Imperfectly Perfect

I don’t believe in perfection. I know, I’ve written that before. I saw a thing on Facebook this morning that got me thinking about this. About how we chase that fantasy, going all gung-ho and striving for the impossible dream of being “perfect”. Which got me to thinking (I know, always so dangerous, right?) even more about the myth of perfection (and how it pertains to my D/s world).

I don’t even believe that perfection is attainable–because what IS perfect? It is  a variable that it defies definition.  I used to say “I’m the best me there is and every day I get a little better at it” but I’ve come to understand even that isn’t true. Some days I wake up in fine fettle, ready to take on the world, write the best story ever, yada yada….and some days I wake up grumpier than shit, ready to bite the first person who crosses my path. And on still other days, I wake up feeling at peace, and wind up in a tussle with the kids, or a problem with the spouse, or a busted water heater and I feel just……. defeated. Who can be feeling that *this* is a “better” today than the previous day? These are things that are not in my control. And yes, I can and will work on my responses to them…but hello. Human. We ALL react to things in ways we don’t always like in retrospect.

So these days I’m just taking each day as it comes, reveling in the fact that this–these small details–ARE what life is about.

D/s is like that for me. I’m NOT always a perfect, moderate, good little girl. Some days I’m crabby, or snappy, or sassy. He doesn’t care about that, really. He’ll dig to find out why I’m in a mood if it persists, and help me work through it. But He doesn’t punish me when things aren’t going right, either. He understands that we’re both human, and it’s part of the ride that we’re on. I love that about Him,  that He can see (or dig) to the root of the issue, and I’m not in trouble for not being His perfect little slut. I don’t need punishment when things are not going right, I need His guidance to help make it better. If He went at me with a heavy hand (metaphorically rather than physically) He would damage me, and my faith in Him would waver, and fall apart. This flies in the face of most D/s relationships, I know.

We’re not together 24/7, I’m not His live-in whore, He’s not my Daddy, nor my husband. Most times I *do* treat Him with respect, but I’ve been known to throw an occasional rare “fuck you Master” into the mix. This has happened less and less as we settle into our 5th year as a D/s couple. As a side note, He *loves* it when, during playtime, I growl “fuck YOU, Master”  after He’s hit me exceptionally hard. In fact, He laughs. What can I say? We’re a perverse bunch, right? 🙂

I read of  couples younger than Master and I, who want to “get it right”. I want to jump up and down and shout “you know…there isn’t One True Way”…but I think everyone has to discover that for themselves.  What works for one won’t work for another. I suspect that, even if Master and I did live together, vanilla would be 90% of our day-to-day, with 10% of D/s as spice. Even now when we hang out together it hovers around that ratio. I’m good with it. He’s good with it. Because over and around everything else?

I know He is the Boss.

There is not one iota of doubt of that, when I’ve occasionally crossed too far over the line with Him–it only takes that one raised brow for me to drop my eyes and fall into submissive mode and utter a quick apology. It’s a thread that braids into our relationship.

So, I’m not perfect.

Neither is He.

I’m not preachin’ here–you can go off and strive to be that “perfect slave”, or the “perfect submissive”. You can live your Gorian fantasy and be perfectly happy doing so. He is okay with me being imperfectly perfect for Him…and that makes my imperfectly submissive heart go all pitty patter.

Here’s the illustration that got me going on this tangent today:




Yes, you don’t have to give 100% to everything. You can give it your best today. Which might be less than yesterday, and could be more than tomorrow–and guess what?

You’ll still be okay.

And if you don’t believe me, maybe you’ll believe Pink.