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.

Moo?

Master, as well as his more unusual interests, has an enthusiasm for TV box sets.  Not trashy sitcoms etc, but mainly sci-fi series and classics.  When I'm at his home and not busy serving him or engaging in deviant forms of entertainment, we often spend time watching a series on DVD together with some food or a bottle of wine.

But anyway, nobody came here to read about TV, right?  The reason I mention it is that his latest series hire has got me thinking some interesting things.  The context is survival - most of the population of the earth has been wiped out and resources are scarce.  What would I do in this situation?  Well, my first impulse was, of course, that I'd whore myself out for sure.  One thing men will always want, is women to fuck.  And I am already "used" as currency from time to time - so naturally, I'd turn to what I know to help myself survive.  Not to mention have some fun (grin).

But when I think about it even longer, sex is really just the beginning.  Ultimately, if the whole human species is at stake, what is really needed is women to breed.  Bring things down to the most basic level of survival, and the whole women's movement comes to naught.  In the end, they don't have much choice in the matter: it is a biological necessity to get knocked up, or we all die.  That's the simple truth of it.  As a woman, my body is a commodity - not just to help a man get off, but because I can have his child.  Strip humanity of all its laws and customs, drag each man down to a matter of "live or die", and women become one essential thing: breeding stock.

All this brings me to a new perspective on an old fantasy.  Master has spoken many times about using me to breed, and it is something that never fails to terrify and excite me on a very deep level.  To be used as a body to create a child, by Master or someone else, without a choice, is ownership at its most primitive level.  By control of my most basic biological functions, Master's use of me would be complete unequivocally.  Physically and psychologically, there would be no return, and no denying my true place as his property and his slave.

But putting it into a survival context, that makes it real in a new way.  Because not only could I become breeding stock if my Master wished it, but in some deep, biological way, I already am.  It is only by chance allocation of my social environment and place in history, that we can all pretend otherwise.  I have had bestowed on me, by my social world, a right to choose what my body is used for - but that social world is no ultimate authority.  The reality is, at any time it could die.  The ultimate authority is nature, and it dictates that I am here for one primary use.  In my relationship with Master, that reality is recognised and embraced.  I am stock.

Take me instead

With International Women's Day on the horizon, there are countless stories being shared about the worldwide abuse of women.  Over the last two weeks, I've personally encountered stories of rape, torture, murder, slavery, and much more - often condoned by authorities in some parts of the world.  I won't go into detail about it - anyone who wants to read a human rights blog can check out Anmesty International.  This one is quite the opposite.

And in a way, that is the dilemma I face on the whole women's rights issue - and that I am particularly conscious of at this time of year.  Because I don't believe women should be treated in these ways.  I am horrified that they are still treated as property in some places.  I am sickened at how common it is for women to be beaten and raped.  And yet...  I want to be treated as the property of men.  I relish my helplessness in men's hands.  I fantasise feverishly about my own torture, rape, and even death.  As much as I am appalled, I am also wet and aroused at these horrific stories, and their similarity to my dark imagination.

So when I'm invited to domestic violence rallies, or asked to sign a petition for women's rights, I am struck by my own hypocrisy.  I can't bring myself to be involved in the cause.  Instead, I try to remain silent and offer a kind of sideline-support.  I admire what people are doing, to try and improve the lives of women around the world, to bring them greater freedom.  But I don't want my freedom, thanks.

What's a degradation-loving feminist to do?