks. *chuckles merrily*
Well, it’s getting late, and my bed is calling to me, so I’m going to head out for the night, with a hope that I don’t wake up feeling nervous at being alone. While Master is gone, I plan to keep myself busy with chores (he gave me a list of things to do in addition to my normal tasks to make sure I wasn’t bored), and to be around somebody I spent the afternoon and early evening with my former Mistress. She’s doing well, by the way, but it’s sadly clear that most of the spark has faded away between us, although we remain friends without a doubt. I noted to Master the other day that he had passed a little milestone, in that as of Sunday of this week he’s owned me longer than Mistress did, and Master said he feels that by now he totally owns me without a doubt. Between the two of them, I’ve been a slave without cessation for more than five months, and yet it seems like only yesterday that Mistress collared me, formally ending my life as a free woman. *sighs with a gentle smile* But anyway, tomorrow I’ll be with my kids in the afternoon, and from Friday until Saturday morning I’ll be staying with the Gorean Master/slave couple we had dinner with awhile back. That slave loves Guitar Hero, too (she’s the person who introduced me to it), so I have a feeling we’ll be merrily having a few guitar duels while I’m there. I’ve got my axe, so I’m ready to take her on! *giggles* That leaves Saturday night, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep my mind off my aloneness … I hope.
Well, toodles for now. And, as always …
La kajira!!!
He and M’Lady flew out to Las Vegas today to attend an adult-industry trade show, leaving me all alone in the house until Monday afternoon. I haven’t been alone (except while driving in my car) for months, and I have to admit that the big house feels a bit spooky tonight.
Give me a chance to go hiking, and I can go out by myself (or in the company of a dog) for a pretty darn long time. But I’m at heart a country girl – I grew up on a ranch in Texas – and when I’m in a developed area I prefer to not be alone.
I remember the first night I spent in an apartment after my ex and I divorced almost two years ago. We had been together for almost 20 years. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I cried almost non-stop, and at some points I was wailing in anguish. A lot has happened since then, however, and I’ve gotten used to solitude, to a degree. But I’ve never been happy with it, which I figure is part of the reason I was so addicted to SecondLife – because I wanted the feeling that there were always other people within easy reach of my thoughts, ready to interact with me. There was always another world besides this one I could escape to.
I went through a year of hell during the following 12 months. I experienced the darkest depths of my life and sank to truly the deepest pits of my soul.
But that was then, and this is now. I don’t want to escape from reality anymore. I’m closer to my children than ever before, and we love each other deeply. I’ve found true fulfillment being a slave for a man who I believe is one of the best Masters anybody could ever hope to encounter. Things aren’t perfect, but I’ve found peace and happiness.
If you want to compare life as a slave to a video game (which is a strange concept, I admit), then lately I feel like I’ve “level upped” -- in that now that I’ve pretty much achieved the necessary level of experience at the rudimentary skills of Master’s household, he’s both hitting me with more complex assignments and penalizing me more harshly when I fail. He’s increasing his level of expectation of me as his slave, which makes me feel good at knowing he’s satisfied with my past performance while making me more stressed at having to deal with his fine tuning of my abilities. When I made little mistakes at first, he put up with them – but now he very clearly shows his annoyance (at least, some of the time). Fortunately, though, I’m now have enough self confidence at what I’m doing that seeing his dissatisfaction doesn’t make me want to crumple into a ball of tears. Instead, I realize that it’s an indication that he knows I’m worthy of tougher situations and I’m being held to higher requirements of perfection.
Enough rambling on the subject – time for a case point, being last week, when he called me on the carpet (actually, on the hard-wood floor at his feet) over the fact that I bought brown eggs from cage-free chickens at the supermarket. During one of our first shopping excursions together, I recommended to Master that he purchase “cage-free” eggs because I thought they were more humane for the chickens, but Master told me he did not want to spend the extra money for what he considered a “political” issue. A few days ago, when I was shopping, I saw that the cage-free eggs were on sale (for less than a dollar more than normal eggs), and I bought them along with the rest of the groceries. That night, however, after he had a rather frustrating day, Master expressed his annoyance and disappointment in me because he felt I was directly disobeying an order and wasting money against his explicit instructions. He was very stern and very intense in his expression of unhappiness, and made no bones about the fact that he expected me to give him my full obedience in all things as his slave without exception. I was hurt and ashamed, but it was a case of misunderstanding, and I explained it to him calmly (and a bit nervously). I thought it was the amount of money that originally concerned him, and the fact that the eggs were on sale (plus the fact that this brand of eggs had added anti-oxidants) made me feel I would be able to make a judgment call and to make the purchase without asking his approval.
We talked in circles for a little while before we fully understood each other, and Master made it very clear that his orders were ORDERS, and that I was not to ever make an exception to his instructions without asking him first. Once he was confident I understood that, he dismissed me, and after I had left the room he took it upon himself to research the validity of whether there might actually be a valid reason to purchase cage-free eggs. He concluded from reading some Internet articles that there is no health benefit to cage-free eggs, the diet of the hens is the same as for hens in cages, cage-free hens might still be in extremely cramped quarters, and there is no government regulation regarding the term “cage free,” so in light of all that he said he doesn’t want me to purchase cage-free eggs in the future. The fact that he took the trouble to research the issue after our discussion truly warmed my heart and showed me yet again how wise and considerate he is as a Master, and together we grew closer from the incident, I feel.
A few days before that incident, another issue arose. That time, I really upset Master, so much that we missed an outing at the Sanctuary BDSM club. Well, what happened is that one night a couple of weeks early I had forgotten to check the stove was off before we left (I had cooked dinner as normal that night), and I told Master about my concern just as we were pulling out of the driveway. He stopped the car, clearly annoyed, and told me to check it and come back in a hurry. I did (the stove was safely off) and we went on our way, with Master telling me never to do that again. Unfortunately, the night after Christmas, I did do it again, but worse. After we had left the driveway and were starting to go down the street, again to the Sanctuary, I suddenly thought for sure I had left on the stove, and I told Master of my concern. Immediately seeing his anger at my words, I said I would call M’Lady and ask her to check the stove. And I called over and over as Master drove further and further from the house, but M’Lady didn’t pick up the phone. Eventually Master turned around and went back, and I ran in – only to find that I had turned off the stove after all. I ran back out to Master, only to find that he was coming back inside with his “toy” bag (of floggers and paddles), and he took off his coat and hung it up as I watched in with deep guilt in my heart. We would have been about 15 minutes later than planned, but Master was so upset at me that he cancelled plans entirely. He said he had lost all desire to go that night after what I had done, and he went upstairs and spent the rest of the evening on his computer.
The thing is, if I had been a new slave, he might have expected such mistakes, but now he’s expecting that I won’t be so irresponsible, and when I was, it really irritated him. I was crushed by what I had done, because I knew I had ruined the evening for him, and my life truly is dedicated to his happiness. But I didn’t scream or break down emotionally. I took it calmly. After collapsing dejectedly but quietly onto the floor near the couch, dazed, I thought about the situation for a long time, calmed myself down, and decided to move forward with the evening by apologizing to Master, swearing I would find a way to make sure from now on that I have a safety checklist I go over before leaving the house, and then I did chores into the evening (completing a very long assignment that involved sorting a huge stack of nearly a half year of household payment receipts). I also realized I hadn’t been able to get hold of M’Lady because I had incorrectly programmed Master’s cell phone as his home phone. Master seemed okay by the end of the night, but I stayed largely away from him, letting him wind down in peace while doing my best not to bother him, and we went on with our lives, with me hopefully becoming a better slave in the process.
And that’s not all, folks. Remember that big Christmas dinner I made for Master and M’Lady? Well, I got the idea for it after I a trip to my chiropractor in a nearby city a in early December, and afterward I went shopping casually at a nearby store that specializes in imported British goods. I bought several of the necessary items at the time, and the shopkeeper (whose parents owned the place) became friendly with me. I had met the guy several months earlier before I was with Master, at a time when I was considering being a copywriter, and I had attempted to convince the guy to contract me to make a Website for his business. He’s a computer Luddite, with no e-mail address or anything, and he couldn’t see the value of advertising his store on the Internet. Nonetheless, after all that time he remembered me when I came in, which was a bit flattering. By the end he was flirting just a bit, even to the point of suggesting we could get together when he was off work, and I smiled at the idea and told Master later, feeling a bit good about the attention. The guy is cute is a nerdy Rowan Atkinson type of way, and thoughts of him popped into my mind at times afterward.
Well, right before Christmas I needed to head back to that area, and while there I made it a point to stop by the shop to get some final things for the dinner preparation, and that guy and I flirted again -- a lot, I have to admit. By the time I left the shop, I was so flustered and overcome by lustful desires that I gave the guy my phone number and, in response to his request, said I’d be looking forward to going out with him for coffee (or possibly something more private) after the holidays.
That night I told Master about what I had done and let’s just say that he wasn’t very happy. At first I was a bit crushed, because I thought Master would have encouraged me to have some fun with the guy. But Master made it clear to me that HE was my Owner, and it was NOT appropriate for me as a slave to give out my phone number to a man and to lead him on without my Owner’s specific approval. My time and my life aren’t my own anymore. They belong to Master. And it hit me just how right he was, and how wrong I had been, and how I had let lust overcome my devotion to my Owner. Master wasn’t overly angry, but he just wanted to make sure I was put in my proper place and remembered my situation in his household. It was like a glass of water was splashed in my face, in that it woke me up and made me realize I had been slipping a bit in a few ways – possibly because we had not had contact with other people very much for weeks because Master had been feeling run down. Whatever the reason, after that all sunk in, my lust flowed out of my system like water down a drain, making me also realize just how little the guy at the shop and I actually have in common. I love to read about history and watch science-fiction movies and cook fancy meals and discuss philosophy and seek spiritual insights, all while being a dedicated slave. When I asked that guy what he does on his days off, he told me he cleans his house, watches American football and watches European car racing. Err … yeah. He wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to. And that’s not enough, Master said. If I’m going to have an intimate relationship with somebody, he said, it’s going to be somebody that is worthy of my respect and has substantially more in common with me than that guy. *smiles warmly* Master again showed me just how wonderful he was by protecting me then. By the way, that guy called me up today and left a message saying he wanted to get together. Master told me I should call him back and let him know the truth – I’m a slave, and my Master doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for us to get together, and to leave it at that. And I will.
Yet, in the face of those mistakes, I realize that they stand out as exceptions, and both Master and I know that. I’m still working to find ways to manage my time more effectively, and I’m working every day to find ways to improve my talents as a slave. But overall, despite my relative newness to being one full time, Master continues to say I’m the best slave he’s ever had, and that truly feels me with a deep pride.
And just as I continue to be diligent in my dedication to Master, he has been repeatedly surprising me lately with gifts and expenditures, which he says he considers an aspect of what a very strong dedication to taking responsibility for me. As I have devoted my life to his needs and desires, he is making sure my own needs and desires are met in various appropriate ways.
One wonderful (and amazing) example is when he decided to take my former computer and get it all fixed up for me to give to my kids for schoolwork and other uses. I had a good (and quite fast and powerful) computer that was a few years old, but I had inadvertently let dust accumulate in it to the point where it caused a micro-spark one day that fried the computer’s motherboard. I wailed at my stupidity at the time, but it happened as I was moving in with Mistress (the woman who owned me before Master), and she let me borrow another computer to use. The computer sat unusable among my possessions for months until Master recently asked me about it and decided that he didn’t want a perfectly good computer that could be fixed to remain broken. Master wound up spending hundreds of dollars and hours of labor getting it repaired and replacing the DVD drive, all without even a request from me, but simply because he decided it was the right thing to do. I marvel at Master’s generosity and huge heart at doing things like that, and such things make me love him all the more.
And then there are the little but equally wonderful things. Like when I casually mentioned the other day that I had seen something in the basement that sparked my curiosity. It was a vibrator commonly known as a “rabbit.” (Here’s a similar one I saw a picture of on the Internet). Master’s response was he would get me one and let me try it out. *gulps* Soon I was lying naked on my bed, with it firmly pushed up my moist pussy, and the rabbit’s little “ears” nestled firmly against my clit. The vibrator he got for me has five different types of pulse settings, and I tried them out one at a time until … BOOM! One of the settings – which does a slow pulse, then a faster one, then a faster one, then a really intense one, then starts over with a slow one, over and over and over again, REALLY set me off with orgasm after orgasm! If somebody turned me into a mannequin then and there with that thing stuck in my vagina for the rest of my existence, I would have been a happy girl, I tell you that (Okay, maybe not perfectly happy, but it was the fantasy flowing through my head at the time. *giggles*) The vibrator also had a button causing it’s bulbous end (which was deep in my vaginal cavity) to swivel, and that was rather nice, too, I have to say. *bites her lip and blushes* I came down to see Master about a half hour later and express my great appreciation, but he seemed to already know what I thought of it because he said he has heard what sounded like “a wild animal caught in a bear trap” in my room. To be honest, I was actually trying to be keep my responses quiet because, had I actually let out what I was feeling at the time, my screams of orgasmic pleasure would have alerted the neighbors for at least the surrounding three or four blocks. *chuckles merrily*
Well, it’s getting late, and my bed is calling to me, so I’m going to head out for the night, with a hope that I don’t wake up feeling nervous at being alone. While Master is gone, I plan to keep myself busy with chores (he gave me a list of things to do in addition to my normal tasks to make sure I wasn’t bored), and to be around somebody I spent the afternoon and early evening with my former Mistress. She’s doing well, by the way, but it’s sadly clear that most of the spark has faded away between us, although we remain friends without a doubt. I noted to Master the other day that he had passed a little milestone, in that as of Sunday of this week he’s owned me longer than Mistress did, and Master said he feels that by now he totally owns me without a doubt. Between the two of them, I’ve been a slave without cessation for more than five months, and yet it seems like only yesterday that Mistress collared me, formally ending my life as a free woman. *sighs with a gentle smile* But anyway, tomorrow I’ll be with my kids in the afternoon, and from Friday until Saturday morning I’ll be staying with the Gorean Master/slave couple we had dinner with awhile back. That slave loves Guitar Hero, too (she’s the person who introduced me to it), so I have a feeling we’ll be merrily having a few guitar duels while I’m there. I’ve got my axe, so I’m ready to take her on! *giggles* That leaves Saturday night, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep my mind off my aloneness … I hope.
Well, toodles for now. And, as always …
La kajira!!!
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Day 95 - On Having a Wolf Spirit, On Connecting to My Daughter Spiritually, On Playing a Fantastic (and Free) Game Called The Marionette, and On Having an Uneventful Few Days as a Slave
(Before I go any further, I absolutely have to highly recommend downloading a short but totally free adventure game called “The Marionette.” It’s both very eerie and very beautiful, and believe me when I say you won’t waste your time playing it. More on it later.)
Nothing really noteworthy (at least, regarding my life as a slave) has happened since the last time I wrote, so I figure this time I’ll talk about therianthropy and my wolf spiritual nature, which got me interviewed on The History Channel last year.
Life as a slave in Master’s household has been pretty routine since my last post. I’m finding to my disappointment that, although he’s an expert in numerous activities in the BDSM community, and although he’s considered a very respected Master, and although he keeps telling me he’s a Sadist … he doesn’t really do anything kinky with me.
Mistress was more fun, without a doubt.
To make matters worse, Master has been sick the last few days, and has felt like all the energy has been sucked right out of him.
Oh, well. That’s the life of a slave. It’s not supposed to be about fun. It’s supposed to be about service. And that’s what I do. And it’s supposed to be about being owned. And that’s what Master does to me. Own me.
Oh, I love being a slave, without a doubt. And it often is fun.
I’m getting better at cooking rather quickly. That’s because I cook for Master and M’Lady almost every night.
And when I told Master I love to make sushi, he almost ran to his computer to order me some sushi books, and Friday we’re going to get the ingredients and have me make it for everybody.
Eventually, he said, he wants me to handle all the cooking. He wants me to familiarize myself with the main cookbooks, to learn what he and M’Lady prefer regarding tastes and dishes, and to become in charge of the kitchen in such a way that the only time they have to think about food is when I’m announcing that dinner (or lunch) is ready to be served.
Sounds great to me! I’ve always wanted to be a professional chef! Give me a year here, and I’ll be ready for the Food Network. *chuckles*
Or maybe a new reality show … “Who Wants to Be a Kajira?”
*giggles*
Anyway … even my day with my kids on Sunday was rather pedestrian. And a bit of a bummer. My daughter wanted to see me so much she went outside to the front porch and waited for me more than two hours before I was scheduled to arrive. Neither my ex nor I knew that she was out there, watching each car, hoping it was me. After I arrived, I kept getting pulled back and forth between her and my son and my ex, who needed my help in writing a presentation for a microbiology class. Not that I know much about microbiology, but I do know how to edit and write well.
And all through it, my daughter kept wanting me to focus on her.
I did get to go on a hike with her (by herself), and I stayed until she went to bed, and I kissed her goodnight with a promise that when I visit tomorrow I’ll give her my undivided attention. My ex and my son both agreed that was a good idea, so the day ended on a good note. Actually, it was a pretty good day overall, but just a bit lackluster in so far as any particular achievements.
So, as I said I’d talk about, regarding my spiritual nature … I’m a wolf in a human body.
Yeah. You heard me. If you’re shaking your head and saying I’m a total loon, I’m not surprised. To be honest, I wouldn’t believe it except for the fact that all the experiences related to it have happened to me.
Actually, I did think I was nuts for a long time (decades, in fact) until about five or so years ago, when I told somebody about my experiences, and they told me I was most likely a “therian.” When I asked in surprise for more details, they directed me to The Werelist, which is a very mature (and very sane) Website for adults to talk rationally about their therianthropic-related experiences. It was on that site that I realized I wasn’t alone, and that I wasn’t insane. People from all walks of life, scientists to retail workers, Christians to atheists to shamans, all have experienced it.
I talk about my own experiences on one of the pages of a Website I wrote several years ago. I’ll copy the pertinent sections to the bottom of today’s blog.
For now, though, here’s a nutshell definition …
Most people have heard of gender dysphoria. That’s where a person feels they’re a woman in a man’s body or a man in a woman’s body. Basically, a person feels as if their body’s self identity doesn’t match their body’s physical features.
Take the same concept and apply it to the idea of species.
Imagine feeling you’re a cat in a human body. Or a dog in a human body. Or some non-human animal in a human body. Imagine feeling as if you should have a tail, and your legs and body and skull should be shaped differently. Imagine feeling it so powerfully that your muscles try to compensate in painful ways.
Imagine your thought processes changing so that you don’t think like a human, and instead you start experiencing canine-related instincts. In some cases, you forget how to read, and instead see the letters as shapes of black and white. Or you might get where you can’t figure out how to turn a doorknob because you don’t remember how to use your thumb. Or you might find you can’t speak coherently, and you automatically growl at somebody who antagonizes you.
Those two experiences are among the cornerstones of therianthropy. They’re known as “shifts”, with the first one (the physical dysphoria) being called a “phantom shift” (in reference to people who feel “phantom” limbs after they’ve been amputated), and the second is called a “mental shift.”
I’ve experienced it all my life.
My parents had to install deadbolts on the doors at my family home because of it. I grew up on a ranch in Texas, and during the middle of the night when the coyotes and wolves would howl, as a young child I would often get out of bed and run outside to be in the yard and fields. I believe I was called to the wild canines, that I searched for them, that the howls spoke to me instinctually. I’ll never know because I don’t actually remember doing it, and I heard about my activities years later from my parents.
I very possibly might have been sleepwalking. I’ve exhibited wolf-related behavior while under sedation even as an adult.
About a year ago I had to undergo jaw surgery. The next day my surgeon told me that when the anesthetic was starting to wear off, and I was still basically unconscious and not in control of my actions, I started whimpering and growling at the orderlies around me. At one point, people from around the clinic came rushing to the hallway near where I was because they thought there was a dog or wolf in the building. It was me, howling loudly, my voice echoing through the rafters. I don’t remember any of it, but all of the clinic’s staff did, and they let me know about it. *smiles*
I grew up in a conservative Christian family, but I’ve always known without a doubt I’m an animal in a human body. I would experience those shifts and not understand them or know who to talk to about them.
It was only recently that I let my daughter know about my nature. I didn’t want to tell her about my therianthropy at first because I didn’t want her to pick up the idea from me. She experienced it on her own, however, and firmly believes she’s a cat in a human body … and she’s not shy about the fact at all. It’s causing her trouble in school, just like it did with me. My teachers would let my parents know of my fixation. My daughter’s principal has officially barred her from pretending to be a cat at school, particularly after she scratched somebody with her “claws.” She’s going through what I went through, and I realized recently, after talking about the situation with Master, that my daughter needs to know she can confide with me. She needs to know that she’s not alone.
I don’t want her to go through decades of thinking her experiences were crazy. My ex, however, does think they’re crazy, and as a result tries everything possible to get my daughter to focus on other things.
It’s why I believe my daughter has recently become so very attached to me. Because I take her seriously. And she knows it.
And it’s another reason she and I are so much looking forward to seeing each other again tomorrow. *grins*
Oh … the History Channel. Well, last year a representative of the History Channel asked around on the Werelist to see if anybody was interested in talking about their experiences for a television program about the history of werewolves. A few of us volunteered in different parts of the country. I met the film crew in downtown Denver, and we went to a park, and they interviewed me for hours in a very open and respectful way. A couple of months later they flew me to Washington, D.C., and interviewed me again. They were very scientific and curious, and I felt very good about the results.
Then the program got shown a few days before Halloween this year. The editors of it ignored all the questions they asked me. They ignored what they had asked other people. Instead, they grabbed a few seconds out of an interview with a therian on the board and took it totally out of context in such a way as to make the guy look pretty darn nuts. Everybody on the Werelist was disgusted. The good result, though, is now a lot of Therians are getting together to film their own documentary about the community, and they plan to broadcast it on YouTube. That should rock, and I wish them the best of luck!
Before I head out for the night, I want to mention again “The Marionette,” that free video game I noted at the very beginning of this post. The game tells a very haunting story about a ghost who wants revenge on an artist. Who the ghost is and why she’s doing it is told in a deeply captivating way that struck a deep chord in me. It spoke directly to things in my own life. I want to tell more, but it would spoil the nuances of the storyline, so I’ll just again encourage everybody to download it and play it for themselves. You should note, by the way, that there are four different possible endings, and which ending you get depends upon your actions during the game (particularly at the very end).
That game took up pretty much all of my free time during the last couple of evenings, but it was well worth it.
*smiles*
So, for now, and as always …
La kajira!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Therianthropy, species dysphoria, and my life as a dog
I'm a wolf in a human body.
No joke. No roleplaying. It's real.
I'm a therianthrope -- one of many people around the world who believe they have the soul (or self identity) of a non-human animal species.
I've often felt that I'm not human, at least in a spiritual sense, ever since I was a young child. I've never really understood the nuances of human society, and I've always been pulled toward the wildness of nature, as if I have lived there, as if it should be my habitat instead of the structures of modern-day civilization.
I often experience what some have labeled "species dysphoria." As people with "gender dysporia" report feeling that their physical body does not match their mental gender, I feel my physical body does not match my mental species. If I had my choice, I would be what I feel I should be – a female wolf, living on the plains, chasing rodents for dinner and raising litters of puppies in a safely secluded den.
It’s with me all the time, from when I wake up until I sleep. Even then, I sometimes remember dreaming I am a wild canine, running free. It is definitely not a game, nor is it something I chose to be. I am a wolf because I am a wolf, and I have felt it in my soul for many years, even when it made no sense to me spiritually. It is not because I love wolves or think they’re cool or want an escape from my boring job or want to feel “different” other people. I am what I am because I am that way, and I’m that way all the time, whether I want to be or not.
I often do not understand (or, at least, agree with) the ways and morals of human society, and as a result I have very few friends with whom I feel I can share my inner thoughts. I see humans as simply another species – actually, a very destructive species that needs to be reigned in before it destroys more of the planet – and I do not see humanity itself as being any better or more valuable than most other animals on this planet. I find myself uninterested in most music and popular media, simply because I don’t understand the appeal. My free time is largely spent hiking in natural areas (as far from humans as possible), meditating or studying spirituality, and while I find myself feeling quite lonely at times, I don’t crave the company of most humans. Even my spouse (who is not a therianthrope) and I have problems because of my spiritual identity – not because of a problem with the idea, but because we don’t share my non-human impulses, and our outlook on the very nature of life and existence diverges substantially at times.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
FYI, "Mental shifting" is the common term used for the therianthropic experience of psychologically becoming one's inner animal. It is one of several types of "shifts" a therianthrope might experience. Other types include "phantom shifts" (in which one either mentally or physically feels a limb or body part that does not exist) and "dream shifts" (in which one becomes their inner animal while dreaming). It should be noted that not all therians experience every type of shift. It should also be noted that no therianthrope has ever "physically shifted" into their inner animal -- or if they have, they have not provided reliable proof to other therians or the world at large.
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Mental shifting into your inner animal
... A personal perspective
Although I haven't had two-day non-stop mental shifts (which at least one therian I know has experienced), I have had ones that have lasted for hours.
Several very intense hours.
Hours in which I wasn't human.
Oh, yeah, maybe physically, but not mentally. Every inch of my body that didn't correlate with a similar part on a feral canine (my inner animal a.k.a. " phenotype”) felt foreign and unnatural.
Imagine that your brain doesn't feel like it's wired for rational thought, and you find yourself living in the moment, constantly alert for movement, your thoughts arranged around your existence as it relates to you now, with the past and future being unreal (and unimportant) concepts.
Imagine that human speech becomes almost incomprehensible, like trying to make sense of a language you knew as a child, and it is almost painful to force your mind to attempt to understand it.
Imagine that every step you take feels awkward because you know you should be able to run better and faster on four feet, and you don't really understand why you can't.
Imagine finding your automatic desires and tastes conflicting with nagging thoughts telling you they don't fit with the needs (and limitations) of your human physical body.
Imagine not considering other humans as your same species any more than you consider a cockroach or a sparrow to be your same species.
You are a wolf -- or another animal -- during those times.
At least, that's what I experience.
In human terms, I become almost autistic. I wouldn’t say I become unemotional. But I would say that my emotions when I’m shifted toward my animal mindset are different than what I experience when I’m shifted toward my human mindset.
When I experience my heaviest shifts, my basic thought patterns are not the same as otherwise. I’m not just a human “feeling wolfy.”
And if I’m forced to come out of it quickly, it can be a very jarring and mentally unpleasant experience. And if I then have to rapidly call upon the overly rational parts of my human brain and associated memories, I feel as if I’m bending my head out of shape, and that it wants to go back to the other, more natural, way of thinking.
Probably the main reason I’ve never experienced multi-day shifts is because I have a spouse who is non-therian and I have two rambunctious kids, all of whom seem to do whatever they can to disengage my thoughts whenever they’re around me. But I still occasionally get the opportunity for solitude. And sometimes it results in those kinds of shifts. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to go camping by myself for several days in the wilderness, and I can fully experience a multi-day shift without interruption. That might be quite interesting.
Some may think that coming out of an intense shift might make me feel emotionally drained. But actually, it’s usually quite the opposite. I feel more alive and energetic than at most other times. But I also don’t feel very human. And, more importantly, I don’t think very human. At least, what passes for “normal human” in our culture.
Nothing really noteworthy (at least, regarding my life as a slave) has happened since the last time I wrote, so I figure this time I’ll talk about therianthropy and my wolf spiritual nature, which got me interviewed on The History Channel last year.
Life as a slave in Master’s household has been pretty routine since my last post. I’m finding to my disappointment that, although he’s an expert in numerous activities in the BDSM community, and although he’s considered a very respected Master, and although he keeps telling me he’s a Sadist … he doesn’t really do anything kinky with me.
Mistress was more fun, without a doubt.
To make matters worse, Master has been sick the last few days, and has felt like all the energy has been sucked right out of him.
Oh, well. That’s the life of a slave. It’s not supposed to be about fun. It’s supposed to be about service. And that’s what I do. And it’s supposed to be about being owned. And that’s what Master does to me. Own me.
Oh, I love being a slave, without a doubt. And it often is fun.
I’m getting better at cooking rather quickly. That’s because I cook for Master and M’Lady almost every night.
And when I told Master I love to make sushi, he almost ran to his computer to order me some sushi books, and Friday we’re going to get the ingredients and have me make it for everybody.
Eventually, he said, he wants me to handle all the cooking. He wants me to familiarize myself with the main cookbooks, to learn what he and M’Lady prefer regarding tastes and dishes, and to become in charge of the kitchen in such a way that the only time they have to think about food is when I’m announcing that dinner (or lunch) is ready to be served.
Sounds great to me! I’ve always wanted to be a professional chef! Give me a year here, and I’ll be ready for the Food Network. *chuckles*
Or maybe a new reality show … “Who Wants to Be a Kajira?”
*giggles*
Anyway … even my day with my kids on Sunday was rather pedestrian. And a bit of a bummer. My daughter wanted to see me so much she went outside to the front porch and waited for me more than two hours before I was scheduled to arrive. Neither my ex nor I knew that she was out there, watching each car, hoping it was me. After I arrived, I kept getting pulled back and forth between her and my son and my ex, who needed my help in writing a presentation for a microbiology class. Not that I know much about microbiology, but I do know how to edit and write well.
And all through it, my daughter kept wanting me to focus on her.
I did get to go on a hike with her (by herself), and I stayed until she went to bed, and I kissed her goodnight with a promise that when I visit tomorrow I’ll give her my undivided attention. My ex and my son both agreed that was a good idea, so the day ended on a good note. Actually, it was a pretty good day overall, but just a bit lackluster in so far as any particular achievements.
So, as I said I’d talk about, regarding my spiritual nature … I’m a wolf in a human body.
Yeah. You heard me. If you’re shaking your head and saying I’m a total loon, I’m not surprised. To be honest, I wouldn’t believe it except for the fact that all the experiences related to it have happened to me.
Actually, I did think I was nuts for a long time (decades, in fact) until about five or so years ago, when I told somebody about my experiences, and they told me I was most likely a “therian.” When I asked in surprise for more details, they directed me to The Werelist, which is a very mature (and very sane) Website for adults to talk rationally about their therianthropic-related experiences. It was on that site that I realized I wasn’t alone, and that I wasn’t insane. People from all walks of life, scientists to retail workers, Christians to atheists to shamans, all have experienced it.
I talk about my own experiences on one of the pages of a Website I wrote several years ago. I’ll copy the pertinent sections to the bottom of today’s blog.
For now, though, here’s a nutshell definition …
Most people have heard of gender dysphoria. That’s where a person feels they’re a woman in a man’s body or a man in a woman’s body. Basically, a person feels as if their body’s self identity doesn’t match their body’s physical features.
Take the same concept and apply it to the idea of species.
Imagine feeling you’re a cat in a human body. Or a dog in a human body. Or some non-human animal in a human body. Imagine feeling as if you should have a tail, and your legs and body and skull should be shaped differently. Imagine feeling it so powerfully that your muscles try to compensate in painful ways.
Imagine your thought processes changing so that you don’t think like a human, and instead you start experiencing canine-related instincts. In some cases, you forget how to read, and instead see the letters as shapes of black and white. Or you might get where you can’t figure out how to turn a doorknob because you don’t remember how to use your thumb. Or you might find you can’t speak coherently, and you automatically growl at somebody who antagonizes you.
Those two experiences are among the cornerstones of therianthropy. They’re known as “shifts”, with the first one (the physical dysphoria) being called a “phantom shift” (in reference to people who feel “phantom” limbs after they’ve been amputated), and the second is called a “mental shift.”
I’ve experienced it all my life.
My parents had to install deadbolts on the doors at my family home because of it. I grew up on a ranch in Texas, and during the middle of the night when the coyotes and wolves would howl, as a young child I would often get out of bed and run outside to be in the yard and fields. I believe I was called to the wild canines, that I searched for them, that the howls spoke to me instinctually. I’ll never know because I don’t actually remember doing it, and I heard about my activities years later from my parents.
I very possibly might have been sleepwalking. I’ve exhibited wolf-related behavior while under sedation even as an adult.
About a year ago I had to undergo jaw surgery. The next day my surgeon told me that when the anesthetic was starting to wear off, and I was still basically unconscious and not in control of my actions, I started whimpering and growling at the orderlies around me. At one point, people from around the clinic came rushing to the hallway near where I was because they thought there was a dog or wolf in the building. It was me, howling loudly, my voice echoing through the rafters. I don’t remember any of it, but all of the clinic’s staff did, and they let me know about it. *smiles*
I grew up in a conservative Christian family, but I’ve always known without a doubt I’m an animal in a human body. I would experience those shifts and not understand them or know who to talk to about them.
It was only recently that I let my daughter know about my nature. I didn’t want to tell her about my therianthropy at first because I didn’t want her to pick up the idea from me. She experienced it on her own, however, and firmly believes she’s a cat in a human body … and she’s not shy about the fact at all. It’s causing her trouble in school, just like it did with me. My teachers would let my parents know of my fixation. My daughter’s principal has officially barred her from pretending to be a cat at school, particularly after she scratched somebody with her “claws.” She’s going through what I went through, and I realized recently, after talking about the situation with Master, that my daughter needs to know she can confide with me. She needs to know that she’s not alone.
I don’t want her to go through decades of thinking her experiences were crazy. My ex, however, does think they’re crazy, and as a result tries everything possible to get my daughter to focus on other things.
It’s why I believe my daughter has recently become so very attached to me. Because I take her seriously. And she knows it.
And it’s another reason she and I are so much looking forward to seeing each other again tomorrow. *grins*
Oh … the History Channel. Well, last year a representative of the History Channel asked around on the Werelist to see if anybody was interested in talking about their experiences for a television program about the history of werewolves. A few of us volunteered in different parts of the country. I met the film crew in downtown Denver, and we went to a park, and they interviewed me for hours in a very open and respectful way. A couple of months later they flew me to Washington, D.C., and interviewed me again. They were very scientific and curious, and I felt very good about the results.
Then the program got shown a few days before Halloween this year. The editors of it ignored all the questions they asked me. They ignored what they had asked other people. Instead, they grabbed a few seconds out of an interview with a therian on the board and took it totally out of context in such a way as to make the guy look pretty darn nuts. Everybody on the Werelist was disgusted. The good result, though, is now a lot of Therians are getting together to film their own documentary about the community, and they plan to broadcast it on YouTube. That should rock, and I wish them the best of luck!
Before I head out for the night, I want to mention again “The Marionette,” that free video game I noted at the very beginning of this post. The game tells a very haunting story about a ghost who wants revenge on an artist. Who the ghost is and why she’s doing it is told in a deeply captivating way that struck a deep chord in me. It spoke directly to things in my own life. I want to tell more, but it would spoil the nuances of the storyline, so I’ll just again encourage everybody to download it and play it for themselves. You should note, by the way, that there are four different possible endings, and which ending you get depends upon your actions during the game (particularly at the very end).
That game took up pretty much all of my free time during the last couple of evenings, but it was well worth it.
*smiles*
So, for now, and as always …
La kajira!!!
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Therianthropy, species dysphoria, and my life as a dog
I'm a wolf in a human body.
No joke. No roleplaying. It's real.
I'm a therianthrope -- one of many people around the world who believe they have the soul (or self identity) of a non-human animal species.
I've often felt that I'm not human, at least in a spiritual sense, ever since I was a young child. I've never really understood the nuances of human society, and I've always been pulled toward the wildness of nature, as if I have lived there, as if it should be my habitat instead of the structures of modern-day civilization.
I often experience what some have labeled "species dysphoria." As people with "gender dysporia" report feeling that their physical body does not match their mental gender, I feel my physical body does not match my mental species. If I had my choice, I would be what I feel I should be – a female wolf, living on the plains, chasing rodents for dinner and raising litters of puppies in a safely secluded den.
It’s with me all the time, from when I wake up until I sleep. Even then, I sometimes remember dreaming I am a wild canine, running free. It is definitely not a game, nor is it something I chose to be. I am a wolf because I am a wolf, and I have felt it in my soul for many years, even when it made no sense to me spiritually. It is not because I love wolves or think they’re cool or want an escape from my boring job or want to feel “different” other people. I am what I am because I am that way, and I’m that way all the time, whether I want to be or not.
I often do not understand (or, at least, agree with) the ways and morals of human society, and as a result I have very few friends with whom I feel I can share my inner thoughts. I see humans as simply another species – actually, a very destructive species that needs to be reigned in before it destroys more of the planet – and I do not see humanity itself as being any better or more valuable than most other animals on this planet. I find myself uninterested in most music and popular media, simply because I don’t understand the appeal. My free time is largely spent hiking in natural areas (as far from humans as possible), meditating or studying spirituality, and while I find myself feeling quite lonely at times, I don’t crave the company of most humans. Even my spouse (who is not a therianthrope) and I have problems because of my spiritual identity – not because of a problem with the idea, but because we don’t share my non-human impulses, and our outlook on the very nature of life and existence diverges substantially at times.
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FYI, "Mental shifting" is the common term used for the therianthropic experience of psychologically becoming one's inner animal. It is one of several types of "shifts" a therianthrope might experience. Other types include "phantom shifts" (in which one either mentally or physically feels a limb or body part that does not exist) and "dream shifts" (in which one becomes their inner animal while dreaming). It should be noted that not all therians experience every type of shift. It should also be noted that no therianthrope has ever "physically shifted" into their inner animal -- or if they have, they have not provided reliable proof to other therians or the world at large.
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Mental shifting into your inner animal
... A personal perspective
Although I haven't had two-day non-stop mental shifts (which at least one therian I know has experienced), I have had ones that have lasted for hours.
Several very intense hours.
Hours in which I wasn't human.
Oh, yeah, maybe physically, but not mentally. Every inch of my body that didn't correlate with a similar part on a feral canine (my inner animal a.k.a. " phenotype”) felt foreign and unnatural.
Imagine that your brain doesn't feel like it's wired for rational thought, and you find yourself living in the moment, constantly alert for movement, your thoughts arranged around your existence as it relates to you now, with the past and future being unreal (and unimportant) concepts.
Imagine that human speech becomes almost incomprehensible, like trying to make sense of a language you knew as a child, and it is almost painful to force your mind to attempt to understand it.
Imagine that every step you take feels awkward because you know you should be able to run better and faster on four feet, and you don't really understand why you can't.
Imagine finding your automatic desires and tastes conflicting with nagging thoughts telling you they don't fit with the needs (and limitations) of your human physical body.
Imagine not considering other humans as your same species any more than you consider a cockroach or a sparrow to be your same species.
You are a wolf -- or another animal -- during those times.
At least, that's what I experience.
In human terms, I become almost autistic. I wouldn’t say I become unemotional. But I would say that my emotions when I’m shifted toward my animal mindset are different than what I experience when I’m shifted toward my human mindset.
When I experience my heaviest shifts, my basic thought patterns are not the same as otherwise. I’m not just a human “feeling wolfy.”
And if I’m forced to come out of it quickly, it can be a very jarring and mentally unpleasant experience. And if I then have to rapidly call upon the overly rational parts of my human brain and associated memories, I feel as if I’m bending my head out of shape, and that it wants to go back to the other, more natural, way of thinking.
Probably the main reason I’ve never experienced multi-day shifts is because I have a spouse who is non-therian and I have two rambunctious kids, all of whom seem to do whatever they can to disengage my thoughts whenever they’re around me. But I still occasionally get the opportunity for solitude. And sometimes it results in those kinds of shifts. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to go camping by myself for several days in the wilderness, and I can fully experience a multi-day shift without interruption. That might be quite interesting.
Some may think that coming out of an intense shift might make me feel emotionally drained. But actually, it’s usually quite the opposite. I feel more alive and energetic than at most other times. But I also don’t feel very human. And, more importantly, I don’t think very human. At least, what passes for “normal human” in our culture.
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