Given

Relaxing tonight, I had a strange daydream.  My imagination created a strange new society, one where arranged marriage was the norm.  Like some real life cultures, a ritual meeting was held between prospective couples to determine if the match was suitable before both families would agree, and the new wife would be 'given' to the man.  Only in this alternate reality, it was not a date or an interview that determined their fate - it was one night in bed together.  A young woman would spend night after night with strange men selected by some superficial criteria - sometimes seduced, sometimes used - after which he would decide whether he wanted to keep her or not.  If so, she would have to decide, based on that single exchange, whether to accept and become his for the remainder of her life.

It struck me right away, that this bizarre fantasy that seemed to come from nowhere, was very much like how I feel I have become my Master's slave.  There was no actual third party arranging for us to meet - but at that time in my life, I had gone through so many men that it almost seemed that way.  I didn't select them anymore.  I was so passive in the process that it almost was as if they were in a queue of sorts, waiting to try me out.  Some did want to hang on, for me to be theirs - but they inspired nothing in me, and I moved on to the next.

Then when Master did have his turn at me, I was deeply and immediately attached.  Though it took me a long time to say the words, that first fuck infatuated me, and I was his.  The moment I said yes to meeting him again, a permanent commitment was inescapable.

The agreement that makes me his, is neither marriage, nor arranged.  And yet the experience of being his, feels so much like this in some ways.  Perhaps in part that is an artifact of living in a Western culture.  The expectation is that I chose to be with him over time, having gotten to know him, fallen in love, and decided to stay.  The expectation is, that if I am not happy, I will leave.  The reality of our relationship feels like being part of an alien culture that no one around me can understand.  The reality, as I have experienced it, is that I had one brief taste of what being his would be like, and took a risk.  I committed my life knowing little of who he was outside of his taste in sex.  And since that time, I have learned a great many more things, some of which I might have chosen him for, others not.  But, like a culture where marriage is entered quickly and divorce is taboo, whether I would choose to be his is now completely beside the point.  I simply am.


There have been times, not so long ago, that I felt sure I had made a mistake.  One night in particular I remember with intensity.  I was standing alone in my house, deep in thought, when suddenly, he was there, behind me.  I was so startled and so ambivalent, I went into a blind panic.  I shook and cried, and screamed.  Somehow, I have no recollection of how, I made it from standing in the kitchen, to lying down on my bed.  I was withdrawing the only way I could - into myself.  Shuddering, crying, and incoherent, all I knew was that I was terrified - not of anything he had done or might do, or of anything he was - just desperately certain I needed to break free.  Being near him in any way felt like mortal danger.  But he was there, and he held on, and didn't let go of me.  He must have been speaking, but I don't think I could have taken in the words.  Just his firm, unrelenting embrace felt at first like death - and then, as minutes passed, I could only give in to it.  Exhausted, I surrendered, and my crying shifted from blinding fear to acceptance.  I am his.


I am his.  At times I have made that so hard that I can hardly bear to be alive, and at other times, so blissful that I could almost believe heaven exists.  But all the time, the external circumstances have remained essentially the same.  I am the property of this man, whom I call Master.  Just as I am female, a natural brunette, and right handed... it just is.