Whys

Madeline was recently on punishment for trying to bury her journal. She wanted to rid herself of possibility, and to forget what was. In her wishing, she did forget. She forgot that those pages contain our history, not just that of the men that came Before. As Gorean men we learn that hiding how we feel is unhealthy, that such supression is dangerous, and lowers us to the status of those unable to live in a world where expression of feeling and control of outlying factors are incompatible. And yet, I see it everyday here now, men who prefer the slaves to keep quiet, not cry or show their inner struggle. Why? Because they feel they must keep up a facade, and not show that the slaves' hurt touches them. In the end, I am not sure who suffered the most during this punishment time. Her or me. I've grown used to having her in my couch every night, long length of her in satin skin perfection, and honey toss. Using her in the middle of the night, when she isn't quite expecting it, and listening to moans that could be from both pleasure and sleep deprivation. With all the punishment, and back and forth explanations, I don't think she really understood until we were in the shop and I told her the truth. 'It hurt, you see.' Men aren't supposed to confess that anyone has that ability, we're supposed to be indestructible, especially where slaves are concerned. But how many wars have been fought on this planet, because of the love of one man, for one woman?

I haven't asked her when she decided she loved me. I'm not sure it would make any difference. She has not asked me either, perhaps because it does not matter. Interestingly, however, she has not asked why. Why? Not just because she is soft, sensual blond, although there is certainly that. She is intelligent, and it's not something I'm sure that many people understand. I love her because when I was at my worst, when I was apathetic to everything in this world except my son, she appeared again. And kept appearing. No matter what I was throwing at her, what traces I was putting her through, even though she did not belong to me. How long would it have gone on, if she had not asked why I continued talking about men besides myself wanting to buy her? If she had not revealed that it was me she wanted over her? I don't know. And how long would it have gone on, if the new owner of the cafe had not sold her? Knowing she was mine, in all but legality? Again, I don't know. I know that working with her, forcing her limits, and seeing her improvements reminded me of things I had forgotten. I had to return to being something besides the Scribe. Something besides Julian's father. I had to return to being a man, for myself, and so that she could be a woman.

We loitered at the hot springs yesterday, for ahns. It was too warm, but I didn't want to leave. By the time we left, everyone had been gone awhile. I wanted to take her there, pressed her hand against me so she would know, but instead presented her a new goal. One implement, and a presented argument of why I ought to use it on her. I am curious to see what she will bring, and why. We encountered Skirt at the fountain last night, and while I was engaged in conversation with Nash and a new student, I think Madeline might have discussed the matter with the Pepper Half.

Afterward, we all came back to Stylus, and Julian knew there was company. He insisted on seeing everyone, and followed Madeline into the kitchen when she went to get drinks. He was drawing her along into the main room a few moments later, and I wonder now what they talked about in their absence. She seemed more at ease with him, and it was the longest the two have ever been in one another's company, though he talks about her often to me. He is his father's son, and once his father had put him back into his couch for the night, his father finished the interlude with the blonde slave. Why wait for the implement to be introduced?