Call Me Candi

As I mentioned the other day, Candi isn’t my legal name, but it is the very sense of the expression, a given name. My Master actually gifted me the name in one of the very first acts of our relationship, but it didn’t stick until a full year on.

I’ve so enjoyed fitting into my new identity this year that I hadn’t really stopped to think about what a name means until I was reading this piece on sex bloggers’ pseudonyms by Hey Epiphora last night and it resonated with me enormously.

I’ve never been terribly attached to names. I don’t use either of the ones my parents gave me, preferring one I chose myself in childhood. I have a professional name unrelated to it any way and when I was escorting, I had a name only I and my clients knew. In the one office job I’ve ever had the receptionist called me the wrong name for a full year and I neither cared nor corrected her much to everyone’s confusion.

It took me a while to get to know who was Candi was and grow into the name. I always liked that my Master had an image in mind for her and I revelled in meeting it as each clue and command came my way. But it’s taken me time to know how Candi reacts to those orders and create an identity behind the name. I’ve never asked where the name came from so as not to prejudice it either.

But I realised reading that piece last night that I earned my new name. It’s a gift from my Master offered to me from him that he chose to share with his wife. None of my friends know about her and very very few people get to meet her. There’s a certain intimacy in the name and the identity in fact.

Turns out I can get attached to names after all…

Call Me Candi

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