A Broken Toy

In an ideal world, I would be a cross between a leather boy, a sex bot, and a 1950s housewife. I would be able to cook, clean, black your boots, scrub the bathroom, and still somehow be fresh, sexy, well-lubricated and ready for use at all times. I would be the perfect fuck toy, the ultimate helpmate, the ideal slave.

In the real world, I’m a human being.

Last night was supposed to be a fun night, a night of hanging out at home alone (finally!) with my Boyfriend. We had no specific plans. We might have fucked, played, or gotten into high protocol mode so I could do service. Or, we might have just snuggled and read to each other. Either way, I was looking forward to giving him my affection, and attention, and care.

Instead, I got rather nastily sick, and was rendered helpless and useless. Far from being able to serve and please, I became dependent on him to pick up medication for me, take me to the doctor, and make me food.

It made me feel horrible.

I’ve worked through the trauma-induced bullshit where I don’t think I deserve to be cared for. I know I deserve it. I think a loving partner should be willing to give care in times of sickness, no matter how dominant they are.

But what remains is my overpowering desire to serve, to be pleasing, to comfort and delight. My longing to be a consistently alluring, constantly available toy.

I can’t do that when I’m so sick.

So here is what I had to tell myself to get through it:

All possessions need maintenance. All toys break sometimes.

If you own a hot car, sometimes you’ll need to get it serviced.

In fact, even the hypothetical sex bots of the future, to whom you so unflatteringly compare yourself, will probably break, glitch, and get weird viruses from time to time.

You’re not a machine… but even machines sometimes break down.

What you are asking of yourself isn’t just something no human can do. It’s something not even mechanical objects can achieve.

Just because you are malfunctioning at the moment doesn’t mean you can’t be a valuable possession, a pleasing and worthwhile toy.

And the man whose toy you are legitimately doesn’t seem to mind taking care of you, so calm down and let yourself mend.

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