On The Right

This morning, I felt adrift. Listless is an apt term. In fact, I had a list of things to do, and a roster of men to do during my break from work, none of which--or whom--interested me much.

In particular, I had this feeling of losing touch with leather. All the trappings of S/M seemed so de trop. Too much. Excessive. In an Existentialist kind of way.

And then I got dressed. Dark green tshirt, Woolrich insulated corduroy shirt, grey-white-black BDU pants, my Wesco's. And then, armored in a way, I felt a sense of purpose for the first time today. I put on my chain wallet. And a thought occurred to me. I put my chain wallet on the right instead of on the left. And I got out my Hunter Green hankie and put it behind my wallet in my right rear pocket.

Flagging right. Bottom boy. An answer to the all-pervasive and haunting "Who are you?" question.

I left the Ol' Homestead to run some errands (pick up paycheck, go to bank, stop in with Ford Dealership to check on the Taurus). And I ended up at Starbucks. That's when I had a realization: that wasn't malaise; that was bottom space! Or at least a neighborhood in bottom space.

It's like I'm waiting for orders. Waiting for direction. Waiting for someone to snap the leash on my collar and lead me onwards. Like a big stud bull being lead around by the ring in his nose.

I am primed. I am healthy and strong. I am open. I am waiting.

I am ready.

Like looking at one of Monet's paintings: fields of color, without pattern or shape, and then all of a sudden you see it. It's an arched bridge over a stream filled with waterlilies.

Cool.

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