The past couple of weeks have been busy and exciting. While I sought out a new pet and found one, circumstances and previous engagements required that he take time out from me and focus his attention elsewhere, on a priority we both agreed was greater than me, someone he’d just met. At this time, I’m not certain whether he’ll be back. In my dreams, yes. In my dreams, as soon as his final test is done he’ll be on my doorstep, talking about how much he missed me and my letters and my texts, reassuring him that there was someone in this world that cared for him. In reality, as soon as he’s done with that test, he’ll be packed up and moving out of state. Where we’ll go from there, I don’t know. I tried agonizing over it and it didn’t work so I decided to just sit back for a bit and see where fate took us. There’s not a whole lot of control I can exert over the situation anyhow, except over myself, to not be a distraction. I’ve done that as well as I could.
In the meanwhile, I decided to find some friends with which to share my life. I was hoping to find some that were also in the lifestyle, new or old, who could teach me things while I spent this year gathering myself. D/s relationships aren’t new to me, not in the least, but I’ve some new ideas about what I’d like and where I’d like to go and how I’d like to do things. There are changes I need to make in my personal life before I can feel as though I can give it my best shot. dil’s being away at college for a year was going to provide the perfect framework for that schedule I needed. I’m sticking to it, even if we don’t stick together.
In my attempt to find friends, I tried to make it clear that I wasn’t actually looking for a pet. There’s a difference. I just wanted people to go to some socials with, maybe attend a play party with, and to have some great intellectual discourse with. I lucked out and met two who have been able to provide the things I was looking for and possibly more. The past couple of weeks with Blake and Guitar have been pretty spectacular, at least from my end of things. I’ve gone on at least two “dates” with each of them, testing my skills at communication and fun. “Dates” because they’re not to lead anywhere, but I like to say I’m dating — I never did it when I was younger. I never dated two or three people at once, that’s for sure. Stop snickering at that last statement coming from a polygamist.
My first date was with Blake. It wasn’t anything special, in that I really just went to his apartment to meet him for the first time (put your red flags away, I followed safety precautions) and then we went to dinner. Oh, then we went back to talking in his apartment until I finally dragged myself home. He clocked it in at about seven hours of talking. I don’t know if that counted the hour long dinner or not, where he showed me a picture of the most glorious bed/table I’ve ever seen and that I want to eventually add into my own home. There was no play on this date, unless you count staring at a person in such a way that he laughs over and over again. I don’t, but I did find it fun.
My second date was with Guitar, where I took him to the street the college kids hang out on in order to have some fantastic Irish pub grub. He, of course, ordered chicken pasta. I excused him — he looked nervous. After that I dragged him to the sex shop that was conveniently located next door. While we wandered around looking at all sorts of contraptions I could put in his ass, the majority of our time was spent in front of the stockings, which hold a special place in his, erm, his heart. And his pants. Indecisive boys are both cute and frustrating, but in the end I chose three pairs of stockings that he’d take home and eventually wear, including a pair of bright hot pink stockings that would stop traffic if he’d ever wear anything that would reveal them.
Being ever so sly, I asked him what his rules were for going home with someone to model said stockings after a single date. Luckily he’d never done this kind of thing before so he had no rules! To the house it was, where he modeled stockings, learned the hard way that egging on the dog just meant 85 pounds of fluff would be in your lap all night, and that shaking when being touched was delicious to certain Dommes, entrusting that she would continue to touch him all night long. I think we tried to watch Black Swan. I don’t honestly remember.
My second date with Blake was far more exciting than the first. Not in that I planned it any better — who goes to the mall on a Saturday, right? — but that there were a few interesting things that occurred. One, I discovered that age play has, in fact, been a large part of my past relationships, even when I never called it that (and probably never will). Two, a great conversation ensued over lunch that left me feeling all sorts of emotions I didn’t care for and a week later I think I’m finally ready to address them here in the safety of my blog, which is actually what the title of this blog is about. Three, uncommon sexuality makes people uncomfortable and I was afraid the both of us were somehow going to get thrown out of the mall for just being ourselves. Let me elaborate.
My genius idea for this fine Saturday afternoon was that we were going to the mall to create a stuffed animal. Sure, in my head I picked a bear, but I was leaving this up to Blake entirely. Whatever he wanted. He was going to be the kid for the day and I’d just get to watch him create something to love. Now, I know Blake well enough to know that he’s far from innocent. Still, when we went in, I sort of expected he’d pick something sweet, love on her for a bit, buy her a pretty dress, and give her a cute name. Cute name, check: Princess. The rest? Hrm.
There was a bear there from a children’s show which should have been enough to make us steer clear of it. Unfortunately, the creators decided that her ‘magic wand’ was going to look just like a flogger, and I couldn’t help but to point that out! The gleam in the boy’s eyes told me that was going to be his bear. Oh, here we go. Next station! Sounds. I’ve never put a sound in my animals because it kind of creeps me out. But when he found one of a giggle, a giggle that reminded him of someone he plays with no less, it was chosen. It was also put somewhere very strategic. Now whenever Princess smacks someone with her flogger, she’s also giggling. Fantastic so far! Next came the heart. He didn’t have to do the little song and dance that they normally do, but he still had to make a wish. It appeared to be a very serious wish, from the way that he was looking at me, but I told him he couldn’t tell, or it wouldn’t come true — said in an equally serious tone. The heart beats. Horrifying. But it was his bear and he loved it!
If the flogger wasn’t enough, after that, he had to take her to give her a bath. Yes, please bathe your Mistress. Worship her body. I whispered that in his ear and he did a very good job of making sure to cover all of her body with…the air. Then he decided he wanted a cross dressing bear. We couldn’t find any particularly good outfit for cross dressing so we went with the next best thing: an outfit with a lot of rope. (Terribly sorry for anyone that takes those karate outfits seriously.) We were going to try to braid all of the belts together to make a rainbow rope but he’s at a distinct disadvantage for things like tying and I fail at rope. We’re hoping another friend of his can make his rainbow rope dream come true. Next, ruby red shoes. Think Dorothy. Next? Glasses. Nice, round spectacles that make her look so innocent. But we needed one last accessory. One that he saw the perversion in long before I, somehow. You know how most bears would wield their light saber in their hand? Ready to face the universe and win? Not his! His wore hers around her thigh. Pointing right at anyone that dared look. Pegging, anyone?
Checking out was glorious. The outfit wasn’t yet assembled but the mishmash of stuff we’d bought could in no way make a good looking outfit, that much was certain. Luckily, that wasn’t his intent. What he wanted was a tg cross dressing switch. Right down the middle of everything. Sometimes she topped, sometimes she bottomed. Sometimes she dressed like a girl and sometimes a boy. Sometimes she WAS a girl and sometimes a boy. His creation was amazing.
It wasn’t until we assembled her at the lunch table, where someone had the audacity to say she was cute, did I tell him to keep her out of the box. We were going through the mall a second time in order to hit the chocolate shops, a suggestion made by him, when chaos broke loose. First, I turned the bear around at one point after realizing her light saber — er, her strap on — made noise. After I found out it made noise I molested that bear all through the mall. He was clutching her so hard I could hardly find the button so I had to turn her around, you see, and horribly offended some guy with his kids, as if they knew what a strap on even was.
Secondly, after our chocolate excursion and settled chat where Princess sat on a couch alongside us, we went off to find the car. A woman stopped us and asked if Blake had made that bear himself, and he answered yes. She practically ripped that bear out of his arms and turned it around and oh my goodness, I thought she was going to have a heart attack and die. She said she was humiliated upon discovering Princess’ secret. Why, we asked? She said it was terrible, and wouldn’t let her friend see. She couldn’t believe the store had let us create this! I told her that they didn’t care what we did with the accessories as long as we purchased them. I was laughing. Blake was so polite. She was in tears, showing her friend, talking about how she’d never look at another bear again. Finally, she gave it back. She told Blake he should put it back in the box. I didn’t hear that part, but I would have protested vehemently if he’d tried.
Not two minutes later a gentleman stopped us, likely after seeing that commotion, and asked if he could see the bear. The both of us, laughing hysterically, said no. He told us ‘Why not? It’s not like it’s a secret!’ and I answered ‘Oh, oh it is. It’s a very big secret.’ I had to set her down for a moment and take a picture. Blake later sent it out, along with a picture of himself cradling and adoring her, to all his friends.
This was probably one of the best “dates” I’ve been on. And while the bear fiasco was very much part of the reason why, and while learning just how ticklish he was and thusly tickling him for several hours was also a part of the reason why, the real reason was our conversation at lunch, which prompted many days of thinking.
Since we met (and I say met loosely, because I’d been stalking him on our mutual website for about three years before ever writing him, and I only ever wrote him because he marked that he was one of my admirers) we’ve had this ongoing conversation regarding the difference between a submissive and a slave. Typically I’ll exchange ideas with someone and that will be that. We don’t usually go back and forth about it. The first time he brought it up (or I brought it up and he answered) he legitimately made me angry. After that, I wasn’t sure if I could be friends with someone who thought so lowly of slaves, these creatures that I absolutely adored, that I wanted to own with every piece of my being. Things were fine between us still, but I wondered. Eventually we clarified positions better, took ideas and turned them around, mulled over a few technical things, and where we finally stood made me feel a lot better about the conversation.
We revisited it this day though. Slaves are broken people. There is something wrong with them, and as the Owner of a slave, it is my job to rehabilitate them and let them go. That was what I was having trouble with. If I put forth the effort to seek out a person that was either a blank slate or could play well enough at one that he could absorb everything that I wanted him to learn, to disregard everything he knew before, I sure as hell didn’t want to let him go once I made him into what I wanted. Blake told me that it would be irresponsible to keep it though. Once I’d helped him learn how to live life for himself, to mend him, I had to let him go. I told him that if I was taking someone on in the mindset of “fixing” him, then releasing him wouldn’t be a problem. But someone that I was taking on to be for me? Someone that I was going to pour my emotions and thoughts and feelings and desires and wicked ways into, someone that wouldn’t reject me after all of that? Why on earth would I set him free? Let him go?
The conversation continued for some time, sometimes awkwardly, as there was a very vanilla couple in the booth right behind us that I was sure could hear us, but I was trying very hard to process and counter attack. The only way I could be comfortable with this line of thinking though was what if I let him go and he returned? I was, of course, thinking of dil at this point. What if I let him go, told him to go take care of what he needs to take care of, put that first indefinitely (even though being together he would still be expected to do that, but that was beside the point), and he came back to me? Couldn’t I keep him then? Wouldn’t that prove that someone was capable of taking care of themselves and then they chose to return to the person they’d already forged a bond with?
No.
Sigh. I tired to figure out why this bothered me so much. A slave was a broken person who needed mending, who couldn’t be happy unless he was serving. Well, the counter part to that would be an Owner who needed to own, who couldn’t be happy unless they were being served. That’s me! That’s me I wanted to tell him; I’m a broken person too, by your definition. He continued on about how if someone was healthy and happy and whole, they could be happy by themselves. They didn’t need anyone to make them happy. They could be the last person on earth and still be happy.
That phrase was what I plucked out of all of this.
They could be the last person on earth and they would still be happy.
Days passed and I thought on this, and one other subject that was brought up. I was still trying to figure out why I was so upset. What about this was driving me to the brink of madness? I finally employed the greatest tool that I have: my phone.
Four texts went out. Could you ever truly be happy if you were the last person on earth? No. No, I need friends to share my life with. Yes, it’d be easier if I didn’t have to worry about anyone else, just living for myself, living off the land. It wouldn’t matter, because without someone to make me a cheeseburger, I’d die anyhow! Okay, the last one made me laugh, and I have to agree with that.
The point was that most of my friends needed friends in their lives in order to be happy. They had to have other people. So I went to the smartest kitty I know and I posed the situation, the hypothetical, and took his response to heart: A person should be able to be happy without the influence of anyone else, but if being around people makes them happy, then that’s fine.
So I finally had that settled in my mind. For the past year, I’ve been alone. Oh, I still have jhusdhui, in that we live together, we love one another, but we don’t have a romantic relationship. We don’t have a D/s relationship. I mourned the loss of that relationship along with the loss of my marriage and I reconciled my feelings about them both — or so I thought.
Today as I was driving home, I went back over this topic in my mind, getting ready to unleash it all on Blake. This is how we work. We’ll take days or we’ll talk for days about the same thing, until we’ve got it all out. I was thinking about what he said about letting a slave go after I’d poured myself into them. I was thinking about a unique Master/slave relationship I’ve been reading about in which a gay Leatherman owns a dyke and how they’ve worked together like that for over a decade. I always thought those were the best stories. I drew upon my own experiences from my role playing days, where the two that served my character best were never his “mates” or his romantic love interests. One of them he’d had a sexual relationship with for a period of time and the other had never been touched by him in that way. The people behind those characters and I are still friends to this day, and I regard those as some of my best D/s successes. So where does a slave fit into my life?
Then I thought without labels, which is something that I’ve been trying to do a lot more lately. There was this one person. One person came to mind. One person that I spent so many years of my life with. Someone that I took in, that took me in, where we grew and fed off of each other. I taught him how I wanted things and he was subservient to me. I always called the shots, except in money. But I always made the decisions: where we moved to, when, if he was allowed to work somewhere new, where we were allowed to eat for dinner, major purchases, all of those things. He was a broken person. In the end, when he finally healed, he left. When he no longer needed me to be happy, when he found his own happiness, I had to let him go. Even though he was now more the person I had wanted all along, and I could have dragged my feet and probably fought to keep him, I just let him go. I wanted to see him happy. Also, he wasn’t what I needed any longer. So we got divorced.
Maybe that was why it took me so long to see it, to register it. Maybe that’s why I got so angry over this topic. I’ve already been there. I’ve already done that. I poured all of my heart into one person, taught them how to love me, shared all of my darkest secrets with them, confided my fears about being a Sadist into them, gave them my happiness, showed them the things I could show them, and in the end, what do I have to show for it? Nothing. Except that perhaps he will not hate me, have learned from me, and have another successful relationship after me. That would be good enough for me.
As for me…I still seek a slave. I guess I will always be that broken person, if you subscribe to Blake’s line of thinking about what a slave truly is. I don’t.
