So I’m a little afraid of objectification. It’s fixable.
Master says I’ve forgotten my place.
He accepts some of the blame. He’s been extremely lenient, of late, and hasn’t really treated me much like a slave. Of course, part of that is because I’ve been mostly well-behaved. No reason to crack the whip when the property’s doing what it’s supposed to.
But I’ve begun to sass Him while I’m doing what I’m supposed to. Or shoot Him a dirty look. Or crack a joke.
It’s nothing new. I’ve done it on and off since the beginning. The difference is in the beginning I was being an asshole because I couldn’t believe He was actually taking what I’d given Him. I mean, really! How dare He think that just because I told Him He could treat me however He wanted to I meant it?!
Told you I’m a cunt. I can’t help it. It comes naturally.
These days, the jokes and sass really are a poor attempt at humor. Sometimes, it’s just to be funny. Those times aren’t really that big of a deal. If I only occasionally cracked a joke when Master gave me an order, and it was always just a joke, it wouldn’t matter so much. It’s the other times that irk Him.
Like when it’s to shake off the feelings of degradation that I always struggle with when Master’s spent a good deal of time not degrading me. And every time He lays off for a while, He doesn’t just jump back on, grab the bull by both horns and ride it. No, that would be too easy. Instead, He starts ten steps after where He left off the last time He stopped treating me like sexual property on the regular.
But it’s the times that my joking is my way of letting Him know I’m not happy with the order but I’m complying anyway because that’s my side of the bargain that really get under Master’s skin. As if He hasn’t gotten to know me well enough over the past eight years, with and without my cooperation, to know when He’s giving an order whether or not I’m going to like it.
A few days ago, we were sitting on the couch, and He asked me if I still wanted all the things I used to want. Being treated like sexual property to be used and abused however He sees fit.
And I sort of laughed it off, like I do when I’m uncomfortable, and said something like “Of course I do. I’d tell you if I didn’t.”
Like He usually does, He asked, “And what if I say, ‘Tough.’? What then?”
I sort of fidgeted a bit and averted my eyes. And then I said, “Then it’s tough. Isn’t that what we agreed to?”
He asked if I still wanted Him to hold me to that and I squirmed some more. “I do.”
I laughed nervously, and turned away from Him. “No buts!” And as if He didn’t already know I was full of shit, my voice cracked.
I waited to see if He was going to let it go. And I almost thought He was going to. But then He laughed and said, “You sure about that?”
I was busted. And I’d just finished telling Him I don’t hide my feelings from Him anymore. Normally, I’d make Him ask me a hundred times, but I realized, in that moment, how utterly retarded it is to do that. I mean, this man has seen me through my absolute worst. He’s let me beat Him into the ground (figuratively), and instead of kicking my ass, He showed me why I was wrong. Unless I was right. And then, if He felt it was something He should fix, He did. And here I was keeping from Him the real reason I was reacting weird to being objectified because I was worried that… I don’t know what. My stupid fear would be the end of our relationship? He’d suddenly realize I’m not as awesome as He thinks I am and leave? I mean, how dumb is that?
So… I laughed. Because I always laugh when I’m uncomfortable. And I said, “I’m afraid that if I become what we both want you won’t love me anymore. And I know I can’t handle that.”
And He laughed. Because He always laughs when I say something preposterous. But not in a mean way, like I expected. In a You’re so silly. kind of way. And He asked, “Are you serious?”
I told Him I was. And I was.
I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life. Some of it good. Some of it bad. And somehow, I’ve managed not to break. The time I spent in the mental hospitals weren’t because I broke. They were because I had retreated entirely into myself and I couldn’t find my way back out alone. And in the brief moment I managed to struggle to the surface before diving back inside my mind, I realized how much damage I was doing to myself and most of all my children, and I reached out for help.
I was forced into the hospital because when I literally begged someone to help me, they said no, and things stopped making sense. I’m certain that if I had been truly broken, I wouldn’t have made it to the surface. I would have eventually died having no idea what happened.
Losing Master’s love will break me. If I ever had any doubt of that, it’s gone, now. And the thought scares the shit out of me.
I know why I stand at the edge of this vast precipice in sheer terror that when I leap, He won’t be there to catch me. No one else in my life has been able to handle all of me. They’re intrigued by the bits I let everyone see, but the second they begin to see the rest of me, they back off. Friends, family, lovers.
And I don’t blame them. At my best I can be… intimidating, maybe? Infuriating, to say the least. At my worst, I’m impossible. I know that. I don’t deny that. I guess I just expected to encounter more people in my life who could, at the very least, look past my insanity and like me for who I really am, even if they don’t really get me. But realizing that’s not the case has made me exceedingly grateful for the people in my life who do. Even if I’ll never meet some of them face to face.
There was one other man I willingly admitted my often insatiable sexual desires to. I didn’t delve into BDSM, or talk about my fantasies. I just told him that I like sex a lot. From that moment on, he treated me like a whore. And not in the hot way. In a way that made me feel awful about myself. And after breaking it off with him, I never told anyone again until I met Master. I don’t pretend to understand it, but for some reason, I’ve always been completely honest with Him about my sexual interests. The only exception being when I told Him that I wasn’t interested in submitting, but I hardly knew Him and wasn’t about to put my life in His hands that easily.
I’m not sure I ever completely articulated my discomfort with my fantasies, but He’s always known. I sometimes feel guilty for my debauched desires because I know many people feel it’s disgusting and disturbing. And finding people who have similar interests has done wonders for that. But still, here I stand, staring out at the edge of a forever of being exactly what I want, petrified that when Master gets what He wants He, too, will be so disgusted He’ll stop loving me. Eight years in. Shouldn’t I be over this already?
However, lost amid my incessant rambling is progress. Instead of making Master drag my thoughts from my racing mind, I told Him. I won’t promise I always will, because that’s a pie crust promise. But I did it. And that’s pretty major by itself.