There’s this collar I dream of.
It is made of thick, reddish-brown leather with light beige edges where the leather has been turned over to the outside to make for a smooth edge. Maybe there are a few narrow strips of metal to enforce its shape. It looks like a medical device from a time before plastic. It is stiff, hard, and unforgiving. It forces my body into compliance and limits my scope. For a while, this feels supportive and healing. If worn for a long time, over and over, the leather absorbs my sweat and the oils off my skin, and my body claims it as mine and mine only. We’re shaping each other.
Or maybe it is made of strips of metal boning encased in off-white linen or cotton, with stitched down seams along the sides. It is laced up, like a corset. It grows down from my neck across my chest, like the roots of a tree, linking air and earth. It holds me together gently but firmly, allows a breeze onto my skin, and reminds me of my breath. It creates a yearning in the fingertips, and a select few may be invited through to my skin.
The collar I dream of has no rings to attach a leash, a hook, a rope. It is not about ownership and control by another person. It is about a different way of inhabiting my body, the struggle within to adapt, and the eternal striving for grace.
This is my first contribution to this year’s #Kinktober. Today’s prompt was “collaring.”
kinky & nerdy 