Today is a day for remembering. Traditionally as it is Remembrance Day, the 11th day of the 11th month, we bring to the forefront of our minds those who have made the ultimate sacrifice for home and hearth, for love of their country and the freedom it affords them. I am thankful, as are many others, on this day and every day for my blessings, bought at great price by those who fought the good fight.

A bit more selfishly I have had occasion to remember some of my own personal past via the fictional writing of a very dear Dominant Woman I am fortunate enough to call my Friend and Confidant. She is extremely gifted and has begun writing a piece loosely based (structurally) on some of my real life experiences. Reading a few paragraphs of Her offering today I see small similarities mainly in protocol, but the differences are tremendous. In Her account it is plain that the Dominant values and loves Her alpha submissive.

After being away from the estate for a significant amount of time I am now able to look back with more clarity and objectivity on my experiences there. I have spent many an hour in the cyber company of my dear Writer Friend and She has lovingly shown me where Victoria's methods crossed over into cruelty and literal physical and mental abuse. I am hugely indebted to this lovely Woman for opening my eyes and believing that over time my denial and defence of Victoria and Her ways would eventually yield to the truth.

When I was living on the estate, fully immersed in Victoria's doctines, I counted it an honour to suffer if it pleased Her, no matter how it may have scarred me bodily or emotionally. I very literally believed myself to be Her property in all manner of speaking. To give Her glory and praise and in order to please Her, it was my duty and privilege to suffer whatever sadistic cruelty She or my superiour sub brothers dealt me. I did not have rights, and in the midst of this way of living I did not wish any. I suffered in silence and if I needed to cry I did so alone. It is fair to say that I lived for Her much in the manner a devoted slave of religious fervour lives to please his chosen diety.

My Dominant Friend, as well as Michael himself, have worked quite hard to 'deprogramme' me over the past 18 months or so. At least now it is easier for me to admit that what went on in Victoria's secret world wasn't truly right, nor acceptable. It wasn't safe or sane even if it was consensual. Yes, I agreed to it, by word, deed, and in writing, and I lived in complete submission to Her will for eight of my nearly 29 years. It was an experience very out of the mainstream and perhaps over time I will not see it, not as a mistake, but more as a learning experience.

How have I changed, you may ask?

Although I am still a bit nervous in crowds and in particular when in the presence of women, I am slightly more confident in my own personal worth. I suppose it is also fair to say that I am a bit more outspoken, certainly more than I was in the last years of my time in service.

Michael and I share a home and live relatively peacefully but if I am crossed by him I will have my say and be firm when giving voice to my convictions. I am no longer managing a huge household, and I do miss that a bit, but I pride myself on caring for our home and garden and taking care of young Michael. I still take on a limited number of students to tutor in music.

Gradually I am finding my way to what most of you consider normality.

I am still very fascinated and yes, aroused, by thoughts of service to a Domme; but only to a loving One who would enjoy the pleasures I would offer in worshipping Her. To a true Lady who would allow me the honour of knowing Her heart and bowing to it with the full knowledge that I could lay my trust there... because... of Her love for me.

Ryan

For some unknown reason the subject of circumcision oft arises in our household.

Perhaps it is because we are a trinity of males under one roof, and two of us are sat on one side of the fence regarding this issue whilst one is on the other.

I am "uncut", having been born in the UK and not being of Jewish descent. To the very best of my knowledge most infant males born here are not circumcised.

Michael was born in the US where apparently circumcising male babies is as common as cutting the umbilical cord, so thus he is "cut".

Young Michael was left intact per Ms V's instruction at birth and thankfully Michael has done nothing to change his son's circumstance.

From time to time the topic has come up, and perhaps now because young Michael is being introduced to the toilet, Michael Sr. is rehashing his concerns.

He struggles with opposing convictions when it comes to the state of young Michael's member. He is concerned that young Michael will feel different as he is not like his father in appearance. I have tried to ease his mind by saying that when young Michael is amongst his peers at the urinal or in showers after gym if he dares to glance about he will see he is not a minority. Is it not better that he be like myself and the majority of the population here where he will be brought up?

He usually agrees with me after my words of wisdom and his mind is temporarily set to rest, but not completely.

The next topic of conversation is related and completely predictable. He will launch into it with this, or a very similar, sentence.

"Well, at least Mikey still has a foreskin to shed or not. I never got a say in whether I wanted to keep mine or not."

I've heard of "penis envy", but Michael has very clear case of "foreskin envy". He developed this when first we had occasion to be unclothed before each other whilst we were in servitude to Victoria. He'd apparently never seen anyone still in firm possession of their complete instrument.

At every opportunity his gaze fell upon my manhood. It was a very fixed gaze for a staunchly sworn heterosexual.

I do once remember saying to him, "Would you like to examine it more closely?" At which point he blushed furiously and threatened to bodily assault me if I attempted any more of that "homo stuff" on him. Oh my!

Whenever I want to lighten the mood or have a bit of a chuckle I remind him of those early days. How things have changed.

In any case I feel young Michael should stay as he is phallically speaking. I have explained to Michael that his son will fit in perfectly with the other males here as they are intact as well.

With a cheeky grin on my face I suggest that perhaps he could tell young Michael that he suffered the loss of his foreskin in a terrible accident. I tell him I have every belief that he can come up with an interesting story that will not frighten the boy too badly.

He usually looks at me with that smug, sour expression and says, "Oh you're so funny. Not!"

Does anyone have a comment to make with regard to your own feelings on this subject? I'd be interested to hear your views.

Ryan

I apologise for letting my meandering thoughts rule the day in my earlier post.

Ryan

For several weeks now, Michael, young Michael and myself have been living in our new house.

Closing took several months due to the chain, and solicitor delays, but at long last we have formally taken the place on. I have been busy each week doing something to further establish this residence as our home, whether that be to paint, garden, or decorate with my own personal flourish.

Michael seems content to leave this to me alone. When he returns home from work I oft feel I have to work quite diligently to draw his interest to such as regards the appearance of our "new digs" as he calls it. He claims he hasn't a feminine side, nor any flair for personalisation. He is happy enough to have tea on the table when he comes home, a short run a bit later, a shower when arriving back from his exertions, and a warm, freshly made bed with a high tog duvet in which to take his rest.

Despite the occupation of late, I've been feeling a bit philosophical and somewhat anxious as well.

Truer words were never spoken than these: Time waits for no man.

It is continual, relentless, and can make ruthless demands. Every moment must count for something. All the while we are seeking our purpose, our reason for living. Although I am content with my life at present I am still haunted by the persistant feeling that something is missing. Perhaps there's something I have not done that I should give my attention to?

Perhaps I've had too much time to think. Apart from giving music tuition and caring for the home I have a great amount of time to ponder things... to reflect on my experiences to date and question my life's decisions of the past, present and future.

I have begun to consider the possibility of one day being a father again. I feel oddly uncomfortable sharing that information here but it is on my mind. I observe Michael and his son and it makes me mindful of Celestia and what she might have been like now had she lived. She would have been over two years old now. How lovely it would be to take her to the park instead of placing flowers on her marker.

Ah, well I am perhaps thinking too much, writing my heart. Enough of my talk...

I cry your pardon, my friends.

Ryan

This evening Michael arrived home from work, tossed his case on the table and looked me directly in the eye. I was standing before the table about to lay it for tea. As he was initiating a conversation I ceased what I was doing instantly.

"I don't want that for supper", He said, pointing at the cottage pie and veg I'd just taken from the oven.

"All right. What would you like then?" I knew I might as well be agreeable to his wishes, no matter what effort I had put into the meal that was ready to serve.

"Pizza Hut, Meat Lovers. Order it. I'm going to change and go for a run then maybe it'll be here when I get back."

What could I say?

Then he says something else as he turns and walks away.

It sounded like, "It's toofur Tuesday anyway. Get a couple large pizzas. One for you and one for me."

It was only after I rang the establishment that I realised he was saying it was Two For Tuesday, where one is offered two pizzas for the price of one.

So the pizza was delivered along with garlic bread, and hot wings which he didn't ask for, but I ordered anyway as I know he loves them both.

As he devoured his meal he began to chat a bit. Even though I can not abide someone who talks when chewing their food I did not complain. I was simply pleased to hear him natter on about work and a possible trip to the south of France at the end of the month.

Young Michael devoured the cheesy crusts Michael gave him and gnawed on the wing bones with gusto, displaying a similar sort of table manner to his father.

I suppose I'm only glad Michael seems to at least be coping. He is pleased with the occupation his job affords him. We haven't spoken about the funeral or about life without Ms Grace. When we do it will be because he initiates it.

I haven't any intention of pressurising him.

Ryan

In a rather short space of time we have returned home from the seashore.

Michael keenly swam about in the chilly North Sea for three quarters of an hour then emerged to run down the beach, dodging young children, their sand castles and various canines with balls for a two mile run.

Young Michael and I kept our eyes on the lad's father for as long as we could keep him in sight. I say to young Michael that Daddy is indeed quite an athlete and the boy giggles at me and squirms to be let down. Naturally when I oblige him he tears off down the beach attempting to follow his father. So there we are, Michael running at speed, young Michael giving chase and myself behind the lot attempting to keep up. It was surely a sight to behold.

The drive home was quiet. Michael did not bother to change out of his wet clothes prior to leaving the boardwalk. He fell asleep as I drove us back to Norwich. As soon as we entered the house he stripped off and left his swimwear and towel lying wet on the floor in the doorway. I have collected them and put them to wash. In light of his current frame of mind I shall withhold my normal chastisement.

At this moment Michael is in the lounge and has picked up the book I bought for Ms Grace as an Independence Day gift, "Stephen Fry in America". Michael and I had watched the broadcasts together on telly and found it most interesting and informative.

I am in the kitchen and from this vantage point I can see Michael in profile. He is still pensive and I imagine the expression on his face at this moment to be one they are well acquainted with at the accountancy firm. In the past week Michael seems to have aged facially. He is ever so serious.

Even though it is summer I am serving chilli con carne with beans over rice the way that Michael enjoys it. I suppose after his physical exertion he could do with the carbohydrates and meat proteins.

He needs to bathe. The salt drying in his hair and on his skin isn't good, and he smelled a bit foul when I kissed his cheek earlier. Perhaps he will allow me to run a bath for him after tea and scrub his back. Perhaps a father/son bath would lighten his heart as well as rid them both of sand and grime?

Is it apparent how nervous and twitchy I am? I cannot seem to settle. This is my nature when worried.

My apologies to all for my overabundant blogging today. I have needed to loose the words as a therapy.

Ryan

Perhaps his ears were afire... (Does that happen when one is being typed about?)

Michael has just now stated he wishes to go to a nearby seaside town for a run and a swim. At least he is initiating an activity, which I would take to be a positive sign. No smile or sign of his old self, but I still feel that becoming physical may help work out the sorrow.

I can think of many ways to cheer him in the physical and will perhaps attempt a motion along those lines at bedtime this evening. Cuddles and expressions of love in it's deepest form may draw him out. I shall tread carefully and listen with my heart.

Ryan

I must say it is with great relief that I find myself once more firmly afoot on British soil. The temperatures in southern Florida are far in excess of what I find confortable. It is also not helpful that air conditioning seems to exacerbate my respiratory difficulties and without it one will surely melt in Miami's tropical climate.

It was indeed a difficult return to Michael's hometown. His longtime guardian through childhood passed two weeks previous and we returned to lay her to rest. Ironic that she only just came for a visit on American Independence Day, per my attempt to surprise Michael.

I suppose she was quite elderly, but not extremely advanced in years as an octagenarian. A short time back she had been diagnosed with cancer and Michael feared he would lose her then. But the fates were compassionate and allowed the passing of many days before finally ushering Ms Grace into the next life last month.

Michael is understandably subdued, but I find myself quite seriously concerned about him. I have never seen him so low that he is completely incapable of overcoming a dark mood. If one need justify a cause for concern with Michael the first marker would be the unnatural silence and stillness that seems to prevade every aspect of his persona at present.

Even in the most difficult of times past he has been capable of mustering a slight smile, a lighthearted word, or an affable expression of hope. There is nothing of that in his demeanor currently. He has fallen silent and is showing little to no interest in his surroundings. He does not seem inclined to make any contribution to conversation apart from what is absolutely and completely necessary. His normal repartee has been replaced by abbreviated and sometimes sharp answers to questions at best and total disregard at worst.

One clear statement was his emphatic insistance the he will never return to Miami after this apart from short visits to his mother's and Ms Grace's graves. After making his statement in this regard he spoke nothing more. He responded to my follow up comments with abject silence.

I shall certainly endeavor to be a comfort to him. He is to return to work tomorrow and I suppose that may help in some way to bring back a routine and a sense of normalcy to his life. I dearly pray so.

Michael is someone who projects a quite strong presence. It is easy to forget he can be wounded to this degree. He is, afterall, only human. This may sound a bit odd, but I feel a bit frightened, perhaps as a child who sees his father cry for the first time. When one is accustom to seeing stoic fortitude from a loved one it can be a bit unnerving to witness their fragility. Michael has always been physically strong, mentally determined and heartily loving and just. It is heartbreaking to see him so shattered.

Ryan

Yesterday was young Michael's first birthday.

Time has indeed flown so swiftly that I scarce can believe the little lad is walking and, of a manner, talking. It seems ages ago that he was born into this world amid chaos and heartbreak, of which he was blissfully unaware. What turbulant times they were.

Nonetheless there was joy at the birth for Michael who maintains he has always envisaged being a father. And he is indeed excellent in the role.

We had a small birthday do for the boy at our temporary residence, with several of Michael's acquaintances (mostly women interestingly enough) and their young in attendance. Many from playgroup and the waterbaby class as well as two from Michael's place of employment.

Much like his father, young Michael is quite social and twitters and chuckles quite a lot. He is ginger haired, but perhaps a bit blond as well. Michael claims the colour is "strawberry blond". His hair is beginning to curl up a bit in back which my mother simply adores and threatens us with her wrath if we even take thought to give him a trim.

When he smiles at me I see his father as a baby. There is very little, if anything, of Victoria in him. He has been both a dear treasure and a little tyrant throughout the past year. He is quite assertive and I feel that Michael will encourage this young male bravado as it is the younger version of his own nature coming forward.

History does repeat itself.

Today we are at my parent's having a small celebration which I am being called to now.

Happy Birthday, Young Michael.

With Love,
'An'

I wish to apologise for my former dispondency. I am feeling quite a bit better and wished to share two of my favourite Shakespeare Sonnets with any who might be interested.

Sonnet 57

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world without end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu.
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

Sonnet 58

That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand th' account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal bound to stay your leisure.
O let me suffer, being at your beck,
Th' imprisoned absence of your liberty;
And patience tame to sufferance bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.