Long distance sucks.  No two ways about it.  But both Antonio and I recognized it was necessary, for right now.   I wanted to finish something, he supported me in it, and it meant I had to move in with my family for a while, and right now I’m 1,000 miles away from him.  It’s shitty, but it will be over soon, and it will have been worth it…   And I’m not going to dwell on the bad things here.  (At least not today…)

I’m going to talk about something great that came out of long distance – my schedule. 

I love my schedule.  I’ve grown SO attached to it.

Actually, that’s a total lie.  I’ve grown attached to ONE portion of it. The part at the end where I get to write my thoughts, whatever they may be.

It’s my little safe haven at the end of the day.  Anything and everything that I want to talk about can go in there.  If I need to rant and rave, I can.  If I need to mull endlessly over a problem one of my friends is having, I do.   If I had an issue with an order or task he set for me, I can complain there. If I feel compelled to be sappy and girly, it’s all good.  If I want to tell him I think he’s being an insufferable jackass, I do, right there in my safe place.

Some days, I have worked 19 hours straight, gone to classes, dealt with family issues, and I just want to collapse.  I have a giant Do Not Want attitude about it.  But I have to do it.  I HAVE to.  One, because he says so.  Two, because I need to.

I’m not allowed to be a horrific complaining mess during a task/argument/whatever, or else things get a lot harder for me.  It turns out, “Do as you’re told, slave” does not mean “Do it, and while doing so please share all the reasons you hate it.”  (I know, I was shocked too.)

But I AM allowed to reflect on those thoughts in my schedule.

This does great things for me, just knowing at the end of every day it’s coming.  I know that I will get my say on anything I want to talk about.  So things that irritate me throughout the day?  I know I’ll get to voice the irritation.  So often, those little things are free to evaporate and I don’t dwell (as much).

But here’s the provision…  I can’t just rant to be a bitch.  Oh, I can rant all I want, but I have to attempt to analyze my thoughts, and present him with a thinking-through of my behavior and mental processes. (He’s actually never set this provision officially… I think it’s just understood.)

I have come to many conclusions about myself from being forced to be totally honest, even if it comes across as harsh toward him, and then pick my own brain about WHY.  Often, knowing I have to write it makes me think harder during the day, spend more time analyzing myself during a moment of pain or irritation, and I arrive at better conclusions in the moment simply knowing my schedule is on my horizon each evening. I can’t fully describe how useful it has been. 

(Also, I should note it’s not just a venting arena.  There are many, many times I am just rambling about my day, or going into detail about how happy I am in my slavery, or what he means to me, or just all the times I thought about him.  But, for the purposes of this post, those days are not all that useful to talk about!)

So, clearly, it’s invaluable to me.  But I think it’s invaluable to my Master as well.  He gets to read, at his leisure, my thoughts on anything and everything I felt was important during the day. (And, I’ll be honest here, a few not-so-very important things.)  

It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s going on in my head (well, sometimes he doesn’t – my head is ridiculous), but it’s more that he likes to see my mental process… See HOW I arrive at conclusions about myself.  He can also gauge how long it takes me to come to certain realizations about myself and thus gauge my progress in self-analysis. He might already know “She’s being this way, because she is attempting to manipulate me into a reaction.”  But it’s helpful to him (and to me) to see me self-analyze and reach that conclusion on my own.  I think real progress comes when I can say “here’s how I’m feeling, here’s how I’m acting, and I know I’m doing it because I want this reaction, or I want this attention, and this is how I’m interpreting your actions.”

And then it’s up to him what to do with that. 

Lalana was posting about feeling wary about purging some thoughts into her blog, here and here.

And I had a whole lot of thoughts about that, because of what I write in my schedule… 

She seemed worried about hurting or insulting her Master.

Now, I get that.  I do.  But it struck me – I don’t think I truly worry about hurting Antonio’s feelings.  Like, ever. 

(I’m beginning to question myself on this – question if it makes me essentially the worst person in the world.)

It’s not that I don’t think about his feelings – I do, a lot.  I love knowing he’s feeling happy, satisfied, or proud – whether it is because of me, or just because.  I think a lot about what I can do to make him happier, more at ease, etc. Obviously, yes, I believe my actions affect how he feels about me and the state of his life.  I guess I just don’t often think my actions change how he feels about HIMSELF.  He’s too secure and rational, and his confidence is too intrinsic and self-contained.  He’s never relied on another human being to make him feel good about himself, so no matter what I do, he has that slight distance from the emotional reaction.

I don’t know if I’m being clear.  I doubt it.  Gah.

It’s just… I’ve never held something back because I’m afraid of hurting his feelings, insulting him, or anything.  In my head, there is one reason and one reason only to hold something back – because I haven’t yet found a way to be respectful in saying it.  I would be (and have been) incredibly ashamed when I’ve said something disrespectful.  That sucks beyond description and I hurt MY own feelings when I do it.  But does it “hurt” his feelings?  No…  At least, I don’t think so.  It disappoints or angers him.  I disappoint and anger him.  But I don’t think I hurt him on a personal level. 

He’s one of the most intelligent human beings I’ve ever come in contact with.   It’s impossible to bullshit him. So even if I happen to have a hormonal rage, see red over something, and tell him he’s acting like an insufferable bastard and a self-involved arrogant prick?  Yeah, well, I’m toast for running my mouth. But if I say I feel he’s acting like those things doesn’t mean I think he IS those things. And he’s certainly not going to get all sulky about it.  And if I put it in my schedule along with an analysis of my reaction?  I’ve never once detected a note of sulk or pain from him.  Not once.

My opinions matter, but only up to a point.  They don’t alter his feelings about himself and he’s not easily deceived.  I am desperately, passionately in love with him.  I want to be his and only his.  I want him and only him.  He is my own personal deity and he makes me happier than I can possibly describe.  But I am an imperfect creature.  Some of the things I think and feel and experience are twisted emotions derived from my perception of his actions, my hormones, or my general level of idiocy.  He knows that and I’m his slave, so clearly it’s not like my word is gospel.  And his tolerance level for manipulation is ZERO.  So he’s not going to play back if I’m trying to be manipulative, even subconsciously. I am a very, very lucky girl that way.

Also, he does not have a problem with criticism.  At all.   He takes it in, processes it, and decides if it’s worthy of his attention. So if I’m “right” about something?  If I’ve observed something in him or his actions that he hasn’t?  He doesn’t have an ego problem, and he will admit when he’s wrong, and he doesn’t sulk or punish anyone around him for it.  He’s too comfortable with who he is.  He should be.  He’s utterly amazing.

I guess the way I look at it is this -  every day, he asks for my thoughts.  My most honest thoughts, no matter what they are.  And I give them to him. He doesn’t ask for them because he feels he needs to change or anything.  He asks for them to get information about me.  Information is power.  So the more information I give him about myself, the more power he has over me.

And that makes for a happy slave.

Kaya has inspired me to post recipes. 

I love cooking and baking.  (This is a very, very good thing, because if baked goods were a living creature, I swear Antonio would be having an affair.)

And, just because I make no sense, I’m going to start with a recipe I’ve never made for him!  Heh.  Anyway, I love it and it’s one of my favorite Christmas cookie recipes.

Mrs. Claus’s Mints

Ingredients:

¾ c butter

1 ½ c packed brown sugar

2 Tbs water

2 c chocolate chips

2 eggs

2 ½ c flour

1 ½ tsp baking soda

¼ tsp salt

2 packages Andes Mints

Prep:

(This dough needs to chill for a while before it’s used.  So there’s no need to preheat the oven while you’re mixing or anything – do it right before you’re going to bake.  When you’re ready, set your oven to 350°.)

• Melt the chocolate chips and set them aside to cool. 
• Unwrap all the Goddamn mints.  And cut them in half.  (This takes a while.)
• Line cookie sheets with parchment paper or tinfoil.  (I use parchment paper, my mother uses tinfoil.  Works fine either way.)

Directions:

1. Cream the butter, sugar and water.
2. Add melted chocolate and mix thoroughly, then beat in eggs. 
3. Add dry ingredients (flour, baking soda, and salt)
4. CHILL THE DOUGH.  I cannot emphasize this enough. Go ahead and let it chill overnight, if you want to be safe.  Cookies will spread really thin if the dough isn’t chilled enough.  In fact, when you are making each batch, break off a chunk of dough  and return the rest to the fridge.  Really.  CHILLED DOUGH.
5. Roll the dough into ¾ inch or 1 inch balls and place on prepared cookie sheets.
6. Bake 8-10 minutes at 350°.  (Cookies will be puffy and have a cracked appearance.)
7. Place half a mint on each cookie, return cookies to the oven for 30 seconds, then remove and swirl the mint with a toothpick.  Remove from the trays, cool and eat!

A  few random tips/notes: 

• The cookies are WAY prettier if you can find the Andes Mint Parfait Thins… They are the ones that have mint-chocolate-mint layers instead of the regular chocolate-mint-chocolate.  Ooo, look, google to the rescue.  These… Not these.  I mean, the regular ones will work.  They just won’t be as pretty. 
• Use whatever kind of chocolate chips make you happy.  Dark chocolate, semisweet, milk… (I bet you could even use white, though I’ve never done that.)  As long as it’s melted chocolate, it’ll work!
• You can use less/no salt if your butter is salted.  Or, you can be like me and not bother to measure anything that is a teaspoon or less, just pour some in your hand and go “That looks good enough!” and then try to convince yourself that not measuring makes you a “real” chef.
• Also, I’m thinking I’m not alone in looking at cookie recipes and having a tendency to think “dropped by rounded teaspoon” is ridiculous, becasue who the hell eats cookies that small…and then making them much bigger.  Don’t do that with these.  They need to be small or the mint looks stupid on them and they take too long to cook and spread too much.  From a notorious cookie-recipe-alterer, I promise you actually do want just 1 inch balls of dough.
  
  
  

I make no apologies for my choice to remain anonymous, because I believe my reason is a good one. But I really do want to be honest with anyone who takes time out of their life to read my words. Even if honesty means saying, “I’m keeping this from you, and I just wanted you to know that.”

Now, this post could end here.  But, I actually have another point.  I want to explain why. 

Maybe I’ll start with the reasons that are NOT why I’m keeping my real name to myself… 

This has nothing to do with shame.  I am incredibly proud of my life.  I imagine (well, I like to imagine, at least) that most slaves are proud of their service.  I know I am. 

I also do not fear society’s reaction.  When it comes to society vs. my Man, there’s no competition.  Society be dammed.

I don’t fear my family’s reaction, either.  I might be saddened or hurt if they couldn’t accept me or wrote me off, but we’re family and I think we’d pull through.

But the reason is about my family. It’s because I love them.  And while I am entirely willing to have a personal disagreement with any member of my family, I refuse to put any of them in jeopardy.  I took a collar, they didn’t.  And while I will be punished within my relationship, I won’t let them be punished for my relationship.  Period.   

And if they simply didn’t agree with my choices?  Well, that’s not punishment for them, that’s life.  I’m not in the business of protecting their precious sensibilities.

However, I am in the unfortunate position that if my lifestyle were to be made public, I could jeopardize my mother’s entire career.  And, by extension, her source of joy, her financial stability, and her reputation.  And I will NOT do that to her.

She’s not “famous” exactly… Though in some circles I suppose she is.  I just have a hard time not giggling at that.  She’s my MOM, yanno?  But I have to admit, her signature is, more often than not, referred to as an autograph. 

Maybe I have no faith in society and maybe I am paranoid.  But maybe I’m right.  And if I’m right about the effects of exposing myself, then this blog identifying me (and hence, my family) could do a whole hell of a lot more damage than Antonio and I not getting an invite to Thanksgiving next year…  I could really hurt someone.  And I won’t do that.  Call it being scared, call it serving someone else, call it a limit – it is what it is.  And it stands.

I guess part of the reason I started this blog is because I HATE that I think I’m right about society’s reaction and the possibly damage I could do to my family. So I feel the need to voice my ideas, and add them to (what I like to think is a growing) current of voices that aren’t unrealistically sensationalizing this lifestyle, they are merely living it, and proving they are smart, normal, natural people.  I want things to change. 

Because one day (I hope), Antonio and I will be parents.  And I’m thinking many of you have read Catalina’s blog… So you may remember this situation.   Or what hisbliss has been going through with her Master and kids, which she talks about briefly here (and forgive me, bliss, I’m new to your blog and I haven’t read back far enough to know if you’ve blogged about it more completely in the past!  Lemme know and I can link to other things.)  And yeah, I’m scared of that sort of thing too.

I think adding another voice to the chorus of people who are talking about BDSM as a REAL lifestyle (aka, not sensationalizing it as some kind of surreal and brutal porn-a-palooza) is a good move on my part.

(Don’t take that the wrong way.  I’m all for some lovely and raunchy porn.  I’m just wary about what is out there, approaching the mainstream, that will affect how people think, people who could possibly stand in judgment of my family if I was found out…  Thazall.)

For now I just wanted to say that I’m not sorry I made this choice, but I am sorry I HAD to.. 

It’s not even something that really needs explaining online, I suppose… Many people lie or hide their identities.  But I’m BIG on honesty, and it bothers me that I can’t be honest with anyone who might read this about who I am.  A lot.  So I guess this post was more for me. 

I was dealt a very lucky hand.

I am a young (well, 25 years old), upper-middle class, intelligent, educated, Caucasian woman.  I was born (without physical or mental defect) into a loving family in a safe neighborhood in the Northeastern United States.  I was not abused or neglected.  I was raised with all the right values, went to all the right schools, and celebrated all the right holidays.  Hell, I’m even right-handed.  Life is, was, and will probably continue to be very good to me.

Thing is, the social constructs provided by my (typical and truly loving) upbringing instilled in me values and ideals that were diametrically opposed to my core desires. 

There is no need to go through them because I’m sure you can guess, but they include: the ideas that women should be independent, should have identical roles to males in society, need to rally against past social structures that had men at the helm of a relationship, women must be equal, etc.

I actually agree with that last one, though…

But equal, to me, doesn’t mean “same.”  Nor should it.  Same means everyone should have the same birthday so little kids don’t cry when their sibling gets a party one day and they don’t.  Equal means they get different parties, on different days, with different themes, different presents, and different friends.  Same is unreasonable and sets humans up to feel inadequate, unloved, and unappreciated.  Equal is fluid and realistic, and ensures that life can be lived with maximum amounts of happiness and satisfaction by allowing for differences in abilities, strengths, needs.

I like equal a whole lot better than same.

And make no mistake; I believe I am equal to my Master. ***  

I think we are both one human life, one human soul.  We each equal one person.  We are equal.

We’re just not even CLOSE to the same. 

Mainly, we are not the same because I feel his importance is inherent, and my importance derives from HIM, and his ownership of me.  That’s what I believe I was meant to do in this life – be his.  And I think he’s truly the most amazing human on this Earth.  So it would be slightly oxymoronic of me to think I wasn’t important.  Everything he owns that serves a vital purpose to him is important and beautiful and useful and sturdy and GOOD – of course it is of he wouldn’t have selected it to be his, and be used by him.  And I’m the most prized possession of the lot!  So, yes.  I’m really fucking important.  But only because I’m his.

Does that make a shred of sense?  Or do I just come off sounding like a wench?  I don’t mean to, because, since I believe my worth and importance are wrapped up in being his slave, the minute that sort of thinking went to my head, my service would suffer.  And, hence, my value.

Probably more on that type of thinking later…. I can tell I’m not talked out about it. 

Because of my aforementioned lucky hand… I guess the question I have always wanted to answer out loud is “Why, Chloe, WHY do you do this?”  Because no one I know would ever believe I would “need” to live a life like this.  This life, as they see it, is for the weakest of the lot.

The way they see it (and it makes me cringe, but I have SEEN them proved right a few times), women who submit are doing so because they were so beaten down by life and love, instead of standing up and dusting themselves off, they remained on the ground and called that submission.  They may be uneducated, poor, shackled by abuse, or feel they are not attractive enough to be loved as they are. Life has brought them to their knees, and they have decided to stay there because the promise not to put up a fight if abused seems like the best thing they have to offer the world.  And then they attempt to glorify their surrender so it feels more like a choice, and less like a last resort.

So I’m always kind of wanted to say… Yeah?  Well fucking LOOK at me.  I do it too.  I am a woman who submits to the will of a man.  And I’ve "got everything going for me" so I shouldn’t "need" to, right? So, you wanna know why I do it?

I submit because I want and need to.  And nothing makes me happier than being owned.  I submit because I recognize the deep and instinctual desire to be under the care and protection and rule of a dominant leader.  That is where I feel safe and satisfied, as a human and a woman. Slavery is the role I was born to perform.  I submit to my Master because he is the only man on Earth I want to be with.  I love and serve him and only him.  For always and in all ways. 

Basically:

I’m NOT a slave because I’m too stupid to control my own life. 

I’m a slave because I am smart enough to realize I wasn’t built to.  

My slavery is simply the active recognition of biologically dictated roles; it is not an act of petty rebellion.  It is a choice, not a last resort.   It is given freely, not stolen.  It is an answer, not an excuse.  It is healthy, not a disease.  It is empowering, not destructive.  It is slavery, not surrender. I have every tool I could ever need to embody the role of the ideal modern woman – except the desire. This is the way I want and need to lead my life in order to be whole and happy.  Period.

Whew.  I wish I could really say that to a couple people…  But it felt pretty damn good to say it here.

*** I wonder how he’ll feel about this claim.  I’m fairly sure the other night he assured me -in no uncertain terms- that we are not equal…  I suppose if my next post is a long list of reasons detailing all the ways we are not equal – you’ll know exactly how he felt about it.

I have no idea how to start a blog.

I suppose it should be something along the lines of: “Hi, I’m Chloe.  I’m here to talk about my life and my lifestyle.”

However, the only thing I can concentrate on at the moment is that my blog has been titled by my Master as “She Obeys” and I’m kinda thinking there should be some qualifier there like “…Most of the time.”  (Read: If you came here looking for a chronicling of my utter perfection in slavery, you have come to the wrooooong place.)

It would also weird me out to call him strictly “Master” in here.  Do I call him Master and think of him as my Master?  I do.  But actually using the term is not a 100% of the time thing.  Mainly because we don’t live in a nuclear fallout shelter – we do have to speak to and about each other in less than complete isolation.  A lot of the time, he’s “baby” to me.  Or his name, Antonio.  Or Sir.  Or, if I’m being totally honest, a few slightly less polite terms. 

I have the feeling I’ll quickly fall into calling him some variation of The Man more often than Master in here.  I even have a rambling explanation for that,  but I’ll spare you for the moment.

I guess a general description of our relationship might be in order?

We are two people in love. We are partners, we are friends, and we are Master and slave. I hope one day we are husband and wife, father and mother.  But now we’re Master and slave, on our own terms.  I see myself as submissive by nature, and I see that inclination as a natural, good thing that exists in me… And exists in more women and more relationships than people care to admit.

We are currently, temporarily, long-distance.  It sucks like you wouldn’t (or maybe some of you can) believe, but it has to be this way for a few months.  I’m sure I’ll be posting eventually about what measures have been established to keep me in line, to keep me feeling very owned and very accountable, and how we are handling the distance.

What can you expect in this blog?  I’ll be damned if even I know for sure. I’ve already gotten terribly frustrated with the scope of this one post and pulled 435 words out of it.  Beyond topic ideas and prompts, my Man’s input thus far consists of “Write whatever the hell you want.  You’re over-thinking this.”

He’s right, of course.  (He’s right with frightening consistency, as I’m sure will be a recurring theme here.  I should probably make that phenomenon its own category, actually…)

So I’m going to stop thinking for the moment, and just… Wrap it up.  Because this is the only post I don’t know how to write or want to write, even.  I want to just… Get on with the REAL posting…  Yanno?

Only now I don’t know how to END a first blog post.  Dammit.  I guess “publish” works about as well as anything else, yeah?

(P.S. – After a nice talk with The Man about the importance of post titles, I settled on that… *sigh*  I’m hopeless…)