Lunch with Master

Master and I spent part of the day together today. At first I was really nervous, I guess I’m still waiting on some level for the other shoe to hit the floor. But it went really well. I love spending time with Him, I like how He touches me, that He allows me to touch Him. For the first time along my adult journey, its rare for someone to want to touch me outside of being in the middle of sex. Don’t get me wrong, please, I do want Master… I love the feel of His hands on my body, and want more...

I like how I feel with Him and how He treats me. I’ve never really had a partner before who was good to me, and Master is. I am not even going to offer the argument that our relationship is still new and things could change, because the way that Master listens to me and wants to know about me has been there from day one... even when we were just friends. I do have feelings for Him, and they become stronger each time I see Him. I’m not sorting that out right now, I just want to enjoy time with Him. I do want to please Master, very much... and I can’t wait to see Him again.

Control

Last night an old Friend (YahooGuy) messaged me on yahoo. It was good to talk with him again, it has been a couple years. Yet our conversation brought back memories of things I once desired... He is heavily into physical control, sensory deprivation, and strict protocol. And at one time, so was I.

Parts of me miss those physical expressions of control, but I think what I miss the most was the peace that comes within that power. The control that MathMan exerts over me now is different. YG didn’t care much to hear my thoughts, feelings, or expressions. He feels a slave’s mouth has but one use, for His pleasure. If I had begged for a moment to express myself to Him, He would allow it. Yet MathMan wants to know everything going on in my head – that is what pleases Him. I like that, even though it is new. I really think that as MathMan and I progress, I have confidence that opening up to Him will be easier for me, and then He will know everything about me... and perhaps that will be a sweeter form of control.

As much as I dislike the books, there are a few selections that resonate with me. One that comes to mind this morning, is:

He looked on her intently. He studied her. He gave her great attention. She turned her head to one side, her wrists secured in many turns of the binding fiber, her fists clenched....on earth many men did not even know their wives...Never, truly had they seen them. But a MathMan will know every inch, and care for every inch, of one of his slave girls. He will know every hair, every sweet blemish of her. In a way she is nothing to him, for she is only a slave. But in another way she is very important to him. She is one of his women. He will know her. He will want to know her completely, every inch of her body, every inch of her mind. Nothing less will satisfy him. She is his property. He will choose to know his property thoroughly. ~ Hunters of Gor

Remembering

Of course I remember what I was doing. I was on campus, coming out of an upper level Human Resource class, my cell phone had three voicemails on it from my then-chain-brother. The whole campus was in panic, people calling home, going home, leaving Knoxville in fear that Oak Ridge would be next. I obeyed the messages that called me home. Everything was errily silent. A couple friends came to the house, my Owner was almost in a catonic state after hearing the news, pixie was there worried of her then-Master. The day passed so slowly, tvs and radios on, praying the phone would ring with news of Peoples safety...

I didn't allow myself to think about what was going on in New York, or the horror those Americans were experiencing... I had to be the strong person and take care of everyone else. (I guess some things never change.) It was much later in the next year, before I begin to really think about it. This morning I woke with it heavy on my mind, and when I found the story of Michael Hingson, I knew I had to share it.

Mr. Hingson is a blind man who worked on the 80th floor of the first building, and his guide dog, Roselle, who lead him safely down the stairs and got him safely home, even in the midst of the second building being attacked.


Roselle
by Michael Gaither

On that 9-11 morning when the planes came down,
He was sitting as his desk 80 stories from the ground.
We saw it on the tv, and though he didn’t see a thing,
When they hit, he reached for her, and she looked up at him.

Roselle the guide dog, she was sleeping on the floor,
She stood up and knew it was time to hit the door.
Roselle didn't panic or hesitate at all,
She just took his hand and led him down the hall.

We all need our own Roselle sometimes.
We all need our own Roselle sometimes.
A friend who'll lead you from the dark into the light,
We all need our own Roselle sometimes.

They went down a stairwell through smoke and broken glass,
She kissed the firemen as they ran quickly past.
When he felt the other tower fall he just prayed they’d be all right,
Then by the grace of a dog - they walked outside.

Outside in the wreckage he wondered where to go,
Then this yellow lab walked him to a cab.
That took 'em both back home.

I've heard angels walk among us, and I'd say it's true,
'cause I know one walks on four legs,
And wags hers tail when she looks at you.

We all need our own Roselle sometimes.
We all need our own Roselle sometimes.
A friend who'll lead you from the dark into the light,
We all need our own Roselle sometimes.