I've been letting this topic percolate, trying to find the right words -- or maybe just any words that make some semblance of sense. (I was actually planning to blog today, and one of the many topics was going to be a commentary on my growth as a slave; so this fits perfectly with the thoughts already rattling around.)
**WARNING** This is going to get long!
familure asked if anyone has ever lived in a moment where one's slavery was fully accepted and embraced; and my answer is, strangely enough, "many times, and all of them different."
With each of my collars has come a new stage of my slavery. When I initially submitted to a camp collar, I knew only that I felt as though I had finally found my purpose on Gor while serving during an old-school role-swap "Kajuralia." By comparison, I was deeply unfulfilled and restless as a free woman, bored and unsatisfied with that role. However, I embraced my novice slavery without any deeper realization of my RT motives; I did not search my own heart and soul for the why behind the what.
Some 13 months later, I realized that I desired a new level of growth in my slavery via a Teacher who would provide the sort of individual interaction and support that I felt could not be had as a camp girl. And so I was auctioned to my first Mistress and remained in the strict circle of her collar for many months. When she betrayed our home, it felt as though my entire soul had been ripped out. My Mistress and I did not have a sexual relationship; the love, and the devastation, that I felt was not that of a betrayed lover; yet my trust -- my naive assumption that if I shared myself so deeply, that beautiful, fragile part of me would not be trampled -- was utterly destroyed.
And so I returned to a camp collar; there was nowhere else to go. Even though this felt like a backwards step at the time, I had no choice but to admit to myself that Gor was a part of me, that it still lived and breathed inside of me, and that MTC was family. Then I was sold to my a-s, when she was our first Ubara, and there I healed, learning that I still had the capacity to bare my soul. Learning, as well, that I could be pleasing to men, and that I was finally confident enough for a Master.
The day a Master's steel was locked upon my throat, I felt as if I were finally, fully, completely, gloriously a slave girl. I felt as though I had taken my place in nature. That day, it was as if my tiny steps had finally taken me to a mountaintop where I could look all about me and see nothing but endless horizons.
And then my trust was broken again, and I begged release.
I couldn't handle a camp collar, then. I felt as though I had lost my entire purpose, that my slavery had ceased to be. I didn't know what to do with myself. I couldn't even imagine how to go on. I went through the same stages of grief as one who loses a loved one; it felt as though a part of me had died, and I could taste only ashes. It took me months of role-play as a free woman to eventually come full circle to that place where I could do nothing but kneel and beg to be what I had tried to bury; and when I knelt, it was to a charismatic Master who would never call me his love slave, yet who would have me as nothing less than perfect. In truth, I didn't want to be a love slave. I wanted, simply, to be a slave in a by-the-books Gorean sense. When that collar ended, I knew without doubt that while collars can change, the deeply submissive woman within me cannot deny her slavery, cannot be anything but a collared property girl. I had realized that my slavery was not just a VT role, it was a RT state of being, even if I would never experience M/s or D/s in my RT life. That mountaintop previously reached was not a pinnacle, but merely the beginning of a path that led through hills and valleys, and even dark and dense woods. (Yeah, I know, it's becoming a muddled metaphor, but slavery is ever a journey to me - gotta have some topography!)
I returned, soon enough, to the collar of my original Master. It was wonderful for a time. I believed I had something that might last forever. But time passed, and for once, I did some growing without being prompted by the one whose steel I wore. (The process was entirely frustrating, and I deeply contemplated leaving Gor for good; but Gor is like herpes, and I keep having outbreaks. -beams- Hope none of ya'll were eating just then.)
Quite simply, I realized that... what I had, was not what I needed. I needed more support, more attention, more interaction; I needed someone who would demand my perfection and then appreciate that hard-won victory as deeply as I would feel the significance of it. Too, I was pretty sure... okay, no, I KNEW... that I had found my love Master, even if he didn't know it yet. -grins-
And so I learned patience. (Me? I know, right?) Sometimes my inner child flailed and stomped off to go sit in a corner, but I gritted my teeth and kept on. And then sometimes... I was terrified. I sensed what it could be like, with him, what levels of submission I could reach. Could I open myself up that way? And if I did, would I be swept away? What if he saw the depths of my soul and found it lacking? I knew I wasn't wrong about the type of person he was, as I had been wrong about other owners or potential owners, but what if... what if he just didn't want me? (It was the first time I ever wondered if I was intimidating, in the sense of being TOO good; or, conversely, if I was stale product. It just seemed like some of the newer slaves were far more... noticed... and I was like, damnit, look at me! LOOK! -flaunt flaunt flaunt- Yeah. -grins-) And then, when I finally knew he wanted me, I wondered if he'd ever find faith in himself, to feel capable of owning me.
During this time, I felt another new emotion whch is hard for me to admit, since I think I'm basically a pretty nice person: competitiveness. I finally understood why it was that John Norman described slaves competing for desireable Masters. Now, I'm not entirely proud of that side of myself, and the only thing that helps me feel less like a heel is that I wasn't jealous, precisely, nor was I out to one-up my slave sisters, precisely. It was more like I wanted to one-up MYSELF. I wanted to catch his eye. I wanted him to notice me, SEE me, WANT me... and then realize that we were the perfect match.
That meant being myself, not the slave I thought he might want to see. And not only being myself, but... becoming myself, too, the self that was waiting to be expressed, the potential self that had been inside me all along. To go back to an earlier theme, that's some scary shit!
I owe much to Kelsey for helping me to develop that self. She supported me, counseled me, guided me, nagged me, and sometimes put a foot up my ass, and I grew. It left me breathless, sometimes, senses reeling, to feel so much. Long before my Master's steel graced my neck, I had to truly embrace my slavery in a way that I never had before. I had to admit that not only was I a talented slave, in regards to role-playing, dancing, training, healing, serving, and webwork, but I was a slave who could make a conscious decision to NOT hide behind my sexy, flirty, crafty words and instead be completely honest about my feelings and my needs, even if it made me feel like I couldn't breathe. Even if I was terrified to be rejected. The night I was sold was a confirmation of who and what I am, how far I've come, and the fact that I would never be this complete if I hadn't had the courage to admit these things to myself.
And, uh... I think I've said enough. LOL
