Posts Tagged ‘M’

Once upon a time…

September 3rd, 2014 2 comments

Years and years ago, there was a woman in an IRC channel who called her dominant “M”. Though I asked more than once, she never told me why.

One day, in the interest of speed, I called Master “M” in private chat, and she asked me not to do that. She said, “If you start doing it, everyone else will start doing it, and it won’t be special to us, anymore.”

I side-eyed her like a mother fucker. Who the fuck thinks they own a letter? I mean, really. But I refrained from using “M” to talk about Master for the rest of my time on IRC. Because I like to pretend I’m nice. Sometimes.

Then Twitter happened. And I was asked to write a sex and relationships column for a conservative rock station. And I realized calling Master “Master” would be a problem for some people. Plus, 140 characters. Plus, I don’t know that woman anymore. She left IRC long before we did, and I never heard from her again.

So, I started calling Master “M”. It fits. His (mostly dormant and mostly written by me) blog is He’s gone by Melen for his entire internet existence. And I call him Master. M, and M, and M.

She was right. Everyone does it now. On FetLife. On Twitter. On their blogs.

I’m not bothered by this. I don’t own a fucking letter. I just think it’s funny. I thought she was nuts.


<3 P.S. I'm not saying everyone calls their M "M" because I do it. People who don't even know I exist call their M "M", and it's entirely possible that people I don't know exist were calling their Ms "M" before I started calling my M "M". I mean, I wasn't the first s on Twitter, and there are plenty of brighter, more efficient minds than mine. Anywhoo...

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So we were walking home from City Hall…

May 26th, 2011 3 comments

M had family court today. His kid (We’ll call him K3) had some bad shit happen to him, got mixed up with the wrong crowd, got into some trouble and was sent to treatment for troubled teens. Time’s almost up, and K3 originally filed for emancipation, but today was to schedule his release into his mother’s care at the end of the school year. … Barely three months before his 18th birthday.

I’m not convinced this is the best move but time will tell. The kid seems to have somehow found a good head to wear on his shoulders over the past year or so. Course, I’ve known quite a few “bad boys” in my day, and so I’m skeptical. But I want to believe. So we’ve made plans to make plans. Which right now, because of the state of our personal life (long story – nothing to do with our relationship) is the best we can do.

K3 drove us home from court. Don’t even get me started on how old that makes me feel. And he informed us that he might be a father but he’s not really sure whether or not he wants to step in. Apparently, the girl was raising the baby as some other kid’s and the kid died. K3 read his obituary, which said something like “devoted father”, and K3 is worried that if he gets involved he’ll somehow take away from that. I had no idea what to say to him. Read more…

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There’s no eating in the bird room. -or- Meet Cara, M’s kitty.

October 22nd, 2010 8 comments

Meet Master's kitty, Cara. Cool background, huh? M says it was an accident. It's our new Liberator throe, and my red and black corset.

Bear with me.  I’m getting somewhere.  And while this isn’t exactly BDSM-related, it is very much Master-and-our-relationship-related.

I’ve had cats on and off since I was nine.  My first was a kitten, and she was a gift from my father.  While I was at summer camp, Dad brought home a black and white furball, and let my sister name her.  Pajamas.  PJ for short.  Sis said her markings made her look like she was wearing jammies.  But there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who PJ belonged to.

When I was somewhere between ten and twelve, PJ got out the house by pushing the screen out of my bedroom window.  A dog chased her all the way to my house, and killed her in my backyard.  The only people home were me and Mom.

I went out to the backyard with my baseball bat, by myself, to chase the dog away.  And my mother? Stayed in the bathroom curling her hair.  When I told her I thought my cat was dying, she said she didn’t know what to tell me.  As I lay in the backyard stroking my dead cat’s fur, she came outside and told me I’d better get my ass in the house and get ready for school.  Then she told me I would never get another pet again.  It was my fault my cat died.  Read more…

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