I didn’t want one. I knew they represented something. You thought they looked hot. Even to you who knew nothing of the significance, somewhere locked in the recesses of your mind was an idea, a justification forged from your many experiences of seeing them. What you forget is that they “look hot” for a reason.
Collars Mean Something. In this world, they mean a lot. But to each individual person and dynamic, they hold significance in some form or another. So for you, I tried, attempted to understand, to find a way that it would fit for us.
I grappled with it for days. Rather than leaving it up to chance or letting your subconscious decide its significance I went about my way of sourcing one. One that you’d like and one that I’d be comfortable with. Because in this there were two and if I were to be the one with something around my neck I’d damn well want to be happy with it.
I spent hours perusing online. No doubt, like all the other subs out there I thought my collar would be different. I searched for one that fit our dynamic, something that was “us” but in reality, it was a conduit to me understanding the context of “us”. Because dynamics mean something. Don’t they?
I fell in love with many… but none that suited us.
You being colourblind led me away from the cute pastel blues and pinks.
My sense of self-worth led me away from those emblazoned with “slut” and “whore”.
Basic collars weren’t good enough.
Collars with leashes aren’t my style, nor something that would ever have been introduced into our dynamic.
I did fall in love with one… In place of a ring lay a silver eternity symbol. But while I’ll always be your babygirl I knew this wasn’t forever.
After what felt like a never-ending search I came across one. You know the one because I bought it.
Simple and small. Classic but different. Two rings — one inside the other, us both represented.
I knew you were happy when you figured out my surprise for our upcoming date. Again when we opened the packet in that God-Awful hotel in Portlaoise. It was cheap as chips but a test run. And you were happy — that was the main thing. I’m your babygirl, that’s my job. I aim to please with you, always.
We gave it a meaning that night. My core values in kink — Trust, Honesty and Respect and your idea’s around our dynamic — to care for, protect, cherish, nurture and mould. With that in mind, I let you put it on me.
You were you, moving at a million miles per hour, excited and happy. Kneeling behind me, hardly able to fasten it you were so impatient. You loved it. I was nervous. Terrified because what neither of us made mention of was the fact that, in essence, you wrapping that around my neck like a precious diamond necklace was you claiming me as your babygirl. That’s hard to process in the real world, but in kink, it felt right.
I wore it for each of our dates thereafter, a marker of trust. Each step forward I took in letting go and trusting you I had my collar in place. To the point that I started to enjoy wearing it. Wearing my collar became a safe space. If it were on, I was with you and for 12 hours or so, nothing else mattered.
I can still feel it pulling at the back of my neck as you hooked your finger through the ring and pulled my face towards you for a kiss. You taking what you wanted and me basking in my kiss being that want. That in itself was enough to turn me on.
It was my entire outfit for a night, worn with nothing else but a blindfold and restraints. Taking a leap of faith, trusting you in silence.
It was a literal line of territory that I reminded you of as you held my hand and helped me step into the bath.
Before my vanilla date, I sent you a picture of me wearing nothing but it. A reminder. Even if this were to be my prince charming you’d still be my king.
I’ve worn it less than a handful of times and yet it holds so much significance.
It was lying on my bed today, from taking that picture last week. I’ve enjoyed seeing it each night as I groggily crawl in and wrap up. I associate it with you, my safe space and all the terribly wonderful things we’ve done together. Similarly, it excited me to think that soon I’d be wearing it in my bed. I’d let my mind wander to all the filthy things we could do and run over a mental list of things I needed to get done before you got here.
I’ve mulled over what to do with it for the longest time today. It cost nothing but it meant everything. To you, I suppose, it just looked hot.
You’ve been honest and told me what you can, you respected me enough to know that right now you can’t meet my needs. But seeing it today made me sad. I don’t have any answers, I don’t know how to process any of it.
I don’t hate you and I know it’s not my fault but I suppose those two facts are what makes it so hard to process.
We were never a thing, never could have been but it felt like a breakup all the same. So I gave myself the day.
For all the time I spent over the last few months looking back at our messages (hilarious, sexy, cute) and pictures (filthy, raunchy and gorgeous) and videos (over 18’s only) I couldn’t do it today.
I won’t be that woman.
You were more than wonderful! I couldn’t have asked for anything more in my first foray into this kink world. You’re still the most handsome man I’ve ever met and will forever be my benchmark. My future husband has high standards to meet.
I don’t hope because I know you’ll come through the other side of whatever you’re dealing with and you’ll be even more amazing for doing so. What I do hope is that I get to meet that man and continue our filthy explorations.
So today and for the foreseeable future, my collar goes in a box. Alongside the hotel room keys and all the receipts made out to one Mr D. Draper. I promised I wouldn’t wear it with anyone else and I don’t think I could if I wanted to… If we never meet again I may never open that box again and even if we do, I’m not sure I’d want to. Today closes off my first chapter. I hope you re-appear in a later one.
And remember kink or no kink. I’m always here. A phone call or an hours drive away. I’ll always answer.
What’s next for me?
I don’t know. I’ve met some wonderful people so far, have a slew of events I’m yet to still attend and this world is so big and varied I’ll go wherever the wind takes me. Daddy is off the table though. That shit hurts like a bitch.
Image Credit: me
Open Letters are exactly that. A letter for all to see. Sometimes I write to myself. Other times I write to people who’ve broken my heart. I write letters to random subsets of society, letters to myself and most importantly I write letters to you.
Originally published at roughandtumble.ie.