OK I am going to lay it on the line, we are poor. And I know that we aren’t the only ones struggling out there. It took me years to learn that it was ok to say it “p-o-o-r” and not feel like I was whining, or looking for a hand out. I'm not, for me, poor is a state of being so I talk about it that way. Sometimes it’s scary, and sometimes it is a challenge, and sometimes it is tighter than others. And as much as that is difficult I don’t expect anyone else to change that. Although I appreciate it when someone takes us out to dinner, it is nice to know that we go because we can return the favor. I have come to terms with our finances, or lack thereof. I am ok with not being able to do everything we would like to and I have a real sensitivity for others in the same boat.
What I do find interesting is other people’s reactions to our situation.
When my slave and I first started out she would go to the local munches without me. I was always working on the weekends and was unable to go. A good 95% of the time we couldn’t afford for her to eat at the restaurant, so on the way home she would pick up her two dollar burgers. It wasn’t that I was forbidding her to eat, or controlling every invisible dime, it was that we really didn’t have the extra money. However, I didn’t see why she shouldn’t go since it was a great chance for her to meet people and socialize. So for us it was no big deal.
One day some new acquaintances offered to drive my slave to the munch. They noticed that she did not eat there, and on the way home my slave requested to go to a drive through so that she could wildly spend her two dollars. These new acquaintances, (a Master/ slave couple were one was a doctor and one was a lawyer) were appalled. They insisted on buying my slave dinner, their treat, despite my slave’s protests. The meal came to five dollars instead of two.
Apparently they were so upset over my mistreatment of my slave that they expressed their concerns to a friend of mine. Who then felt it was his duty to sit me right down and tell me that I needed to require my slave to get a job and that “this” was unacceptable. (Whatever “This” was.) I remember being stunned, trying to explain myself and having that fall on deaf ears. To this day I do not believe that the conversation would have happened if I was a man.
This has actually happened a few times over the years, and I know that people are well meaning, but I know that when they “offer” this “advice” that they really don’t understand the significance of my lovely slave staying at home. That this choice, although hits the wallet, is essential for the heart. And no matter what her paycheck would be; it wouldn’t be worth it for us.
I think that my point is that class-ism doesn’t stop just because it hits the proverbial leather doors. It is alive and well. Now I know for a fact that we are not the only people that don’t live in a mansion with a dungeon in the basement. We aren’t the only ones that have to skip events, even local ones because of the cost, or even the gas money to go. We aren’t the only ones that have to put off getting that new collar, or flogger or corset until money is “better”.
But- it doesn’t mean that our place in the community isn’t just as important as any one else’s. Or that our desire to learn and grow is lesser then others. Or that our voice doesn’t hold weight and conscience. Being poor may be a four letter word, (depending on how you spell it) but it isn’t a dirty one!
We are leather, we are poor, and believe it or not, we are the majority.
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New Mexico Fetlifers