Mentorship

It is a proud day in the life of a Mentor.  My mentee is ready to spread her wings, er arms, or legs, spread something... anyway she is ready to fly free on her own, without my subtle and oh so wise guidance.  I'm shedding a proud and grateful tear to see her go. 

 Master's Piece over at Down the Rabbit Hole, knows I will never be too far away to give her my own special brand of under the bus throwing help.  She doesn't even have to ask.  

If she has questions on "How do I get him to stop...." I will be on standby to shrug and sigh.

If she agonizes about  "Shouldn't he not be allowed to muck around my brain?"  I will be there to giggle a bit.

If her Master wants to shove things into her various places, I will be there to gently advise about how her gift of submission should never be shoved up his ass in return.

But no more Mentor/mentee.  Because I really think she's ready. 

 Not because she cruelly cut me because I wouldn't put out (I totally would --BTW --except AUSTRALIA, for fucksake).

If you are wondering how I got to be the Mentor of someone way smarter than me, way wiser than me and more world-knowledgeable, who has been a slave WAY longer than myself, well, it is a long and silly story that I have completely forgotten.  Such are the perils of a short memory and being too lazy to search my messages.   It probably had something to do with tequila and a posse of nine banded armadillos.  Or maybe not.