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What Is Love?

*****This is a post that I wrote when I had injured my neck.  I was not allowed to type, so I took out a pen and a piece of paper because I needed to get this out of my head.  Luckily, the injured shoulder was my left, so I was able to pen this out with my right, slowly.*****

When I first met Master, he told me that food was love.  Scoffing at the idea I remembered telling him that made no sense.  Food could not be love.  Food was fuel.  Food could be a thing of pleasure, but it was not a vehicle for love.  We agreed to disagree.

Master’s friends seemed to believe similar.  If I was ever depressed when Master wasn’t around (there was almost always someone else there if Master was not) they would offer me some type of food: cheese and crackers, truffles, something.  I did not understand why they would do this.  This was a foreign concept to me.  I was upset, I didn’t want to eat!  I would always turn them down, politely.  Growing up I could have a fever of 106* and my Mom would tell me to get my own damned tea.  I did not think this was abnormal.

A year or two after I received my training collar, one of Master’s best friends (I’ll call him P) moved in with him.  I was very different from him: I didn’t drink, smoke, or stay up late.  I assumed I was a nuisance to him and so I tried to stay out of his way for the most part.  I will say though, for the record, that he was very fun at parties.

P taught me many life lessons, but this might be the most important one he ever taught me.  One day, something catastrophic (that I will not go into) happened to me.  It was huge.  This is the type of thing that turns your entire world upside down.  I am not one to cry for no reason, but I instantly burst into tears.  I picked up my backpack and was about to do the only thing I did at the time when tears surfaced:  I was going to run.  I lived a two hour train ride away from Master at that point and I was just going to go home and cry where no one could see me lose my composure.

P saw that something was seriously wrong and he told me firmly to “Get back here!”  Being obedient (even when it was around a friend and not someone I was submissive to) I stopped dead in my tracks.  P took my backpack off me, took me by the hand, and lead me into the kitchen.  He put me in a chair and told me to sit.  He went to the pantry and got me some chocolate.  He put on a cup of tea and when it was done brewing he poured it for me.  He spoke soothing words while I cried silent, slow tears that I could not hold back into my tea.  Then, he told me to sit there while he called Master.  I have no idea what he told Master (he was not in the same room as me for the phone call), but Master came home from work early.  Shit!

Up until that day, nothing had ever happened to me that had been that Earth-shattering.  As I never had anything so devastating happen, I had really no idea what you were supposed to do.  This was the first time I recall crying in front of a friend.  I could not help it and the flood gates just broke.  Serious crying.  Tears, snot, the shakes, and ruined contact lenses.  We’re talking the works.

What did I learn from P that day?  Love is not, indeed, about food.  Love is about gestures.  Love is about caring about someone so much that you are willing and able to see them at their most vulnerable and ugly.

Love means doing things that are uncomfortable for you, to make someone else comfortable.

Love means giving up something you need so that someone else can have something they need.

Love means helping you tape a joint

Or put on shoes

Or get into your bathing suit.

Love means kneeling before someone with your arm in a sling and letting them use your free hand as an ash tray.

Love is hanging your head off the bed for a skullfucking when you can’t hold your head up by yourself.

Love means that, even if your slave is completely broken and worthless for a while that you find a way to make her less worthless.

Love means never giving up.

I tried to tell Master the other day how useless and burdensome I feel to him when I get hurt.  I told him I have so much guilt over how much I get injured, even though I know I can’t help it.

“What if the situation was reversed?  Would you leave me if I was injured?!”

“Of course not, but that’s totally different!”

“We are a team!  How would it be any different?”

“Because if you were sick I could still be serving you much more than I am right now.”

There was silence, because he finally and completely understood why I get so depressed each time I get injured.  It was one of the most real moments of my entire life.  One sentence spoke so very much and we both understood each other on a deep level.

“If my choice was to have you broken like you are, or to have a slave who never gets hurt and could serve me more often than you do when you’re injured, I would still want YOU.”

There was more silence.  I have been struggling so much lately with my illnesses.  I know I am disabled as I can barely work and I used to be constantly working when Master was not home.  Over time, I have had to work less and less and it has slowly slipped away from me without really realizing it at first.  I’m not giving up on any part of my life: work, play, being Master’s slave, but I have been really struggling to accept the Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome.  It is hard to believe I will never get better and that it will never completely go away.  I know I need to though.  And Master, in one fell swoop, with one more profound sentence showed me something so important.  This, I’ve finally come to understand, is what love means.  Thank you P for teaching me, and for Master for always, always driving it home.

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