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when they fall in love with you

“It’s one thing to fall in love. It’s another to feel someone else fall in love with you, and to feel a responsibility toward that love.”

Every Day by David Levithan

Falling in love is both simple and mysterious. But it is, when it comes down to it, quite easy to actually…do. Compared with gaining a master’s degree or solving world peace.

Falling in love is something anyone can do and most of us do, though not always in a romantic context. Some of us crave it more than others, but it can happen to us all, at any time. Sometimes it happens without us even realizing. Oh, we may strain and throw everything we have towards gaining love, but the, perhaps painful, truth is that no matter how much we try for love– it happens often without cause or explanation. And sometimes it never does.

Love is beautiful, fascinating, captivating. It’s something that comes almost as naturally as breathing to some of us. For others, it takes more time. Staying in love is another matter.

The hardest part of love is what happens afterwards.

…nobody in the history of time said love had no consequences.

Someday, you’ll fall in love with a person and you’ll find— they fall in love with you, too.  Suddenly, the stakes are real.  Suddenly, it’s not just me playing with my own heart— but me playing with theirs.  That moment of vulnerability, the moment you justify that vulnerability by accepting their love.  

Could I leave?  Physically, yes.  Mentally, I’m abandoning them.  They put their trust in me, their everything— and I just leave them like none of it meant anything?  

That love has a weight to it.  I can feel it.  Some might call it a burden.  I don’t believe it is that, but it does feel like a heaviness that takes up a part of my heart.  Fills it that little bit more.  Takes up a piece of me that is now theirs, and I cannot give it to anyone else.  

Somedays I’m scared and want to run away. 

Other days I’m grateful.  Always, I’m drawn to them, like a magnet.  I am sure I could, but I cannot imagine the amount of effort it would take to get me to leave my loved ones (and people have tried to scare me away, and it hasn’t worked, so don’t you even try, because the last person who did was far more terrifying than you will ever be).

That daily responsibility to the one you love is no light task.  It will drain you, some days, in ways that make you feel you have nothing left to give— and then you’ll squeeze blood from a stone to give them what they need to survive.  Knowing they will pour their blood and sweat back into you, not as their way of saying thanks, but because they feel the same weight and obligation towards you.  Giving to you even on days they might resent and hate you.  On days they feel tired and irritated.  

One can slip into love without realizing– and only afterward the weight of that responsibility is felt. 

I have so much love in my life. Some days I think I might float away, or perhaps eventually settle back to the earth in some unknown country. But the love from my tribe keeps me tethered to my home. It is both reassuring and heavy.

Some days you’ll remember both the highs and the lows, and that will help keep you steady.  Knowing that you can do this, the next day and the next.  That you are all in this together.  The grass may be greener on the other side, but you are too preoccupied with your own lawn to pay much attention to the neighbor’s grass. 

That is what love means.

Love is a beauty and also a burden. It is both sides of the coin. It is nothing and it is everything. It is priceless and it is common. The most common element in the universe, perhaps. And yet it can fill one’s whole heart, metaphorically speaking of course. It can be the thing that keeps one going in hard times and that keeps one’s mind and soul fed.

Be careful with whom you share your heart, or, even more dangerous, to whom you give a piece. I don’t give away my whole heart.  My “heart” is something that I give away in pieces. I reserve a small part of it for myself, alone.  And the rest I share or give to others.

But oh so carefully! After all, it is my heart, and it is precious.  I don’t wish to let it be freely abused or neglected. 

Love freely, love deeply—but remember that it is a person’s heart with whom you are playing. Being loved is the hardest thing in the world.

But it is worth it!

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pride in being owned, my

It’s easy to see the calm after the storm.

Nobody wonders why I am where I am— now. Not everyone wants to live in penthouses, travel to exotic locations, and dine at fine restaurants. Not everyone wants that high powered lifestyle. It is pressuring. It can be exhausting. But nobody questions WHY I do it. Nobody wonders (and frankly, few see the difficulties of the lifestyle, only the visible perks).

They used to ask me all the time, why don’t you leave?

Why do you deal with HER? Why don’t you just find a nice guy and get married and pop out a couple of kids? Oh, to be clear, they knew I had maternal instincts and I was not offended by the assumption I should be a mother…it was because I was me, not because I was a female. Why do you want to do this, when you don’t have to? When life could be so much easier. Why do you give so much to people who will never want to give you as much in return, if they are even capable?

The risk I took…it could have turned out far worse.

I could have lost everything. I DID lose almost everything. But only things. That’s what my so-called friends, the ones who ended up abandoning me, did not understand. My savings, my car, my apartment— they were nice, but they were all “things.”

And, well, I needn’t go into every detail. Suffice to focus on the specific material losses. I did not care about them. I cared about Him. I cared about being Owned, nurtured, allowed to grow and love.

I didn’t know it then. I felt lost and scared.

But I stayed.  I wanted to run away so many times— and I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m usually quite good at running away. I’ve run away as far as half the world. I’ve abandoned almost every venture I ever tried, for fear of failing. So, better to just ENSURE I fail, right? Okay, yeah, that makes no sense. But I was in my early twenties. Does anyone look at their early twenties self and go, “Yep, that’s DEFINITELY great choices I made! That’s who I wish I still could be!” Alright, maybe you grew up faster. But me and my friends go, “Fuck that.” We’d no sooner go back to that time, than we would return to middle school.

I’ve since replaced the things I lost with better “things,” but I might lose it all again. Things come and go. That is life. I will never lose my loves. I will never lose what truly matters. My self respect. My drive to be who I am.

Let me be perfectly clear— I fucking earned being owned.

I did not slip into a M/s dynamic.

I did not pick it up off the ground. I did not accidentally stumble into this life, even though I feel that way sometimes. I chose this life. I was the only one strong enough, when the time was right, to meet my Master and take on that role with Him. Many women had the opportunity and could not do it. I knew them personally. Some of them dipped their toes, but could not take the plunge. Could not take the risks I took. Could not be that vulnerable. I had been hurt, who hasn’t? But I saw something in Him that was different— and I took the leap.

We are not weak, when we submit.

When we are someone’s “most treasured possession,” we were the ones strong enough to submit. To match our Owner’s energy and desires. We are enough as we are, but we still find ways to grow, evolve. To be better than we were before. To submerge ourselves deeper into our submission and training.

I am still nervous and small some days.

But I am that insecure little mouse less and less, and the Kitten I was meant to be more and more.  Some days, even a princess.

My life, what I learned, what I have– it all fills me with wonder and I pinch myself- metaphorically speaking- to remind me,

Yes, this is real.

eight years later, or how I grew with those I love

This is about romantic love.  Should you not care for romance, I hope you don’t feel unseen.  Love can be for family, for friends, for self, for so much more…but this is about my romantic loves.

Eight years ago,

I met my first partner to share my journey. We agreed on three weeks, then the summer….then…

Seven years ago,

I made up my mind that I’d actually give this relationship a real shot, no matter how hard it got. That I wouldn’t put an expiration date on it.

Six years ago,

I agreed to be his slave, for ever and always.

Five years ago,

I introduced my master to my family by rolling him into our New Year’s Eve celebration— only myself, my immediate family and my brother’s girlfriend— at my apartment. My longest relationship before that had maxed out two years, and they’d only ever met one of them (to the best of my recollection). (And I still had to actually TELL them, this is my boyfriend, cause they assumed I just invited a good friend over to spend the night with me on New Year’s. My dad had no clue.)

Five years ago,

he introduced me to his immediate family, as well, in time to be formally introduced to his father. He didn’t care that we weren’t married, only that we made his grandchildren happy.

Four and a half years ago,

we took our first selfie on the way to a Fourth of July party. It was so unexpected, I didn’t even recognize what he was doing at first.

Four years ago,

I moved in with my master. We were basically living together after the first two years, but I gave up my own apartment at that point because it didn’t make sense to pay two rents.

Three years ago,

he told me “I love you.” He’d shown it since the first day, but the words came slower. When I’m really down, though, he goes back to using the code phrases he used to say. Because that is the easiest way to cheer me up. Not that I don’t like hearing the three little words.

Two years ago,

I met the rest of my current little polycule—my now girlfriend and my…well…we still haven’t really put a label to it— and the last two or three past years I’ve built friendships with most of the people I am close to in the community.

Just a little over a year ago,

I formally asked my girlfriend to be my girlfriend.

Last weekend,

I stood with my partner and his family while his oldest recognized me as an official part of her family, to her whole family that she brought together. I am not sure I have ever been prouder of a human being. Today, his family told me how happy they were that I am theirs (well, they’ve done so before, but they reiterated today.)  I looked at my partner and I felt loved.  I felt accepted.

And I still have my biggest milestones ahead of me. I may move slowly, but things keep happening!

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perspective of a 24/7 sub

I’m 24/7. This is one of those topics I’m more than happy to engage in a dialogue—because this is my life– but I’ll try to explain here, in simple terms. I won’t go into too much detail or down any particular path, but only “What 24/7 means to me.”  Because it seems to be a matter of confusion, even in the kink community.

“But a lot of concepts are confused in the kink community.”

Fair enough.  But at least I can address this singular confusion.

I don’t know where this idea came from, but it annoys me:  This idea that 24/7 means I’m wearing a latex maid outfit, steps dogged by my master’s bullwhip, Every.  Single.  Moment. That I’m obligated to wear a leather collar with studs to work.  That I’m always in the midst of a scene.  I really don’t know.  I do know that some people find it “overwhelming” or “exhausting.”  You know what else is exhausting?  Life.  I still choose it every day.

I’ll say this:  Living an immersive/intense/Instagramable lifestyle, day in and day out, drains you.  It takes a physical, as well as emotional, toll.  I’ve seen people age, visibly, in six months.  They get addicted, all too easy to do.  But then they drop from the scene, because nobody can keep that up forever!  It’s disappointing to lose friends that way.

I am 24/7, but I’m not constantly kinking it up.  Most of the time, in my relationship with my master, I’m curled up next to him, playing on my phone or watching a movie.  Or we’re walking about a new city.  Or enjoying an afternoon tea.  Or working together on our latest projects.  Or just…working.  A lot of working on boring work stuff.  

“Then you’re not really 24/7.”

I’ve heard that argument applied to parents with split custody, or even parents that work.  If you’re not with your child every single moment, you’re taking time off from being a parent.  But that’s not how it works.  When you’re a parent, you are a parent 24/7.  You never get “time off.”  Even if you aren’t physically with the child (same as if the child is at school, and you are at your office), you are always on call.

That’s what it is– it’s about being on call.  I am always my Master’s kitten.  Always.  Sometimes my kittenish personality simmers below the surface.  Sometimes it rears to its full five foot three.  I’m good, usually, about making a judgment call to be my appropriate self (only occasionally calling him “master” at a public restaurant).  If you look closely, you can tell I am a kitten, no matter what.  By “true self,” I mean the unthinking self.  The self that I just am, without trying.  But most don’t look at me that closely.  I keep my true self at bay, much of the time.

Whenever a household decision needs to be made, or a trip arranged, or my Master wants something intimate for me, that’s the 24/7 relationship.

I click right back into submissive mode.  I would do it all of the time, except that I tend to regress into “little” mode as well, and I don’t like doing that around just anybody.  There’s a trust that lets me flow into my submissive nature, without reservation or hesitation.

I don’t want to deal with the drama.  Vanilla life is judgmental.  It blinks its eyes at me if I veer to far off the proper path.  It insists that I wear clothes that fit the environment.  It insists that I act like a proper grown up. When I’m with my parents. When I’m handling a meeting with prospective clients. I keep any evidence of my kink life far away from those “vanilla bubbles.”  It’s annoying, but it’s hardly the end of the world.

Of course, I speak for myself here, but I speak freely.

I do know that I haven’t met a single self-described 24/7 dynamic where the persons involved are continuously whipping each other until they crash on the floor, only to pick up as soon as they awaken.  I can’t say that has never existed anywhere.  Maybe that is what it means for them, but this is what it means for me.

Do I wish I could freely and brazenly call him master all the time?  I don’t know.  I might wear kitten ears in public, maybe even a latex collar (actually, I’ve done that, but only in certain neighborhoods).  But that isn’t what I crave.  No, what I need is the space between us, connecting us.

I enjoy the intimacy created with something shared– almost– just between us.  Alone.

When we’re alone at home.  Or, perhaps observed, by another kitten or a friend, but whoever it might be, they are safe.  I am safe.  I am absolutely and utterly me.  

During the day, I am a proper Kitten.  I don’t display my claws or purr.  Though I am always a Kitten, sometimes I exhibit my “kittenness” in more socially approved means.

But in the evening, when it’s my inner circle of trusted friends or me and Master, I breathe a sigh of relief.  Every moment I can be with them, I live the way I want to live.  24/7.

Or as close to it as I can get!

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the sometimes joys of living together

I come home most days to a person I love, to whom I’m committed in life and love. I would venture to say most of us do, or hope to one day. Pair-bonding is natural with social creatures; humans are social; easier to bond and share time when you share same space. It’s nice to live with the one you love, or can be. But the writing made me want to puke.