Accord

Casual readers of SingleTails might be scratching their heads over the course of the past week.

"What's up with this collaring by Big? Where'd that come from?"

Thoughtful readers of SingleTails know better.

This here is the post-Mark Collier segment of my life. And that means there ain't no foolin' around. As the Pretenders put it, "When love walks in the room, everybody stand up." No hesitation. No dawdling. I am not Prince Hamlet nor was meant to be. Jump right in. Both feet. Disappointment is better than regret.

Although I can see where this might be deemed 'rash.' But it truly isn't. Big and I only spent time together this past weekend, but we have known each other--via the wonders of the World Wide Internet--for years.

And there's something else. Accord. That's a word Big used in his email to me that I read this morning. Accord. That's it exactly. On our first date, we talked and talked and talked. And the upshot of all that talking is that we are indeed in accord. We share the same perspective in so many things, great and small. (The only exception I've noted is that he likes the mountains, and I like the desert.)

Accord.

At Inferno this past year (I know, I know, I still have to post Part Two here; and I will), I was open to being whipped. Well, I came to the right place for that, eh? But in my head, one by one sundry whipping Tops were considered. And set aside. "Nah, to detached. No, to clinical in his approach. Uh uh, I'd just be another notct on his lipstick case." I realized that I wanted to be whipped... ...by me. By someone who approached the scene the way I did.

Accord.

Get it?

First comes connection, and then comes accord. If all goes well. Of the same mind.

And it's pretty amazing how much Big and I are of accord. In so many things.

And so I plunged right in. Both feet.

And, as my stoner buddies would put it, it's all good.

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