Hooked

My boy left last night to head north for the weekend. He is off to spend time with his family- his boys and their mom. For the sake of this post, and privacy, I’ll call her Adina. Pup left when the rest of the housemates were all home, enjoying a make shift happy hour, celebrating the return of our roommate. He made us a round of Manhattans and then hit the road. We all stayed in last night, ordered take out and placed dice games until bedtime.

I happily leapt into bed, sleepy and satiated. I took a moment to look at our nest before settling in. One of the requirements of my pet is that he makes the bed every day which he does. Without fail. Lovingly, carefully, nicely. It takes a few moments to pull off all of the pillows we don’t use, to arrange all of the sleeping things I like and love.

I got into bed and noticed right away that my boy had left behind his favorite pillow, his pajama bottoms, his collar. The biggest thing that was still here was his steel cage that he is typically locked into when he leaves. The other things he left behind were over-sites on his part.  The cage, however, was my bad. I had had a really intense day at work- the kind of day that leaves your brain going, “Wow. W O W ! ! !  Did that really just happen??!!”. Admittedly, I was distracted and my boy left without being locked up. After a decade of being together, stuff like that is going to happen from time to time.

It felt very strange to me to have all of his things here and him gone. It felt to me as though he was sent away naked. I didn’t send him away, and he certainly didn’t pull out of the driveway with no clothes on, but that is how it felt. I don’t know why, but when I conjured up thoughts of him, I saw him in my mind as naked slave, which goes beyond collared boy.

I am able to separate him in my mind. I know he headed north to be dad and ex partner to his awesome ex partner. And this brings me joy. He is an awesome dad, and I know how much he loves to be around his boys. His ex wife is a bit different for me, thought. And what I’m about to share is very personal. No matter where he goes in life, he is my property, my boy, my possession. This we know. But for some reason, when he heads north to be with his family (and yes, his ex is very much his family), I picture him being two things at once: the dad that he is, and a slave when he is  up there. Why do I view it that way? Because I want him to work hard when he is up there. Because Adina works her ass off and probably needs and appreciates the help. Here’s where it could feel sticky if I let it (which I don’t, to be honest):

My private thoughts are that my boy is a slave to all women. Her especially included. I think it feels sticky because she doesn’t know that I feel this way, and because I involve her in the private wanderings of my overactive mind, I almost feel that my thinking violates her consent. I know that thoughts are okay and that behaviors are limited, which is why I allow my thoughts to wander in these ways. And I do. I allow them.  I want him to be up there and I want him to do all sorts of things and stuff for her. For them. I want him working hard for a woman who works hard. I want him to quietly and diligently go about his days and hours in silent service. I want him to do tasks. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, heavy lifting, organizing. If he was wearing a collar, even discreetly, it would feel as though he was wearing MY collar, and therefore, I would be marking MY property. But when he heads up there with nothing…..no collar, no cage, no trappings, he becomes universal slave. Because, the point is, he is always slave. I use the word ‘boy’ more often than not, but truly, we live this way 24/7 with a range of volume associated with it, but he never gets to ‘take off’ the invisible collar that marks him as property. He is tattooed with my mark and wears a 24/7 collar (bracelet) that he never takes off.  This is enough at time. And this weekend, as he spends time with his family, it is plenty.

The image below is the every day collar my boy wears. I have spend consistent time throughout my life in the Caribbean, and I love it there. By wearing this as he does, with the hook pointed towards his heart, it means he is taken. It represents that I am his owner. It represents that he is taken. It is a part of me and my past and love of the sea, and I gave it to him. I have one too. We have hooked each other. :-)

bracelet

Some folklore states, with the open end of the hook pointed up toward your heart, you are taken. With the open end of the hook worn down, away from your heart, your love is free or a subtle sign that you are unattached or single. Other folklore, with the hook worn up, keeps your luck with you, worn down you will bring in good luck when in need. One of the most accurate accounts of folklore that  was when the men of a village would set out to sea, the men would leave to fish or deliver goods to other islands sometimes for weeks on end in order to make a living for their families. Their wives would wear the hook down with the open end of the hook pointed away from their heart, down their out stretched arms sending love and faith as they waved good bye to their men embarking on a long and dangerous journey on the high seas. When the men were due to return and their ship was spotted their wives would turn the hook up toward their heart symbolizing the safe return of their men from the dangers of the Caribbean.

 

 

Locked in Regret

 

IMG_7036-1My boy had a rough evening this past Sunday. Nothing to do with us, nothing that he won’t get past, but it was an incident that left him feeling shaky and uncertain, one where in the aftermath, he was left with the uncomfortable consequence of questioning himself and his decisions. I know that feeling, because I have been there too. It was the kind of thing where self comfort and self care can be hard to administer because you’re engaged in a private, temporary war with the inner parts of self.

I had mild cause to be upset with my boy because he made a brief but poor decision. This is not his standard fare, and I knew that he needed no tongue lashing from me. I wanted to be a place of support and encouragement, but I also knew he needed to sit with himself and assess. We didn’t talk much that Sunday night, but cocooned ourselves in our nest of bed and blankets. It was the exact womb he wanted and needed to crawl into this night.

The next morning I was at work early, gone before he had risen for the day. I got a text message from him. He was asking permission to lock himself in chastity. It was a simple text, yet I could feel the intensity about it. “May I lock up your cock today? I feel the urge to  locked…..please”.

What I felt most immediately grateful for was the realization that I didn’t feel mildly irritated by this request. At no point did I think, “Wow…..you just made a regrettable mistake, and you’re thinking about sex??”. This feels important to me because it is my belief is that a lot of partners could have taken this approach. It would be understandable. But I knew immediately that is was nothing sexual. It was purely emotional.

My boy has asked to be locked up many, many times in the past because he simply likes it. Because it is part of his submission to me. Because it is kinky. Because he is owned by me and this is what we do. But this time, I immediately sensed it was different. His cage is another cocoon. It is a place….a thing….that can act as a barrier to outside touches and influences. It can be used as punishment and pleasure as the two are often synonymous and interchangeable. I think he just simply wanted to feel it on his skin. We have talked often how his chastity device is a fist of sorts, how he can feel me squeezing him throughout the day and night. It is pleasurable for him. I think this time is was for the sake of comfort and proximity. He needs to feel close. I am sensing this. I am grateful that he is not the sort of guy who withdraws completely when he experiences trouble with self. And again, in the scope of all things related, this is a hiccup. Just a disappointing one.

The power of a cage can be mighty, and I do appreciate how this event has expanded the use, purpose and function of a steel cage. I gave him permission to lock up and get to work. He was instructed to place the key in my panty drawer, which he did. We had a quiet but good night last night and slept entangled as we do.

And, as is often the case,  I woke early and fumbled through the dark to put on pajamas and start the coffee. As I was quietly getting dressed in the dark, I could see my shadowy boy slip out of bed to the floor, where he knelt as he draped the upper part of his body against the bed.  I know for certain he is not even close to fully awake when this happens. He does this in order to subdued his erection. It was morning wood, which is a part of his natural state.

And it struck me that seeking comfort through a steel cage is part of his natural state too. It grounds and centers him. I know it is not needed, but it is desired. It is something that helps him. It is something he can and does use to help himself.

I am appreciative. Of him, of the devise, of the experience. His cage will accompany him on this personal journey, I think. It is the exact right companion.