13 years under our belts, together

Today marks our anniversary.

Tomorrow we start in on year fourteen, a simple fact I find stunning.

We came together at a point of time and space that feels almost unimaginable by any measure of 'the broader community' today.

It was a magical night, a space with an undertone of deep humour and whimsy to it, and our coming together was borne of trust and an odd form of being "vouched for" by a friend dear to both of us.

Both of us had traveled to be there, open to possibilities, yet unaware of what we ultimately found until we were both tumbling headlong into it. From that night forward, my life changed in ways I never could have imagined at the time.

There are elements of that time and space I truly wish were possible to recapture. At the same time, having now been Sir's so long, through so much, in so many places, I can only say despite the changes surrounding us, I am still, so very honoured to be here now.

In some ways I feel we're hitting our stride, stronger than ever. There is a certain sense of clarity.

As always, I can but thank Sir for this, my life.

BESS- "Shibari"

So once again we decided to head out to the Wednesday night BESS educational meeting, this time focusing on "Shibari" (kinbaku or kinbaku-bi.)

Not surprisingly, the room was packed. Makes me wonder when this area is going to get around to some kind of mid-Altantic rope group, (though I certainly haven't the time to start one.)

As I've done before, I'll cut and paste the description, more for my own benefit and memory than any other reasons,.

Oct 15th, Shibari presented by Arthur-

Shibari is the Japanese art of stylized ritualistic bondage. Arthur will undertake to demonstrate and instruct the basic methods of limb bondage, torso bondage, hand and foot bondage and to integrate them all or portions of them into a coherent whole for a scene. During the demo he will discuss the history of Shibari here and in Japan and recommend books for further reading.

Arthur: Arthur is an experienced Dominant Top with many years in the lifestyle both in NYC and Baltimore. He has taught on numerous subjects and truly enjoys the interaction of the demo and the classroom. He lives with his girl, nina and daisy, their ginormus dog. He currently makes a living as an Alternative Haberdasher as the 3 of them run PowerXchange by nina, Baltimore's Alternative Clothing Store.

(Here's the link for powerXchange by Nina .)

All in all I think it was a pretty good 101 overview. As Sir put it, perhaps the most beneficial aspect of it was simply having the luxury of someone comfortable working with rope going through the ties step by step. While we've certainly seen such before, it never ceases to inspire.

I often have an easier time dealing with some of the spacial awareness aspects of rope than Sir, so as he said, simply watching Arthur was useful.

I also always enjoy watching a demo model with a great amount of flexibility undergo some of the more strenuous poses. Knowing that I am simply physically incapable of doing some of the stances, it's still interesting to watch those who can.

On the other hand, knowing the limitations of my body is also why I am interested in some of the more 'adaptive ropework' workshops. Kinbaku, when it is really 'successful' to my eye at least is deeply personal rather than formulaic. When ropes and body work together forming a coherent whole, (even, or perhaps especially when designed for discomfort,) is when I find the interplay most beautiful.

In any case, through the course of the evening Arthur explained a variety of ties and kept the rope moving.

I should also mention that last September was the first time we wandered into a BESS meeting, so we've been around the edges, attending the occasional meeting for slightly more than a year now.

We are not members and probably unlikely to become such as we value our GDI nature and honestly have little time.

It's an interesting mix, while there is definitely a Queer presence, it feels the way many geographically based groups do. It is likely a bit more familiar and comfortable for Sir in some ways than it is for me.

Then again, he might feel equally 'slightly out of place' at Queer centric Leather events.

Both Black Rose and BESS being some of the larger and somewhat public gateway groups in the general area, it's very much the cultural norm for what's semi local to us. While not exactly 'involved' in either, this will be our second year at a BR event and we've made it to at least a few BESS educational meetings over the past year.

It seemed important to note.

Collars of leather and a 'collar' of metal

Earlier this month, on the fifth, we celebrated our two year anniversary of Sir having placed his metal 'collar' of sorts on me. I've worn his titanium band about my right wrist for all but one afternoon of the last two years.

I've written about the band and its significance to us before, but looking back over my earlier writings here, I realize I've never written about Sir collaring me in the first place.

For some people a 'collaring' becomes a ritual, almost akin to a wedding, complete with a ceremony, and members of their community as witnesses, etc. For us, it was a very private act.

Before we had gotten together Sir had done a work related trip to San Francisco. Over the course of his time there he made a trip to Mr. S. where he purchased some tools, including cuffs and a simple leather collar. As he describes it, on the feeling that he might be needing them eventually. On that same trip he also explored other parts of the CA coastline that years later he would bring me back to.

Going to those places together, years after his trip, showing me those places special to him was very important for us. They were places he enjoyed and thought of sharing with a partner long before we came together. To finally go there with him, and see them through his eyes, was a way of getting to know him and draw closer to him.

He did not put the collar upon me the night he first whipped me, nor did he place it around my neck soon thereafter when he came out to me and we first disappeared into a hotel suite together.

It was later, after I had come home with him and stayed at his apartment for almost an unexpected month long visit. I spent my days being his, lying across his black leather couch reading books and wearing his cuffs, waiting for him to return, or dressing and going out for walks around a nearby lake. In the evenings sometimes we would go out, other times, we spent quiet evenings home, realizing slowly how well we fit together how comfortable it was being together. How we could share a small space together yet not be in one another's way.

In love and in gratitude, I did small things, making the bed, tidying the apartment, washing dishes, and most of all, learning the small ways in which I found myself his. It was a time of massive changes in both our lives, yet somehow we had found one another.

Near the end of the month, not long before I was to return to my home, an otherwise ordinary evening changed everything for us. We had decided to eat in, Sir had cooked, which was not unusual for him. As we sat down to dinner we ended up having a discussion that amounted to (to vastly oversimplify) essentially a variation on 'eat your veggies.' Particular veggies I was certainly no fan of, and had an unfortunate 'history' with in childhood, but by the end of the meal he had convinced me to reluctantly nibble.

Ordinary as such may seem, after dinner, I found myself crying, not in that he had done something I didn't want him to, but in that I realized he was at times better for me, than I was to myself. Writing it, I suppose it sounds silly, but I had come to the realization that he was very good for me.

Being Queer, finding such in Sir, particularly so soon after the relationship with my wife ended, was in many ways very confusing. At times it all felt too soon, even as it felt so right. I was very guarded, afraid of throwing myself into someone new as some form of coping mechanism to deal with my sorrow and my loss.

Yet that month together showed me that this was more than merely a matter of grasping at someone, it somehow genuinely worked, and was growing into a relationship in its own right even as I at times hesitated, and perhaps most of all, I came to understand how much Sir genuinely cared about me and my own well being.

In that time together I had come to call him Sir, even as he felt odd about it. He had never envisioned himself as a "Sir" and did not know what to make of me calling him such. I, on the other hand, recognized almost from the beginning what he was, and what he was in relation to me. Nor did we say "I love you" back then. It took a long time before we came to that point.

But that particular evening, after I came to realize that yes, he cared deeply for me and my wellfare was when we came through to collaring me. I would be leaving soon, and no doubt the impending separation had some to do with it, but we had come to the strange realization that somehow we 'worked' together.

I laid across the bed in his bedroom and he asked me if the collar was what I wanted, if I would choose to be his? I thought for a long minute. We were less than 2 1/2 months into the relationship, it was less than a year since I had been in my previous relationship, in some ways it all felt so soon, and yet, it felt right.

I looked him in the eye and gave my assent. He placed the stiff new leather collar, a simple black band with two D rings, one at the front, and the other at the back that fit through a notch made for it around my neck. He unlocked a small padlock, slid it through the back back ring, locking the collar firmly around my throat. I slept beside him that night with his collar around my neck.

It was between the two of us, a private thing. There was no explicit detailing of what all being his would entail, to this day I think we're both still learning. But it was an absolute commitment for both of us, and I've always felt honoured to wear his collar.

The lack of 'spelling it all out' has at times been difficult, particularly for me. But whatever the hardships have been along the way, I'm still his.

After ten years together, we came to a point where it was rare for him to place the now well worn and cared for leather collar around my neck.

It can also be awkward at times. Being S/switch, it can be difficult for me to clearly signal my orientation while wearing a collar. There are times when wearing such is fully appropriate, but others when it can create confusion, not for us, but for those unfamiliar with our dynamic.

So to mark those ten years, and by way of putting a 'more permanent' collar or sorts on me, over the final Ohio Leather Fest Sir happened across the appropriate token, the locking band of titanium I now wear about my wrist. Rings on tapering fingers are removed easily by comparison. The hinged bracelet must be unlocked to be removed. I consider it a stronger commitment than a wedding ring.

Now I've worn the metal band for two years. Sir holds the key. I have an 'emergencies only' key for my own safety for when he is not present. In all, I've worn forms of his collar for close to 12 years now.

On our last trip through San Francisco, we stopped by Mr. S. and found a slightly more elaborate leather collar with a locking hasp that eventually we will have occasion for. As of yet, it waits, still unworn, for that day.

As some of you have no doubt noticed by now I often find myself writing about anniversaries and how long Sir and I have been together. I often mark the passing of time, be it the seasons, or the dates that matter only to Sir and I. Likely, it has much to do with how new all of this still is to me. I've never been in a relationship that lasted a decade before.

I sometimes see workshop presenters bios in which they remark upon having been 'in the scene' for five years or such. I can't help but feel not only the length of time I've been at this (I sometimes feel like such a dinosaur!) but also the time that Sir and I have been at this together.

Don't get me wrong, I still 'buck' plenty, and doubt, and question, and feel downright exasperated at times with some of the lack of focus or definition, but I can't imagine my life without him, and without being his. I never take that light band of metal around my wrist for granted.

Marking the anniversaries is but one way of saying I'm still aware of how special, how amazing, and how new this all is to me.

Thank you, Sir.

So Slitherings is now 1

Today is Slitherings' first blogiversary!

Yup, a whole year of sexblogging- who'd thunk? Not that I post all that often, just that it's been a year since I started on this little pet project.

So what's it all mean? Why do this?

Well, the short answer is living in a broader culture that still views so much of what I do as pathological, asserting one's own ability to self define and actually communicate with others who are likewise so often stigmatized holds value.

The ability to eeek out corners of space to assert that there is value to these aspects of my life, and actually let others see such in that process may just help them eeek out a little more space of their own to assert their own ability to be fully who they are.

I know through my time spent reading other bloggers that these acts of claiming space to speak our truths about our real lives can be a useful tool, helping others, often without even realizing they've done so. Other times we interact, bloggers and readers, and we learn from one another about the ways we each carve out our own ways of being.

Slitherings is one of many ways I claim just a little space to say that yes, womyn like me do exist. Relationships such as mine do exist.

These forms of womyn's sexuality, often so difficult to find first person voice about, most assuredly are alive and well, if you know where to look.

I recently stumbled across a quote that bears repeating,

“History that is not preserved is history that never happened.”

For that reason alone, I write.

So Happy Birthday little Slitherings, and thanks to the friends I've met along the way so far.

Most of all though, thanks to my Sir, who not only lives it all alongside me, but has also allowed me to divulge these details about him as well. I would not be able to tell my own story without exposing these aspects of both our lives, and so I'm grateful that he has been willing to set aside some of his own privacy, despite being otherwise a very private person, that I might speak these truths about my here and now.

While I at times grow shy and quiet when I find he's read these posts (quite out of character for me,) I think we both find important conversations sometimes come in the aftermath of such.

I do not view my writing here as any kind of present to my Sir, though. This blogging is more about my own process.

In the upcoming year, I'll see what I can do about posting here a bit more often.

'Til then, though spanking is definitely not my kink, I think I'm off to see about a Slitherings birthday swat.

After all, I can count to one.

It's about quality, not quantity- right?

Listening to one's body, and responsibility for safety

So this morning in the pre-dawn Sir takes me.

"Now?"

"Now."

It's the first we've been together sexually since our recent trip. All the recent medical unpleasantness is finally behind us (it's been more a long stretched out annoyance in some ways than any one thing, per se.)

We've missed one another in that way, and we're both 'hungry' for it.

We're both absolutely mid, when he pauses ever so slightly to ask how the circulation in my feet (which happen to be straight up in the air at the time, cuffed to a strap that passes behind my neck, giving me something to both push against and relax into...) are and I lose that concentration. We were close, there was a certain focus, and then he paused to check on my safety, and I can't just pick back up again.

I blurt out something like,

"fine, fine, HARDER!"

But the moment is gone.

He, on the other hand doesn't realize anything has shifted, so we fuck, and I enjoy it, (don't underestimate that, in spite of it all) and he orgasms, and we go on.

Later, I explain to him, that while yes, it's one of those right things to do, positively textbook, actually, in circumstances like that, yes, even though I am very in the moment, I'd still alert him to a problem.

Naturally, we talk about kind of the usual nonverbal 'two squeezes or taps' (he taps, I tap back) but as he points out, whether verbal or nonverbal, either can form a stepping out of the moment. It's certainly something we have done, among other nonverbal signals, but ultimately, yes even when communicating nonverbally about such things, it does take a certain presence of mind that takes me at least out of wherever it was that I was.

That doesn't mean I didn't wander around all starry-eyed, and leaning against the furniture thereafter. But up until that point I was completely in that moment, and I was sad when he accidentally took me from it.

It's a "property-brain" thing far more than any physical effect.

When I'm fully in that mindset, I don't want 'real world things' pulling me back out of that moment. If anything, though it's hardly his fault, it feels almost like an annoyance, 'of course I'm watching that!' That's part of why I speak up when I'm 'submitting'. If my hand is going to sleep, it allows me to maintain if I bring the issue to him. If things pause while he checks or such, it can become impossible to regain.

As his, it's important that I honestly let him know what's going on, and that requires I be paying attention, and 'in my own body' enough to recognize what's going on. This does not mean, however that I don't go deep into what many call "bottomspace."

Odd thing is, rather than that responsibility pulling me 'back out', I've found ways to focus on such as a way of taking myself 'deeper'.

I don't know if other 'bottoms' articulate this often, but it is a particular skill.

Letting Sir know before my hand is cramped or asleep means an ability to work longer.

It can also have to do with not wanting damage to come to something that is his. Nerve damage etc would not only get in my own way of doing what he wants, it would also mean he would not be able to enjoy use of me in the same ways, whether that be just for a time, or more permanently.

So part of this being his, is in listening to my body.

Now, do I sometimes reach that place where I'm positively non-verbal? On a good day, with a tailwind- yes, I do.

But I don't rely only on words to bring something to Sir's attention.

If we're in sync enough, I can usually express such non-verbally, and if we're not in sync enough, that alone pretty much instantly pulls me back out to a place where words can come pretty quickly. But we've been together more than a decade, now.

It probably must sound pretty odd for me to be sitting here saying 'please, no don't stop to check!' but that's precisely where I find myself.

But it's by no means a universal, it's just a dynamic the two of us in relation to one another seem to have reached.

Full Moon Debachery; a Why of Leathersex

Today I'm sitting here typing in a serious afterglow. Still a bit flighty, and happily still sore, but with a sense of deep contentment; precisely the way I like feeling on 'mornings after.'

This entry, both long and perhaps a bit more explicit than what I've written here to date is such for good reason. It's going to take both some space and some detail to explain what it is I'm trying to express.

Our time together last night got initially pushed back a few hours due to other circumstances, but later on the evening we finally carved out some time to experiment with the new massage table (hmmmm, I think it needs a different name in relation to how we're mainly utilizing it, I'll have to work on that.)

It was the first time in a long time that we've had to just shut the world out and spend an evening working with the tools and being together, which is the important part for me, that connection. Sir listening for sounds, watching my breathing, gauging my reactions as together we go further and further.

All the while, as his counterpart, I am fully in the moment; sometimes looking up and seeing his reactions, or seeing THAT LOOK in his eyes, or when I'm blindfolded and can only hear him making preparations for what he will do to me, yet not knowing what will come next, being in that moment of anticipation.

Sex and even 'rough sex', sex about power and control and dominance and submission is one thing, working with the tools does something else. It's a physical ordeal that I have no choice but to give over to, it pulls me out of myself into a place where time becomes irrelevant. A place where I don't question or analyze, or pause in hesitation, or try to anticipate needs, I simply obey and am owned. I don't focus on being his, I simply AM his. In that clarity is a tremendous sense of freedom.

When I go through periods of not having those times together, no amount of sex can 'make up for it'. I crave being in those time suspended moments of clarity, anticipation, and inevitable sensation, yes even pain that only 'work' seems to give me.

But I also crave what such does for Sir, what those times do for him, his confidence, his control. Time spent together doing the 'work' is so important, that confidence and clarity spills over into other parts of our lives and our life together and provides a core where we both know what's what, and how it is between us. We both need that. We need to spend time there, as it gives everything else we do in relation to one another that foundation.

They are some of the times I feel closest to him. Without that connection, the so called 'play' can't work, no amount of pushing it, or trying to make it work can overcome it.

So late in the evening we came home, I showered and dressed and waited for him in our workspace. He came in to find me kneeling, dressed in the Catherine Coatney skirt and shirt (that he decided out at the beach that he loves on me.) I wore stockings and long gloves, my hair tucked away up in two small buns with a pair of Darklocks' Diva Falls in purple and black (called "Vertigo" for those of you interested in such details) cascading down over my shoulders.

These are new, fetishy fun goodies I picked up not long after the LF&P. They go well with all that wonderful black and shiny fetishware. As I eventually get to making the metallic purple latex dress I have in mind (and materials for) these should go a long way towards completing that look.

Naturally, Sir's response was more along the lines of a cross between being puzzled and thinking they were rather silly, but that's ok, they made him smile and I suppose that was part of what I had aimed for in the first place.

Soon enough he had me naked, lying face down on the massage table, blindfolded with the soft black leather blindfold I adore. He spent a few moments running ropes around under parts of the table, then attaching panic snaps so he would be able to change my position quickly. He pulled out the large padded black cuffs and buckled them onto my limbs, a process that always induces that 'sinking' feeling in me. I get quiet, and relax as best I can in light of what I know is coming soon thereafter.

In no time, he had me 'not going anywhere', firmly attached to the table, as if a canvas for him to 'paint' upon. First came the floggers, some soft and almost massage like, starting slowly, helping me breathe and relax, then ones with a bit more 'bite' reddening my skin, making me feel white hot searing pain up to the edge of seeing stars.

I find the whips loud in the otherwise quiet house. It seems to lead to a slight nervousness on my part, perhaps due to so many years of working in spaces with neighbors upstairs, etc. Despite the fact that Sir and I have a great deal of privacy, I sometimes find it difficult to fully relax, still being on edge that somehow someone will in some way will hear or interrupt. It's a relatively irrational fear, but one that at times makes it a little difficult for me to be fully present, fully relaxed. And that tightness in my muscles is always something I 'pay for' the next morning.

His aim was dead on. The table made a very comfortable height to work at, and allowed him to get in close to see the way I was reacting. He later told me that despite being blindfolded and face down, the sounds I was making and the slight movements of my body provided him lots of feedback. From time to time he would set the whip aside and run our 'empty rabbit' a rabbit skin across the deeply coloured areas he had just worked. The contrast between the two, the whips and the soft skin is immense. It's the slight variations that keep a flogging flowing, and keep me off balance.

At some point, he turned to the rattan canes, which so long as they're handled with timing and at times a gentle hand (alongside other times when they're NOT) I've come to love. His skilled hand uses them in many different ways; sometimes gently tapping, other times slowly increasing the intensity, and other times giving me strokes of pure fire that bloom and make me cry out.

I want to spend more time with the canes, slowly increasing my pain tolerance. In some ways I feel very out of practice at the moment.

Fortunately, as Sir was kind enough to point out, caning me gets him hard as well, so he released my hands, let me sit up slowly and he used my mouth a bit. By then I was well into that headspace that makes me both quiescent and obedient.

I've lost track of exactly how the evening unfolded, but at some point, perhaps prior to the canes he asked what I needed. I urged him towards doing some 'detail work', maybe some marks. Whenever it was, I was still blindfolded when I heard him working with something that made strange sounds I couldn't identify. The next thing I knew he was using the Chinese cupping set, with points on me. Having the cups on my just flogged back while being flogged on the ass is an acute awareness. My head couldn't get around it. It's just another of those sensations that can be used to bifurcate attention and set me out of my own control. Perplexing, but in a good way.

Afterwards he asked how I was doing and I told him I would need to change positions soon. Being the sadist he is, he had me lying on my freshly flogged backside. The result was a wonderful slowly burning anguish. So he worked over my front a bit, utilizing small clothespins, the snake bite 'suckers', and finally the vicious small round braided whip, everywhere on my breasts and thighs.

He held my head and slapped my face, first one side, then the other. He took me to that place where I get inarticulate, shuddering, and at that point where both 'stop' and 'don't stop' meld into one. It's a place where I prefer to simply be, and let him make decisions, anything else is just beyond my grasp.

So that was the point at which he decided to 'use' me. As he's getting ready, he turns to me and says "are you going to be blogging this?" and we both have a good hard laugh. (We later realized that for both of us, his comment related to Lolita's t-shirt we'd seen her in at events: "I'm blogging this." which is both brilliant, AND fits her and the writing she does at her site perfectly) At the time, though, blogging was about the furthest thing from my mind, it was something fully forgotten until he mentioned it.

Which is a good thing. I'm not experiencing these things with an 'eye towards' bragging about them online later, I'm experiencing them fully in the moment.

I come to write here after the fact, by way of recording our history, but also by way of journaling my own impressions and reasons and reactions to it. That may be of use to someone at some point, (it might even be of use for non-Leather people to gain some understanding of what Leathersex is about for me at least), but for me, the blogging is a very separate act from the living of it at the time. That is the action, this is the recording and analysis of the action, done after the fact, not in the moment of or at the time of the actions themselves.

Speculation about 'Slitherings' and how or even if what happened last night could end up here has become somewhat of an oddity for both of us. After all, sleeping with someone who sex-blogs is well, a bit different than not sleeping with a sex-blogger. Sir reads this, and we'll no doubt discuss what I've written here, which seems to lead on around the cycle to its own set of realizations, no doubt similar to how many Owners use journaling.

Sex-blogging aside, back to the sex;

He rearranged me down to the edge of the table, slid a strap around my ankles and then behind my neck, giving me something to push back against while keeping my legs up in the air, and he took me, roughly.

Blogging or not, I don't find words really work at this point.

It was just, well, that kind of sex I live for. My back and ass ached, both sore and pushed down against the table, giving me additional layer of pain that provided a backdrop to what was happening to me. Sir absolutely in that moment, both of us exactly where we wanted to be. That place where for him control and taking what he wants, that place where for me, it's both pain and simply having no other possibility other than giving him what he wants, and how much that gets me off, it's why we do this.

Afterwards, there's putting me to bed, leaving the cuffs on and putting the steel tool into me and him holding me, forcing me to orgasm, taking it from me. Leaving me completely incoherent and happy. So happy.

Lying in his arms, aftercare, exhaustion, and feeling so close to him, feeling so His.

That is what this is about for me.

It's what Leathersex is that even the roughest of ordinary sex isn't. It's about reaching that point where I have no choice other than to give myself over to him, while being fully aware he'll be there to catch me, to protect me, to do what's best for me when I don't have enough control of my faculties to even know what that might be. It ceases to be a giving, as that implies far too much control on my part, it simply is, I'm His, and he takes.

It's about trust and surrender and being fully both connected to and at times dependent upon the person I've chosen to entrust myself to.

***

This morning, I awoke to thunder; sore, aching, penetrated, marked, wrung out, used. Yet feeling so content, so languid, so where I want to be.

All of this, this is why I do these things. This is why I am with Sir.

Later, he examined and brushed his fingertips lightly across the lingering evidence of his work from the night before. Outside, rain pelted the windows. He held me, and kissed me.

I can't imagine being with a partner who is not Leather.

Travel and household notes

It's been a bit since I last posted. I've been quite busy.

Sir and I are just back from three days out at the Shore, a micro vacation of sorts. Days of lazily enjoying the beach, nights of rather intense lovemaking. All in all, I've come home very relaxed and happy, that post good sex glow that seems to leave me floating through the day or days after.

We had originally intended to spend some time out at the beach working with some rope. Books to study and be inspired by and hemp were packed, all set. But we never quite got around to it. No doubt we'll find some time to 'practice' before Shibaricon, it's just these particular days had a different flavour to them- more spontaneous.

That said, several potentially rope related good things have finally come together here around the household. The first being some years ago we had purchased a cast iron bed frame with the original intent being that it would be for a bedroom area off a 'dungeon' sort of area. Well, that part of the house got 'commandeered' for other projects so to this day, we are rather 'dungeonless'. The bed frame sat, still in boxes for years, (in no small part probably due to the fact that the other beds around the house are four posters.)

Instead of waiting for everything to come together the way I wanted, I finally simply decided I'd rather have it up than in boxes, so the bed frame has now been added to a bed already in a spare bedroom. Why all the fuss? Tie points/anchor points. The bed frame is rock solid and a perfect 'canvas' to do rope work with.

While it may not be up in its final home, (wherever that will turn out to be,) it is a small step towards 'not waiting anymore'. That feels good.

The second potentially rope related bit of furniture has just arrived. After Floating World last year Sir and I sort of had an ongoing discussion about furniture, frames, structures, etc. As our primary work space is a bedroom, we've had to try to come to compromises about tools staying out, the advantages of things being close at hand, vs. tools being carefully stored in a very organized fashion for easy access. Structures have taken a bit of thought.

So for a first real piece of 'dungeon' related furniture, we've settled on a thermal and thickly padded top portable massage table. It folds away when we want it to, but quickly sets up and is wonderfully solid. We can lower it down to 24" if we choose, and it has plenty of good attachment points for rope or other such bonds.

Essentially, it will serve as a solid platform for everything from rope work to cuttings, canings to floggings. I often find I can take more lying down than standing bound to a frame. Lying down helps the muscles relax more, and it can be more comfortable for Sir as gravity does some of the work. Also lying down can protect against some forms of wrap (not that we seem to have a problem with such, I just thought I'd mention it for readers.)

So we have new bits of structure to try out. I'm excited to see what predicaments Sir's creativity puts me in.

In a final bit of news, we've registered for Floating World (II) in August. It's months away, but we're already looking forward to it!

When there are no words

Last Tuesday evening. I'm ready for bed but Sir is still quite awake. I ask him to tuck me in.

Sir surprises me.

We're trying to be a bit more intentional about some of our small rituals, trying to take time out of our all too often busy lives to make time for the building of habits and small gestures that in many ways reinforce the 'us'.

For many in the Leather community such come perfectly naturally.

When I am the Dominant partner in a relationship, for example, I live sleep eat breathe rituals; everything from morning coffee rituals to how my girl enters a room, or dresses. I suppose you could say I'm highly demanding when it comes to protocols.

Yet when I find myself on the other end of the power dynamic, well, I often end up feeling somewhat adrift. Unfortunately, particularly with Sir, as clear articulations and demands upon me are often in short supply.

In our relationship I am "property" to him, yet we have few protocols.

There are many counterbalances, though, that do help me find my way. Sex with him is one of those many ways I find clarity in my position.

Thus, the simple act of tucking me into bed, every so often, at unexpected times, like Tuesday night, sometimes escalates into good hard sex. And thereafter, even though the words may not come, I do know my place and feel secure in it.

I suspect many womyn who are slaves to, or bottom to (or whatever in relation to) particular men find their Dom/Owner/Sir's lack of articulation of expectation difficult from time to time. Perhaps it's a bit more acute for me, in that I have at times both been on the 'other end' as both 'owner' of a sort, and as an at times Dominant woman's beloved.

The particular womyn I've chosen to partner with have tended to have at least some ability to spell out many of their needs. With the men in my life, Sir included, their wants and needs at times seem to fall off the edge of language, or perhaps they simply don't feel the need to use language to express them.

Either way, me being a person for whom clarity in communication is important, I sometimes find that lack of articulation deeply frustrating.

Yes, there are inarticulate about such things, (desires and details) womyn Dommes, and perfectly articulate male Doms. But that is not quite the way that has played out for me with my Sir.

So finding those times when it's somewhere other than words, but things are perfectly clear between us is very important, in that that clarity is rarely spelled out in detail between us.

In day to day life, both of us fully understand what this is and how we relate to one another, coupled with the fact that this is my life (and his), I'm not going anywhere. But finding the clarity in expression of those things at times is subtle, it's in a look, a touch, and the pulling of my hair, not necessarily words.

Thus times, such as Tuesday night, become quite precious to me.

Spring LF&P, artisans and community

So yesterday was the Crucible's Spring Leather Flea and Play (LF&P,) affectionately referred to as "elephant pee". (Yes, you can go back and see what I blogged about last Autumn's LF&P too.)

I had originally thought we might attend and take a friend with us, then head out to dinner, but he decided he wasn't going to make it. At that point we hemmed and hawed and eventually came to the conclusion we'd decide whether or not to attend based on how our day went.

Naturally getting up and out on Saturday took longer than expected, and travel through DC was just as screwed up as it tends to be these days, but we did get to watch one hell of a storm front coming in. Fortunately, we reached the Crucible before the afternoon rains.

We entered and wandered about a bit. The vendors seemed pretty much the same as last fall. I wasn't finding much by way of tools that interested me. I know there are still a few real artisans doing whip work, but finding them rarely seems as simple as wandering a flea.

I remember when you might see a whip maker at an event not with piles of already produced whips ready for same day sale, but instead the artist would bring out some examples of their best work. You could go and talk with them, examine their work, and if you had the money (which of course I never did) you could decide on the details of how you would like your custom whip or floggers to be carefully braided; what kinds of hides (here, feel this, this is elk. I get these from a hunter tanner friend of mine, I've only got 3 of them, but if you want, I can custom dye this to match your Leathers), how full a mop, the braid on the handle, whether or not you wanted it shot loaded, etc. Most importantly, they would see how you hold a tool, how you use it, where the balance point on the handle was unique to your hand. Then you paid sometimes upfront, sometimes a portion upfront, and within a month or two you arranged to meet and the final result was finally in your hands. These were special- and you treated them as such.

There's probably a blog post in here somewhere about how whip making went from something individuals either learned or turned to their local tack shop for, on through to a few artists around the country, on towards 'manufacturers' and mass marketing and sort of 'brand name' floggers, on into quantity, not necessarily quality floggers. Carpal Tunnel has taken many a whip maker out of such, and there almost seems to be a few year 'workspan' or 'career' for many whip makers.

Those who sometimes do the best work, do only a few, but as such are sometimes very expensive. To actually find floggers not only custom made, but balanced to your particular hand is wonderful, but becoming ever more rare, particularly when whips are so often bought sight unseen, over the net. In any case, there are whips made by certain artisans, many of which no longer do that work, but the pieces live on, and get passed along, provided they aren't destroyed by devout relatives upon an owner's death.

We are fortunate enough to have a set of floggers custom made to Sir's hand, beautiful tools, but our friend no longer braids and while they are special, such are also becoming increasingly rare. The set he had made had never been used on anyone, and when we first came together as a couple he honoured me by using his whips on me. It meant a very great deal to me, and to this day, they still do.

In any case, yes you can find basic, simply braided pieces at fleas. To some extent you can also find some interesting pieces done in small batches by a leatherworker. But while you may be able to custom order pieces from vendors there, seeking out specialists who make custom pieces unique to you, to your hand can often be a bit more complicated. It can mean traveling to them, or seeking them out word of mouth in communities, rather than webpages. Some already have more work than you'd expect just by word of mouth. And longevity in braiding usually means pacing projects as to avoid injury.

As I said though, those who braid don't do so forever. If you find an artist whose work you love, it is often better to get what you can while you can, before injury or time constraints, family obligations or other aspects of 'real life' lead them to stop. Given a choice between a quality handmade flogger and almost any piece of mass market gear, I'd chose the whip.

But I digress. So this Spring, unlike last Autumn, surprisingly, we stumbled into a sort of 'friend of the family', one of Sir's exs. She had not seen him in quite some time, and when he walked over and said hello to her, she did a very amusing double take. Sir in his Leather jacket, dressed in black, hair pulled back neatly, wearing the wide black belt I gave him. It took her a moment to realize it was really him.

Other than one or two of the vendors we recognized from 'back in the day', she was the only person 'from our time' we saw at the Flea. In the end, we agreed to meet after the Flea for dinner. She was with a friend and intended to return for the 'Play' portion of the evening, we on the other hand intended to head home.

So we split up, and I wandered the booths. In the end, I settled upon a Catherine Coatney shirt that would go well with two of my skirts. Otherwise, I was remarkably bored. We looked the booths over twice, to be sure we weren't missing anything, perhaps that one unique little item perhaps we overlooked our first trip around, but no. No such luck. It's odd to be surrounded by fetish-y, BDSM-y goodness and yet not able to find anything that I quite felt need to come home with us. Admittedly that 'best sex toy' is between the ears, but I seem to be going through kind of an odd period, one wherein I find myself surrounded by tools and uninspired by such.

I still seem to 'quest' for the original, the inspired, the careful handcrafted, the unique, but as of late, I never seem to quite find it, whatever 'it' might be.

But part of the Flea is just to see what all is afoot, to wander and be among others who share one's proclivities, and yes sometimes even happen across someone else who remembers another time, and so off to dinner the four of us went. A marvelous dinner, actually. Good to be with an old friend and meet a new one, and all over an excellent meal.

We laughed, and caught up on one another's lives and even spoke of where the folks from back in the day have disappeared to? Her conclusion, from a somewhat different vantage point, is essentially the same as mine- a version of 'underground'.

Commercialization down to the organizational level, the 'net', and attempts at learning skills via Google searches, all have changed the ground out from under us. Lots of us still do what we do, just not publicly, and not in party settings. Many of us have found our partners (and no, by such I'm not saying 'paired', I'm saying people we do this with, some our life partners, some part time lovers, some 'thirds' and some in various cities scattered,) have our few friends we can talk about these things with, and from time to time perhaps attend an 'event', often far from home. 'Scale' has changed.

And we've all seen a lot of really stupid behaviour from people who should know better, it's driven so many of us into more private settings.

Sad in a sense, but it is the picture many of us are beginning to see.

On the importance of 'just being there'

This may seem a very pedestrian topic for a kink-blog entry, but sometimes it's the little things that are so often overlooked that matter so.

If I were asked for a list of 'duties' I perform, tasks or chores pertinent to my status as "property" I'd have to sit you down and explain at length how it's more complicated than that.

While I am in some ways submissive (and other ways, NOT), you would hardly mistake me for a 'service submissive'. That's just not the way we structure our (Leather) household. There are chores I tend to gravitate towards, and other chores Sir for the most part has staked out as what he does. There are also ongoing bits of the household that sometimes I do, sometimes he does, it's more dependent upon who happens to get sick of looking at it, and has the spare time to do something about it first.

I know, I know! Heresy! Unimaginable!

To dare even mention that Sir does household chores too? Why I must have broken at least 30 'the-one-true-way Leather Taboos!' (tm)

But our real Leather lives, unlike pulp novels or oh so many online MASTER-slavelings, are real. We live them, 24-7. And that means we deal with real world real things. What often goes unstated, is that in relation to the 'chores' each of us take on, the other does feel a sense of gratitude. Sometimes we express such, but usually, it lies just beneath the surface, each of us quietly aware that the things the other does for us help us, and make our lives as we live them together not merely easier, but in certain bedrock kinds of ways, possible. While not an egalitarian household, at times, it does share certain resemblances to a Leather 'partnership' of sorts. It's what works for us.

That said, I do make a point of making 'Sir's' bed.

Now that must sound odd. But as we sometimes run opposite schedules to one another, I am allowed my own rooms in addition to the primary bedroom we share. Recently, no matter what our sleep schedules may be, I've made a point of ensuring that when Sir comes up to bed, it's a neatly made bed.

That may sound perfectly obvious, and the kind of habit some people got in back when they were oh, say, 5, but for the two of us, living on our own as we do together, we tend to simply get up and hit the ground running and then tumble into bed at night.

If the downstairs is the at times more 'public' part of the household, the upstairs is more a private sanctuary. I suppose we're quite Victorian in that sense. The parlour is a place where our household intersects with the external world, the upstairs bedrooms are private spaces.

So I make the bed.

It was the first piece of furniture we bought together for the house, a big four poster King sized bed, (an updated) comfy mattress, and padding and sheets we picked out together, as a couple, when we were just beginning. We brought the bed home and assembled it ourselves. Some couples buy couches together first, we selected and assembled the bed.

And when we're home, not traveling, I tend to carve out the laundry as a part of my ongoing routine. Just as womyn for generations before me have cared for, mended, and laundered their beloved's clothing, I too, try to ensure, as one presenter at the Floating World last Autumn used as an example, when my Sir goes to reach for an item of clothing, it should 'just be there'.

What marks us as different, perhaps, is that when we do travel, (which is to say frequently,) while I may sort the piles, Sir himself tends to run the laundry. Sometimes I fold, sometimes we fold together.

But the laundry is simply part of the rhythm of that which needs to be attended to. Sometimes the ongoing 'chores' are less 'choreful' and simply part of that which must be done. At times, it's even possible to gain a certain satisfaction, or feeling that things are 'running well' based upon the ongoing rhythm of ensuring things are 'there when you reach for them'. I find it leads to more of a household sense of well-being, confidence, and yes, even control.

When things pile up and feel overwhelming, it lends itself to a things being 'out of control' sensation. Conversely, when things are simply where they're supposed to be, whether it's laundry or dishes, or mail sorted and filed it leads to a certain ease, comfort and sensation of things being 'under control'.

From that 'under control' springs a certain confidence in both of us.

Which yes, leads me back around full circle to sex-blogging. In that one of the very few 'duties' I perform, tasks or chores pertinent to my status as "property" is that of being sexually available to my Sir.

That when he reaches for me, I too am at hand, exactly where I should be. Physically, psychologically, etc.

(While yes, there is absolutely, a blog entry -or 20- in what being self described "property" means in my context, that being a Radical Feminist context, American legal context, etc, that's not about to happen today.)

At any time, I feel I could say "no" or "not right now", but in practice I next to never do (other than sometimes, when I'm still mostly asleep, and not thinking very clearly at the time.) Having the ability to say "no" (which is actually more a 'raincheck' than a "no",) that freedom to say "no", is part of what makes it secure and a confident "yes".

That may not be the way some Leather lovers arrange their relationships, but again, this is what works for us. We're both reasonably aware that when it comes down to it, I pretty much only say "no" in relation to extenuating, usually physical, circumstances.

In part, how we define some of my "duties" in this relationship are to be His, anytime, with the one caveat that communication of any extenuating circumstance is an inherent to such.

So last night, he both enjoyed me, and a well made bed.

This morning, I smile to myself with the satisfaction that things are 'running well'.

***

(Now, have I just equated sex to housework? Perhaps... if you really feel you MUST take it that way, but what I'm really referring to is the satisfaction of behind the scenes work, -yes at times good, hard work with one's hands with very quantifiable results- that goes into making parts of life feel 'effortless' and how such for us at least, tends to lead to the sense of well being and 'control' which can be at times so vital to our Leather/BDSM lives. It's a topic I see very little written about, particularly in your average 'how to Leather' books, yet it has everything to do with how we live this out 24-7.)

On purely subjective delineations

Been meaning to write here for a couple of days now, since Tuesday actually.

Monday night was very special for us.

I've been being very careful with my fresh piercings, giving them the ongoing cleaning attention, but not unnecessary attention (i.e. fiddling with them, which would only increase the odds of infection.) And generally taking time to heal.

Which is not to say I'm completely healed by any means, just that I've been being careful and taking good care of myself. While I know new piercings can have their ups and downs, these have gone incredibly well so far.

Yes, I know I haven't even really written the REAL post about getting pierced yet. I suppose I'll get there eventually.

In any case, Monday night the rational part of my brain was saying that so long as we went gently (and used a condom and water based lube) and stopped or eased up if I was experiencing any pain, then sex should be alright by now, my body was 'feeling up to it'. On the other hand, the less than rational part of my brain was inevitably screaming "SEX! NOW!"

So late Monday night, we fell into bed together.

Naturally, Sir was also being cautious and careful, but I was not merely 'doing fine', I was well, discovering what sex with rings through my labia felt like. (As, was he.)

At times, it felt the way sex without rings feels like. But then at other times, I was AWARE. Not in a bad or painful way at all, just in a 'very paying attention to my body' kind of way.

I've no idea whether it was the addition of the new hardware, the feeling of being so completely His, or 'merely' the intervening roughly month and a half without penetrative sex with a partner, whether it was any one of the above, or a combination of several that led to me cumming so quickly. All I know is that afterwards I felt very happy.

And very close to him in ways I hadn't before we had the rings placed through me.

Sure, that part is all subjective and psychological on my part. No argument there. But if part of the reason to do such is the psychological changes that occur, well I consider that valid reason enough.

Non-kinky people may not feel they understand that. But if they've ever constructed a purely subjective delineation betwixt sex inside or external to marriage they've probably felt something similar.

As has often been said, the strongest of the sex organs is the one between your two ears.

Rings!

So I'm VERY happily wearing new rings in new piercings at the moment.

Sir's rings, holes in relation to Sir. Over a decade in the timing.

I am deeply honoured.

(No folks, this is not the real post about the piercings, it's more of just a placeholder until I get there, but friends wanted to know.)

Inner labia, not my outer, thanks to my anatomy- but all things considered, it's a good thing- less pain, shorter healing time, the jewelry I wanted, far less likely to migrate and lose the piercings, all good reasons.

I now wear two twelve gauge 3/8" implant grade surgical steel captive bead rings.

Yes, it was painful- very painful.

But the experience itself was more than even I had hoped for. I'm incredibly glad I did it where I did with who I did it with- it made all the difference. (I'll get there in the real post.)

Most importantly though, when it was all over, and we were home, and Sir was tucking me into bed, he said the thing I had been waiting to hear-

"I felt like I was very much a part of it, like a participant in it."

Which was not only very important to me, it also reflected the way I felt about him having been there with me- this was about US, and fortunately, that was exactly the way it worked out, very US.

It was the coming to fruition of a lot of things we have both been working towards for a very long time now. When we finally came to it, everything just 'came together'. Thing is, I can't decide whether it was worth the wait, or something we should have done years ago. Either way, the actually doing of it, I wouldn't have done differently. It was in the end, simply right.

Thank you Sir!

Wuzzle!

Piercings

In less than 48 hours, if all goes according to plan, I'll be wearing two new rings through me. And yes, I can barely contain the slightly nervous excitement.

This has been a long time coming, more than a decade, in fact.

Until now every 'modification' I've done to my body has been in relation to me, myself. I have a previous piercing, done over the Stonewall 25 celebration in New York at the National Leather Conference, by Gauntlet New York. And that is a story unto itself. I had both done very specifically for me, and purely about me.

For a number of years, even as Sir and I were first getting together, I wore a Red Tiger's Eye bead in my pierce, and that stone was in relation to Herself. But on Sir and my first trip to San Francisco, all those years ago, the stone was given to the Pacific near the Golden Gate Bridge (in part because I had no way to return it to her at the time.)

But I'm a little ahead of myself. In San Francisco, we went to Gauntlet (SF), and had the old ring and stone taken out and replaced by a new ring with a Fire Opal captive bead- (an 'engagement ring' of sorts, though I didn't realize it at the time,) from my Sir, which I wear to this day. Then we drove up above the Golden Gate, released the tiger's eye to the Pacific, and it was then that he proposed to me. Now, going on 11 years later, we are not married, we're both deeply conflicted about the institution as such, but for us, the commitment to one another, and desire to be together was what mattered far more than whether or not a ritual was forthcoming.

So the Fire Opal ring, in my clit hood piercing holds a lot of meaning to me. That hood piercing has held symbols or tokens from two of what are arguably three of the most important people in my life. But the hole itself was about me, and was done at a particular moment in my own life.

I've never had holes put through me in relation to another person, and now that's about to change.

These two new holes and rings, will be specifically about Sir. Symbolizing his ownership and control as we move into our second decade together. For the first time in my life I chose to wear these in relation to my partner. For both of us, this is a very large step.

We've been talking about piercings and rings for more than a decade. I even have a previous set of jewelry from ten years ago, that's been sitting. I don't know if those particular rings will ever be worn or not, but our intent has been there for a long time.

I suppose you could say we had a lot of work to do before we could finally get to this point.

If all goes according to plan, these two will be the first of ten through my outer labia. Getting to all ten will take some years. We may space the piercings out even further as each pair of piercings is going to mean some 'down time' an immediate period without that form of sex, and a longer time meaning no baths! (Argh!) Healing each is going to take many months, and then of course, we're going to want some time to enjoy before we start the next pair.

So Monday marks the beginning of a long process.

On one hand I can't wait, on the other, I'm nervous, and needle phobic and no fan of pain without some real warm up first, but this is what it's going to take, and I want Sir's rings. So I'll do what I must.

After my 'Stonewall piercing' my dear friend took me out, along with a hoard of other Leatherfolk to South Street Seaport to find and share some 'flights' of excellent ports. After a rowdy and dreamy evening, we were swept along home in a taxi, across the Brooklyn Bridge under a beautiful moon, off to a brownstone in Park Slope. Getting up three flights of stairs have never felt so amazing in my life.

I know Monday I will be 'flying' too. Sir will care for me, and let me soar all the way home as we leave on our road trip not long after the appointment. All I need to do is sit quietly in the front seat, and let Sir take me home. His.

Just a quickee update from BRXX

Well, there's the event itself, and then there's Sir and I and the time we're spending together. Eventually I may write about some of it (and I might even back up and write a post about the other amazing evening I alluded to here earlier.)

But for the moment, it's Sunday, the last of the workshops have ended, and all that's left is the final dungeon and party. We decided to stay the extra night, so we're still here. The event is slowly winding down, and at midnight, we'll all disappear off to our rooms to eek out whatever we can before checking out tomorrow, leaving what's left to the staff and volunteers to load and finish.

As with every event, major THANK YOUs go out to those who work so hard to make it all possible.

For us, it's mostly been a good weekend, ideas to chew on, and a real milestone; Sir cut me with a knife last night for the first time. It's not only the first time he's cut me, it's the first time he's cut anyone. My right shoulder hurts in the most wonderful of ways, and I'm wearing his marks.

In that alone, I am so happy.

(And in such a headspace!) I'm deeply honoured.

So for that alone, I'll always remember BR XX. Important things happened between us here.

Perhaps I'll try to take a stab at writing the real post later, after we're home.

Our anniversary

So as of this weekend, Sir and I have been together 11 years.

That's an accomplishment.

Not just 'together', but having done things like traveling together, overland for months at a time, over and over again, and no, not killed one another. If anything, we travel well together. We spend much more time together than most couples, and yet, it really works. Even I marvel at it sometimes. Most of the time, though, we're so in the midst of living it that we don't stop and think about it.

We came together at a 'play' party that was being held over the course of a sci-fi con 11 years ago. Although that particular weekend, I have the feeling we were both pretty much there for the party far more the con itself.

I'd known him before that, as a friend. Well, even that's somewhat complicated to explain, I suppose the simple version is we have an 'ex' in common. He was her partner for a time, and she was a dear friend of mine I had slept with. They had come to an end by the time he and I finally got together. But she was an important part of that evening that we got together. It was due to their previous relationship and her having spoken to me about their time together that I felt I could trust him.

Ironically, about the last thing I was looking for that particular evening was any kind of ongoing relationship, let alone life partner, certainly not a Sir. But of course, at the time, he didn't identify as a Sir, and that's part of what made everything possible.

In any case, our coming together is a long complicated saga unto itself, and not what I'm trying to write this evening.

What I did want to write about was Saturday morning. In the wee hours, before the sun came up, and just before the moon was full, I gave Sir a token of sorts.

As he has placed a titanium bracelet around my right wrist as a sort of 'collar' that can always be worn I wanted to give him a symbol of his ownership as well. No, not as a form of reciprocity, or as an always worn item, just as a tangible token from me to him.

This weekend does not mark the anniversary of the collar, but it marks the anniversary of our coming together, the beginning of our relationship, and it was that that I wanted to celebrate. The symbolism of the collar goes to the very core of our relationship, my submission to him and trust in him was where we began.

Deciding on precisely what tangible token would be most appropriate was somewhat difficult. Sir is not a jewelry person.

He appreciates the band I wear on many levels, one of which being its "machined" quality and the nearly seamless visual it presents to first glance. It is solid, and hinged, its locking mechanism appears as nothing more than a small black dot on the side. The cuff is smooth, and brushed metal, and 'heavy', (in as much as titanium is, anyway.)

The more I thought about it, was the more I realized that his 'not a jewelry person'-ness was part of what made a bracelet of his own (for his left wrist, naturally) the correct choice, in that he would only wear it sometimes. After searching, I found what I was looking for, a carefully milled brushed titanium piece that in some ways is a matching 'opposite' to the one I wear.

The piece I found for him is openwork, and a series of articulated links, it has a perfectly integrated clasp, easily undone. His is slightly more narrow than the symbol I wear, making it seem lighter, but still very masculine.

If what I wear could be mistaken for a piece of modern brushed metal jewelry, his could could be mistaken for a fancy watchband, sans watch of course.

So there, in the waxing moonlight, almost coming to fullness, I presented him with my small gift. Naturally, he understood it, what it meant, its importance, immediately. And perhaps a bit surprisingly, he actually liked it.

So I wear his band, at his will. I don't cognize the piece of metal about my wrist "mine". I may 'slip' and refer to the two as "mine" and his for clarity's sake, but ultimately, I view them both as his. I certainly wouldn't call the band he wears "mine" or as in any way marking him as mine. It is more a symbol of the fact that I am grateful for the honour of wearing his collar every day of my life. I take none of this for granted.

This past decade has been some of the best years of my life.

We are not married, and to be honest we are both deeply conflicted over the idea of marriage, (despite the fact that we have come to a place where it is being seriously considered) but his collar means more to me than perhaps a wedding ring would.

A wedding ring, for us, would in many ways be about State recognition of our pre-existing. The collar (which for daily purposes I wear on my right wrist) is a huge portion of that pre-existing. It is an integral part of our relationship, and thing without which I am unsure whether our relationship would be. It is about his ownership and responsibility and my relationship to that and to him.

The collar was hard won, and earned. For us, it symbolizes a lifelong commitment to one another, reguardless of whether we are together as a couple or not. I am deeply honoured and proud to be allowed to wear it.

My gift to him was just a small ways of saying so. A way of saying I never forget what it is to wear his symbol.

As for other ways of marking the anniversary, in some ways, they will have to wait. This week is a bit crazy for us, what with preparations for BRXX as well as the rest of our day to day lives, but we both know we will eventually make some real time for us. Probably some over the course of BRXX, but also some thereafter.

I have the feeling that difficult as BRXX may turn out to be for us, at least some of it will be a time and place where we close the doors, shut the outside world away, and just really enjoy being together.

I'm looking forward to that.