Welcome to Gor!
In the early 1970's, Mr. John Norman began a series of books known as the "The Counter-Earth Sagas" or "Chronicles of Tarl Cabot". These books revolved mainly around the adventures of said Tarl in his journeys to the fictional world of Gor. According to Mr. Norman, Gor is the Counter-Earth, sharing a sun with our own home planet. It is a rough, barbaric land of Masters and slaves, untouched by the ravages of technology that have poisoned our world. On Gor, men and women are free to live as nature intended them to do.. the dominant man served and pleasured by the submissive female.
Little did Mr. Norman realize I am certain, that the tenets and beliefs set forth in these novels would find a faithful following that has only grown throughout the years. They not only have inspired a cult following... but a lifestyle; a lifestyle followed by those individuals brave enough to turn their backs on the roles modern society has thrust on them; those that recognize their true selves as nature intended and embrace it as their own. As in the novels, the Gorean lifestyle is a harsh one, and not always fair..but infinitely rewarding to those who chose to live it. Certainly, there is no such world truly as Gor.. but there are Goreans... and I am proud to count myself among this number. Albeit unintentional, Mr. Norman has given us a great gift indeed... and for those who have the courage to call themselves "Gorean"... Tal, greetings..and Ta-Sardar-Gor!
-LDamien-
Greetings..neala{LD} here. For the sake of convention, a girl will refer to herself in the first-person during these writings, she apologizes in advance if it offends anyone. Master Damien has been kind enough to allow a girl to try and explain the joy she felt when she first realized herself la kajira (Gorean for slavegirl). Indeed, it was not something that came easy to me, and something that I fought against for a long, long time. Like many women of "Earth", I have been conditioned to hide my femininity; taught that indeed it was something to be ashamed of and denied at all cost. Words cannot describe adequately the torment, the confusion I felt as I tried to ignore the longings of my heart; my very soul. Many were the failed relationships I suffered through, for no man I met could fulfill my private dreams; that of a man strong enough to force me to confront this "inner self" and embrace it fully. Needless to say, I have found such a man... and for that I thank the gods each and every day. No longer were these dreams locked away... [softly] no longer could I hide them.. even from myself. I am doubly lucky; I not only get to experience this lifestyle on "irc Gor".. but "real-life" as well. Judge me if you will; I care not. I am what I am and shall make no excuses for it... I am la kajira, and awfully glad for it. :)
Occassionally, at the request of Master Damien, when reading the "scrolls"; I jot down sentiments expressed in the novels which mirror my own. One of the most intense passages for me was the one that dealt with "the girl in the mirror"; the moment when the character, Doreen realizes herself "slave". When I read it.. it took my breath away; so beautifully did it express what I was feeling inside. I have taken the liberty of sharing it with you now in the hopes that you enjoy it as much as I did.
"I dropped the bit of scarlet silk near my feet on the rug. I was trembling. It seemed I could scarcely get my breath. I lifted my eyes again to the figure in the mirror... Her nightgown, anklelength was of white cotton. It seemed rather demure, or timid, I supposed, but there was little doubt that there was a female, and perhaps a rather attractive one, though, to be sure, that would be a judgement for men to more properly make, within it. There were stains of tears on the cheeks of the girl facing me in the mirror, I noted. She trembled. Her lips moved. Why was she afraid? At what she saw in the mirror? It was herself, surely. Why should she fear that?... To be sure, she was perhaps too femine for a woman in these times, but there are such women, in spite of all. They are real, and their needs are real... I again regarded the girl in the mirror. Yes, I thought, she was too feminine, at least for these times. This was not the sort of woman wanted in our times... How lonely and unbefriended, how frustrated, unfulfilled, and doleful she was... I put down my head and shook it. Such thoughts must be put from my mind, I told myself. But the girl stood there, still stood there, in the mirror. She had not left, or fled. How bold she was, or how deep were her needs! I shuddered... Not looking in the mirror, I drew off the nightgown and held it clenched in my hand. I then crouched down and put it on the rug, beside the bit of silk. I hesitated. Then I picked up the bit of silk, and standing, and not looking in the mirror, I drew it on... I turned to the mirror and opened my eyes. Suddenly I gasped and was giddy... Never had I seen myself thusly. I was terrified. In the mirror, there was a different woman than the world knew of me, one they had never seen, one they had never suspected... I stood there, regarding myself then, shamed, and humbled, and thrilled. I knew then, that it was I in the mirror, and none other... If what faced me in the mirror was not a real woman, in some contemporary, transient, idiosyncratic political sense, it was at least biologically something far deeper, and a thousand times more real, a true woman... I wondered if anywhere there might be true men, men capable of answering the scream of need in a woman, capable of taking us in hand, and treating us, and handling us as what we were, females... I looked in the mirror. How brazen she was to see herself in such a garment! I wondered how she might look so clad, perhaps in less, to a man... I continued to look at the girl in the mirror... I had never seen her before, it seemed thusly. I had not guessed how marvelous she might be... I looked in the mirror, and smiled... I do not think men would be patient with you. They would want superb service, with no hesitation or compromise. You do not know, responding helplessly to them, what they might make you, what you might become. What you might become, I laughed scornfully. What you might become? How pretentious you are! Do you think I do not know you, who you are, and what you are? Perhaps what you are is hidden from all the world, but it is not hidden from me! I know you, and what you are! Speak honestly or be beaten! What you might become, indeed! What you might become, I retorted, you already know in your heart, and know it fully well, you petty, lovely hypocrite, you already are!"
I will be adding more to the page in the next few days, please be patient. :)
A slavegirl's guide to Gor.
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