There is little within the BDSM and Leather community circles that I take seriously serious, and that is not because I am irreverent about everything.
OK well maybe it is, a bit.
And maybe it is because fringe communities so often be takin’ so much so got-dammed seriously, I do not see that the weight of my intensity needs to be added to the creaking, smoking, swaying pile of egos, protocols, rituals, labels, factions, fictions and fooliganism that is a preexisting condition for so many subcultures. We perverts are far, far from immune from this. Lord Ganesha knows I have my pet peeves and I’ve been vocal about some of ’em. And I am quite diplomatic about not baring my teeth and shredding-to-bone some trends and behaviours I find personally…well…absurd. Some of that is because, apparently, some people actually listen to what I have to say and believe it or not, while I am enamoured with being honest? I don’t see the need to stomp on the toes of others in order to make my own positions clear.
But I’m-a riff on something because it is relevant to some shit I’ve been mulling, and wish to share, and I want you to grok the context.
I see many, many people going from “friends with” to “considering” to “owned and collared” in their profiles within time-frames that seem…stupefyingly brief. Recently on a master / slave group I saw someone mentioning that they were bringing a collar to their first meeting with someone they’ve been conducting an LDR with for “a few months now” and, once they meet, they were going to have the slave “beg their collar.” If the supplication was pleasing to them, on the collar would go. It appears that often, there is no GROWTH or PROGRESSION into a committed M/S dynamic. If that is how you identify, you BEGIN your relationship in that dynamic from day one.
Now, I DO believe that yeah, sure, SOME people CAN meet and have amazing chemistry and just KNOW, IMMEDIATELY, that they are in the right configuration, headspace and place in their lives to make a decision as life-altering as taking on human property, or relinquishing their power to another human being on the spot. But I think that is über-rare and I’m just not buying that the majority of folks I see are in that headspace.
The “YKIOK!” framework is nice. But. It handily dilutes and diffuses shit that means something quite weighty. Like the gravity of concepts like “ownership.” “Mastery.” “Slavery.” All that. Yeah sure it means something different to everyone on a personal level but when people use a collar like kids used class rings back in the 50s, it …gives me pause.
I place an M/S relationship in the same league within which I place the gravity of marriage, parenting, domestic partnership, etc.: A Fucking Lifetime Commitment. It isn’t something to do with a wink and a hard-on or tingly bits and a backhand whisper “Well, hell, if it doesn’t work out, no biggie. I’ll just leave / release ’em!”
So for all of my irreverence? I do take M/S seriously. I have the added weight of never having been owned. Aside from a brief online “relationship” (which I have, BTW, retroactively annulled like a self-anointed Leather Pope) I haven’t ever called anyone my “master.” It is a Big. Fucking. Deal. Mind, I am a late bloomer. I had this desire to be controlled and to be submissive to someone else unearthed from my subconscious in 1993. by 1994 I was in the depths of my personal exploration and struggle with what that meant. By 1995 I was actively exploring BDSM and Leather as life paths. Since then I have done a great deal of thinking and processing and writing about Things, about Stuff, about what it will mean to be the property of another human being.
So I wanna make it clear to everyone that anyone referring to someone in my life as my “master” is not, at present, accurate. And while I refer to myself as “slave identified” I don’t refer to myself as anyone’s slave. Specifically? While I may be in escrow, the keys ain’t been handed over and The Dominant Guy and I are not at the point where those labels are appropriate.
Here I will share that it is one of my deepest desires to be his slave. His property. His. With everything I have been. Everything that I am. And all that I will become. All of me: shimmering and transparent and bestial and filthy. He is well worthy of that consideration.
And I will also share that he wants me to be his. To own all of me, all of that. I am well worthy of that consideration.
And I will furthermore share that this process is on an unhurried growth trajectory, and I hold dear the process as unfolds at the pace that permits me to grow and to absorb the experience as it finds its own feet, makes its own space.
It is ironic because my desire to submit to TDG blossomed within me…explosively so…rather soon after we met, only to be immediately pruned back with extreme prejudice and smooshed with TDG’s patented Zen Brick of Doom. And lemmie tells ya, that shit cures sub-frenzy, inflated expectations, flights of fancy and Cinderella complexes faster than a maxi-pad absorbs that blue liquid in a feminine hygiene product commercial. The Zen Brick of Doom (hereafter referred to, if need be, as the ZBoD) has been smartly deployed to my face several times in the past half year, and though it is not the most scintillating emotional teaching mechanism out there, I appreciate it in retrospect. See, getting popped in the face with a hard, simple truth smarts. Sometimes is smarts a lot and one bleeds a bit and cries and wonders “Fuck, this hurts! Why me Lord?!?”
Accepting these abrupt blows upside the id and rabbit punches to the ego have made the process we are undergoing strangely…manageable. Sustainable. Sometimes baffling and excruciating, yes. But it has fostered a level of trust that is unexpectedly intimate. And created fertile ground for my capacity to sit with my emotions, watch and feel their ebb and flow, and to breathe patience. The shit is tough some days but it gets a shade easier every day as I grow, every day. Sometimes I can even see the ZBoD coming and can brace for it, and breathe, and just accept the pain as growth.
So please…don’t rush to apply labels that don’t honor where I am, where we are. I’m learning to relish every bite of this process, enjoy the scent, mouth-feel, flavor and texture of my life at present. Sit quietly when it doesn’t agree with me, and still digest the hard lessons. Ultimately these feelings and experiences feed me and pull me closer to knowing the dichotomy of gorgeous fullness alongside receptive, peaceful emptiness as our dynamic takes root, grows and breathes.
I know what I want.
I know what he wants.
And I know we are on the same path.
And I am loving stopping to smell the flowers.