This podcast is about an hour long and the cast is a large one consisting of eight people. There are four Masters, three of which also identify as a Daddy and three slaves plus one girl. The topic “All praise the Master” is discussion around an idea that “any praise the Master gets is showered upon the slave”.
I cringe a bit listening through this podcast today realizing how much of what is edited and a bulk of what is left behind is very personal. I had to stop listening at one point and went to go sleep, because I didn’t want to relive this conversation. After my nap I tried to listen again and found myself wanting to turning it off again, but worked through my emotions and listened to the end. I feel I have come a long way in a short time. This podcast conversation is actually rather benign, but touches on the edge of some other personal issues that are painful memories. There is a part of me that felt haunted hearing myself in this podcast saying the words, “It was my fault, I chose to stay” and “I don’t know why I stayed.”
Reflecting on the topic of Praise as discussed throughout this edition of Structured By Design, I find myself agreeing with one of the Masters who says praise rolls both ways, uphill from the slave and down hill from the Master. This comment reminded me of a class I took by River Dark called, “Caring and Feeding of he Top” where River spoke about the praise and appreciation rolling uphill from the /s to the Master. I also am thinking about one slave saying how important it is to know the other persons love language. Things I will spend time pondering more over the coming weeks.
I hope you decide to tune in and take a seat to listen to the most recent release of Structured by Design and feel free to leave comments here or at their blog page.
In Leather and Steel,
It’s not uncommon in power or authority exchange relationships for the dominant person to require the submissive partner to keep a journal. There is no one way, standard, or set of rules for keeping a journal. The most common types I have heard of are the old fashion paper bound style and online style. Most commonly the dominant partner has access to reading the journal, but a rare few tell their charges that the journal is solely for them and that the dominant will not be reading it. Just as the style of journal keeping varies, so does the intent and purpose of its existence. Continue reading
A friend recently asked these questions of me and I thought they deserved a thoughtful reply. He was prompted to ask after I congratulated the recent Florida Power Exchange’s 2014 contest winners on their new title. The FPE is a feeder contest into the International Power Exchange contest held at Beyond Leather in south Florida. I am a past IPE title holder.
I’m curious what your view is toward these power exchange competitions. Can anyone outside a relationship ever really know what goes on inside of it? What does it even mean to award a title to a relationship? To me, frankly, when I first heard of this competition, I could not understand it and still have trouble with the concept.
Just wondering, now that you’ve been through it all and held the title, what you think of this competition.
I don’t believe anyone can really ever know what goes on inside a relationship other than the people inside the relationship. Continue reading
[Writing prompt; 30 Days of Truth, Day 14; “A Hero That Has Let You Down” (letter) ]
I struggled with writing my truth. I am sure it has been over a week. I started and started and then started again. This was so difficult, because one thing that is important to me in my writing is that I tell my story and that I write about me. Too often, some of the most “loved” and “popular” writings are from people saying a whole lot of nothing about people other than themselves. I realize my writings may never be the most loved or popular, but that is not my goal. What I am striving towards is authenticity. Then while doing a little research, I had an epiphany, that made me understand why I kept discarding my writings. I think this is worth sharing openly, because that is my nature. Open…
This is the hardest letter I have ever written.
To the Hero who let me down,
This is what I have learned today: Continue reading
I went into Build-A-Bear for the first time ever two days ago, on my birthday. There was a black bear at the entrance area and I started to cry. It was the bear I had always wished you would get me. The one you made me feel that I was never worthy enough to receive.
My little sister Jade stayed by my side and told me we would get sister bears and she quickly picked out a NYC bear. She told me this is the only place you can get one of these, they are unique to the NYC store. She repeated that we were going to get sister bears now and it was okay, she would stay with me as long as it took for me to find just the right bear. I promised to try to keep an open mind. I looked and looked and I couldn’t choose anything. My sister was patient, she said, “It’s okay, we will keep looking and you will know it’s the right one, when you feel that bond.” All around me were little uniforms, military, police, and hero outfits. This made me sad, but I tried to hide it. Time passed and I still could not commit, nothing felt right. I couldn’t bond to anything. Continue reading
…is the topic for this Sunday, August 3, 2014 MAsT (Masters And slaves Together) Metro NY meeting. The timing of the topic is perfect for me, because I am in the midst of looking at and defining what it is that I want from a relationship and Trust was number one on the list. I believe trust is a basic tenant of any healthy relationship. I feel that within power and authority based relationship that need for trust becomes intensified exponentially. As a girl, when I enter a hierarchical relationship, I am giving a person my trust and access what makes me most vulnerable. Opening oneself up, making oneself vulnerable, turning over your power to another, following obediently takes immense trust. A misuse of that trust has the potential to do great harm. Trust is sacred.
A quick disclaimer: I am not a slave. I do seek a hierarchical relationship, so since this are my thoughts about the topic tomorrow. I will use the M/s and O/p terminology for simplicity sake. I mention this, because there is an enormous difference between a slave and a girl within the BDSM culture. I do think a girl can fit into an M/s household if the Master finds purpose to have such a person belong. Okay, now some more thoughts on the topic… Continue reading
On Friday, at 1:50am, I was leaving my apartment in Brooklyn and walking to the subway. It was the beginning and in some ways the end of a tiring journey. In the 48 hours before that, I had worked 3 shifts that equaled 22 hours and that doesn’t include my travel time on the subways. I had gotten home and cooked some fresh asparagus and mushrooms, and mixed it with ramen noodles. I hear my little sister’s voice in my head, as I so often do these days, and she says, “fresh produce is a luxury.” I refuse to let this luxury rot and waste, so I force myself to do what I so easily do for others, and I cook a healthy meal and I sit to eat. I did a little “bano de gato”, packed the only suit case I have – a little duffle bag/tote, brushed my hair and my teeth, and headed out the door. I am flying down to Florida. I had asked for these days off far in advance, but plans change, life keeps moving, and so must I. Instead of cancelling my request for these days off, I choose to use this time to go visit my mother.
This is my first trip to JFK airport from my new home and the logistics are a bit daunting. One of the things I love about NY is public transit, but trying to figure out how to make this journey under two hours turns out to be difficult. At night the wait times are longer and there are all sorts of service changes and route modifications. After studying a variety of route options I give up and decide to go the way I know best. That involves going past my old home, not something I relish as I generally avoid this area and the memories that haunt me there. Yet, I decide it is the one way I feel sure of knowing where I am going and how long it will take. I take the D train to the 3 train and because I am tired I miss getting off at my old stop where I could have gotten the B15 bus, and easily gotten a seat, to JFK. I figure it was meant to happen that way and stay on the 3 train to the end of the line where I could still get the B15 sans the seat
I know a fair number of EDP’s (emotionally disturbed people) ride the subway and busses here in NY pretty much all year round. While I rode the few extra stops on the 3 train a women enters the train and sits across from 2 girls beside me and begins to beg for money. One of the girls tries to give her some change, but her partner gets angry and yells at the girl with the change in her hand, “Why you doin’ that?! Don’t give her that! We ain’t got enough for ourselves!” The panhandler starts to yell at the girl about that at least she has a home etc. blah, blah, blah. I feel badly, so I look in my bag for my golden apple. Finally I find it and offer it to the panhandler. She didn’t want it. I tried to offer it again, and again she wouldn’t take it. Sometimes I am so naïve, I just stare at her mystified and the women suddenly becomes aggressive. She stands up and starts to yell at me, holds her arm out, and with her mouth makes a sound like “boom” while she holds her fist in front of my face. She is imitating a gun. I decide to act a little crazy myself and stand up and stare her down. I don’t know why, but I thought I should just stand up for myself. I know, I know! Not the smartest thing I have ever done, but I just didn’t feel like being a good girl! I will not be your good girl! Hah. Um, yea… The train stops and the women decides to get off the train. I sit back down and wait for the final station to get off, then walk down to the bus stop to meet up with the B15 to JFK.
I am waiting at the bus stop with two other ladies and they start talking about a woman on the train who was screaming and acting crazy. I realize it was the same women who tried to bully me and we start sharing our stories. I told them she wanted the ten cents change from the two other girls more than she wanted my apple! I go on about how fresh fruit and vegetables are a luxury these days and how my apple was worth at least .75 cents to $1.00. They nod in agreement and say amen to my sermon. The ladies keep talking and I realize they know each other from seeing each other daily at this stop on their way to work. One notices my bag and asks about my trip. I tell them I am going to visit my mother. That I need to make sure she is okay and that I need to show her that I am okay too. Then I say, “You never get too old to go visit your mother.” I got quiet for a second and said, “Well, not everyone has a good mother.” They nod their heads in agreement.
I am fortunate. My mother knew how to show me love. Granted, after my father died, my mother went all kinds of crazy. I defend her though and say, she did the best she could, with the limited skill sets she had. My father didn’t plan to get cancer, die, and leave my mother with four young children. It sucks, it just happened. It doesn’t matter how much money he left her and other security he provided, because in the end my mother did not have the emotional or intellectual skills needed to take over all the things he did for her.
When I look back, in many ways they had a D/s or M/s relationship. Daddy was the Decider and the Provider and he was very good at it. He created the calm and quiet in our home and family life. He was the teacher, guide, and nurturer. We knew the rules, we had structure and family rituals. I know in the last years my father did what he could to set up support for my mom, but time was too short. My mother took care of the house, the kids, and of him, and she did it well, but that was all she knew. Financial and other worldly matter where all on him. Life was hard after he died, but I still feel I was fortunate. My mother showed me how to love with an open heart. I know not everyone has a mother like mine. I love my mother with all my heart. I never close any part of my heart to her. Nothing could ever make me turn away from her and nothing could ever make me say, “I hate you” to her. I think she was a slave to my father and after he died she stayed alive by being a slave to her children.
I’m in my mother’s home and she wants me to stay. I worry about her. She isn’t well and she isn’t getting the care she deserves. Then again, she won’t let my brothers help her the way she lets me help her. When I arrived to her home I laid in bed in “my room”. Yes, my mother still has a room just for me. She now has my clothes hung up nicely in the closet, more items folded neatly in a dresser, pictures in frames that are mine on the walls, and even though she knows He has hurt me, she leave a picture of Him on the bookcase shelf. She understands there is no because in love and no reason to search for why. That people come into our lives for a reason. I say to her that He brought me to NY and that maybe that was his purpose in my life. I tell her how I have good friends now, who care about me, and help me when I need it. As much as I want to be a good daughter and stay here to help my mother I know that this is my chance to grow. I have determination, perseverance, and vision. I hope she understands. I know she misses me and needs me, but I want to return to NY. I thought my life’s big adventure was starting a year and a half ago, but I was wrong.
My adventure is starting now.