I have a currently 550 word long ish document that is dedicated solely to instructions around Mistress’ coffee. The acceptable type of coffee, the backup type of coffee. How long a bag of beans in the standard size we buy lasts (at least a week). How to prepare a pot. How to prepare a cup (iced and hot). How long a pot is good for (at most eight hours). How to clean the coffee maker. How to clean the coffee grinder. What other products get used (cups, straws, filters, lids, machines…). How to fetch coffee at the hotel we stay at regularly.
There’s nothing particularly kinky about any of it, but saying “I have a 550 word long ish document about making coffee” would definitely raise an eyebrow in vanilla company, especially considering the fact that I do not drink coffee. I was not asked to make it look fancy (or make it at all) and so it looks like nothing special, a black and white bullet point list in Arial 12, not some ominous, beautiful quill-inked cursive on an elegant parchment scroll. The currently 600 word long ish document solely for instructions around laundry (not including schedule) looks the same.
But… both would be presumed part of a dynamic in kinky company, and presumed very strange in vanilla.
Yet the truth is, I’ve always been like this.
I used to live with grandmother. She’d almost first thing in the morning take her medications with Minute Maid Pulp Free orange juice in a nine ounce disposable plastic cup. I took to decorating the cup each day with a doodle or a Good morning! or an I love you!. Leaving the state for a while, I left her a supply of decorated cups while I was gone, and mailed her more in the meantime.
After her meds and orange juice, she would seek out breakfast. Breakfast often was had with a hot cup of Salada green tea (decaf) sweetened with two packets of Sweet n Low, or sometimes Folgers instant coffee (decaf), with the same amount of Sweet n Low and a splash of milk. Either was made in The Mug of the time.
Throughout the day she mostly drank cold water, in reused plastic bottles kept in a fabric sleeve and filled from water gallons kept on the larger, mostly unused dining table. At dinner she had either chilled AW Rootbeer (usually in a bottle, though cans were acceptable, and if she got it in a glass at a restaurant, she would frequently order it with two straws because she had a tradition of sharing it with one of her friends) or chilled Kroger Seltzer, from the can. With dessert, perhaps another coffee or tea. On certain occasions, chilled Manischewitz Cream White Concord, or a thick chocolate milkshake.
That’s an easy 250 plus words off the top of my head on the beverage habits of a vanilla person I used to live with that I noted at the time. Most of the practicalities of that kind of information now lives in my butler’s book, and informs what we keep in stock.
So… I’ve always been like this, in and very much out of BDSM.
That’s just one example.
But in general, I knew, entering the local BDSM scene, what things I brought to the table, and what I wanted: a place to offer those things, and all of myself, completely, use them to please and be of service.
And when I found everything I wanted at a munch on a fateful, freezing November night… well, eight weeks later we were in a 24/7 live in power dynamic.
I don’t think I’ve changed. I’ve grown, I’ve learned, I’ve had certain pieces of me brought out, I’ve learned better words to describe myself with, I’ve shifted in what identity aspects are important to me, I’ve changed how I express some of those traits. But I don’t think my core traits truly changed.
I’ve always been like this. Not as a slave, not as part of a vanilla identity. Just… like this.