I’ve been having a bit of a think of late. A think about many things, but mostly about my ego and my general inability to put the One who should go before all else, where he should be:
First and foremost.
He is a prominent part of my life, but I usually have to look behind me to see him. Because I’m there, out front. Me and my wants and wishes and needs are right out there in the lead. Sure I’ll happily do the little things that don’t interfere with my priorities – being me, myself and I – like serve his food before I get mine, play his fetch and carry bitch and make sure his bed is made before he comes home on Wednesday and Friday nights. But there are so many things that I struggle to…really struggle to…do without resentment because they involve me putting him first.
I have always wished and prayed that someday I would come to a peace. A quiet place where I’d shut the fuck up and be a complement rather than an equal in his life. But I’ve realised that that will never happen, simply because of how our whole relationship started.
I began down this path because I wanted something. I wanted something so much that I became blind to everything else. Nothing else mattered: marriage vows, countries, lives and futures were all pushed aside because I wanted something. I wanted it; so I went out and got it.
The whole premise of me becoming a slave was based on my wants and needs. I was the priority. I needed a very specific type of relationship and what I wanted was very firmly set in my mind. I believe this is so for anyone involved in consensual slavery. Unless you’re whisked off in the middle of the night on the back of camel and held against your will, you’re a slave because you want something – you want your itch scratched, your leash held, your needs met. When that ain’t happening, that’s when the slaves revolt.
I’ve done a lot of compromising in my time as a slave. I’ve done a lot of things I never wanted to or dreamed I would ever do. I’ve re-adjusted things upstairs, realised that fantasies are not real life and come to an understanding of myself as a needy, wanton slut. On the flip-side, I’ve also discovered that the longer I’m a slave, the more it becomes about me. I used to be a ‘whatever my Master wants is what I want’ slightly disillusioned slave, but now I’m a person with very clear ideas about what I do and don’t like and I’m not afraid to let him know about it.
I used to think that made me a bad slave. But now I think that just makes me, me.