I hug my property in front of Reagan National after another Leather run. Six weeks ahead without the property's service. After my property, I walk away, dragging my suitcase to the check-in counter for Alaska Airlines. This is a job my property would normally do for his MASTER. I stand before the ticket agent and sense the absence of another body against mine.
I walk to the cafe and order my own coffee. I then sit down and instinctively look up to grant property the permission to sit beside me. A habitual act. I sit and drink my coffee alone.
I go to the restroom and pull out my cock, aiming my warm stream into the white, porcelain bowl. I think of the willing mouth of my property always ready to nurse out my piss until I have finished. I shake off the last drops, return my cock to my 501s, and button up my jeans. property is not there to serve as my valet and fasten up my clothing.
For the ensuing weeks I will do for myself what he usually does for me. Each simple action will remind me of the physical bond with my property, of its service when I wake, wash, eat, dress, urinate, walk, and cum. My body will feel incomplete without my property beside me. The bond between MASTER and property now realized through an awareness of absence.
Ownership of another creates an apparent paradox. Over time, my body as MASTER has redefined itself according to the service provided by the property. No longer can I as MASTER experience true independence in action. Without property beside me, I must do for myself what my property would do for me.
As participants in BDSM, we recognize the strong connection between our bodies and our identities. We define our roles by actions during play. Essentially, our movements or lack thereof establish identities that we feebly attempt to define by words. Without such action, roles do not exist. The dance of trust requires a minimum of two participants.
Given this, we must immediately dismiss the notion that a man can be a MASTER without a slave. One is defined by the other. It is not an abstract like a tenet of faith, a personal conviction, or a mysterious rapture felt in the bosom. Rather, both the MASTER and the slave carve out their identities based on physical interactions with each other. The MASTER understands this when the slave no longer is present. He must now do for himself what the slave usually does. Every physical need becomes a reminder of the slave.
Thus, the idea of independence as an attribute of strength is absurd when considered within the power dynamic of BDSM. Standing alone, the MASTER realizes that he is not Superman, Nietzsche's conceptual higher being beyond duality. Without his slave, the MASTER realizes that he is very much connected to the worm of the body which the slave addresses through diligent service.
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label trust. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Thursday, April 21, 2011
An Open Letter to IMsL 2010: San Francisco, CA
To Mollena -
Thank you for your frank words during your step down speech. I respect your strength in using this potentially crippling scene as a catalyst for helping others. And I appreciate your generosity of spirit in thanking those who helped you overcome this obstacle in your Leather journey.
During the intermission before you delivered your speech, I spoke with one of the ImsL judges about a similar occurrence in my own life that happened more than twenty years ago. “You were an innocent boy and didn't know what to do. We knew we had to help,” explained Sharrin Spector. Sharrin, together with my friend Karen Taylor, knew about my abusive home situation. The week before they stepped in a number of my belongings had been destroyed. On one occasion, the man that I trusted had hurled a pair of hair clippers at me, missing my head by inches and making a large gash in the right speaker of my expensive stereo.
Most men in the Seattle Community turned a blind eye to the situation, choosing not become involved. “Just deal with it,” advised a prominent titleholder. “If we all broke up when stuff like this happened, there wouldn't be many male relationships.” he added.
I recall that feeling of loneliness and isolation. Why had I decided to join such a fucked up Community? Perhaps I should have continued playing out my perverted fantasies in the closet as I had for the previous five years.
Sharrin and Karen met with me on a Saturday evening and suggested that I spend the night in a safe place. “You can stay with me,” invited Karen. “You will be safe. No one but us will know you are here.”
I accepted her invitation to spend the night and left a message at the machine at home that I was safe and would return the following day. I knew that the message would not be retrieved until the wee hours of the morning when he returned, horny and half drunk. What I did not anticipate was the fury that would follow.
The next Monday, Al “D” Sowers approached me. Al had always been a more experienced friend. He was also outspoken in the men's Community and refused to conform to the crowd. “If you ever need a safe place again, call me,” Al admonished as he handed me his phone number on a card. Little did he know that I would be chased down the street the following day at 3 AM and would be calling him.
“you faggot! I am going to fucking kill you!” I will never forget those words as I ran down street after street in the November cold. I had escaped the house with only the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my wallet.
Days later, Sharrin met me at my house to help me move. “I remember seeing you on the porch with twelve small boxes containing everything you owned in the world,”she said.
I had forgotten that day, that emptiness. I had given total control to another, and he had broken that trust. I felt violated.
In the subsequent months, this man would continue to threaten and harass me. “you are MINE,” he screamed into the phone one day. “And if I can't have you, No One will!” Finally, in desperation, I obtained a restraining order in the courts. Not what I anticipated as a Leatherboy.
Yes, Mollena, I also know what it feels like to be abused by someone you once trusted in our community. And I know how important it is to heal and to begin to trust again in others. Most important, it is vital that we eradicate such behavior from our Community while offering support to others.
Thank you, Mollena for your honesty and your leadership during the past year.
In Leather Brotherhood,
Sir Hugh B Russell
International LeatherSIR 2010
Thank you for your frank words during your step down speech. I respect your strength in using this potentially crippling scene as a catalyst for helping others. And I appreciate your generosity of spirit in thanking those who helped you overcome this obstacle in your Leather journey.
During the intermission before you delivered your speech, I spoke with one of the ImsL judges about a similar occurrence in my own life that happened more than twenty years ago. “You were an innocent boy and didn't know what to do. We knew we had to help,” explained Sharrin Spector. Sharrin, together with my friend Karen Taylor, knew about my abusive home situation. The week before they stepped in a number of my belongings had been destroyed. On one occasion, the man that I trusted had hurled a pair of hair clippers at me, missing my head by inches and making a large gash in the right speaker of my expensive stereo.
Most men in the Seattle Community turned a blind eye to the situation, choosing not become involved. “Just deal with it,” advised a prominent titleholder. “If we all broke up when stuff like this happened, there wouldn't be many male relationships.” he added.
I recall that feeling of loneliness and isolation. Why had I decided to join such a fucked up Community? Perhaps I should have continued playing out my perverted fantasies in the closet as I had for the previous five years.
Sharrin and Karen met with me on a Saturday evening and suggested that I spend the night in a safe place. “You can stay with me,” invited Karen. “You will be safe. No one but us will know you are here.”
I accepted her invitation to spend the night and left a message at the machine at home that I was safe and would return the following day. I knew that the message would not be retrieved until the wee hours of the morning when he returned, horny and half drunk. What I did not anticipate was the fury that would follow.
The next Monday, Al “D” Sowers approached me. Al had always been a more experienced friend. He was also outspoken in the men's Community and refused to conform to the crowd. “If you ever need a safe place again, call me,” Al admonished as he handed me his phone number on a card. Little did he know that I would be chased down the street the following day at 3 AM and would be calling him.
“you faggot! I am going to fucking kill you!” I will never forget those words as I ran down street after street in the November cold. I had escaped the house with only the clothes on my back and a few dollars in my wallet.
Days later, Sharrin met me at my house to help me move. “I remember seeing you on the porch with twelve small boxes containing everything you owned in the world,”she said.
I had forgotten that day, that emptiness. I had given total control to another, and he had broken that trust. I felt violated.
In the subsequent months, this man would continue to threaten and harass me. “you are MINE,” he screamed into the phone one day. “And if I can't have you, No One will!” Finally, in desperation, I obtained a restraining order in the courts. Not what I anticipated as a Leatherboy.
Yes, Mollena, I also know what it feels like to be abused by someone you once trusted in our community. And I know how important it is to heal and to begin to trust again in others. Most important, it is vital that we eradicate such behavior from our Community while offering support to others.
Thank you, Mollena for your honesty and your leadership during the past year.
In Leather Brotherhood,
Sir Hugh B Russell
International LeatherSIR 2010
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