For the first time in 14 years I sat behind the wheel of a car and I have to say, it was…empowering.
And it was not just any old car – it was Master’s beloved Range Rover – and it was at the mercy of my steering and braking.
Of course, along with feeling empowered, I was totally mortified and also nearly shitting myself. I had visions of plowing into Master in the car in front of me or driving over somebody who happened to stray into my path. Fortunately, I wasn’t really ‘driving’ it per se. I was only steering and braking as Master towed it along with his Hyundai (since the beloved rangie had suddenly decided that two blocks from home was a really good place for its transmission to die.)
I’m not sure whether feeling empowered is such a good thing for a slave. In fact, I’ve spent nearly the last four years attempting to surrender my power and learning to depend upon my domly one for decision-making. And I’d have to admit that the training has been quite effective. If I was a bit indecisive before I became a slave, I now can’t make a decision to save my life.
As an example, when rangie died and I was sitting there thinking, “What the fuck are we going to do?’, Master had already jumped out of the car and was walking for home to get the Hyundai and all the necessary straps and tools for towing. He quickly returned, then calmly directed me as to where to attached things and then gave me instructions for driving that began with which pedal was the brake. All the while, staying very cool, calm and collected. He was like a sea captain steering his ship through a raging storm – sure-footed and exuding confidence to keep his crew together.
That’s not to say I don’t have a driver’s license. I have a crisp, shiny, gold driver’s license that generally serves no other purpose than getting me into nightclubs. I got my license when I was seventeen and spent a blissful two months enjoying the freedom of wheels, before I failed to give way to another car at an intersection and broke a physics law by having two bodies in the same place and time of the continuum. There was a lot of blood (the other driver’s) and damage (both cars were total and near write-offs) and three days later I left for Japan with bruises all over my body from the seat belt and impacting with the steering wheel and parking brake handle. I haven’t been behind a wheel since…until yesterday that is.
I’ve often thought about getting some driving lessons and maybe starting to drive again. God knows, in Perth it would be infinitely useful, as we live in the ‘twilight zone’ of public transport accessibility. But Master’s comment when I voiced my plans for ‘slave freedom’ by starting driving again was,
To be honest, I think some part of me was really relieved when he said no. I’m actually still quite scared about the whole concept of driving, and in some strange, twisted way, being at the ‘mercy’ of public transport and Master’s transport makes me somehow feel….more slavey?? I somehow think that being able to go where I want, when I want would be like putting another nail in the coffin of my slavery.
And then I was thinking,
“Am I that insecure in my slavery that putting me behind the wheel of a car would spell the beginning of the end?”
You may have noticed from the tone of my entries lately that I’m in a sort of mid-slavery crisis – re-evaluating expectations and what I am and what I’m not. I don’t know exactly where I fit in, in the bdsm scheme of things, but I’m thinking more and more about the importance of being true to yourself and doing what makes ‘you’ (i.e. Master and I)happy as opposed to what is ‘expected’ to make you happy as per the roles you have taken on.
I haven’t got any answers yet. When I do, I’ll let you know.
Until then, I’ll continue to be freaked out about being placed in the driver’s seat of the beloved rangie.