(Just delving into some past experiences while plague/ Master’s absence and general blog topic drought continues…)
My first bdsm experiences were…in a word…regrettable. A short flurry of fun and games in a very brief honeymoon period and then nothing. Days and weeks of nothing.
I remember driving myself crazy at one stage trying to figure out my former owner’s ‘grand design’ for me. I used to think that there had to be a reason he was ignoring me and didn’t seem to give a toss about our relationship. Was he testing me? Was this some grand scheme for me to prove how committed I was to him? His seeming lack of interest in play and sex and everything else that I’d gotten into that relationship for had to be for a purpose, right?
I’d cycle wildly through conflicting emotions of guilt that I wasn’t doing enough and therefore wasn’t seen to be ‘suitable’ or ‘valuable’ enough to be used, and seething anger that my situation was nobetter than before. I’d given up everything to be with him and for what? But was I the one at fault? Was I not slavey enough or attractive enough for him? Was he disappointed in me? Did he want to get rid of me but couldn’t? Doubts and more doubts bubbled to the surface.
I wrote some things in my blog, but I never really reproached him for what he did or didn’t do. I assumed that it wasn’t my place to say stuff. I also felt that saying negative things might also relegate me from tenaciously ground to plunging down the cliff face. I hadn’t done anything bad that I knew of, but it always felt like I was being punished.
Life in general also made me angry. He stayed home, I went out to do shiftwork. Every weekend we would have his kids. Cycling home on weekdays I’d be imagining all the things that we could be doing with our time together because I knew that once the weekend came, there would be kids everywhere. But days of nothing went by and before I knew it, it was the weekend again. I actually started getting angrier and more jealous with the kids. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or buy for them, yet there wasn’t a thing he would do for me. Money that we didn’t have was spent on buying mountains of dvds for them and toys. After working 14hr days and getting home at 1am, I’d arrive home to see that he’d cooked a baked dinner and had dessert with the kids. All that would be left for me were the empty, dirty dishes and crap all over the house. I’d open up another can of baked beans in the dark house and seethe. Then I’d feel guilty because I was the slave and anything he gave me was a privilege and I shouldn’t be expecting things.
It was much, much later when I learned the very important distinction between ‘use’ and being ‘used’.
All of this was a long time ago and now my life is incomparable. The sad thing is that the whole experience scarred me in a lot of ways and changed me into who I am today- a soul who is a lot more insecure and who was constantly waiting for the honeymoon to be ‘over’. I went a bit psycho when I first moved here to be with Master, more than anything due to the permanent markings that were surreptitiously put onto me and that made me wonder, ‘What the fuck am I going to do with them once he gets sick of me and tosses me aside?’ Master often jabs me about it saying, “So you really thought I’d get sick of you, did you? Eighteen months and counting now…”
I was the one who ended up asking for my metal collar to be removed in my first relationship. I’d stewed and stewed and sat up in bed one morning and asked him, “What is your grand plan?” He said he didn’t know. I asked him if he wanted things to work between us. He said yes. Then I asked him to take it off so I could think. That particular collar never went back onto my neck.
An incident of collar removal here about two weeks after I’d first arrived because I’d freaked and said that I ‘can’t do it’ seriously gave me deja vu. Master had removed my collar because he thought that that was what I wanted, but what I really wanted was the security of it and the sense that there was no backing out. To know that it could come off so ‘easily’ made me even more insecure. I felt that he really didn’t want it to be on there in the first place- I mean, if you can take it off within the space of a few breaths, how much do you really want it to stay on there? Fortunately it’s been securely on there ever since and I don’t even have any idea where the allen key is.
What thou shalt not know, thou shalt not need to know.