I see it all the time and it irks me to no end.

Submissives/slaves who are being told they’re fake or “not submissive enough” when they speak their mind and it doesn’t fit with some preconceived idea of what a ‘good/real/true submissive should say and do. Let alone lowly slaves who should be automatic doormats because they are … slaves.

Even worse is when I see “from a dominant perspective’ in relations to a discussion where ‘a dominant perspective’ is semantics only.

In my day job, I am in a very male-oriented industry and I am in control of my own workspace. I am published, I teach all, I manage projects and people. I’ve run a business, I’ve been a supervisor and trained staff. That does not make me a dominant.

I speak my mind. I make my opinions known. Outside my own choices to engage in situations with an extremely small number of people I allow to beat me and take a submissive role I submit to NOBODY. I speak my mind on matters that concern me. I’m a solo parent and responsible for a child. I will say “no” when I feel the need.

NONE of those things make me a dominant.

The qualities that make a good submissive/slave are the same qualities that make a good dominant/owner/master/whatever, are the same qualities that make a good PERSON. A whole person.

What differentiates us is the chosen dynamic with the person/s we CHOOSE to engage with on a D/s or M/s or O/p level. And it’s no one else’s business whatsoever. What is decided between those people is their own shit.

Don’t mistake my assertiveness for dominance or believe that only dominants are assertive. That’s absolute poppycock.

Don’t mistake self-control for dominance. It’s called personal responsibility and maturity.

Telling someone they are “not submissive enough” is a sure sign of your obvious butthurt and a pathetic judgment.

Think before you engage your foot in your mouth.

If you still don’t get it?

Watch this …

Isn’t it nice when I open my emails and lo and behold I get a present

‘beams’

I have an external stress meter which no matter what I do I cannot hide it.

Well I can.

With socks.

Except it’s way too fucking hot to wear socks, even if I do like my knee high stripeys.

I have psoriasis. On one foot. I’ve mentioned it before on here and I don’t have any qualms in having bare feet because it generally isn’t bad. But it’s enough to make me self conscious when it flares up. Lately it’s been ridiculous. Which irritates me as I thought I wasn’t that stressed. Obviously I am because my body never lies.

When I internalize it externalizes. And I bury myself in work so I don’t have to think. I’ve been internalizing over so many things lately because I didn’t want to write it all down.

I still don’t.

But then I remembered way back when I started writing. I’m glad someone had the balls to make me write. I’m eternally grateful because they found an outlet I hadn’t realised was there. So I confront myself. I write. But I start and then I stop.

I’m tired of struggling. I’m tired of being the strong person all the time. It takes it toll and whittles away at my soul. I miss having that one person I can completely and utterly confide in. I miss human touch, that skin on skin connection.  I miss that soaring sensation of the heart. I was feeling sorry for myself and going deeper into an abysmal abyss of sad. Watching my child hurting and feeling helpless has been the hardest part. Trying to parent again with the ex has been a hellish journey over the last few months.

And then i got the grumps, the black mood that I can’t explain it just is. I call her my wolf. She is lethal. She has teeth. She bites.

I went hermity. Walls went up.

Silence.

Those walls? Well and truly up and I’m way behind them in my little dark place.

Right now? The wolf is pacing. Growling.

I kinda like it here and I’m not coming out for a while.  If I poke around hard enough I’ll find my muse dwelling in some dark cavernous hole waiting to suck me into his web of words and ink  and off I’ll fly for a while, if only to feed my soul a little.

This kind of hurt is not the good one. I don’t like it.

I need a muse.

I need to feed my soul.

It is amazing what weird stuff I find interwebz surfing. Even slightly more bizarre that I am curious about some of this fucked up medical oddness.

My wee masochist stares at this and goes hmmm …

The ‘Artificial Leech’ … Bloodletting with leeches was such a popular treatment for a range of medical conditions that an artificial leech was invented in 1840 and was used frequently in eye and ear surgery. The rotating blades would cut a wound in the patient’s skin, while the cylinder would be used to produce a vacuum that sucked up the blood.

O.o ….can everybody say ‘ow’?