Oct 142011

“If we were in different positions, if you were able, would you collar me?”

I avoided your question, left it hanging in the air like a noose, swinging free between us, just as likely to cut off your breath as mine. I responded with what we’ve said so many times, just as likely to be your words as mine.

“We aren’t in a position… and it’s not like that… so… it doesn’t matter.” I couldn’t look you in the eye.

Not twenty-four hours later, I bought the leather and the steel. I’ve been working on it since. You don’t know that in my younger years, I was a crafty one. I have the tools to etch leather, set eyelets, fasten grommets, and solder metal.

Holding the raw materials in my hands, the tools laid out on the table before me, I was afraid I had forgotten what it felt like to mold, to bend, to shape. The tools were dusty, untouched and unused after so many years, after so many past lives left for better, but the skills were never far from my fingers. I remember what this feels like, but it’s better now, somehow.

It’s nearly done and it’s beautiful. It’s a shame you’ll probably never see it. I’m sure my collar would have fit you nearly as well as you fit me.

  One Response to “collar”

  1. This makes me sad….it also makes me curious to go back to the very beginning of your blog and find out what the details are that make this your situation….(I am a very curious/nosy sub!)……but more it makes me sad….for You…..for him…..for the unused collar made for one but never to be used…..

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