Healers, heal thyselves

I knew that I needed release, and I hoped to find it in sadism tonight. There is no one available I could bottom to, I thought.

But dyring the auction, I sat next to a beautiful woman in a marvelous waist-cincher corset. We chatted, and she told me she does cuttings and piercings.

The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I'd said, "If you have the energy tonight, I think I'd like to bottom to that."

I wonder if she noticed how stunned I was that I'd just said that. Just asked to bottom to someone I had just met, and not only bottom but offer them my flesh in the most intimate ritual that I know.

But she readily agreed, and I arranged the medical room for midnight. The Witching Hour, in popular lore, and a closing to Lughnassad, the first of the festivals of harvest.

The night was lovely- a beautiful boy to play with courtesy of his lovely Lady, some excellent company, and a nice athmosphere. But in me was growing a low buzz of excitement that I didn't even recognize for what it was until I saw her again.

She led me into the medical room, and we discussed the preliminaries. I have low blood sugar, but I'd eaten. I'm a bit of bleeder, don't mind people watching. My mind was still unfocused, looking for something but unaware of what. I was excited, knew that I needed this, but something was missing.

And then she asked me, "What design do you want?" and it snapped into place.

This was my ritual. This was my healing.

I bared my breasts, and the discussion began.

Once, long, long ago, my patroness was Artemis, the Huntress. Night-swift and sheer, cruel and loving and loyal and wild. Goddess of the Moon, of Hunters, and of Virgins. In her guise as Hecate, Queen of the Witches and Guardian of the Crossroads.

I learned of my Lady of the Wild Places in the 6th grade, in a book of Greek mythology. I had no idea what paganism was, that anyone still believed in or worshipped the old Gods. But I walked the woods near my home, a wild and free thing, and I talked to her. I asked her questions, I told her my secrets, and I came home comforted.

When I was 13, I learned of my faith. Mostly, I learned that I'm not alone in what I'd come to believe.

When I was 15, I lost my virginity in a story which you can read here, but I'll not go into today. But I still belonged to Artemis because I was still a virgin in the Greek sense of the word- a woman who is owned by no man. Chastity had little to do with it, it was that she- and I- belonged

only to ourselves.

When I was 17, I met Wolf.

And I no longer believed that Artemis was a suitable Patroness for me, because he owned me. Oh, not in a D/s sort of way, but he owned my heart, and it was on him that I based most of my decisions and it was for him that I tried to change who I was.

For 7 long years, I've missed my Patroness, my first Goddess and one of my dearest friends. I've spent 7 years believing that I belong, on some level, to a man.

Last night, during the Witching Hour, with a Priestess as my Guide (trust me to go to a BDSM party and meet a Priestess!), I reclaimed my Self, my Heart, and my Goddess.

She leaned over me, and we shared ourselves and our hearts as she sliced into my flesh. She has her own wounds, as do we all, and the ritual we shared healed some of hers, too. I'm grateful for that, I wouldn't have it any other way than that my healing aided in someone else's as well- and I believe that the Universe knew that when It engineered this little bit of synchronicity.

The scalpel is sharp, and in the books they say that there is no pain because of it. They lie.

I Am My Own.

No, I am not ignoring or forgetting my amazing Jack- but he has never sought to own me, merely to share in my life.

I had to breathe, in, out, in, out, in out, and she checked on me. Compassion and love and pain and healing in her eyes the mirror of my own.

I Am My Own.

Not Wolf's, not any man or woman's.

It took a long time, getting the curves just right. I've practiced this myself to do on Lucivar, and it's hard. But my right breast- the one which they say that the Amazons, worshippers of Artemis, cut off to shoot better- is scarring now with a small crescent moon, the symbol of my renewed bond with my Goddess, and my healing from a wound that is 7 years old.

I Am My Own.

Thank you, Lady Steele, for your gift of healing.