Category Archives: Writing

What Feeds Me as a Master?

I recently competed in the Northeast Master slave contest at the 2012 Master slave Conference held in Silver Springs, MD, just outside of our nations capital.  This is the speech I gave the evening of the contest.

What brings me joy, what satisfies me, what feeds me as a Master?

The service, adoration, and attention of my slave feed me. Creating that structured environment so she can thrive and prosper feeds me. Knowing that we both serve, equal but differently, feeds me.

What feeds me as a Master?

My family feeds me. Leading, guiding, sharing, every day learning as much or more than I teach; being the big brother, the uncle, the confidante, the friend, and the place where the buck stops; all of this feeds me.

What feeds me as a Master?

My community feeds me. knowing that I am watching, and that I am held up as an example, knowing that my opinion and experiences are valued, giving the others the opportunity to learn from my pain instead of demanding their own new, improved pain, all of this feeds me.

What feeds me as a Master?

Being present here, now, in this very moment feeds me.  I will not forget the past, because if I forget, I cannot learn from the joys and sorrows I have experienced.   I must consider the future so that I may make good decisions today.   I am not however going to spend so much time dwelling on the past or dreaming of the future that I ignore the present. As I live in the moment, I will strive for pride without hubris, confidence without arrogance, and to act honorably and with integrity as I continue on this path.

Thank you.

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The Hamster-Wheel-o-Doom

There are many allegorical stories I tell to help illustrate points I am trying to make.  Many of them I heard from one person or another repeat, often with embellishments appropriate to the situation, and to whomever it was that I got this from, I apologize for not giving you credit.  If you are the one who told me the original version, please let me know so I can give you credit.  I recently related today’s story to a young slave in a discussion on why slaves sometimes need punishment.

“slave’s-Hamster-Wheel-o-Doom”

slave errs

Master points out the error

slave responds that she thought Master is incorrect, and that he should let his slave get on with the business at hand.

Master perceives this as arguing, gets angry, and walks away for a moment to calm himself before replying.

Master clams down

slave calms down

Master returns with a clear head and thought out response, delivers same as his decision regarding the error, explains the correct behavior and response, or at least the behavior and response he requires.

slave expresses contrition and agrees to comply with Master’s direction

Master thinks to himself, “I handled that well.  I did not lose my temper, and I did not stoop to arguing.  I made a rational decision that I believe is best for both my slave, and for me, and described my wishes clearly to prevent a recurrence.”

Master believes the matter to be resolved, and except for the new desired behavior, puts the matter out of his head.

Master pat’s self on back, and calls for a cool beverage in celebration.

Meanwhile….

slave thinks “i did something bad”

slave thinks “he’s still mad at me and I’m still unhappy with my behavior!

slave thinks “good slaves don’t do things to make their Master mad.

slave thinks “things that makes Master mad are bad things”

slave thinks “I did a bad thing.”

slave thinks “if a good slave doesn’t do bad things, and I did a bad thing, ipso facto i must be a bad slave”

slave thinks “Master deserves a good slave”

slave thinks “I’m a bad slave”

slave begins to cry…

slave thinks “i don’t deserve such a good Master

…allowed to continue running the circular logic for a bit…

slave thinks “i’m a bad slave who doesn’t deserve a Master

Master should release me, I deserve it”

… let it cook a bit longer…

slave thinks “Master should release me, I deserve it, but he is too good and kind to throw me out”

slave thinks “I should be grateful for his allowing me to stay.  I must redouble my efforts on his behalf, so that he will continue to tolerate me disgusting presence”

Master pat’s self on back again, because he sees that what he has required is being done, and in fact there is an overall improvement in what the Master sees the slave doing.  He praises his slave, and calls for another cool beverage.

slave hears Master’s praise mocking her, because Master is smart and wise and knows what a bad person she is.

Slave can no longer stand it and crawls to Masters feet, breaks out in tears, and begs to be released!

Master is now in shock!  He was completely oblivious to how unhappy his slave was, and wiser people that he has told him that if there is a problem with your slave’s behavior, the first place to look for the cause is in the mirror.  He thinks if slave is this unhappy serving him, she should be free to find a Master in whose service she will be happy, and he releases her, and they part ways.

Years pass, they meet by chance, and chat.

“Why did you ask to be released” the master asks.

“Because I was a bad slave, and you deserved better,” she replies.

“What did I do or say to make you think you were a bad slave?” asks the Master

“Nothing Sir, you were wonderful.  It was my behavior that convinced me.”

The Master is puzzled, he cannot think of what she could have done, what horrible act could have caused those thoughts

“What behavior?” he finally queries.

“i had been doing the same horrible thing for months! Surely you remember.” she responds sadly.

Again, the master wracks his brain to no avail.  He finally admits defeat, saying, “No, I don’t remember.”

slave replies “I argued with you.”

The thing is that it did not matter what the behavior was.  The problem was one of perception.  The slave needed a place to be able to say, “Here is where my transgression was addressed, I have paid for my sins, and I have been forgiven. For some there is a need for a consequence, a punishment if you will, for their behavior.  Not with every slave, and not in every case, that would be too easy. This is why it is important to maintain good communications.  What I went to leadership training in the Navy they taught, “A bitching sailor is a happy sailor, it’s when the STOP bitching you need to worry.” I am not advocating for slaves to complain constantly, but if you stop getting feedback, you need to do some investigating to see what is going on.

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Teh Awesome Ring of Domliness

Teh Awesome Ring of Domliness

I was recently asked about my profile picture on another site, specifically what is the symbolism of the ring?

I’ve already replied to that post, and I thanked the poster for asking about it. I don’t think about that symbolism enough, and  I need to think about the symbols and trappings with which I have filled my life, they nourish that part of me that craves pomp and ceremony, and rituals that bring us closer.

Back to the ring.  It does have meaning; it represents strength guided by intelligence and tempered by wisdom. Its my Masters ring, and serves to remind me of my role and responsibilities. I don’t consider it to be the equivalent of a collar, although I suppose there are parallels, because my collar around her neck is symbolic of her commitment and servitude to me, while my ring is a symbol of my self imposed commitment as a Dominant, a Master, and as the Head of my Household; a commitment to an ideal, the idea that says it take strength, bound by intelligence and tempered with wisdom to achieve my goals and be the Master I desire to be, and that my slave deserves.

There are other symbols I cherish.  There are my boots, perhaps not shined to a glassy finish anymore, but earned trudging down dusty roads and muddy trails, pounding steel decks and hard asphalt and concrete on five of the seven continents defending our right to be free.  And my leather pants, a gift from a brother who believed me worthy.  Sir Justice, I hope I always live up to the image of myself you showed me that afternoon in Virginia.  I wear a vest, it was a gift from my slave, and it is adorned with the colors and pins I have earned and been given on my journey.

There are other symbols.  The collar my slave wears, and the leather that I gave to her symbolize my control and the structure I provide for her.  I frequently feel unworthy of that girl, but the Universe saw fit to bring me to her, and I’ll be damned if I’ll turn so precious a gift away, so I lower my head against the storm of doubt and uncertainty and soldier on, and try to be worthy of her.

Like I said, I don’t stop to think about these things often enough, so thank the Universe for those new enough to not to be jaded, and wise enough to ask questions.

Wes,
Master of slave terry
Yorktown, VA

April 22, 2010

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The Hurrieder I go…

…the behinder I get.

That was one of my Mom’s favorite sayings as I was growing up in my little mountain town, and the longer I live, the more accurate that statement becomes.  I have had several reminders of that recently, ranging from annoying to real pain in the hindquarters, noting earth shattering or life threatening, but definitely annoying.  The truth is that it makes me aggravated with myself when rushing something causes a mistake or omission that requires me to start over again, and I am the only person in my life whose aggravations seems to be free of consequences.  If a business aggravates me, I carry my custom to their competitors.  If another driver annoys me, I have faith that the universe will retaliate on my behalf to maintain its equilibrium.  If it is a family member, there is penance, or if the aggravations is deliberate, even punishment.  Me? What am I going to do, take away my TV privileges until I complete the project?  I guess in a manner of speaking I do just that, but it really just adds to the aggravations load.

Self forgiveness is a skill I am still working to acquire, and it is one of the more difficult.  If someone in my service makes a mistake, they have an opportunity to do penance and be forgiven, and in the penance and external forgiveness get permission to forgive themself.  If I make a mistake that causes another pain, I can take action to try to redress the issue, heal the injury, and prevent the event’s recurrence.  In these acts I suppose I am doing penance, can seek the forgiveness of whomever I wronged, and I am able to forgive myself. I have written in other posts about the slave’s “Hampster-Wheel-O-Doom,” a psychological phenomena wherein a submissive convinces themself that they are not worthy of serving, and ways to break that cycle.  The question on my mind is, “How do those of us who are the leaders of the families and heads of households break the cycle?” So far, strength of will has sufficed for me, but if I’ve learned anything in the last half century its that while my capacity to screw up is for all practical purposes infinite, my will power and stamina are anything but.

I’ll continue learning and growing, and who knows, maybe one day I’ll learn to forgive myself, but I hope that it never gets easy.  If it is too easy, I’m afraid the motivation to keep learning and improving will die away too, and that would be the real tragedy.  Maybe self forgiveness is supposed to be hard for that very reason.  I don’t know, but I do know I’ll keep looking for the answers, and until I have them will move along doing the best I can with my head held high, and trust my family to catch me when I slip.

What else can a Master do?

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I have been too long away from writing.

I have been too long away from writing.

There was a time that does not seem so long ago, when I both read and wrote with gusto and abandon. A time when having three books and two magazines going, all while studying for a class,, working a full time job, and starting what I was sure would be the next Great American Novel, (yes, I always thought about in capitalized letters) was just the normal pace of the universe. A time when my children were always underfoot, my profession was demanding, my sight unsullied, and my enthusiasm flowed effortlessly into everything I was party to.

While it only seems like weeks, or perhaps months at most since I zoomed about with the energy and enthusiasm of youth, the reality is that the time is more honestly measured in years, or even decades.  My children are grown with children of their own who I cannot keep up with, and my attention, while as easily diverted as always no longer seems to have the ability to jump effortlessly between half a dozen reading and writing projects at will.  Such, I suppose, is the price of middle age.

On the other hand, growing older does have its benefits.  While I am less likely to be involved in the whirlwind of activity I remember, I am also less likely to allow my impulsive nature to cause harm to those I love.  I may not juggle a dozen books and projects, but the two or three I do manage get more attention, and produce higher quality results.  Overall, not a bad trade off, and besides, getting older most certainly beats the alternative!

So here I set, nearing the time when one day becomes another, waiting for medicine I should have taken hours ago to take effect, and meandering about growing older, in part bitching about my all too human frailties, and the dealing with the consequences of a misspent youth, and still accepting just how good my life really is.  I have in my slave a woman who adores me, who has devoted herself to me in a way few understand, who labors every day to make my life a better place to be.  On top of the bio family, I mentioned earlier, I now have a chosen family.  They both look to me for wisdom and guidance, and still manage to remind me when I start getting a little above myself, normally with a gentle nudge, but if a club is required… well, let’s allow that one to lie quietly in the corner until its needed.  I have brothers and sisters, both capitalized and not, who I can call on for help and guidance when I am lost or needy, and who know they can call on me as well.  I have the big sister I always wanted, and who says she wants to be just like me when she grows up, yet shares her strength and wisdom when mine fails. I have apprentices and journeymen working on my behalf to make our community a better place, and it seems hardly a week goes by without at least one request for me to speak, or teach, or share the benefit of my pain with others. I have a life filled with those who need me, and whom I need.   The Universe has blessed me, and for all of that I am grateful.

However, let us return to my opening proposition. I have been too long away from writing, and furthermore, I miss it.  I miss the careful logic that I derive from using the part of my brain that thinks in written symbols rather than audible sound.  I miss the feel of the pen in my hand, and the sound of the paper rustling as my thoughts take tangible form.  I even miss the typing and editing, although perhaps a bit less that the more creative bits.  I am going to try to do better.  Writing makes me more organized, and the Universe knows I could use some more of that. Writing makes me a more effective communicator; almost everyone I know could stand being a more effective communicator. (I only said almost to keep the universe from seeing the statement as a dare!) I could go on, but let us sum things up by saying that writing seems to make me a better me.  I am going to try this blogging idea, maybe if I know that somewhere there is someone reading what I write, it will help to motivate me to keep it up. I suspect that although I will post these meanderings at several places, I will discover the one that works best for me soon, and stop updating all but one.  In the meanwhile, be patient with me as I try to renew my love affair with the written word, I am doing my best, and that is all anyone can ask.

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