a neighbor’s comment

When I was in Colorado last time, I remember a question that one of the neighbors asked at the tea. I was in the kitchen assembling the tiered server with mini-scones. (We have taken to these smaller bite-sized pastries over the larger ones. People seem to be hesitant to take the full-sized scones — they are big — not wanting so much, and they feel it inappropriate to break off just a part of one. So, the mini-scones are more popular at the tea, although Amanda and I are sure that folks eat more “scone” in total with the minis.)

One of the neighbors had used the bathroom and upon her return stopped briefly in the kitchen to ask me this question: “Is it hard for you back in Pennsylvania, not being in your place as you are here? I mean, as a sex slave.”

I answered her, saying that yes, out in PA, I miss Amanda, of course, and I feel a little aimless. I spoke of my mother and how that was a lot to deal with yet rewarding — all things I’ve expressed here on the blog — but I added something about feeling in my submissive life in CO that I have purpose, which is missing in PA.

My response was something like that, and it didn’t go any further, as the time was brief and the moment had passed. But since then, I have recalled that conversation, thinking it notable in several ways.

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Primarily, I find it interesting that this neighbor had used the term “sex slave” to identify me. This is in fact true of me, of course, and I don’t feel any anguish over her using it of me. Her tone was genuine and friendly. It just made me realize how far this neighbor has come in understanding this lifestyle and what I am. And I have to assume others have evolved to some depth of awareness about me as well.

I also find it notable that she felt comfortable calling me a sex slave in front of me. Not only does she understand (and seemingly accept) that I am a woman living in a submissive life that is quite openly sexual, but that I am myself comfortable being addressed as such. She assumed (correctly) that I wouldn’t be offended by her calling me a sex slave to my face. I think it takes some maturity and comprehension to use the term casually with me as a point of description not disparagement.

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It is apparent to me that in my absence for most of eight months, Amanda has maintained and furthered relationships with the neighborhood. She has continued the monthly teas. Social butterfly that she is, she’s socialized with them in their homes, parties and summer BBQs and such. I have to think Amanda has, in her understated way, been creating in them a mind-space of increased acceptance of us, and of me in absentia.

This one neighbor’s comment makes me think that, during my hiatus, they all have had more time to assimilate the oddity that Amanda and I initially represented, to normalize us in their minds, and to accept what I am, a sex slave, as more natural and relational than pornographic.

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In my mused remembering of this, I have wondered if any of the men in the neighborhood would have likewise called me a sex slave. I don’t know. I welcome readers’ thoughts on this.

My sense of it in general is that men are eager to imagine me as a sex slave, but may be less likely to call me that to my face. Dominant men, yes, they call me what they will, but the average guy in our neighborhood group is a corporate professional likely schooled in some workplace sensitivities. So, maybe they think of me in disparaging words but are more civil to me in my presence.

Many women are also corporate professionals, but I have to think that sometimes they are threatened by me as a sex slave around their men. However, perhaps in time they find some satisfaction in calling me a “sex slave,” as it puts me in my place, so to speak. (Although this particular neighbor woman was not using the term “sex slave” in a demeaning way.)

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The other thing of note in this woman’s comment was her phrase “not being in your place as you are here.” Again, her tone was one of friendly interest not spite or derogation.

It was interesting (and satisfying) to me that she understood I have a “place” of submissive status and that it’s something I need — such that I would miss it in PA. All of that is true, and it impressed me she seemed to get it, all of this, about me.

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I realize I may be making too much of this one snippet of conversation, but there’s one more thing. I sensed in this woman’s approach to me a sense of ownership.

It may be something like a daughter going off to college then returning, and friends and neighbors adopting a kind of protective, knowing interest in her. It is like I am now their golden girl in some strange way, sent away into the world, now returned. Her comment carried the possessive sense of “we know what you are, what you need, and how that’s hard for you, but now we’re glad you’re back… in your place.”

I don’t resist this or take it in a bad way. It’s rather sweet, actually.

But it all suggests to me that, as I return to Colorado, to my place of submission, the neighbors are not the same as when I left them. Their view of me has evolved, matured.

They are no longer just watching my slavery, but starting to assume a kind of verbal participation in it.

Interesting, but I don’t know what this means.