The presidential campaigns have been a hot topic lately and the concept of Gender Superiority has been a hot button issue for a lot of people in the media. The feminists are out in full force. The male supremacy camps are also out pretty heavily. And I’m hearing “traditional leadership roles” pretty much constantly and it translates to “Old White men should be in charge of everything.” I hear it everywhere. “Should a woman be president?” “Aren’t men natural leaders?” and the one that got ALL of this started for me. There was a lot going on in kaya’s blog about it also.

A woman at the market said “No woman is fit to be a leader and no woman ever will be”. The conversation got started because the woman said this in response to a young woman her own age bouncing up happily in her Hillary 08 tee shirt. ” No woman is fit to be a leader and no woman ever will be.” I really couldn’t believe I heard it. And it really just made me step back. She and Hillary-Tee Shirt lady started the back and forth and Collard Green Cooler lady kept on talking about male superiority, the natural roles of women, and how women ruined the world by not accepting that men are just superior to women. I just stood there holding my bunch of collard greens and listening. Master finally came over and got me. For the rest of our grocery trip, I was utterly silenced. When it was all said and done, I felt sick. I came home and talked to Master about that encounter, the things I’ve been reading in blogs and I’ve been trying to sort it all out.? This post is the result of all that thinking.

To be honest, the phrase “All men are superior to women.” sticks in my throat like a pubic hair. Try as I might I just cannot swallow it.? It’s not for the reasons you probably think.? It is probably my deep desire for oneness and tolerance in humanity that keeps me from doing so. In my heart, I feel that as long as we’re making sweeping generalizations we aren’t getting any closer to ridding the world of all the “isms” that plague it. And while I know that it is possibly niave to believe that we will one day be a tolerant society where humanity is free of “isms” I have to hold out hope. Gender superiority that outweighs credit for individual ability is something I just can’t abide it.

I don’t believe that men are superior to women. I don’t believe that women are superior to men. Generalizations and stereotypes live in the gray area between truth and ignorance and should not in my opinion be given weight. Saying “All Men are _______” or”All women are _________” is flawed and presumptuous.

I’m a submissive female and I submit to a Master. I submit to him because I believe that he is individually more suited for leading me than anyone else who has tried to fill that role in my life. Men have tried. Women have tried. They were all found lacking not because of the gender they were but because of the people were. I am sure there are women in the world who could lead me. That said, it is my preference to be led by a male because I have adjusted my way of being to having primarily heterosexual leanings. It is my preference, to be led by a man and I can make that choice while leaving the potential for successful leaders in either gender intact.

Society and cultural moires assign leadership qualities to men and subservient ones to women, but if we look at individual examples with honesty and integrity, the sweeping generalizations no longer hold water. The word “All”, whether written or implied falls away. “No woman is fit to lead” is an becomes arguable and ignorant statement where as “I prefer the leadership of men while still finding that some women can lead and have done so with great success.” shows preference without belittlement. I can’t say that all men make better leaders. In my own life, I know that not to be true. I’ve seen some piss poor excuses for leadership, both male and female. I’ve seen women make better decisions countless times. I’ve seen men who are weak, men who are incapable of decision making, men who cower in the face of danger almost as often as I’ve seen men step up to the plate and take up leadership positions the way that our cultural and social definitions tell them they should. That said, I have seen women display leadership qualities that go against the role society defines for them just as often! Knowing that, and having experienced it, I could really never honestly say that all men are better leaders just because their men or vice versa.

So that’s why I have to ask myself: If a person sees and experiences situations that prove wrong their own “laws of superiority”, why would they choose to persist in that line of thinking? After admitting that women have made very good leaders, often times better than men, the “Men are always superior leaders.” line of thinking should rationally and reasonably fall apart. Why keep holding on to it after it has been disproved? Why keep insisting that there is a such thing as male (or female) superiority across the board when it’s obvious that just like generalizations and stereotypes, it’s a fundamentally flawed concept?

I believe in gender equality and the individual ’s potential for superiority of purpose based on the merits of one’s character, morals, and general ability. I try to consider the best qualified regardless of their gender because to me, and this is my opinion, choosing a person based entirely on the immutable factors of their identity rather than their abilities is fundamentally short sighted and ignorant. When all immutable factors of identity are thrown out, we as intelligent human beings should be able to determine a person’s abilities and choose the best person for a particular job. Moreover, I think we should want to choose that way. However, we are creatures of comfort and don’t always do what is most logical because we base a lot of our decisions on feelings rather than rational thought. “Go with your gut.” Still, that’s not the same as putting forth superiority as a concept.

An example regarding doctors. Generally speaking, if I’m looking for a doctor, I will always go with the most qualified regardless of race, gender, or other inborn characteristics. I will seek out the most proven track record and make an appointment with the one least likely to let me die be they male or female. That said, after I was raped a few years ago, I chose a female doctor because the idea of a man putting his hands on me made me vomit. I would have chosen a female doctor if she were using a speculum made of play-doh or had gotten her diploma from a Cracker Jack box. It was an emotionally driven decision. It was what I needed at the time. It was a preference, but even while I was making that decision, I still believed that a male doctor could have examined me just as effectively.

Now, applying that to a presidential question. If a person who looks at Hillary Clinton, and removes all immutable factors of identity sees her as the best person for the position of president and chooses not to vote for her because she’s a woman, they are exercising preference. Even though I may look at that preference and see it as an emotional decision, an irrational decision, and a socially irresponsible decision, it’s still their preference. It’s not the choice that I might make, but I’m not making it. I would say the same thing if the person looked at Hillary Clinton, removed the factors of her birth and saw a person NOT suited for the job of president and still voted for her but it’s their decision, their preference driven by their needs, emotions, and thought processes that I am not privy to and do not understand. In my brain, that is totally different from saying “No woman is fit to lead.” which is a highly intolerant and ignorant statement especially when it is possible to declare a strong preference for male leaders without dismissing the abilities and PROVEN accomplishments of a whole gender!

Anyway, all that said, I know that preference is a hard (and silly) thing to argue. Master says that “Preference releases a person from the shackles of practical decision making.” and it’s really true, but I don’t believe that having a preference is the same as declaring categorically that one choice or the other is superior or inferior to another. I will always believe that assigning superiority or inferiority based solely on immutable factors of identity widens the divide and takes us further from becoming a tolerant society. This isn’t a game of semantics. Preference and Superiority are entirely different concepts. Saying men are superior to women is just as shortsighted as a racist argument that replaces the words “men” and “women” with various races. It’s frighteningly intolerant thinking. There’s really no sugar coating it. Stating preferences without supporting arguments of superiority is possible and while it’s not idyllic, but it keeps the door open for progress and change and that’s the choice I make. (wow, that got long…)

(as for who I’m voted for in the primary, well, it’s like this: I’m a slave and as such my vote is just a second ballot for my Master. That said, he told me to vote the same way I would have if I were free to vote my choice instead of just being a second vote for him. )

? We’re CELEBRATING!! Celebrating what? Well, I’m glad you asked!

I was invited to join an academic honor society AND I was awarded a full academic scholarship that will cover tuition, fees and books for the duration of program. Oh, AND I get a living stipend, which since I don’t pay any bills anyway, is mine all mine mine mine within the parameters that Master allows… to dispose of as I wish and after discussing it with Master I’ve decided to put it toward revamping my studio and get some new equipment like possibly a glass firing kiln.? I’m thrilled. He’s thrilled. I’ve worked so hard for this and because I’ve worked so hard, he decided to let me use the first few living stipend payments for whatever I want.? (The Studio mostly).

We danced around in the living room laughing and he gave me a big long kiss to tell me how proud of me he was and bought me flowers even though he’s allergic. Tomorrow night, Master’s taking me out to my favorite place (even though he hates the food).? I’m really very happy.? After my final exams were graded and applied, I ended up with a 3.95 GPA, up from a 3.8 before everything was factored in.? I start classes again on Friday next. It’s a 5 hour class that I take twice a week. 5 hours of non stop sitting in one spot taking a course.

Lovely, but I’m not going to dwell on how much that’s going to suck. I’m going to just bask in the glory of the 3.95.

Master gave me “the day off” after our session last night. He came home, rubbed salve into my wounds and tucked me back into my bundle of pillows and blankets on the floor by his bed. I haven’t done much today except talk with a couple of excited members of my now 12 student belly dance class. Mostly, I’m being paid in the currency of stay at home wives and mothers. This one will walk the dogs for me. And a few of them have decided that they’ll plan a menu for me on the days we have class and bring it to class ready to just pop in the oven so that I’ll not have to worry about losing time at home. Classes will take place in Deana’s in-home dance studio. They had it done with their 5 or 6 daughters were in ballet. Shes happy to get to use it again. I’m amazed at how quickly these women can figure things out, get it all together and have a plan on the table, but wives are house managers. They’re master negotiators and organizers and they can manipulate a day into giving an extra hour or two when needed. It’s amazing. I have a lot to learn from them.

Dinner tonight at our house will be simple as a dimple because Gloria, the neighbor 4 houses down brought me a casserole to pop into the oven tonight. She said when I talked to her on the phone earlier,? I seemed “under the weather” and she wanted to help. She said in the sweetest voice “Now, I know that Muslims don’t eat pork, but is beef alright? I do hope it is. I put the recipe for this dish here for you and I’m tellin’ you. It’s simple as a dimple! You think it’ll be alright?”? and I smiled to her and told her I was sure it was and that I’d get her dish back to her soon. She waved me off and told me that any time would be fine and that she and some of the ladies were going to get pedicures next week and I should ask my husband if I can go.

“ask my husband” she said. Wow. It was nice to hear something like that from a so called vanilla woman. Asking permission must not be as kinky as we make it out to be.

So after Gloria left, I was standing in my kitchen looking at the loving kindness she’d expressed to me with this casserole.

And I wept.

I have been denying myself human contact outside of Master for four years and really, why? What am I so afraid of?

It’s been such an emotional day. One catharsis after another and I really do need to take a break from sharing myself for a moment.

I’ll be back in a day or two, but I think I need to spend some quality time with some paper and ink.

Kitten

This event occurred a while back but I wasn’t ready to write about it until now. I wrote it in my paper journal but now I’m sharing it with you!

It was a normal night. Nothing was really going on except that I had mentioned a few days before that I thought maybe I needed a spanking but he had ignored the request or so I thought. I had just finished packing Master’s dinner of pasta and Italian Sausage with a light tomato sauce and had sat down on the floor to read a little bit while he was readying to go. I heard him call me. I answered. He told me to come to him. I went.

I walked into his bedroom and from behind, he grabbed me by my hair, and pulled my head sharply back. He kissed me harshly and threw me stomach first onto his bed. He ripped my skirt down and put his hand on the back of my neck and pushed me into the mattress. Kicking my feet apart, he ran his other hand between my thighs which were already surprisingly damp. “Slut…” he snapped at me. The harshness of his voice brought me back from the place my mind had wandered just that quickly.

“Kitten? Are you present?”He asked..

I nodded as best I could.

“Kitten? Are you aware?” Master asked. I nodded slowly, but he wanted a verbal response. “Tell me Kitten…” he said.

“Yes, Master… I’m aware. I’m aware. ”

Saying the words started to bring me out of my mental fog and I took in a deep breath to prepare for what was happening.

Master cupped my ass cheeks in his hands one, then the other rubbing them gently, then squeezing them painfully hard. Within a few seconds, the first strike of the cane fell hard on my ass. Then again without warning. He stopped for a moment and walked around me so that he could see my face. I didn’t yelp or scream. He smiled and told me I was a good girl. Stepping behind me again, I heard the whistle of the cane as it traveled through the air on the up stroke and then as it was coming down, he stopped short. “Relax kitten… relax….” I took a deep breath and let it out, my muscles that were tense, relaxed and I breathed in deeply again. The sharp pain of the strike made me hold my breath, sputter, and squirm. I slid down and sat with my heels to my bottom a few times and every time I did, Master said “Fine… the front then” and hit me with the cane on my breasts, nipples and belly until I gave in and offered him my ass again. The caning hurt so badly that my voice caught in my throat every time I tried to scream. After several more blows with it, I broke my silence and by the time I did break my silence, it was with tears.

He put the cane away and locked my wrists in leather cuffs. Then he locked my ankles in cuffs and with chain and a shackle clamp, immobilized me. I couldn’t even wiggle out of position. I was stuck. Master picked up the thin acrylic paddle that I’d given him a few months ago and after one session, begged him to never use again. He slapped it against his hand a even after a light blow, his hand turned red. He dropped down to one knee and told me to look at him. I couldn’t. Master grabbed my hair and angled my face so that I could not help by look at him. I knew better than to close my eyes at this point. I was looking at him as he raised the paddle, and as it came down against my tender flesh, I struggled not to break eye contact. The pain was almost too much. I couldn’t revel in it. I couldn’t find any pleasure or joy in it. There was nothing in this pain for me except more pain.

I did not break my eye contact with Master. He kept me present. He asked me questions about my day. He asked me about the paper I was writing and expected answers. While delivering a sound spanking with this implement of horrible torture, he insisted that I keep talking, stay focused, stay present. He would not for anything let me drift away. My ass stung horribly, so badly that I thought for sure I was bleeding. The backs of my thighs and my calves had not escaped the punishment. He even spanked the tender bottoms of my feet and the backs of my arms and the tender palms of my hands were caned with a thin rattan rod. My entire body shuddered and trembled. I ached everywhere and every inch of me felt like an open wound or a fresh burn. Each time I tried to close my eyes or drift into my subconscious, Master pulled me back with either his voice, pain I could not ignore, or a demand for an answer. He wanted me to cry, he told me, because it meant I was present. If I were drifting out to find the pleasure of it all, I was in disconnect and these sessions, he told me, were to connect us.

Finally, far past the point when I thought I could take no more, Master kissed my forehead and told me that the book I was reading for research sounded interesting and that he might borrow it. He said he was happy that we could share and have these conversations. Master acted as if we had been making small talk over coffee in a cafe rather than having a conversation while he beat me until I was felt raw, vulnerable, and open like a wound. What kind of mind fuck was that? I asked myself that question and then I realized that it wasn’t a mindfuck at all. It was just here now and present.

He unlocked my cuffs, and helped me up to my feet on rather shaky legs and guided me to the shower. I stood under the luke warm water and finally was able to drift away a bit under the cool caress of the water gliding over my body. I looked down and saw that the water was tinged with pink. Master said that the sores weren’t too bad and spritzed them with rubbing alcohol which compared to the beating I’d just gotten, barely stung. I stepped out of the shower and Master wrapped me in a towel. I dried myself off and he smiled at me, kissed my forehead and held me to him for a long while. I thanked him for keeping me present during the beating. I thanked him for the beating itself because it brought me much needed focus which I would have lost out on if he had let me drift away.

Now it’s been an hour. He’s gone to work and I’m left with this pain, but there’s no disconnect. It hurts when I move. My bottom is practically raw, but unlike times when Master’s let me drift into subspace, I know what happened and I know what it was all about. I feel more connected to the experience and more connected to him. There was nothing in it for me I thought because there was no sexualized pain but now I feel that sometimes when the pain was sexualized, maybe I was cheated out of the feeling I’m having right now of deep contentment and presence.

The beating I got tonight was like the prelude to the meditation I’m having right now. The oneness with myself and the connection to my Master. I feel everything.

I don’t think I’ve ever experienced anything like this. I really can’t describe it.