Why Slavette?
Why Slavette? I have a perfectly good legal name, and I don’t mind using it. Slavette was the name given to me by my first master. He (jokingly) announced that slaves had to be at least 5’2” tall, so I was a slavette because I didn’t make the height requirement. For that, and many other reasons, the name just fit me.
Ironically, I got my legal name in a similar fashion. My parents hadn’t decided on any girl names before I was born. When my mother looked at me, all she could think was: tiny. She decided to call me “Tina”. Thankfully, she didn’t blurt that out immediately. By the time she filled in my birth certificate, it had evolved to Christina. (Mom had learned her lesson with my older brother, Danny, who was supposed to be have been named Daniel.) At 16, I rebelled against Tina, and began to use Christina—but it was only when I accepted the name Slavette that I finally made peace with my physical and sexual personae.
In case you’re wondering, a quick analysis of those selves reveal the following statistics:
Body configuration: White, female, age 44, height 60.25 inches, weight 115 pounds (although it could be more since I’ve been eating a lot of Easter candy lately)
Ancestry: mixed, but guaranteed to be at least 30 percent human.
Self-identifying orientations: Heterosexual, slave, polyamorous, Celtic-based pagan, elf, dragon
The Little Rebel That Could
From birth, I was destined to be small—but also be a rebel. My family tree includes more than its fair share of pioneers, outlaws, and certifiable lunatics (although we always claim the latter is because “he/she was never the same after that fall from the horse”). I was raised to believe that I could be anything I wanted to be. It’s hard to rebel against that kind of freedom, but I managed to find a way—I became a slave.
Ironically, had I lived a hundred years ago, when society expected women to obey and serve men, I doubt I would have willingly accepted that type of relationship. (And that’s a pretty good bet since I’m a direct descendant of a woman who—after her husband’s “mysterious” death—homesteaded a ranch and raised six children by herself.) However, I didn’t choose to be a slave simply to break free of cultural stereotypes. I’d already done that in a lot of other ways. I chose to be a slave because I believe it is an honorable and respectable pursuit. Knowing that in modern American society being a slave allows me to carry on the family tradition of rebellion is just icing on the cake.
Not content to rebel against society in general, I am also considered a rebel by some members of the BDSM, polyamory, and pagan communities with which I identify because I simply refuse to conform to arbitrary expectations and outdated stereotypes. While I’ve enjoyed tremendous support from many people for my efforts, I’ve also faced some harsh criticism. I didn’t set out to start a revolution or to make waves, but just being me seems to have that effect regardless of my intentions. Here’s a list of some things that have gotten me into hot water.
• Challenging the stereotype that slaves are not suited to leadership roles
• Speaking openly about the existence jealousy and envy in polyamorous relationships
• Advocating the use of BDSM techniques to further spiritual growth
• Acknowledging the integration of my sexuality and spirituality
• Being co-owned by two masters
Two masters? Yeah, that last one really ruffled a lot of feathers at first. On several occasions, I saw masters pull their slaves out of my workshops when I explained my relationship status because they didn’t want to expose them to a bad influence. I used to joke about creating a workshop entitled, “Polyamory—It’s Not Just for Masters Anymore”. It appears the shock has worn off, however, since lately I’ve noticed a growing number of people who are exploring that type of relationship dynamic.
From Fantasy to Reality
Even though my journey into the world of BDSM allowed me to become a slave—and a rebel—that wasn’t what I was hoping to find when I first started exploring real-life BDSM. No, I was looking for kinky sex. My sexual fantasies had always included some form of bondage or SM, but I’d never acted on any of them. I had no idea that there were other people who had these same fantasies, much less that they actually did this stuff in real life!
I made that incredible discovery when I attended my first science fiction convention in 1995. Not knowing what to expect, I was too scared to go anywhere near where “those” parties were being held. Six months later, I decided to face my fears and start exploring my fantasies. This was before I’d ever ventured onto the Internet, so the only direction I had came from my own fantasies and some Victorian-era erotica.
I got my first taste of SM when I answered an ad in the local alternative newspaper and arranged to meet with a man in a nearby city. I didn’t know what a safeword was until I was standing naked in his bedroom and he asked what I used for one. He had to explain that it was something I could say if I needed him to stop what he was doing. I was so naïve, I wasn’t even aware that I had that option.
I met with him two times. The first was enough to show me that I definitely liked BDSM play; the second was enough to show me that I wanted to try it with someone other than him. A week later, I attended a meeting of the local BDSM group (which I also found through the local aternative newspaper). They called it a “munch”. I didn’t know if we’d be sitting around eating, or if I’d be the main course at a gang bang. (BTW: We drank beer. I’m still not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that it wasn’t an orgy.)
There were only four of us at that first meeting. When the others asked me what I hoped to find, I told them that I was just looking to have fun in the bedroom. I insisted that I had no intention of “doing this full-time” because I was “too independent”.
Two months later, I met the man who would become my first master. Originally, we were just going to be friends with benefits, but after three weeks, I realized that I wanted more. I felt compelled to serve him at all times—wherever we were, whatever we were doing, regardless of whether he was with me or not.
When I confessed my feelings, I was surprised (and thrilled) to learn that he’d had a similar revelation, and he wanted to make our relationship full-time. He offered to collar me. I didn’t know what that meant. After he explained that a collar was a traditional symbol of ownership and commitment to a full-time power exchange relationship, I accepted. Looking back, it seems crazy to have made such a serious commitment after knowing someone only three weeks, but the relationship lasted more than 10 years. I found the kinky sex I wanted, but I also discovered more than I ever dreamed possible.
Rebel with a Cause
I know now how amazingly lucky I was that I didn’t get into serious trouble when I started exploring BDSM. I will be forever grateful to the people I met back then who took the time to teach, rather than take advantage of that naked woman in a stranger’s bedroom who didn’t know about safewords. The mentors who helped me navigate a positive route to realize my passions are the reason I am so committed to educating others about safe, healthy BDSM practices; they are also the reason I rebel against those I believe who are fostering unsafe or unhealthy ideas and methods.
Not that I see myself as the John Wayne of BDSM, or a one-woman UN peacekeeping force— deciding what’s best for other people and ordering them to do it is not my style, and, and based on what I’ve seen from the UN, I don’t think it’s very effective, anyhow. Instead, my goal is to teach people about options and help them decide what will work best for them. I’m not satisfied with mere consent, I want people to have the tools necessary to be able to give informed consent in the context of their activities and relationships.
Getting the Rest of the Picture
So that’s the first part of the story. Trust me, there are lots layers left to be explored (I know, self-identifying as an elf and a dragon? WTF’s up with that?) Those mysteries will be revealed as we go along. My hope is that by shedding a light on my own experiences, I can illuminate the path for others. Hopefully, I can help you avoid falling into gopher holes and stepping in poo (dragon or otherwise). Am I going to give you advice? Sure. Whether you find wisdom by following or rejecting my suggestions, makes no odds to me. Some things I say may strike you as funny or peculiar, but whether you are laughing with me or at me, it doesn’t matter. As long as you make your own decisions, learn something, and are entertained in the process, I’ve completed my mission. After that, I can move on to the next item on my personal agenda—graduating from isolated rebel to attaining worldwide infamy.