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8/06/2009

Encounter with Terror

Last weekend, Master ordered a new whip. He likes a whip maker named Arturo, who makes whips that seem to be intended for the "non-kinky" market, and that seems to keep his products in a price range that is way more reasonable than what similar items cost in "the lifestyle."


Himself has been pining away for an 8-plait rubber bullwhip that Arturo makes, and so Saturday morning, He placed the order -- and I began a spin into complete terror and despair.


Whips scare the crap out of me, and that is the plain, old, garden variety of whip -- made from leather. Rubber is a material that, in my experience, is way more wicked than almost anything else that impact play implements get made out of. Rubber sticks to the skin when it hits, and it then pulls the skin with it when it pulls away. The kind of damage that rubber does is much more intense and more long lasting than leather or wood or acrylics... A rubber bullwhip seems beyond my capacity to actually imagine, and serious contemplation of that combination takes me to a place that is beyond panic. Beginning shortly after He placed that order on Saturday morning, I was obsessively contemplating the impending reality of a RUBBER BULLWHIP, and it didn't take me very long to get past panic and all the way to terror and utter and complete despair.


But I didn't say anything to Him. He was so delighted in His purchase, and I am His slave. I don't say, "no." I work hard to please Him, to do what He wants me to do. I understand that, in our dynamic, He decides how and when we will play, and with what. None of this pivots around my pleasure or my desires. It is for me to submit; to obey; to trust... So I didn't tell Him about what I was feeling -- I didn't want to be seen as trying to "top from the bottom," and I was acutely aware of His distaste for anything that even remotely appears to be "service topping."

We went to bed late on Saturday evening, and He dropped almost instantly into a deep sleep. I laid there in the darkness, and the RUBBER BULLWHIP loomed larger and larger and larger in my imagination. I know how whips cut and burn, and I know how rubber sticks and pulls. A RUBBER BULLWHIP would, I was absolutely certain, pull great strips of skin right off. I couldn't sleep. I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Tears simply streamed down my face as I tried to keep from sobbing out loud. In my mind, I saw myself, standing under the lash of the RUBBER BULLWHIP -- skin being flayed from my body; blood running down my legs and back and pooling at my feet; knowing that I must stay in position; knowing that I must not make too much noise; knowing that I would die (really and not metaphorically) before it was all over.

It all made me very sad. Very sad. I mourned the years ahead that we would not have together. I wondered why He wanted to kill me when He'd always seemed to be completely thrilled with having me in His life. I wondered what it was that I'd done or not done that had changed things to make that happen. I went round and round with the internal voice that wanted to declare that "it wasn't fair," explaining the dynamic and the agreement I'd made and how that impacted the notion of "fair." Lying there, in the dark, awash in panic and misery, completely unable to sleep, I began to formulate a list of things that I needed to get done in the few days I had before the RUBBER BULLWHIP would be delivered: laundry, final phone calls to my son and daughter, some sort of legal transferal of the deeds to my condo and my car so they could belong to Master after I was gone, batteries in the smoke detectors, one more trip through His closet to make sure everything is in order... What a crazy hodge-podge of "chores!"

By Sunday morning, I was limp; exhausted both physically and emotionally. I wasn't angry, but I was completely without any hope. There wasn't one shred of belief in me that I'd be able to survive what was coming, and no thought to do anything to change my fate. I was completely resigned. All that was left of the emotional storm I'd been through was a slow, steady, seemingly inexhaustible stream of tears.

When He woke up, all fresh and rested and ready to go, He found me completely wrung out; compliant but without any energy or enthusiasm for anything. I was completely into a "whatever -- nothing matters anyway" state of mind.

He read the despair in my eyes immediately and demanded to know what was wrong. At first, all I could do was burrow into His chest and shiver. It wasn't the response He was looking for, and eventually, I heard that tone of command that inevitably brings me straight to whatever is demanded: "What's wrong? Tell me!"

Five words, spoken in a tiny, and very tired voice: "I don't want to die."

"What!?!?! What are you talking about? What is wrong with you?" And, so I told Him. Told Him all of it. My fear; my certainty of the outcome; my confusion as to His reasons; the whole list of things that I needed to get done before... well, before; and my utter and total saddness at all of it.

I think He might have laughed except that I was so clearly serious, and in such a state. He pulled me in very close, and began to reassure me, as if He believed that all of my craziness was, in fact, not crazy. Carefully, step by step, He walked me through the logic of all of it; He loved me -- always and all ways; would never harm me; had ordered the whip because it was such a great deal, and because He liked it; had never ever hit me with the one bullwhip we already own... so why would I believe He intended to use this one on me? It was a tapestry of reasoning and logic that began to pull me slowly back into a contemplation of the possibility that I might not be at the end of my life (and yes I know how melodramatic that sounds -- welcome to my sometimes wild internal universe).

Finally, sensing (I think) that I was through the crisis I'd created in my mind, He asked me, "Why are you still here? Why didn't you leave? How is this "protecting Master's property?"

I just looked at Him, incredulously, tears springing afresh -- "I can't leave! Where would I go? I don't know what I would do!" The idea that I would somehow leave was beyond my ability to even conceptualize. It had never once, through all the long and scary hours of the night, crossed my mind...

Which brings me to the point of this whole long, pitiful tale: slavery is about relinquishing control. It is as simple as this: all the decisions are now His. Often, when someone wants to get into a tussle with one of us who claim the title "slave," there will be the proposition that we would surely draw the line at some point -- family, work, physical injury, or death. I've always resisted getting into that sort of hypothetical discussion, because I don't think there is anyway for any of us to know for sure what we would do in the event we came to be pressed in some atypical and very difficult fashion. I've watched others wrestle with their own enconters, and I know that the outcomes are as unpredictable and variable as the people involved. There is no pattern, no prescription, and no "one size fits all." Giving up control, as it turns out, is a risky business. I only know that I encountered my own terror, all alone in the depths of the night, and I stayed put. It is a piece of information about the nature of our dynamic that I've never had before.

swan

5 comments:

  1. Oh Swan...this was in turn funny then touching then funny again.

    :)

    I so relate in many ways. I have gone through the despair, if not over a NASTY RED RUBBER BULLWHIP! lol

    Giving yourself means giving yourself. And yeah, it's scary.

    And yes, it's fulfilling. :)

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  2. Anonymous10:27 AM

    Swan;
    I have been reading for so long that I have watched your family and life from the eyes of wonder. I am always touched by your posts on things that actually give me a reason to relate or understand. This one did in a whole different way. The thought process that I am 'going to die' has happened to me recently when I found out my husband of 19 years and just turning 41 is now legally blind due to Diabetes. Overnight his career came to a screeching halt, his need for me more than ever has become vast and even more so, he now has become depressed. The hard part for me is knowing that I am really not a caretaker and that now, even though I had hoped to find someone to take care of me because I HAVE been taking care of everyone else, has flown right out the door. The financial end of things are catastrophic as well...

    So when you say you were 'planning' things so far in advance... I have been doing that for days now... thank you for letting me know I am not the only one that worries that badly.

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  3. Slightly off-topic, but related... I hope I can share...

    I have found myself shocked with what I WOULD do if a hypothetical situation became real.

    For instance, one day at the very beginning of April, my junior year of college, I ended up trying to hail a taxi at about 11:30pm. I had missed the residential parking switch over time by ten minutes, and my car had been towed. I was due home from school that weekend, so after freaking out and crying on my friend's shoulder, I gathered $300 in cash (to pay for the cab fare to the tow yard and the cash fee needed to release my car.) and went to hail a taxi.

    The street was quiet and dark and I was miserable, in a slight haze, desperate to just home. A homeless man approached me, stuck something hard in my ribs and said: "Give me your money and I won't make this any harder than it has to be."

    Now, had ANYONE asked me what I would have done if that situation arose, I would have said, with NO qualifications, that I would have been compliant and handed over my cash. My life is worth more than $300, period.

    The reality, though? I lied to the guy. My first instinct was to LIE. I told the man I didn't have any cash on me. And it was a VERY poor lie too - I mean, I was hailing a taxi! What was I going to pay the driver with? Sexual favors? I OBVIOUSLY had cash on me.

    The man repeated his demand, only with curses an insults and a jab in the ribs with The Hard Thing again, and I AGAIN lied and said I had no money - only this time I said it louder. I was frozen, I was terrified, but I was DUE HOME and dammit, I wanted to get there, and I needed the $300 too do it.

    The guy then backed several steps away from me, twitched, and glanced at people about a block away from us. He then grinned, punched my arm pretty damn hard and said, "April Fool's, sweetheart," and ran away.

    In all the confusion and rush and being so upset over having the car towed, I had forgotten it was April Fool's for another half hour. I sat down on the sidewalk and sobbed.

    Looking back, I suspect he was a homeless man with a drug or alcohol habit he wanted to feed. Perhaps unwilling to "really" try to mug someone, he figured April Fool's was a good way to see if he could get some money and if things started to go sour, he could whip out the "Just kidding! April Fool's!" line and hope people had a no-harm no-foul mentality.

    I don't know. It was low of him, and I was so so terrified. Some part of me was sure, utterly sure, that I was going to die.

    But I learned something about myself. Despite the fact that beforehand, I would have SWORN up and down I would have given up my money if I felt my life was being threatened... When it came down to it? Getting home was more important to me. I was not going to give up my means to get home with a fight.

    I still don't know what that says about me. It worked out in my favor, yes. But was it stupid? Irrational? Risky? Not worth it? Probably. According to everything I can think of rationally, I made a really stupid choice there. I can't find a way to explain it other than a flagrant display of a total lack of self-preservation instinct.

    And yet... Hrm... I don't know.

    I don't know. I just don't know.

    We surprise ourselves, I suppose, when things are dark and desperate.

    For my part, I can't figure out if it was a good surprise, or just something to know about myself.

    ~Chloe, who is a bad liar in all respects, not just with potential muggers.

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  4. Impish13:43 PM

    Oh, God, I hate those middle of the night gremlins! They start out relatively small and stubborn, almost like you could successfully wrestle them, but they grow so large and out of control. So glad you have the support and love you need.

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  5. Anonymous11:17 PM

    "It is a piece of information about the nature of our dynamic that I've never had before."

    THAT, is way cool! I'm so glad you had that little epiphany, swan.

    I love the whole post. I am going to share it with Master. This is so universal, the fears escalating.

    Wonderful piece. I loved it.

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