As Strong as a Slave

Every single person on this earth defines themselves. What follows is not a guide, a yardstick, a should be, ought, comparison, or lecture. It is only a peek into how I personally exist in my self-identified label as a slave. I respect everyone’s right to live their own truth by their own definitions.

I make BLTs with the attention to detail given to surgical procedures. I remember important dates, birthdays, needs, favorites, and preferences as if they were seared onto the inside of my eyelids. I am that person my people can call at 3am just because they’re lonely who will answer every time and never judge. I am happy to get that glass of water, wake up early to make breakfast, bring a night light even if I have to ride three different buses to do it, help with a resume, answer emails, hold hands, listen when they don’t make sense, pretend I was already awake when they called, finish to do lists, or simply stand behind them. I do these things for the people I care for simply because I care about them…but I also do it for me.

I have an organic need to be needed. It is a part of everything I do, as essential to my well being as breathing. It’s probably one of the less glamorous things in the Kinkiverse the way I do it, but there is happiness there for me.

To me, being a slave is also happily tangled with being pleasing…but it doesn’t mean being a doormat, being dependent, mindless, or naive. In order to be the crust of someone’s apple pie, I have to be as strong as they are. To do that, I must be steady and clear headed. I must be dedicated and decisive. I must earn my place by being a pillar of dependability and grace. I must have an iron spine and unblinking sight, the capacity for absolute loyalty and truly selfless unconditional love…and of course the ability to make up for my many many failings in these departments. With me there will be no mindless bowing and scraping, no waiting around to be puppeteered into action-I am not a shrinking wallflower of capitulation, no matter how sweet I am. If I am bowing I do it with my mind fully engaged. If I am your puppet it is because I walked over and handed you the strings. I am a slave not a Kink Action Barbie.

Being a slave requires an incredible amount of strength and work (sometimes more than I have), and so I guard my resources jealously. Some I am willing to share, some I am willing to lend, yet some are unavailable to any except the person who owns me-even if that person is not known to me as is currently the case. Until I belong to Someone, it is up to me when and how I give that energy and to whom.

I decide based on many factors, but the most important are these-does the person I am serving recognize that the strong, solid backbone of service hides a heart that is intensely vulnerable? Do they understand the need, the fear, the flaws and insecurities that are mixed into my supportive foundation? Do they respect, nurture, support, and beautify my gift? If they break me will they fix me? Will they break me if I ask them to? When our time is done and my heart is poured out will they return to me the fire I need to fill their heart with my devotion?

That is a lot to ask, so mostly I keep to myself, but I give what I can because I love that sound people make when they eat something I fixed up…the way I can hear their happiness in their voice when they say ‘good girl’…..I love imagining all the wonderful ways I made their day better without them even noticing and relish it like a juicy secret. I share with people I trust and I am pleasing and pleased. I drink in happiness that comes from the give and take, and I create new ideas every day about what it means to be as strong as a slave.