Photograph by Marcello Aquilio

Robbie and I have been together for over two and a half years now; I have been wearing his collar for almost two years. As I type this, I feel, on one level, that I have no idea how long we will be together; I frequently feel that. At the same time, the longer I wear his collar, the more a part of me it feels, and the more difficulty I have imagining my life without it and without him.

I thought it might be appropriate to spend some time reflecting on what being collared to him actually means to me. I often read other bloggers writing about what it means to them to be owned, to be a slave, to belong to someone, and I don’t feel that that applies to me. I don’t think of myself that way; I balk at many of those terms.

At the same time, every morning, when I look at myself in the mirror, my eye goes immediately to my collar. When I catch sight of myself in a window walking down the street, I see my long hair–the hair that Robbie had me grow long, for him–trailing behind me, and I think of him. When I put on makeup, when I dress myself, when I am around others, when I am by myself, I feel what Doms and subs call ownership. Just because I dislike the word doesn’t mean I don’t feel the feeling.

And so I’d like to spend some time “reviewing and renewing”, as sub lyn calls it. I want to start with Robbie’s words to me, almost two years ago, when he gave me my first collar. He made it himself, a twined winding gold wire pendant, grasping a rhinestone, hung from a leather choker. I lost it less than a month after he gave it to me–which I deeply regret–but I still have the poem that he wrote and enclosed with his gift:

Rhinestones

Some hearts don’t have rhinestones

strong and pure themselves

elegance and aching places to fill.

Some hearts a little bent—

‘Original,’ on dit?—like real leather

perfect imperfect pores, driftwood grained

gnarled Neptune’s runnels, gods’ fingermarks

scratched soft down the sand flats

where the wind and seabirds grow.

Hearts cannot, are not to be

tied and trained, teased, bound or chained

or sent splashing against the wall for release

surging, shuddering, spent—for more.

hearts are not but flesh is; some flesh

and some hearts demand it.


November 21, 2006