I wonder if I should make this a category as well, I have so many categories though. It is snowing here, the first accumulation of the season is expected. I sip coffee and look at Clyde and wonder what it is about my parenting that can’t get him to shovel. I am also thinking about service. What it is, what I do, how it molds and shapes my existence, and why it is so fucking difficult at times.
What is done in BDSM is deeper than kinky sex, or at least it is for many. Not that I have anything against kinky sex, rather I want to touch on the process, the business end of this thing I do.
Service is going to be different with every individual.
When my toy Michael was with me what I needed from him was pedicures and to make sure that my patent leather stayed shiny and supple, and for him to wash the baseboards in the home (I hate doing that one particular chore for my household).
Michael understood his role. I said, he did, our rewards would be the kinky activities that look like sex but didn’t include me being penetrated. There was penetration, oh yes there was, just not me.
Over our time together Michael learned what would make me smile.
He understood that walking to the gas station and coming back with a gas can of gas, and pouring it into the van was good.
The 3 gallons of gas often would not make a dent in the Ford that always seemed to be on fumes, but it was the image of him walking, in the heat of the summer or cold of the winter, to do something for me, at times even when I did not request it, that prompted me into his rewards.
Those rewards varied, he enjoyed humiliation much more than pain. Telling him to lick a toilet, in a ladies room, in a public setting gave him more gratification than being caned. He often sat quietly through a caning though, because it was what I wanted at the time.
When The Man came along I explained to Michael that who we were as people would change. I made sure that I found a replacement for me in his life. I never quite replaced him though.
I think about service to The Man , and about how I’ve had to learn over these years (she smiles when she says years) what He needs. He is a lot of things, verbose at times He is not.
One of the tougher challenges that came to my table was processing what I wanted to do as service with what he needs as service. He didn’t choose a young girl with no life experience who he could mold and shape into an image He had in his head – He chose a chick who has a fierce independent streak, who is used to getting her own way, and who is in charge 98% of the time.
What can I say – he seems to like a challenge.
I’ve lived a very long time, done many things, and I’ve done this BDSM thing for a long time.
It was not simple to move from what I considered obedience and service to what He considered obedience and service.
I can absolutely say He forced me to step up my game. Wanting to serve Him forced me to take a look at what I was providing, and made me admit that there was frankly slacking in my pimping and I needed to step up if I wanted to stay in service.
That is not always easy to do. The thing about this life though, is easy is rarely if ever a part of this reality.
I learned to love to clean the baseboards at His place.
I am going to have to figure out how to translate that from loving to do it at His place to loving to do it at OUR place.
One more lesson to learn it seems.