A few more musings..

... before moving along to the interesting things..

My first entry here was an explanation of my chosen alias. I started at that point because I have always believed that names are Important. A rose by any other name may indeed smell as sweet, but what are the chances that you're going to stick your nose in something that's called Stinky McVomitweed to find out? Would John Wayne have been taken as seriously as Mr Tough Guy if he'd acted under his given name?

Didn't think so. I'm not going to stray much further down that particular rabbit hole, as there are others I'm more interested in exploring, but the little side trip was necessary in order to lead into this:


The gentleman I have become ensnared by is referred to as 'Sir' in all my dealings with him, as befits the relationship and my station within it (amusingly, he has never asked my name; while I think his saying my 'given' name, even the shortened version which has to be done *just* right, would sound ridiculously sexy considering his accent, I am more than content with the terms he has used in reference to me, the most recent of which has resulted in changes of clothes due to.. dampness. Seriously- find an uber-sexy Irishman, ask him to call you 'my fucking slut,' and see if you don't have to excuse yourself for the sake of decorum).

However, I've been turning over several options in my head as to how to refer to him *here*, as his title does not always fit grammatically in a sentence (and if there's one thing I'm a bit of a shrew about, it's proper grammar). 'My Sir' is both cumbersome and inappropriate; I am his, not the other way around, and I would never presume to claim him in such an intimate way without his permission (and a lot of logistical changes to our interactions).

'Dom' and 'my Dom' both result in the same concerns as the aforementioned, and thus are out of the running. Plus, unless you're having a theoretical discussion of the D/s lifestyle, it just *sounds* silly.

Master, while highly appropriate for my use, has connotations to wider segments of society (especially the younger generation) that both diminish and demean it, and thus I am hesitant to fall back on it. But having few other options, it is the one that I shall choose. I may slip now and then and refer to him as 'my master'- I hope he will forgive me such small mistakes- but from here on out (unless instructed otherwise) I shall use 'the Master' or 'Sir' as fits within the confines of proper English sentence structure (um, the basterdized new world version, not the Queen's).

Besides, 'Master' leaves room for some truly *awesome* Doctor Who jokes. :)

(minor hijack: While I acknowledge the overall acting abilities of Tom Baker- as well as the quality of his episodes vs. the other incarnations, I maintain that Peter Davison is the best Doctor, followed closely by Christopher Eccleston, and will refuse to hear arguments otherwise).

I have two new assignments from the Master, one of which I can complete now (the other is being done in a slightly more piecemeal way, owing to limited time and internet access). I am to write a biography of myself.

Easy, he says.

Little does he know. He's seen enough of my ramblings.. he should realize that this is a task I will agonize over, wanting the phrasing to be just so, wanting to provide enough information that he is pleased, but not so much that my identity is compromised. I've already delayed starting by nearly a day. It's *not* easy for one such as myself.

But I am his, and must do as asked.

(A voice, not his, comes unbidden to my ears.. "Shall we begin like David Copperfield? I was born, I grew up..." Extra points if you recognize the reference *without* googling it.)

I was born.. far from where I live now, where there are actual seasonal changes, where the summers aren't blisteringly hot, where there's actual SNOW, and there is nothing like walking through the fog after a good snowstorm, when sound is so dampened that you can't help but worry that you may have suddenly gone deaf. Where people have a reputation for being rude- but I think that's because there is actually an expectation of honesty in all interactions, where things aren't covered by a veneer of gentility, and if you piss me off you can expect to hear about it from me.. and I'm not going to preface my statements with 'Bless your heart..'

I grew up.. the youngest of four siblings, in a lower middle-class, good Catholic family. I was.. and am.. an introvert, hiding in books and precariously-constructed igloos and under picnic-table forts. Smart. A bit scary. Okay, a lot scary. One would not be incorrect in applying the label 'academic snob.'

I am.. a nearly translucent-skinned redhead, with eyes that change with my mood and the weather, Italian and Irish bloodlines, and the accompanying temper issues. There was a brief time that I could have been called thin, but that's back a good way in my history, before the hips fully developed. After that time I was more solidly built, with the corded muscles of a martial artist, horseback rider, and occasional, unapologetic bar/street fighter. I don't know that I could ever have been accused of being beautiful or a head-turner, but cute is not out of the realm of possibility (I'm not a good judge, however; I've always been hard on myself). Where-ever on the scale of truth this assessment lies, I never lacked for physical company of either gender when I sought it out.

I know I have always had control issues, even before they surfaced in ways that were damaging both physically and psychologically, just as I knew the first time I walked into a D/s club that I was finally home.

I entered the D/s world accidentally at first, but the siren song of it called to me every day after my initial exposure. I quickly found my way back to it, and within hours was in service to a gentleman who spent the next nearly six years breaking my boundaries and self-concept to pieces, disciplining me, teaching me, pushing me, using me, pleasuring me, and generally turning my life upside down.

Life was So. Fucking. Simple.

Sometimes I feel sorry for people who haven't experienced that level of companionship. I know what they're missing out on. If you've never been there, you probably can't understand. Can't know what it's like to surrender yourself completely to someone else, the level of trust and understanding that's involved in such a thing. What it's like to literally ache for the feeling of the lash biting into your skin. To be bound, helpless, used for someone else's pleasure until you're begging for release.. and to be driven unconscious by the force of the release when it's granted.

Most of the time I feel sorry for myself; for having had such a thing, having walked away from it, and having had to settle for a pale shadow of it for so long.

I have spent a very long time now in service to those who do not deserve such a thing, or those who do not know what to do with such a gift, and it has driven me a bit mad. And it has made me tired, and lost, and drained.. none of which are states of being that are acceptable. So I have chosen to take the potentially dangerous step of placing myself in service of one who *does* deserve it, and certainly (if the interactions thus far are any indication) knows what to do with it.

As I've already said in a previous entry, I am at once exhilarated and frightened by this choice, but could have made no other. Life may never again be as simple as it was when I lived in the control of my previous teacher, but if this new Master brings even the smallest amount of order to the chaos that exists around me, life may become more bearable.