I recently went back over east to visit my family for two weeks because my sister was getting re-married. I hadn’t met the guy she was getting married to and I only found out his last name during the actual ceremony when the celebrant was doing the vows i.e. Do you John Doe take Jane Doe to be your lawfully wedded wife? So from the beginning it was an interesting experience.

I’ve often wondered whether I would ever bother getting remarried if the situation presented itself. I think there is definitely something truly magical about the first time you get married and I think every girl deserves to have her special day, but second time around? I think I would find it all very uninspiring.

In all honesty, I think my sister felt that way too. There was a definite feeling of ‘whatever’ about the finer details of the wedding and reception (even though they had obviously put a lot of thought into most things). I found it particularly telling when I saw her carefully preserved bouquet from her first marriage, sitting in its frame in the centre of her living room, while her second bouquet died quietly without any fanfare in a vase on the spare fridge near the toilet in my grandmother’s house. We saved the ribbons for her in case she wanted them, but I doubt she’ll even bother picking them up.

She and I angsted over every single detail, striving for perfection when we first got married, but neither of those marriages lasted, so are you better off actually having an ‘okay’ wedding and a much better relationship to back it up with?

The reason I was thinking about this topic was because I felt it was particularly pertinent to my slavery 2.0 (or maybe it’s 3.0 now…) Way back when – 8 years ago to be precise – I did the slavery thing for the very first time and it was all rainbows and unicorns. Everything was new and exciting and I *wanted* to experience these things for the first time. Even when it wasn’t actually rainbows and unicorns, it still felt like rainbows and unicorns because it was the first time for me to do any of that stuff that had only existed in my fantasies.

When I came to be with M, there was some familiar slavey stuff, but there was still enough new stuff mixed in to keep a fair amount of the rainbows and unicorns feeling. Now seven years later, I’m starting all over again and nothing is new, nothing is fresh, I’ve already had my cherry popped for most things and so I’m finding it hard to recapture that excitement that I once had.

Excitement will often get you over that hurdle of fear and it will also often allow you to submit to things that you would balk at if the fire in your belly wasn’t burning so brightly. Without the excitement, slavery becomes hard.

But it also becomes very honest.

You have to knuckle down and go deeper in yourself to stay focussed and submit. You also find that instead of happily skipping down the crumb trail of your own pleasure and excitement, there’s only one thing waiting at the end of the yellow brick road: acceptance of what you are.

There are no fireworks, no bunches of flowers, no flights of angels to sing you sweetly to your rest. It’s just dark, quiet and very internal.

And of course, no reboot with M is complete without many, many pairs of boots.



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