slave chase’s Service Origin Story

I always knew that my life would involve caring for others. Growing up in a working class family, my business owner mother came home to her ‘second shift’ of housework and cooking every evening. As a little girl, I knew that I would take on that job with my family one day. I didn’t resent it, perhaps because I knew it was just a fact of life. 

I often imagined, though, caring for a luxurious estate with vaulted ceilings and dedicated entertaining space. Maybe I could be like Geoffrey Butler from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Skilled at everything domestic and quite witty to boot. It was only a dream, and children have many dreams about their future vocations. Just like my dreams of being an oil painter or a microbiologist, this one faded with time.

When I was 16 year old, I developed a chronic illness that at its worst left me bed bound for days at a time. My condition remained unexplained for years. I now understand it to be ME/CFS, commonly referred to as Chronic Fatigue. Any life plans I had as a teenager were swiftly dashed, as I realised that my symptoms would keep me dependent on other people for the rest of my life. My mom often had to bring me food to eat in bed. I occasionally needed help walking to the bathroom. I felt ashamed, confused, and disappointed. I felt that any autonomy I explored as a young teen was impossible now.

After a few years of very difficult symptoms, my Chronic Fatigue went into remission. I moved into a house with my older boyfriend. The living situation was a bit odd, as only four of us officially lived there, but our entire group of friends spent three to four days at a time there. I have memories of calling my mom to ask for a day of work at her business, then walking to the grocery store with the $45 I earned, and walking home with food for the entire group of hungry teens and young adults. 

While in retrospect, this situation sounds quite difficult, at the time I enjoyed what I could provide for other people. Instead of people cooking for me and bringing food to me while I suffered in bed, I cooked for them and cared for them when they were under the weather. By caring for people, I could actively contribute to their lives, rather than living as a passive victim of my symptoms. Serving others became a way to express my autonomy.

Nearly five years later, I received a message from a play partner of mine, Vanessa Davis. She planned to host a formal dinner party and asked me to serve. Memories of my Geoffry Butler fantasies came back to me. Excitement and anxiety both filled my throat. While the idea of serving a group of people thrilled me, I had never been in such a formal situation. I grew up eating dinner off of plastic plates in front of the TV! Ultimately though, I overcame my nerves and agreed.

The day of the event, I dressed in my white tuxedo shirt and grey vest. I finally had the opportunity to serve. Beyond that, the guests were all close friends who I knew would deeply appreciate my service, even if I made a mistake. Nonetheless, I had jitters all day leading up to the event.

Memories of the evening itself have become hazy because I believe I entered a deep submissive headspace. When I arrived, Vanessa asked me to press the cotton napkins. As I spritzed and smoothed the napkins to ivory perfection, I felt myself entering this meditative state. My memory now hops to the arrival of the first guest. Vanessa had a gift for her, a necklace. This strikingly beautiful guest, honored me by asking for assistance clasping the jewelry behind her neck. 

Now my memory flickers to moments during the meal, as I stood to the side watching everyone’s glasses, ready to top them off with wine. I felt a softness in my body, even standing for more than an hour at a time. The moment that I worried would be the most filled with other people’s expectations felt light and airy. I find it difficult to put into words, but a feeling of rightness filled me. I knew I stood in the right place. This role fit. I was home.

After the formalities ended and the servants were allowed to relax their behavior, a guest asked Vanessa how long I had been serving as a butler. When she answered that today was my first time, the guest looked genuinely shocked. As I was coming down from the altered state, my ankles pounded, yet the comments from that guest and others filled me with a warmth, a pride in my heart. A true pride that longs to do more and go further. That night soon came to an end, but my lifelong love of butling had just been born.

2 thoughts on “slave chase’s Service Origin Story”

  1. Sir Dally Strongpaw

    Thank you slave chase that was an informative insight on your history and feelings of your first time serving as a butler. I can really see how you enjoy it in a formal event.

  2. Pingback: Thriving When You Don’t Have Someone to Serve - The Kinky Butler

Leave a Comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Scroll to Top