I drove back this afternoon, the weather cold but sunny, a leisurely drive. My only concern was staying awake, as I am tired from my week with Kevin. I kept drinking coffee along the way, playing music, and thinking about Who I Am Now.
I still imagine what other people think, wonder how I am judged, and fear facing the glaring humiliation in others’ eyes. Some part of me still is sixteen-year-old Baptist Girl in a plaid skirt with suspenders over a virgin white blouse, trying so hard to be sexually pure and sinless. These are smaller vestiges of me than ever before, but they are still there and they emerge from time to time. Like after a sex week with Kevin.
Those are mostly ghosts from my past, but I wrestle with them when they appear. I think perhaps they are necessary in my life, for without them, it would be easy. As subs and slaves, I think it is important that what we do is forbidden and alternative and shocking. We do it because we are made this way and need it, but we are pleasure to others because it is hard. Our need, and our Other’s delight, is in the humiliation of it.
We are seen for what we are, and judged, by our ghosts. And that’s what this is supposed to be.
I think I understand that, but driving home I still ask myself what I’ve done here, and what does this mean and wonder Who I Am Now.
But I’ve written too long already about the negative. The car ride was 25 percent that, but 75 percent smiles, tired as they may be.
In fact, it was a good week, a positive time with Kevin, with the constant awareness that I was pleasing my mistress in being available to him. I helped create joy and pleasure. And that in itself is a pretty good ghostbuster.
Truth be told, I rather like this odd life I’m in. I am a submissive beautifully dominated. And I have permission to be the sexual woman I am.
In a way, slavery has made me free.