When it is simple.

I didn’t break down crying. There were no other witnesses. I felt no cosmic upheaval. It was the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the country and I was in the middle of his dining room, in the middle of errands. We had been taking, since the day before, about expectations. He had asked me what I hoped to experience during this time we had together, as busy as it was going to be.

 

At one point I’d had a whole lot of ideas about this.

 

At this point, I had very few.

 

I’d been doing so much work to release expectations around seeing him after what felt like an eternity between skin-to-skin meetings that, when he put that question before me plainly, I was more than a bit surprised to realize… I did not have much left that I sought.

 

Time with him. Being able to feel what it was like to be in one another’s presence. To see how the dynamic breathed when it was in another dimension beside the mental and spiritual. To have touch also present in the physical realm. To be of service…

 

“…and to offer you myself in service. Not, like, in some big deal thing or something, I…”

 

why is this so hard…

 

“I want to know what that feels like, to be collared and in service. And to know that is what you want, too.”

 

I had no idea what this was gonna look like. Or how it would go down, frankly. I own my own personal, formal collar. One that I found after many years of searching, one that is unique and perfect for me. I keep it with me on my travels and it is a talisman for me of my own journey towards service, submission and slavery. A fetish in the true original sense of the word. My ethos embraces the idea that I, as a slave, will offer that symbol of my submission to the person to whom I would offer myself, my life.

 

But this wasn’t that situation.

 

The rest of the morning went by rather quickly and in the middle of the hectic day we were at his house to do some work and then there was a pause. In that way he has of bringing me to my knees with a slow grasp and pull I was a bit out of breath and on the floor, ordered to stay with a gesture and so I knelt, shopping bag in one hand, a roll of something-or-other in the other as I listened to his footfalls traversing the stairs, up, a pause, a moment or two and they descended, the steady tread accompanied by a new sound…a small jingle and he was in front of me, a rather ordinary black leather collar in hand.

 

He whispered to me, and the collar went on.

 

Now, I have had as many stickypussyfantasies of this moment as the next starry-eyed submissive. Possibly more, because of my particular situation. See, in almost fifteen years, no one has ever placed a collar on my neck.

 

Never.

 

You might imagine I have built this up into a Very Big Fucking Deal and you’d have been right. Except @TheDominantGuy is pretty brutal when it comes to fantasy and such getting in the way of reality.

 

And the reality was this collar, and my desiring offering myself, and his accepting me. No, this wasn’t “My Collar.”  Its not new. Certainly other people have worn it. And the quotidian matter-of-fact nature of this moment was startling. In its simplicity, its “ordinariness,” it became even more beautiful.

 

Pomp and circumstance and ceremony and negotiations and contracts and protocol and all can be lovely.

 

But that is not what the day-to-day is. The day-to-day-is this. Is that. Is simple.

 

For these days, I would be his. I would have the collar at the ready for him at all times, and that would be that.

 

So…in fifteen seconds fifteen years of hopes dreams and expectations were pooled into one simple gesture, one action, one strap adorned with hardware, one deep breath.

 

As I write this I wonder…wonder if the me who dreamed of the moment someone would place a collar around my throat would have been as happy with the foreknowledge that the journey would be fifteen years in the making. But if good things come to those who wait, then I submit to my karma and accept the joy I have now as well-earned and well-met.

 

Soon the collar will no longer be in my keeping. And I don’t know precisely how I’ll feel about that. I will, however, hold fiercely in my heart the simple beauty in that object, that fetish, that imbued item that marked a moment of intimacy unsurpassed in my life thus far.

 

And I am proud. And grateful. And happy. And when he takes back the collar, I expect there will be a twinge, bittersweet, and I will look forward to the next ordinary moment where I feel that extraordinary sensation.

 

I am blessed. Truly.