And that, I tried to explain, is exactly why I said no. Because I will simply tell him No to such things, without consulting anyone. Because I'm feisty, and rebellious, and there's not a damn thing that I will ever do simply because he (or anyone) has 'said so.' I have to be convinced, manipulated, or bribed into doing anything I don't inherently enjoy doing.
After telling him all of the reasons I am not his slave, I finally got around to asking his opinion.
"If I want you to be feisty, then feisty doesn't mean you aren't my slave," He said. "I don't want you to not challenge me, and I don't want to change or suppress your nature. I know what the dictionary definition of slavery is, and it doesn't matter. What matters is you and I. Yes, you are my slave."
I smiled, of course. I worship him. I would do anything for him. Including try to suppress my nature -- and I did do that for as long as I could stand, once upon a time. (Not that it worked. At all. But I tried.) Of course I am his slave. He is my god. My One.
Remembering his dislike for the impersonal title, I was left with a question. "Does this mean you are my Master?"
"Yes," he answered. And then we made love.
He gave me words to say. Vows to repeat. And as I said them against his shoulder, I remembered words I had once written. Lines and vows that I had put to paper, intending for them to be a part of our Someday. Intending to say them as part of a collaring ceremony. The familiarity of what he asked me to speak was not at all suprising.
And, in the end, all I could speak was Him. Daddy. D. My god. My master. My everything.
I'm not a licensed therapist. But there is a boy at work (Alright, I think he's 48, but still) that I counsel. I really enjoy it. It brightens my day just to have him come and talk to me, and unload a little. It happens around once a week. Maybe 15 or 20 minutes. Short sessions, but they seem to help him.
They help me, too. I'm refining my method.
I'm establishing that I want to do this. That I can do it. That it won't mess up my life and sanity to take on someone else. That I can let it go, at the end of the day, and live.
I'm verifying that -- years from now -- it will be worth the money for schooling.
You: I think I'm gonna do this, so that you can have alone time.
Me: I don't really need alone time. I'd rather you stay with me.
You: Well, I already told (other person) that I was going to.
I know you don't like to cancel things. So why say 'I think' when what you really mean is 'I am?' Why present it as an idea for discussion, when it doesn't matter what I say about it? And, if it does matter, why would you tell me after it can't be changed?
I accept fully that you don't need my permission to do things. I know and like which of us has control. What sucks is when it seems like you're talking to me, when really you're just telling me. What hurts is when it feels like you're letting me stand, and then the rug is pulled from under me. I don't mind kneeling. Being thrown to the ground unexpectedly isn't cool.
I have been wanting to write a post about Jae, specifically, and how I feel.
The problem is, every time I sit down to do it, words escape me. Or, they come, but I'm not sure if I should really let them out of my head.
I love him. There is that. Those words are too simple, though. The world is complicated.
All the complicated bits... Well, they have the potential to hurt. And I don't want that. So I sit quiet and keep it in my head, and in my heart.
There is a lot I would do for that man. Worlds. I would not sacrifice him. Nor allow myself to be pulled away. Not for anything less than troubles with Hubby, and then... Well, Hubby and I both acknowledge that Jae is important to me. My life, my health, my joy -- he is twined into them just as firmly as Hubby himself. Hubby is the only one with the right to ask that it end, and I have more than faith to assure me that he would not do so.
(No matter what your fear, Jae, he and I are in agreement on that.)
He calms me. I will admit, that is only if I allow it, but I often do. That look on his face reflects my own, and seeing it there is like sipping warm tea. (Perhaps I've mentioned that my favorite tea is called Tension Tamer?)
He stirs me. Something in him calls up the temptress and the tease in me, more consistantly than anyone I have known. The situation has required restraint, but the relationship makes that requirement nearly as much fun as the lack looks to be. In other words, at other times, I would say that he brings Aphrodite to the surface. And she loves -- I love -- to bathe in the sea of him.
I worry about him. Worry with him. Worry for him. I can't help that. I care too much. It's too much a part of my nature. I want to help if I can, and be there to support him even when I can't help. I want to know him. The good and the bad. I want to feel him.
It's complicated. Even this isn't everything, and it's muddled and unclear, even to me. I'm certain of two things: I love Jae. And I'm not going anywhere.