I’ve had a different feeling the last few days. I’m not sure I can explain it, and I’m afraid in doing so it will be misunderstood. But I’ll try to anyway.
I have often written about the historical figure of the courtesan in European Renaissance societies. I won’t go into that again — I wrote about it here and here. Simply put, a courtesan was a kind of escort/slave in royal circles, accepted by those societies as having a legitimate functions that included companionship, conversation, creative arts, offering visual entertainment, and providing sexual pleasures.
I have obviously been fascinated by the role of the courtesan, and you might say in more colloquial terms that I have “wanted some day to grow up to be one.”
Well, now I think I “be one.”
I am, of course, Amanda’s sex slave, literally and fully, and also her friend and lover. All of those “relationship roles” were in fact the nature of a Renaissance courtesan in the royal courts long ago.
I am also a “companion” to Kevin, his escort and sexual companion. This is by proxy of my courtesan-ship to Amanda, a lending of me to another. This sort of social and sexual sharing was fashionable in courtesan societies.
I would mention as well our neighbor friends, John and Patricia Miller. Even though I have no submissive relationship with them, they are aware of most all of my slave life, and I am shared with them visually and conversationally. They are in a sense some of the side figures of our “royal court” who witness the life of my slavery.
And now there is Master McKenna. Much remains to be known about him, of course, but it seems I will be something of his surrogate slave-in-training. Again, this is in keeping with a courtesan’s variety of life experiences and uses.
Like courtesans of a previous era, I am now the property of a number of people in different forms and functions.
This is the different feeling I have now. I have stepped into this neo-courtesan life. It’s not a bad feeling. Like I say, I have kind of wanted to grow up to be one. I take a kind of pleasure in the idea of it.
No, it’s not a bad feeling, but it is, for sure, different.