I don’t know why I made it — I knew I’d never be able to give it to him. It felt too symbolic, too laden with meaning. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a sucker for meaning, but it has to be organic. Giving J a collar I made with my own two hands seemed like artificially ascribing meaning to an object it wouldn’t otherwise have. It felt like forced symbolism — because the signifier was manufactured and artificially imbued, and because the signified concept wasn’t even possible.
But I made it. He never knew it existed until he stumbled onto my blog and read about it. It’s not something I ever mentioned, nor did he, until recently.
He asked for it — not his play collar, but the one I made for him.
I was wondering if you might consider letting me wear the collar you made for me the next time I see you. I understand if you wont, but I thought I’d ask.
I refused. I can’t give it to him. I don’t want him to wear it — I don’t even want him to see it.
It isn’t his. It’s not even mine, really. It’s just a scrap of leather on which I etched my mistaken understandings and misguided wishes.
If he put it on, then it would become something more than it is, and I wouldn’t know what to do with it when he leaves.
I’m not even sure I’ll know what to do with myself when he leaves.
Besides that, J has a collar.
That collar — our play collar — is my collar.
It’s not ideal. It’s a bit too fetishy for my liking — it has three rings when I’d prefer only one, and it’s too wide to be comfortable for him. Besides that, it’s almost too small — it might be a women’s collar (is there such a thing?), or perhaps J has a particularly thick neck — I’m not sure. I have to fasten it on the last hole and even then, sometimes it seems too snug for him.
But with all of that — or perhaps because of it — it’s perfect.
It’s the collar he’s worn when he’s in my reach, under my hands, and in my control… and I adore it. It’s wildly imperfect and anything but ideal, but it’s ours.
When J asked for the collar I made, it got me thinking: What will I do with his collar now that he’s leaving?
I’ll never lock it around another man’s throat. But if I keep his collar, it will feel too much like I’m waiting for him to come back — and I’m not going to do that. We may see each other again, but he won’t come back to me… not for good.
I don’t want him to have it either, because after J is gone, he won’t really be mine anymore. It’s bad enough he’s taking a piece of me with him when he goes — he doesn’t get my collar too.
I’ve been thinking about what to do with it for a while (longer than I’d like to admit), and I finally figured it out. I know exactly what I’ll do with J’s collar now that he’s leaving.
I can’t say it here — not now — I want J to be the first to know.
For now, I’ll say that what I’m going to do with J’s collar is sweet, symbolic, and beautifully flawed… just like we are.
I hope he likes the idea as much as I do.