Word on the street is that Master’s an asshole.

He certainly can be an asshole when He’s so inclined.  I won’t pretend He can’t.  But if I’m to be honest, I must admit that the sheer extent of my cunttery far surpasses any of the assholeish things He does.  By a long shot.  Everyone has bad days.

Usually, I wouldn’t care.  He certainly doesn’t care.  He laughs about it every time I bring it up.

But it bothers me.  Because it seems people have been walking away from our blog, and the things I tweet about, with the wrong impression of Him, our relationship and how He treats me.

I don’t know who said the things I heard.  I don’t really care who said them.  I pity them for not yet learning the life lesson, “Never judge a book by its cover.”

How He treats me, His willing, adoring slave, has nothing to do with who He is as a person.

When I expressed my interest in this lifestyle to Him, He sent me on one serious expedition for any and all information I could find on the subject.  On the internet, and in bookstores, and in libraries.  He bought and downloaded free versions of educational books, BDSM erotica  and an interesting mix of light and extreme BDSM porn.

He introduced me to women who were owned by married men and were kept expressly as backdoor girls.  Their owners only call them or visit them to use and abuse them and then throw them to the side like so much garbage until the next time.  The next time that could be weeks or months (or, in one case, years) away.

These women never heard a kind word from their owners.  Their conversations consisted strictly of the most depraved sexual acts their owners’ sadistic minds could come up with.  And I was intrigued.

Then, after showing me the worst of the worst, He introduced me to women who were cherished by their owners.  Who spent every day being doted on just as much as they doted on their owners.  Who laughed and loved and played and were always exalted to the highest place in their owners’ lives.  And I was nauseated.

Through a lot of trial and error, we’ve found that it works best for us somewhere in between.  Too much of either, and one of us is left feeling lost or unwanted. 

I did the slashy-speak thing for a little while.  You’ve seen it, I’m sure.  W/we and O/our and Y/you.  People still do it sometimes.  But it takes so much effort and looks retarded.  So I stopped.  Master didn’t really care if I capitalized words referring to other dominants anyway.  Matter of fact, He preferred I didn’t.

For a while, I never capitalized anything that referred to me.  All pronouns and names began with a lowercase letter regardless of what was grammatically correct.  It started as an internet thing, and then mutated into a strange sort of respect.  A way to show in my writing that I  was lower than Him.

For a while, I spoke strictly in third person.  It was a part of a short stint of Gorean training.  And it served a purpose.  It kept me in the head space of owned property.  I didn’t have a name.  I was “she” or “it”.  When He wanted my attention, I was “cunt” or “bitch”.

Now, of my own volition, I continue to cap pronouns and His name.  When I became semi-serious about my writing and took the guest writing position at Eden Cafe, He gave me permission to stop.  In case a serious employer came by, and wanted to offer me a job, but was put off by it.  I chose to continue capping pronouns and His name out of respect.

I do have the utmost respect for my owner.

I have days that I question my choices.  Never seriously.  I just know what I could have been had I chosen a different path.  And I know that I will never be some of those things so long as I remain a slave.   But I look at my life with Master and I know it’s worth the sacrifice.  Life’s too short to give up a love this amazing to be someone I’m not.  And I am not cut out for the stuffy, up tight corporate world I would have ended up in once I got my head on straight had I not met Him.

The things I’ve heard make me sad.

People have said I’d be awesome if it weren’t for my relationship with Him.  They say no one should have to live the way I do.  They say I’m too sweet to have to live in oppression.  That no man should ever take ownership of a woman.

Here’s the thing.  I am alive today because of Master.  I am fully functional.  I am no longer in and out of mental hospitals or addiction treatment centers.  I’m off meds and I’m out of therapy.  And, while I still have panic attacks and bouts of depression, they are fewer and farther between and much, much more manageable.  And He helps me through them.

He treats me like a human being, most of the time, even though He owns me.  And even when I’m being the biggest cunt possible, He makes sure I know that He loves me and cares for me and wants to be with me always.  I can’t say the same for myself.

But He is a sadist.  And I am a masochist.  And that means that sometimes I have to endure Him being mean to me if we both want our needs met.

But make no mistake.  I love it.  It turns me on more than anything in this world.  I’ve dreamed of being treated this way ever since I was a little girl.  Even before the abuse started.  To be honest, I think it’s part of why I sought out the people I did.  Put myself in the situations I always found myself in.

When Master and I met, I told Him I was not into being controlled.  I told Him if He ever hit me, He better hold on cause it was gonna be a bumpy ride.  And I told Him about the fist fights I used to have with my ex.  I told Master about the stitches dickhead had to get and how I embarrassed him in front of his friends.

I made it absolutely clear that He was not going to control me without my permission.

And then I handed Him the reins.

I handed Him the reins.

I chose this life.

I get that you don’t understand it.  I get that you’d never choose it for yourself.  But how can you even think to deny me my happiness? You don’t even know me.  All you know is words on a screen.

I am happy with my station in life.  I am loved and I am cherished and I am owned and I have wanted that for myself for as long as I can remember.

You don’t have to understand it.  Sometimes I don’t even understand it.  But it makes me happy.  Isn’t that what’s important?