ResidentSadist
Posts: 12580
Joined: 2/11/2007
From: a mean old Daddy, but I like you - Joni Mitchell
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I'm not gonna' mamby pamby around with disclaimers for those who can’t see the light in which the following is written.
The word slave gets thrown around alot in the fetish community.
*When it’s not carelessly “being thrown” around, it’s concisely and deliberately being used by some very experienced and knowledgeable people.
I feel comfortable with the term submissive myself. I don't think that some how makes my service and submission less important.
*You shouldn’t, the path of submission and slavery are two different roads. It’s not a competition, it’s apples and oranges. Why would you compare them or defend your service in submission against slavery?
The word slave to me, just brings up bad images.
*I hold no negative associations to the term and neither do my slaves. It is a style of relationship role and does not conjure up images of a dead negro hanging from a tree the patterrollers just caught. You have ultimate control over what you learn or the feelings you choose to harbor. I hope this thread serves you to that end.
Slavery as it was practiced here in the USA and many other countries around the world was a horrible practice.
*Some great achievements came from slavery… it built the south, laid ancient highways and modern railroads, the pyramids and etc. We had slavery in this country for about 100 years because it was a good thing at the time.
I can't imagine too many people who would have been proud to call themselves a slave then.
*I can. The fact you can't imagine how some people have so much self respect, they handle everything in life's journey with pride and joy, only speaks about your limited vision, not ours. - - - See story below about a real slave that was a Turkish war time prize from an invasion that killed 1.5 million of her Armenian people.
Even in modern day time, slavery is still around. Not in the illegal sense that it use to be.
*Actually, the last legal slavery was in 1981. It is now illegal worldwide. See this reference for timeline.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abolition_of_slavery_timeline
I am not talking about slavery in the fetish world either. I am talking about real life sex slaves who are forced to perform inhumane acts against their will. I highly doubt that these people are proud to be called slaves.
*You are swapping references to slavery between small individual illegal kidnappings and mass scale raids on civilizations and enslaving their people. They are two different topics. Using small individual illegal kidnappings to support your view of legal slavery is not sound or valid logic. Kidnapping a couple hookers or a couple of girls to become hookers won’t build a pyramid, a railroad or the south.
The word slave is used way too loosely in the bdsm community, that is my opinion. I just think throwing the word around so easily really disrespects the many slaves who were and are forced in slavery against their wills.
*Do BDSM ponygirls offend you because they disrespect true livestock that has had to suffer the burdens of man and toil in the fields? From my point of view, the same is true for a BDSM slave and we can use all the sex slaves we can get.
I personally feel comfortable with the term submissive. It defines who I am. Yet, I have come across a few women before who said they only want a slave and not just a submissive.
*Well, the “not just” was a pretty biased comment on their part. Like saying I want an apple not just an orange… that’s stupid. Seems like your opinion of the word slave is based on your emotional reaction to being rejected by some Dom/me that doesn’t know apples from oranges. Is that particular incident what inspired your competitive and biased feelings about slavery? However, I don’t want a relationship with a submissive either.
That somehow because I use the term submissive, that somehow must mean that my submission has less value to it. What does the term "slavery" and 'slave" really mean to people in the bdsm community? Do many just view it as nothing more than a word and that’s it? Or do many take the term slave, serious?
*In my house, the term slave is meant to reflect someone who is more property than partner. Slavery has been around for about as long as written history. It has done both great and awful things for mankind. You cannot discount one because of the other nor paint history (or BDSM) with a biased brush. It has been part of our social structure throughout history. So has war, marriage and many other double edged swords.
Sometimes it helps to gain understanding of a word when you look at what it does not mean. Consensual slavery in a BDSM relationship doesn’t have one damn thing to do with anything you mentioned.
-=Belly Dancer Slave=-
As a boy, I encountered a real slave…
I am part Armenian and have met nonconsensual slaves that had been captured by the Turks during the invasion from 1915 - 1918. I was amazed at their stories. Those stories and the innate charm of the belly dancers (ex slaves) I met are part of what inspired my lifestyle interests in my youth.
I recall one story in particular. At the age of nine, while I was at an Armenian ethnic festival, I peeked into the belly dancing troupe’s tent. In the middle of the tent, at the most elegant dressing table there, I saw an older woman that was literally covered in tattoos. The tattoos ranged in size from as small as a business card to the size of a playing card. She had back to back rows of these tattoos running up and down both her legs and arms all the way to her wrists and ankles. All the other younger dancers had only a few tattoos, none reaching past their knees. But they all treated the heavily tattooed woman with the highest amount of respect.
I was enthralled just watching these dancers move about getting ready for their next show. The grace, elegance and sensual self awareness they exhibited compared to the average person would be like comparing the grace of cat to a dog. There was something magical in the essence of these belly dancers and it had me fascinated and captivated as I watched them dress and prepare for the stage.
Eventually the older woman saw me standing in the open seam of the tent. She addressed very me politely and earnestly asking what I wanted. Her voice caressed me with tones of sincerity and respect. Her eyes met mine with unabashed openness and vulnerability. Although she was my elder by 40 or 50 years, and I was in her territory which meant it was I who should have obeyed her, she addressed me as a subservient and humble woman that was making a sincere inquiry of an adult man. I did not know it then but, she addressed me as a polite slave would address any young Master.
I responded instinctively to her respect and with all sincerity I asked her why she had all those tattoos? That old women had a slave’s heart and she offered to answer my question while inviting me in to come in and sit with her on her dressing table bench. I was mesmerized as she began to speak. She stopped working on her hair and gave me all of her attention. Words cannot convey how the world around us disappeared as we formed a very intimate and deep connection with our conversation.
She pointed to a tattoo and told where she got it, then asked me about my nationality and my interest in the art of dance. She explained that the “dance” was an art a woman or slave uses to please men. As she told me of her tattoos, her owners and their locations, she recalled sale prices she fetched in the transactions. She told me about being an Armenian slave when she was younger and showed me where the Armenian tattoos ended. She told me the story of Turkish invasion and showed me how the styles of the Turkish tattoos were different.
She would pause every once in a while at the recollections a special tattoo would bring. I could see the joy and passion in her eyes as she would say that owners name and then speak praise of him with respect and how he treated her well. She would speak certain owner’s names with such reverence it was obvious she worshiped their memory as told their story of her ownership.
She would tell of the Masters that had her trained to sing, or dance or “please a man”. It was awesome… I was 9 years old and this 50-60 year old women had seduced my heart with her passion, her openness, honesty, vulnerability and willingness to serve my request by answering my questions. It seemed the more questions I asked her about her experiences as a slave, the happier she became recounting her tales.
Finally I asked her why she had so many tattoos and the others girls didn’t? She paused. It was a long pause and I could see her compose herself. She explained that the more talents a slave had, the more valuable she was in trade. Therefore a talented slave was likely to be traded more often. Then she pointed to one tattoo and explained how in Armenia she was traded for equipment to make a well and how it was her value that brought water to that village and improved everyone’s life there. She explained how she learned as much as she could to make herself a more valuable companion for her Masters. She spoke of how she used her mind and talents to express her heart in dance, song and conversation with her Masters. As a young boy, to some degree, I think I fell in love with that old slave as much as I fell in love with what she represented.
Although the connection we made was sensual, it was not sexual. However, she came to one tattoo and spoke her owner’s name with such passion I could feel the sexual nature of her memory in the tone of her voice. “Arman” she said… “such a man”. He was such a “good man” and he was “so handsome” and he “treated me very well”. She spoke of him and how he took such good care of her, providing tutors, the finest clothing and making her feel like a “his woman”.
My intimate conversation with that freed slave, taught me that passion and service knows no bounds, no age or social status. My mother had taught me the art of conversation at a young age. I learned how to make a woman “feel” your interest by giving her your complete attention, hearing her desire and fulfilling it. That was exactly what the Armenian belly dancer did for me. She selflessly connected with me and gave me her full attention. She fulfilled my desire completely. She served my request by answering my all my questions and showing me her slave’s heart and its history plotted on her skin by a map of tattoos.
When we were done, I had traveled back in time to the very places in the desert villages, towns and cities where she got those tattoos. I had met her owners, shared her emotions, tasted the Armenian sands, traveled the dusty Turkish roads and seen the silks, rugs and artwork in palaces fit for a sultan. I had heard the music she danced to on palace stages and by tribal campfires. She gave me her history.
My mother had also respected and studied the Armenian culture and some of the arts and talents that support it… like belly dance. But my impressions of it through my mother’s research never prepared me for the sense of honor, pride and compassion that old slave held for the art of dance and slavery. The way she spoke of her time and talents serving as a slave, her healthy and strong self image about her life as a nonconsensual slave that was taken as a prize of war by the Turks was commendable. Her attitude towards life and her role in it was balanced and admirable.
Having that old woman reach out with respect, share her life story, her passion and letting me see her heart changed my life and gave me the deepest respect and appreciation for slaves and the slave arts. I hope this short story pays her the homage she deserves for the respect and quality she has brought to the art of slavery and dance through her life and contributions.
…bless you where ever you are my sweet dancer. Thank you.
I hope my very long reply has shown that like most things, there are many view points. My view of slavery includes the good, the bad and the ugly.
< Message edited by ResidentSadist -- 5/10/2011 7:47:56 PM >
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I give good thread.
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