Friday afternoon. I was waiting for Master to come and pick me up and attempting to finish my worksheet making/ planning for next week. All the other teachers had disappeared from the school grounds as fast as their cars could carry them, except one who poked her head in and asked if I’d started a countdown yet for the end of prac. I didn’t think it would be wise to tell her that I’d had a countdown going on my msn since week one, so I just said that I was glad it was the last week. She then launched into an anecdote about her experience on prac and how she’d nearly failed because her mentor teacher was a complete and utter bastard to her and how much better it was once you had your own class:
“You can just put your mask on, go into the classroom and do your little performance.”
With that revelation she said bye and left. I, meanwhile was left sitting there thinking,
Yes, we all have a mask, but which one is really you and which one is the mask?
I’ve talked a little bit before about how apparently a lot of people involved in education are into bdsm. Her comment about the ‘mask’ made me wonder if that was the reason why. Masks let us be something we are not for a limited period of time. A teacher puts on the mask of ‘all-seeing, all-knowing wise one’ for the duration of the class and a slave or a dom puts on a mask whenever they play. It seemed natural to think that it would be easy for someone who was used to spending a great deal of their working lives behind a mask, to crave one in their private lives as well.
In many ways I see bdsm as ‘playing a role’. No matter how many times I read blogs saying otherwise, for 99.999% of us I believe it’s not possible to ‘be’ a sub or a dom 24/7. There’s that other big thing called life which doesn’t allow us to live out our lives in a cage -with removal only for periods of sexual service- or to while away the days being waited on hand and foot by a plethora of gorgeous naked women. The reality is that we put on our masks and perform our roles for the allotted time then put the mask away and go about the task of living life.
I’ve always enjoyed being something I’m not. I even went through that whole angsty teenager thing of wanting to be on the stage and did drama at school and became a member of of the local theatre group. It was probably during this time that I got a taste for the pleasure of putting on a mask and having the freedom to be something I wasn’t.
My little ‘breaking’ event which occurred several weeks ago, left me feeling very raw and vulnerable- as though everything had been stripped away, both literally and figuratively. The masks had been peeled from me like layers off an onion and there I was, nothing more and nothing less than what I really was. I keep harping on aboutit, but the whole experience really shook me to the core. Now I’m beginning to think that I even have different masks in my slavery and each one gives me a different set of attributes and strengths. The other night at the party, I probably had my ‘tough slut’ mask on instead of the ‘slightly wussie slut’ mask I’ve had on since then.
But I keep wondering so what is the real me?
Was that the real me that night when I was broken, or are there still layers of masks that need to be removed?
Only time will tell I guess.