I probably shouldn’t be posting about this.  Not because I’ll get in trouble or anything like that.  But because I’m giving this ignorant twit the attention she’s seeking.  But oh well.  The main topic, I think, is an important development in my training.

Months and months ago, Kaya posted (and I’m pretty sure I did, too, but for my new readers, I’ll summarize here), full of annoyance, about Nine Deuce and her blog Rage Against the Man-chine.  Not so much because Nine Deuce is an ignorant, raving feminazi.  More because of her views on BDSM.

Nine Deuce firmly believes that women shouldn’t have the right to choose to live in oppression.  She believes that a) We submissive women are only submissive because society grooms us to be and b) We should be protected from ourselves by being forcibly removed from relationships in which we are controlled and oppressed; whether we are happy or not.

She believes those of us who choose to live in these relationships are too stupid or domesticated to realize we’re being lead to pasture and that we should be saved from ourselves.  We’re cows being lead to slaughter and Nine Deuce is PETA, if you will.

I might have even been able to look past her ignorant views to try to see the person she really is, as I do with so many other people whose beliefs I disagree with.  I might have, grudgingly, left it alone, never thought of it again, accepted the fact that people are stupid.  But when I commented with my opinion, she rejected it.  Rather than allow someone to intelligently and coherently state their case on her propaganda website, she deleted my comment.

It should have been expected.  That’s how everyone does it, these days.

So, I wrote some feminist organizations, and I only got two responses.  Gloria Allred even ignored me rather than take a stand.  I was rather disappointed about that.

Holy back-story, Batman.  Anyway!

It’s been months.  We’d discussed it with the neighbor and our friends and on forums.  And then we both, promptly, forgot about it.

Yesterday, email started coming through from RAtM.  Someone (or a couple someones, from what I gather) found Nine Deuce’s posts on BDSM and began pummeling her with their beliefs.  Master saw the email come through before I did.

“Why are you reading a feminist blog?” He asked.

And I sort of blinked at the monitor for a minute.  Feminist blog? What the hell is He talking about?

I looked at the tabs open in Firefox and decided Carrie’s, Kaya’s and Amber’s (the blogs I had open at the time) were most definitely not feminist blogs.  So I looked at Thunderbird to see if I had some crazy spam coming through or something and saw that I was getting email from RAtM.

“I wasn’t reading it.  Kaya posted months and months ago about this chick’s opinion on BDSM and I commented.  Remember? That’s when I wrote all those feminist places that never answered me.”

I could have left it at that.  I could have kept my mouth shut and probably would have saved myself a little bit of trouble (and a reading restriction) if I had.  But y’all know that’s not how I roll.

“Since when do you restrict what I read? How Nazi-ish of you.” (I didn’t put it like that.  I didn’t even mean it like that.  But I did use the word “Nazi” and that is how He took what I said.  So that’s how I’ll repeat it since it affected the direction our conversation went.)

He was, understandably, perturbed.  Maybe He is a bit Nazi-ish in His training methods, but that’s His prerogative.  Slavery is not a democracy.  It’s a dictatorship.  And where do I, His property, get off questioning His training methods?

Even before the words were off my fingers, I knew I was wrong.  He’s the boss.  If He says, “Cut off your nipple.” I better have the knife in hand and be well on my way to starting before saying, “Master, are you sure?” all polite and contrite and shit.

But He’d never told me I can’t read anything before.  Hell, He even lets me listen to music He hates so long as He can’t hear it.  So it was like I was just plodding along happily on my favorite trail, nibbling on grass and kicking up dirt and having a grand old time, when suddenly someone smacked a bridle on me and they were yanking hard on the reins.

I was all “WTF, dude?”

So I kicked.  And He pulled up the reins again.

He said I, the consensual property of a man, have no business reading a feminazi blog.  Especially with my issues with peer pressure.

I could have retorted with the fact that I, obviously, do not buy into her feminist bullshit.  That I’d read her blog months ago and was furious that she would presume to know what’s best for me when she doesn’t even know I exist, let alone know who I am.  That even if I hadn’t looked around her blog and found her to be nauseating in her convictions, that fact alone would have turned me off to her propaganda.

Instead, I questioned Him further.

Isn’t it better to know what I’m up against? To know what others will throw at me to change my mind so that I can form my defense now, while I’m clear-headed and full of righteous anger?

But I knew better.

The first rule Master put in place was that I was no longer allowed to open doors for myself.  That I would allow Him to treat me the way a gentleman treats a lady if He chose to.  I would step back and wait for Him to open the door; even if that meant waiting an hour while He laughed at me.  I would allow Him to order for me if He wanted to or choose what I was having to eat or drink.  I would look to Him for direction as to how I dress, make up my face, wear my hair.

Because once upon a time, before we decided we wanted to be equals, a woman depended on her man to do all those things.  And once upon a time, I was the kind of feminist who would lose my shit if my man tried to get me to allow him to do any of those things.  Even if his intentions were innocent.

I think I pushed it because I wanted Him to say, “I am a Nazi and you damned well better get used to it.”  I wanted Him to admit that some of His rules are crazy.  And to tell me I had no choice but to deal.

And He did.  Just not in so many words.

We’re both facing my problem with peer pressure.  I don’t really know how to go about getting over it.  I’m not sure I ever completely can.  But acknowledging it, and paying attention to what I allow past my bullshit filter, rather than just plodding along pretending I don’t have a problem, is a step in the right direction.