Regrets. Regrets? No.

Short-term pain, long term gain.  Short-term gain, long term pain.  Short-term thinking, long term effects.  Short-term effects, long term consequences.  Decision-making always exposes a person to the possibility of regret.  Is it the right decision?  Is it going to hurt later?  Even if it hurts later, is it worthwhile now?

If it is not worthwhile now, how do I know it will not be worthwhile later?  Will it be too late to make a decision later?  If it is too late to make a decision later, will it hurt more later than it does now?

I have made decisions, in my life.  The most interesting decisions are always relationship-decisions.  To be (His) or not to be (His), this is always the question -- not just for me, but for those submissive personalities who yearn to be partnered with a good (male, in this case) dominant. There are complicating factors in these decisions:  and usually it involves a third person.  An absent third person, or a present third person, or a third person who (for one reason or another) is both present and absent at the same time.  (That is possible, in Second Life.)  Or maybe it involves a third person who is entirely attached in the physical realm.  Decision-making is sometimes paralyzing, and especially for someone like me who basically rests her submission on the idea of surrendering decision-making.  But here are two decisions that I would be happy to vouch for, for any submissive reading this.

a) Consideration Collar, yes.  If it's offered, take it.  You both know you like each other, but do you know if you are going to react well to each other over time?  This is a way to get to know the person before making a commitment of vulnerability.  If it's not offered, insist on it.  If it's not acceptable to the other person, there is something wrong, there.

b) Protector, yes.  If it's offered, take it.  (Do not, however, strong-arm anyone into accepting that kind of relationship -- it defeats the purpose.)  Personally, I have been blessed with a handful of outstanding protectors.  Not many.  I didn't think I needed any, of course, until I actually did need one.  Thank you, Sir Tony.  I suppose I don't thank you enough for the good that you did.  Protectors are mentors of a sort; they are wise counsel; they are an ear and a shoulder when necessary; and in the absence of a dominant who can take responsibility for decisions in the relationship, a protector can guide you through decisions that need to be made so that you don't necessarily end up with regrets at the end of that path.  (Two heads are better than one, eh?)  In the case of Sir Tony, not only was he a protector, but he knew how to create a meditative state and get to the source of things.  I keep those memories alive and I'm fortunate to have them: it was a healing time.

A year ago, I was writing about how the best was yet to come.  My journey into real submission had begun in earnest and I was opening legitimately.  I will not insult my own writing, a year ago, by claiming that I have any regrets.  After all, stories never end, and I am a patient person.  My decisions have come from a place of nobility and more care for someone else than for my own self: that means, I think, that I have never made a bad decision, even if it means that I have not indulged as other people indulge.  Integrity is my reward, I suppose.  While not a perfect analog, I recall a passage that flutters around my memory wanting to come out, from Memoirs of a Geisha:

     "Now, nearly forty years later, I sit here looking back on that evening with the Chairman as the moment when all the grieving voices within me fell silent.  Since the day I left Yoroido, I'd done nothing but worry that every turn of life's wheel would bring yet another obstacle into my path; and of course, it was the worrying and the struggle that had always made life so vividly real to me.  When we fight upstream against a rocky undercurrent, every foothold takes on a kind of urgency.

     "But life softened into something much more pleasant after the Chairman became my danna.  I began to feel like a tree whose roots had at last broken into the rich, wet soil deep beneath the surface.  I'd never before had occasion to think of myself as more fortunate than others, and yet now I was.  Though I must say, I lived in that contented state a long while before I was finally able to look back and admit how desolate my life had once been.  I'm sure I could never have told my story otherwise; I don't think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it."

Shame, Part Four

There would be no shame without curiosity.  It is not real shame (is it?) if we did not ask for a little bit of it.  Or, more than a little bit.  Curiosity is the beginning of shame.  In the story of Eve with Adam in Paradise, it is curiosity (not defiance) that claims Eve's innocence.  It is not that she wanted to upset God.  It is not that she tried to get Adam in trouble.  It is a very simple motive that changes poor Eve forever after: curiosity.

With curiosity comes temptation.  With temptation comes indulgence.  And, from indulgence derives gratification which, alas, feels so good... or feels terrible.  It depends.  But, in the end, the terrible feeling is shame.

It is the terrible feeling anorexics feel for eating food.  It is the terrible feeling alcoholics feel for drinking whiskey.  It is the terrible feeling pedophiles feel when looking at a child in short pants.  It is the terrible feeling victims of bullies feel when they read the text message that says "Everybody thinks you smell foul."  The shame comes after the eating; after the drinking; after the looking; after the clicking and opening and reading.  The shame comes after the curiosity.

Shame comes from secrets.  The secret is the closet where shame resides, hangs up its hat and coat, settles in.  The secret is the darkness and safety of that closet.  We know where that closet is, what hides inside.  We know, because we shut the door and keep it safe.  We know because we volunteer, in this act of shame-keeping, to give the secret a good home.  Sometimes it is for good, that we keep this secret.  It protects people.  Sometimes it is for worse, that we keep this secret: it hurts people and we are too weak to change it.  Shame relies on this secret, though, however we look at it.  Shame relies on this secret, and relies on our ability to hold that closet door closed.

If we do not keep that door closed, then shame will no longer be private:  shame will become public embarrassment.  Shame will become the object of public scorn, and then guilt blossoms from the garden of soiled embarrassment.  The danger with shame is the imbalance of power, again: shame has the potential to destroy every carefully-balanced arrangement.

Shame, Guilt, and Embarrassment co-exist in this way:  shame is private; embarrassment is public; and guilt is the responsibility of the individual to action, somehow -- rightly or wrongly.

Limits

I read so often in D/s literature that a submissive without limits is not as attractive as a submissive with limits.  I like Connor's take on limits very much, actually.  In his post about limits, wherein he talks about hard limits, conditional limits, soft limits, every kind of limits... he talks about how it is an accepted perspective in our lifestyle that limits are supposed to be pushed, and that is how a person grows.  I usually object to statements like that, but what makes this one different is that he tempers the idea by saying that to continually push limits would have us all committing "crimes against humanity" eventually.  Why bother declaring a limit if a person is just going to ignore it?   I have fought about this with lots of folks along the way:  my limits are damned sacred and they are not for pushing.  My limits really do mean, "this far, and no farther."    But, I suppose, I do not use my limits for growth.  My limits are not a tool.  My limits mean, "There is nothing else past this line for you to see.  This means you."

House Sparta calls that a boundary, the idea of "this far, and no farther."  Fine with me.  I will call a boundary a boundary if it means "this far, and no farther."   In the spirit of tolerance and respect, I can understand that sometimes people set limits that, over time, they grow past (if they want to) with the right kind of incentive.   But I object to the idea of "growing past" a limit, as if a limit by default were some kind of defect that needed help or some kind of stunted growth.  I think that is a dangerous assumption to make.  Not all who wander are lost; not all who limit are broken.  Feeling a part of House Sparta, as I do now, I know that my personal limits are safe as if twenty gods stood guard for me.  And, accordingly, because I feel so safe with my limits, I make sure they do with theirs too.

I have been meditating on and exploring the idea of limits.  I hadn't declared any limits because I still considered myself a student and not really a practitioner.  I didn't really need them.  I realize, though, that it is a good idea to declare them.  To think carefully, to understand what it is that we declare when we say "this far, and no farther."   "This far, and no farther," reflects a person's personality.  Some people say "anything goes" and those are the people (according to the literature) whose expectations are difficult to meet and who often do not know the meaning of "anything."  Defining limits demonstrates personality.  So I have been thinking, and I have been coming to some helpful (to myself) conclusions about where and when I say, "This far, and no further."   I do not have many limits, and I do not have many boundaries, but they are real and they are hard.  And I like being able to enforce that.  My limits and my boundaries protect someone else, actually, so that means they are especially unbreakable.  And I like that I do not need to change them if I do not feel like it, and I can be right about it.

Jealousy, Part Five

Once, during a discussion about jealousy (one of many hundreds I have had since being given the assignment to explore it and figure it out) Klaudia said to me that she felt a good kind of jealousy, a sweet tingle in her tummy, when she thought about her Master.  I was new to this idea, so naturally I kept my distance: "what do you mean there is a good side to jealousy?" I asked myself, loudly.  I thought the whole point of this exercise was to exorcise.  That jealousy is a demonic invasion plague infestation infection thing.  Akin to the zombiepocalypse.  It goes right for the brains and then leaves you for dead, or that is how I thought about it.  "It is like a predator," I came to understand.  "It is like a bully," was also a familiar refrain.  "It compromises safety and sanity, and therefore consent and submission," is my own conclusion.  "It makes my tummy tingle," says Klaudia, and that just turned everything upside down.

I tried very hard to think of a way to make jealousy come from a place of love.  Jealousy gets a bad rap, naturally, and it's difficult to reverse that trend.  But I realized, as I examined an older picture of my mentor that was still in its raw state, and as I imagined all the things that I would do to digitally manipulate and enhance and "make different" and "make new" this picture of my Genny, that I had said to myself, "My Genny."  And I thought, after that, "My Genny, who looks like only I can make her look, when I take her picture."  And then I realized, "Only I see this Genny, my Genny."   When I take the picture and when I show it on display, sure, other people can observe "My Genny" but... only I saw her.  Only I captured her, treated her, polished her, and made her shine like only My Genny can.  And when I look through that lens to shoot My Genny, I do so out of love.  It's a jealousy that comes from Love.  My mentor inspires this.  And Klaudia's tummy-tingles confirm this: it is possible to feel a GOOD kind of jealousy.  The kind that says, "Nobody else can do this for you like I can, you wonderful person whom I love and will never harm."    (And incidentally, I'm not showing the My Genny picture here, because she's mine.  Sorry.)  

Backwards, Frontwards, Side to Side

It's been quite a day.  And there's nothing like talking to a real friend on a real kind of ... strange day.  I wanted to know about the role of love in submission, especially in the virtual world.  "Can you give yourself and still be independent?" my mentor asked me, challenging me to enjoy the feeling of a man without giving myself away.  And I enjoyed the feeling of a man.  And it feels like so long ago, but it is only just over a week, now.  "One more thing," she says to me, "do not fall in love with him."  That must mean that love is a part of submission.  Love can be a part of submission, rather.  It must mean that love risks being a part of submission, and that a person risks falling in love when perhaps love is not the bargain domination negotiates.
I started this journey, as I was reminded today by Sir RB, with the directive of "no love, please."  And I remember vividly saying to many people, "It's not  your love I'm looking for."  And I don't think that's changed, to be honest.  I do not think it is love that I am missing: but I do know that I am not cut out for a casual arrangement.  I do expect to be somebody's priority, because when I submit I make that man my priority.  I clarified today (thank you Sir RB, the conversation was precisely what I needed) that I spend a great deal of time erecting defenses against the possibility of being hurt (which would be a regular occurence if I did not erect these defenses; there are cruel people in the world), instead of privileging the aftermath of experience.  To privilege the guard-against means that I shall never really experience.  To privilege the aftermath means that I shall, in time, equip myself with the tools required to heal and to mend and to repair and to enjoy.  I have been doing things backwards, in other words.  I'm still not convinced that by doing the opposite I will actually be going forwards; I feel like I'm staggering to the side a little.  I know, however, that I am still on the right path towards You, mighty You, the You I know knows me.  Forgive me, I beg, if I take a little longer to get there.

It's not necessarily love that I need.  In fact, I'm sure it is not love that I need. It is love that I feel, though; and I'm now beginning to clarify things in my mind.  It's not love that I need; it's time and privilege.  It is love that I have to give, when I submit.  And what I need is consistency: time and privilege, dedicated time and dedicated priority.  I do need to be somebody's priority.  I do need that.  I have needs, and that is one of them.  Priority when he is here.  Priority when we have established a routine of inviolable time to share.  Not a monopoly but a scheduled priority.  My submission and my love are not very far different from each other; and I do not expect a virtual dom to understand it or reciprocate it -- but I do expect it to be valued, consistently, as part of who I am.  I think it is what makes me a desirable submissive.  And to that end, a consistent one.  Which means, it's time I communicate  a little bit now.  And so I shall.
*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *
In other news, in my frenzy to try to understand the mind of a dom, before I was lucky enough to score Sir RB's attention, I started reading notecards from a library in Second Life.  I was instantly disheartened, but then I realized "Hah, it's not really surprising."  Check out the first line in one of the notecards, and I quote:  "Dominance is a primitive part of the human psyche.  To plug into this primitive role, you have to appear strong.  So be as strong as you can.  Then fake the rest."   And then it goes on to say, "Strong people have wants, but not needs."   There is another notecard from the same library, "How to be a good top."  I turn my attention to that.  It poses the question, what do you do with a submissive you have tied up?  "You can be stern and commanding, sympathetic but nasty, jolly yet sadistic... anything you please."   My initial reaction to reading this?  "Not with me, you can't."  Whoever wrote these wrote them with absolutely no forethought about what it means to engage meaningfully in a long-term negotiated D/s relationship.  And now the highly questionable experiences I have endured in this world make a lot more sense, given what is out there instructing people.

In still other news, the landscapes in this post are of the Journey to Domination and submission sim that Genny (my mentor) owns and operates.  I have given her a bunch of fresh landscape shots because it has been a while since I have photographed some beautiful land.  I was chatting today about how the principles of photography (perspective, light, focal point and level of interest) are also the principles of any human relationship, not just relationship between subject and beholder.  I process a great many things when I am engaged in an intensity of focus on a picture.

What is submission?

My very most excellent mentor led a discussion (has been leading a series of discussions, actually, each Tuesday evening) and yesterday was 3 of 4 on The Story of O.  Yesterday's discussion focused on "Domination" in the novel.  Genny kept asking variations on the same question, "Where is the domination?"  Systematically she made her way through every so-called dominant in the story and the behaviour of each one, posing the question:  "Is this domination?"  The quotations she pulled from the story successfully challenge the notions of domination and submission that I have come to learn about (and, given some of the reactions in the group, some of the notions that LOTS of people have come to learn about and hold as true, unshakable, and sacred).  The fundamental principle of "legitimate" D/s is that it is a safe, sane, and consensual practice, and the unspoken assumption in that dynamic is that both Dom and sub have equal voices in determining what is sane, what is safe, and what is consensual.  The complicating dynamic in The Story of O can be seen in this one passage, in part 1, just after Rene tells O that her submission will be obtained "in spite of" her, that her submission will be forced from her:  "O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully.  He stopped her."  This one little dynamic -- O's urge to submit herself, which would frustrate the men's intentions of slavery -- complicates the rest of the novel in terms of submission, slavery, and what domination "really" is.

I have long struggled with categorizing O's participation at Roissy:  sometimes the men say she is free to leave, and yet she is chained to her room at night removing any idea of personal freedom.  Conversely, the reader begins to understand that not all chains are visible: privately, we get the impression that there is no way O would prematurely leave Roissy anyway, even if she were unchained, because hers is a kind of love that makes her endure whatever her lover expects of her.  She is so in love with Rene that, regardless of what the men do to liberate or enslave her, her personal code prevents her from leaving Roissy anyway.  To say it another way, it doesn't matter how many chains the Roissy men equip: O would not leave.  It doesn't matter how many men it takes to force her to kneel and service them:  O doesn't require force to obey.  (Can you enslave the willing?)  She will, accordingly, endure whatever the men do to her, no matter how painful and no matter the length of time.  Whatever lines exist between slavery and submission are blurred in this novel, it's true, and speaking as a North American I would say that even the new-world's view of D/s and modern romance are also challenged.  Rene demands that for which it is impossible to consent (he says the very words himself), and yet O insists that she consents, that she loves him, that she would do anything for him.  She is determined to consent (to submit); and the men are determined to objectify and remove consent (to enslave).  The question for me now, in my journey of learning, is whether a woman can submit under those circumstances. Is it logically possible to offer submission to someone who hears (and accepts) something completely different?  Or who doesn't hear or accept at all, for that matter.

The element of the novel that challenged my preconceptions the most (last night, at the discussion, thanks entirely to my mentor) is this very idea of submission in the face of slavery.  The tension in the novel between consent and the wholesale absence of rights and freedoms* was once to me an interesting plot device, but as of last night it is now an all-engaging thought process that occupies me concerning the very nature of submission.  I wrote in this blog two days ago that I had surrendered "even though you are not here."  The idea of submission, to me, changes with that statement:  I know that it is possible to submit -- that it is possible for me to do my half of the job -- even if I'm the only person in the room.  I know that it is possible for me to make that agreement in my mind:  "When you speak, I will obey; I will surrender control; I will yield to you; I want to yield; I need to yield; whenever you speak, I will yield and I am so grateful."  I know that it is possible for me to make this agreement and to not know the answer from "him", whether or not he will accept and act upon my submission.  What if he doesn't accept and act upon it? Does it invalidate my statement that I would yield?  No, he's a free-thinking man with his own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual:  and I am a free-thinking woman with my own definitions of safe, sane, and consensual.  Whether or not he accepts my submission, I have given it.  It is a cake in a box beside strewn flowers on the porch of the one who might enjoy it.  If he's home, and if he answers the door, and if he is hungry, and if he is pleased, then we are in synch!  If he's not home, OR if he refuses to answer the door, OR if he's simply not hungry, then there is no synchronicity to what we have to offer each other (and there are so many variables to determine synchronicity that it's amazing anybody ever gets it right).  None of this changes my surrender.  If he leaves his house and goes on vacation, never even noticing the cake and strewn flowers upon his porch, it would be a bit of a waste, this gift I offer, to say the least -- physically, anyway.  But it doesn't change my offering it.  And it's not a waste to me, emotionally.  Logically.  And I do not take back the offer, petulantly, if he rejects it.  It was offered.  It is offered.  It remains.  I am there with it.  And, naturally, I have surrendered to every possible future, accordingly.

=====================================
*Quoted from the novel:  "you are not free but fettered."  She is not free: she is enslaved, objectively.  Once the men pronounce that, it becomes objective fact.  And yet, she consents to be there, subjectively.  What if this is not simply a plot device but, rather, O's free-will determining her own submission even in the face of those who would enslave her?  What if this is the touchstone to understanding submission on a grand scale?


From Part 1: The Lovers of Roissy.  "[...] Your hands are not your own, nor are your breasts, nor, most especially, any of your bodily orifices, which we may explore or penetrate at will. You will remember at all times - or as constantly as possible - that you have lost all right to privacy or concealment, and as a reminder of this fact, in our presence you will never close your lips completely, or cross your legs, or press your knees together (you may recall you were forbidden to do this the minute you arrived). This will serve as a constant reminder, to you as well as to use, that your mouth, your belly, and your backside are open to us. You will never touch your breasts in our presence: the bodice raises them toward us, that they may be ours. During the day you will therefore be dressed, and if anyone should order you to lift your skirt, you will lift it; if anyone desires to use you in any manner whatsoever, he will use you, unmasked, but with this one reservation: the whip. The whip will be used only between dusk and dawn. But besides the whipping you receive from whoever may want to whip you, you will also be flogged in the evening, as punishment for any infractions of the rules committed during the day: for having been slow to oblige, for having raised your eyes and looked at the person addressing you or taking you - you must never look any of us in the face. If the costume we wear in the evening - the one I am now wearing - leaves our sex exposed, it is not for the sake of convenience, for it would be just as convenient the other way, but for the sake of insolence, so that your eyes will be directed there upon it and nowhere else, so that you may learn that there resides your master, for whom, above all else, your lips are intended. During the day, when we are dressed in normal attire and you are clothed as you are now, the same rules will apply, except that when requested you will open your clothes, and then close them again when we have finished with you. Another thing: at night you will have only your lips with which to honor us - and your wide-spread thighs - for your hands will be tied behind your back and you will be naked, as you were a short while ago. You will be blindfolded only to be maltreated and, now that you have seen how you are whipped, to be flogged. And yes, by the way: while it is perfectly all right for you to grow accustomed to being whipped - since you are going to be every day throughout your stay - this is less for our pleasure than for your enlightenment. How true this is may be shown by the fact that on those nights when no one desires you, you will wait until the valet whose job it is comes to your solitary cell and administers what you are due to receive but we are not in the mood to mete out. Actually, both this flogging and the chain - which when attached to the ring of your collar keeps you more or less closely confined to your bed several hours a day - are intended less to make you suffer, scream, or shed tears than to make you feel, through this suffering, that you are not free but fettered, and to teach you that you are totally dedicated to something outside yourself. When you leave here, you will be wearing on your third finger an iron ring, which will identify you. Bu then you will have learned to obey those who wear the same insignia, and when they see it they will know that beneath your skirt you are constantly naked, however comely or commonplace your clothes may be, and that this nakedness is for them. Should anyone find you in the least intractable, he will return you here. Now you will be shown to your cell."  [...]  The more he surrendered her, the more he would hold her dear. The fact that he gave her was to him a proof, and ought to be one for her as well that she belonged to him: one can only give what belongs to you. He gave her only to reclaim her immediately, to reclaim her enriched in his eyes, like some common object which had been used for some divine purpose and has thus been consecrated. For a long time he had wanted to prostitute her, and he was delighted to feel that the pleasure he was deriving was even greater than he had hoped, and that it bound him to her all the more, as it bound her to him, all the more so because, through it, she would be more humiliated and ravaged. Since she loved him, she could not help loving whatever derived from him. O listened and trembled with happiness, because he loved her, all acquiescent she trembled. He doubtless guessed it, for he went on:

"It's because it's easy for you to consent that I want from you what it will be impossible for you to consent to, even if you agree ahead of time, even if you say yes now and imagine yourself capable of submitting. You won't be able not to revolt. Your submission will be obtained in spite of you, not only for the inimitable pleasure that I and others will derive from it, but also that you will be made aware of what has been done to you."  O was on the verge of saying that she was his slave and that she bore her bonds cheerfully. He stopped her.  "Yesterday you were told that as long as you are in the château you are not to look a man in the face of speak to him. The same applies to me as well: with me you shall remain silent and obey. I love you. Now get up. From now on the only times that you will open your mouth here in the presence of a man will be to cry out or to caress."

Discipline - The Aspiration

Our destiny is frequently met by taking the very paths we have chosen to avoid it.  Sayuri's "destiny" in Memoirs of a Geisha comes up against her aspirations in nearly every chapter.  It is difficult to determine whether the happy ending to the novel is due to her destiny or due to her single-minded, purely-focused aspiration.  If we call it "destiny," she has been a passive passenger on a pre-ordained journey, and there has been no point whatsoever to her mental conditioning and emotional tribulations.  If we call it "aspiration," she has taken charge of her fate and brought about exactly that which she had set out to do on the day she changed her living.  From the moment of her prayer to the gods, she directed her mind, body, and spirit towards the one man she knew in whom kindness came easily.  The discipline of her aspiration is expressed here:  "With  my eyes squeezed tightly shut and my hands together, I prayed," she explains.  "I would suffer through any training, bear up under any hardship, for a chance to attract the notice of a man like the Chairman again."  And, every moment thereafter was devoted to this singular vision until, finally, at long last, she realizes her vision.

Sayuri remembers, "For a flicker of a moment I imagined a world completely different from the one I'd always known, a world in which I was treated with fairness, even kindness."  She continues, "And when I raised myself to look at the Chairman, I had a feeling of leaving my misery behind me there on the stone wall."  To get very, very picky here, I notice that she says when I raised myself to look, and that is the key to this sentiment.  That is the definition, as I would understand it, of aspiration.  When I raise myself to look.  When I raise myself to look, I see more, and I see further.  I can change things before they happen.  I am not a passive recipient of destiny's hand (if I do not wish to be); I take an active participation in that which shapes me (if I wish it so).

I do not take it for granted that there is a destiny for me.  I do discipline myself so that I can face the world and all of the choices presented to me.  I do not wait passively:  I wait actively.  Behind my eyes, there are dreams, and there are ladders I craft to reach them.  There are butterflies - the symbolic metamorphosis is the achievement of aspiration.  My geisha name, Choji, a butterfly name; my sole aspiration, to become that which You have always wanted in me.

Submission, Rights, and Ethics

One more from Miss Steel's private chamber, since I've been studying today with great interest.

This article is about negotiating.  "Many submissives," it says, "long to vacate all their rights, and they express the desire to do whatever the Dominant tells them.  Some even feel that if they are in any way non-submissive they will no longer be desirable to the Dominant.  This concept of 'non-submissive' is growing in popularity and is often identified as a submissive who is forthright, honest, and open in her opinion or beliefs.  Some believe that a submissive should never disagree with 'any' person identified to them as a Dominant, that such behaviour of disagreement is indicative of a poorly-behaved non-submissive."  Ye gods.  "This type of catch-22 ideology," it goes on to say, "encourages people to return to policies of silence by intimidation or judgment, or the non-truthful communication so prevalent in vanilla society -- policies most within the BDSM communities have attempted to overcome."


I think I understand pretty clearly, now, the difference between a roleplay slave and a BDSM submissive.  I think it's pretty clear that I should be forthright about my values, not my limits, the next time I enter into negotiations.   Values are a good thing to consider right now.

Values:
- I value bone-dry honesty, blurting before thinking.
- I value examination of that honesty, taking time to consider what we're saying really.
- I value eye-contact and facetime, undistracted.  Not 100% of every day -- in fact, not even close.  I can't handle all that attention.  But when it's "us time", nobody else intrudes.
- I value my solitude so that I can process things.  I can't be in a constant state of receiving: I need processing and output time.
- I value my privacy, your privacy, and our shared time.
- I value the time I have invested in learning about respect, honesty and integrity; the differences between Play and Reality; the differences between Submission and Slavery; the differences between Doms and Masters; and the differences between my submission and everybody else's submission.
- I value the time I have invested preparing myself so that I will be worthy.
- I value a man's honour (whatever it is that makes a man thoughtful, considerate, polite, chivalrous, clean, talented, skilled, and disciplined).
- I value my own practiced ethics.