Friday, February 13, 2009

A Word About Collars

Collars are a pet peeve of mine.

I wore a collar for 11 years. It wasn't my first bdsm relationship, but it was the one that I considered would be my last. We didn't plan on him getting ill.

Collars have a meaning to me that is difficult to explain.

I met J when I was 24 years old. I'd come out of an abusive marriage, a few abusive relationships, and had almost given up trying to figure out just how to do what it is we do without getting myself into some serious trouble. J and I began our relationship as friends. Hours spent talking, walking, laughing and learning about each other. I never, in a million years, expected our relationship to turn into what it did. But when he put his collar on me that first time, I finally felt as if I'd found my own well-deserved happiness after all the bullshit I'd been through.

When he got his diagnosis, of necessity we parted. I'd wanted to go with him, but I had responsibilities that prevented it. That last day that we were together, I was so hurt at what I felt was an abandonment, that I threw my collar at him and stormed out. We've since repaired our friendship, and he's still the only person that knows everything about me.

But anyway, collars have a personal meaning to me and I don't really understand how things have gotten to the point where they're given, worn, and removed as fashion statements rather than a commitment to each other. I've struggled with this for years and I still don't understand it. I don't think that there's anything that could make me want to be collared to someone again. At least that's how I feel right now. Of course, since meeting Sir, I've been thinking a lot about that. Since we're not likely to become that deeply involved, I think it'll stay off the radar for a while. At least I hope.

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