(per usual, click pic for big!)

While I continue to debate passworded posts, I’d like to share my FAVORITE thing that happened while Antonio was here.

I got my collar back!

(*coughs* It has, er, come to my attention… that this information probably would have made more sense and resonated more deeply with you guys if I had… say… actually mentioned on January 13th, when it happened, that I lost the privilege of wearing my collar, and was told I couldn’t have it back until Antonio put it on me personally. If I ever invent time travel, I promise the FIRST thing I’ll do is change that. Because having appropriate priorities is important!)

I went seventy-five miserable days without my collar. And now I have it back. I’m happy as hell, and determined not to lose my amazing status symbol again. That’s what it is to me, a status symbol. Low status and high status, or something… I bet I won’t be able to explain this properly.

I’m just so damn proud to wear it. I know a collar symbolizes slavery, and being property, etc. And it does, yes … But for me, it’s an all-good kind of symbol. It’s not humiliating or hurtful or annoying or anything. (Ain’t saying those are bad things, yanno.) There are things we do that symbolize my submission and slavery and my status as property that are humiliating and forced and gross and ergh. But those are temporary situations. Words, actions, days, hours, activities… But my ever-constant reminder? The one that never leaves? My every-single-waking-minute symbol? My collar? It’s just the fuzzy-happy-good stuff. I LOVE it and there is nothing about it that feels forced. AGAIN, not that the things that feel forced feel BAD… Ergh. See? I can’t explain anything right. Just PRETEND I make sense, kay? Thaaaaanks.

It almost feels the collar is for ME, not him. I’m sure he likes it, but if he needed me to wear a collar to feel I was properly owned, I’d think that was sort of silly. It’s my symbol of my pride and joy and I feel more “allowed” to wear it rather than being “forced” or “required” to wear it, yanno? There is no element of force, or any of that “I’m unwilling… but willing. consensual non-consent” stuff. I mean, I like that stuff. It’s just got nothing to do with my collar. My collar is my happy place. (EDIT… Incidentally, I’m curious… While I “have” to wear my collar, I honestly never FEEL like it’s a requirement. I feel, primarily, that it’s a privilege. How do you guys FEEL about your collars, if you wear them? Or any equivalent symbol? Is it a symbol you both decided on together, both wanted, etc.? Is there an element of choice in wearing it? I mean, obviously there are situations where one can’t wear a collar, that’s not really what I’m talking about. I guess I mean… How much rides on the collar. Does anyone use it as a pawn, a bargaining chip? If it’s thrown off in anger, would there be retaliation or an eye roll? Would it mean anything to take it off without permission or necessity? Does anyone hate their collar, and wear it simply because it’s required? ***A MILLION OTHER QUESTIONS GO HERE*** All I know is how I feel about mine. I’m VERY curious about everyone else!)

If I lose it, I’m still his. It is a symbol. Nothing more, nothing less. If he takes it off me? It means he’s taking away my status symbol, taking away a reward, removing a comfort, removing a reassurance, removing my security and telling me to up my game. It doesn’t mean I’m not his. That would take, yanno, an actual conversation. Running up behind a someone and putting a collar on ‘em would not make you their owner. So it doesn’t work the other way around, either. (YES.  I KNOW I just misused a plural pronoun.  I DO NOT CARE!  Okay… Fine… I care a great deal.  But it looks STUPID with “his/her” and “him/her” in there… *sulk*)

(And, for the record, this losing the collar thing doesn’t happen often with us. I think this is the first serious collar removal I’ve had. It’s a pretty serious punishment because of how deeply I LOVE my collar, not because it actually affects our relationship. Things I DO affect our relationship, not things I wear.)

But, in any case, I think I had a point here… I mean, most likely not. I rarely have points. But still.

I have my collar back. It’s a simple black leather dog collar.

I am, in a word, rhapsodic.

(My hair was really, really dark in that picture, btw. Yikes. And I have a scar on my neck that bothers the hell out of me. Grrrrrr.)

I was dealt a very lucky hand.

I am a young (well, 25 years old), upper-middle class, intelligent, educated, Caucasian woman.  I was born (without physical or mental defect) into a loving family in a safe neighborhood in the Northeastern United States.  I was not abused or neglected.  I was raised with all the right values, went to all the right schools, and celebrated all the right holidays.  Hell, I’m even right-handed.  Life is, was, and will probably continue to be very good to me.

Thing is, the social constructs provided by my (typical and truly loving) upbringing instilled in me values and ideals that were diametrically opposed to my core desires. 

There is no need to go through them because I’m sure you can guess, but they include: the ideas that women should be independent, should have identical roles to males in society, need to rally against past social structures that had men at the helm of a relationship, women must be equal, etc.

I actually agree with that last one, though…

But equal, to me, doesn’t mean “same.”  Nor should it.  Same means everyone should have the same birthday so little kids don’t cry when their sibling gets a party one day and they don’t.  Equal means they get different parties, on different days, with different themes, different presents, and different friends.  Same is unreasonable and sets humans up to feel inadequate, unloved, and unappreciated.  Equal is fluid and realistic, and ensures that life can be lived with maximum amounts of happiness and satisfaction by allowing for differences in abilities, strengths, needs.

I like equal a whole lot better than same.

And make no mistake; I believe I am equal to my Master. ***  

I think we are both one human life, one human soul.  We each equal one person.  We are equal.

We’re just not even CLOSE to the same. 

Mainly, we are not the same because I feel his importance is inherent, and my importance derives from HIM, and his ownership of me.  That’s what I believe I was meant to do in this life – be his.  And I think he’s truly the most amazing human on this Earth.  So it would be slightly oxymoronic of me to think I wasn’t important.  Everything he owns that serves a vital purpose to him is important and beautiful and useful and sturdy and GOOD – of course it is of he wouldn’t have selected it to be his, and be used by him.  And I’m the most prized possession of the lot!  So, yes.  I’m really fucking important.  But only because I’m his.

Does that make a shred of sense?  Or do I just come off sounding like a wench?  I don’t mean to, because, since I believe my worth and importance are wrapped up in being his slave, the minute that sort of thinking went to my head, my service would suffer.  And, hence, my value.

Probably more on that type of thinking later…. I can tell I’m not talked out about it. 

Because of my aforementioned lucky hand… I guess the question I have always wanted to answer out loud is “Why, Chloe, WHY do you do this?”  Because no one I know would ever believe I would “need” to live a life like this.  This life, as they see it, is for the weakest of the lot.

The way they see it (and it makes me cringe, but I have SEEN them proved right a few times), women who submit are doing so because they were so beaten down by life and love, instead of standing up and dusting themselves off, they remained on the ground and called that submission.  They may be uneducated, poor, shackled by abuse, or feel they are not attractive enough to be loved as they are. Life has brought them to their knees, and they have decided to stay there because the promise not to put up a fight if abused seems like the best thing they have to offer the world.  And then they attempt to glorify their surrender so it feels more like a choice, and less like a last resort.

So I’m always kind of wanted to say… Yeah?  Well fucking LOOK at me.  I do it too.  I am a woman who submits to the will of a man.  And I’ve "got everything going for me" so I shouldn’t "need" to, right? So, you wanna know why I do it?

I submit because I want and need to.  And nothing makes me happier than being owned.  I submit because I recognize the deep and instinctual desire to be under the care and protection and rule of a dominant leader.  That is where I feel safe and satisfied, as a human and a woman. Slavery is the role I was born to perform.  I submit to my Master because he is the only man on Earth I want to be with.  I love and serve him and only him.  For always and in all ways. 

Basically:

I’m NOT a slave because I’m too stupid to control my own life. 

I’m a slave because I am smart enough to realize I wasn’t built to.  

My slavery is simply the active recognition of biologically dictated roles; it is not an act of petty rebellion.  It is a choice, not a last resort.   It is given freely, not stolen.  It is an answer, not an excuse.  It is healthy, not a disease.  It is empowering, not destructive.  It is slavery, not surrender. I have every tool I could ever need to embody the role of the ideal modern woman – except the desire. This is the way I want and need to lead my life in order to be whole and happy.  Period.

Whew.  I wish I could really say that to a couple people…  But it felt pretty damn good to say it here.

*** I wonder how he’ll feel about this claim.  I’m fairly sure the other night he assured me -in no uncertain terms- that we are not equal…  I suppose if my next post is a long list of reasons detailing all the ways we are not equal – you’ll know exactly how he felt about it.