Sign Language

I bet all of you, whether a long time reader of this blog or a newcomer, recognize this tattoo. I can hardly believe that I’ve had it for 4 years already, that it’s been four years since Master T and I made our official D/s commitment. I look back on the four years and see how much we have learned, see how far we have come. Oh, we made our share of mistakes between each other and maybe also towards others, but we have learned from all those mistakes. Our marriage has become even stronger than it was; our love deeper. Nothing ever can come between us as we have only one base rule: nothing and nobody will be ever be allowed to come between us.

This tattoo has been symbol of my love, submission and commitment to Master T, from the moment I had it. It still is. My loyalty lies with my Husband, with our marriage, with Master T. We allow other people into our relationship, but our loyalty will always be with each other first.

But, when I look att his picture I see more than only the obvious sign: the tattoo.

I see my rings. Both of those rings are of commitments I made to Master T. The one on my right hand was my engagement ring and the one on my left is my wedding ring.

 

I see my red nails. Whenever I put nail polish on my nails, it’s always a dark color. My favorite color is bright or dark red. So is Master T’s. Red makes me feel sexy. It makes me feel slutty. It gives me confidence. And I just love it when I ask Master T what color I should put on my nails and He says: ‘whore-y red’.

I see my stretch marks. This is something I have already spoken about in this year’s FebPhotoFest: my stretch marks. Those are just part of my history. I cannot say that I am proud of them, but I have fully accepted them as part of me.

I see the way I hold my hands. Yes, I was hiding something away from the camera. This photo was made roundabout the time or before I have decided to accept my scar as part of me. Before the acceptance, I would always make sure that the scar did not show on the photo. Mostly I had my hands on it, like in the photo. I was ashamed of my scar for a very long time and sometimes still am, but I have mostly come to accept it. I’m not perfect, and no one else is either.

Looking at this photo and seeing all the signs in it, reminds me of how far I have come in the last five years.

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(click to enlarge)

© Rebel’s Notes

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Posted in collaboration with Molly’s #febphotofest and Modesty’s Polaroids Past:

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