Relax

I talked to Big last night. He mentioned something interesting in recounting his Saturday. He felt relaxed.

I know exactly what he's talking about.

I've been wearing his collar--satisfying, albeit makeshift--for a week now. I head to Starbucks to have a latte and smoke a cigar on the porch if the weather is warm. I go to the gym, have a good workout, and enjoy a sauna afterwards. Stop on the way home at the supermarket. All the stuff I was doing previously, but with a difference: at the back of my mind, rolling around like a lost marble, is not the nagging nattering thought, 'Maybe I'll Meet Him.'

If, perchance, a fine specimen of masculine polcritude should cross my path, absolutely I'll offer a woof or a smile or have a quick game of eye hockey. But if not, I'll enjoy my latte and cigar, or my workout, or get the groceries on my list.

Life is so much simpler.

Interesting, also, to note the differences between this and a conventional relationship. In that case, we'd be in the interested-but-checking-each-other-out-phase. And all of those rules come into play (do you leave your toothbrush? do you consult before planning your weekend? do you attend a wedding or similar event as a couple? do you give a gift of an intimate nature, such as underwear or jewelry? how do you introduce him to your friends?). I mean, it's staggering! Especially if you're embarking on this with someone like me, who feels that the key to success is to talk openly and honestly about each and every little detail of the endeavor.

Not so when a collar is involved.

At least, not for me.

To my mind, this is the way it works. The Sir does the collaring at a point when he feels that what he has found is suitable. It's like buying a used car. You like the looks of it, it test drives okay, seems to have not taken a lot of abuse that leaves it with hidden problems. And you put the money down, and that's it. It's yours. Post facto, you take it to your mechanic to maybe get new shocks and struts, maybe have some body work done... you start making it into the car you want.

But for the Sir, putting the collar on is a leap of faith. And, also, to a large degree, it's unconditional. Getting your collar back has to be precipitated by something really really really huge. Not, like, "You like Mahler? That tedious, sentimental, maudlin tripe? Well then it's back to the bar with you."

All the pressure is on the Sir.

And for the boy? Well, you just have to be open, honest, forthcoming, and a good listener. And remember that what you're doing when you kneel to accept the collar is inviting transformation into your life. You will be different. And the process of transformation is not a passive one. (You don't get off that easy, Bucko!) The key is Best Effort. If your Sir decides that you should go back to grad school and complete your doctorate in Anthropology, or quit your job and spend all your time at the gym, or learn to take the extraordinary levels of pain he likes to dish out, then you present to your Sir any concerns you have, which he'll take into consideration, and if Sir still wants that, then you make your Best Effort. And remember, it's not for your own good, it's for Sir's own good.

But here's the Carefully Guarded Ancient Secret: even if you fail, even if your Best Effort goes down in flames, you're still wearing the collar. There's no "You failed me, boy. I'm taking my collar back." Not unless Sir wishes to invoke the dire wrath of the leathergods.

The classic collar--a length of chain secured by a padlock--is a symbol superior to a band of gold in every way. Take it from me, a man who joyfully removed a band of gold and tossed it into the back of the jeep with the rest of his worldly goods and he left behind an awful relationship. The collar doesn't come off like that. It takes two to collar, and two to remove the collar.

The collar says 'Mine.' As in, "I'm responsible for this man, come what may. He belongs to me. The universe has entrusted him to me for my enjoyment, but also for safekeeping. Henceforth, my measure will be taken by how well I take care of what is Mine."

The collar also says 'His." As in, "I trust him to take care of me, to look out for me, to guide me, to give me the love I need, to be my strength when I am weak, and my wisdom when I am stupid. I will serve and give pleasure. I will be useful. I will look for every opportunity to shine and to excel. I will make him proud. I will bring him honor."

The formula is so ancient! Vikings, Samurai, Trojans, Berbers, Romans, Crusaders, Knights, Mau Mau, Monks... Again and again through human history, one man has pledged his service to another, in love, friendship, and for the greater good of all. It's impossible to talk about it with out using antique words, words that aren't spoken in our world today without a smirk: honor, loyalty, devotion, dedication, allegiance.

For Big and I, this is a golden time, the start of the journey. I am waiting, and enjoying. And smiling that my lifelong efforts to be the best man I can be have found favor. Big is reading back through SingleTails (how convenient is that for any Sir?), getting a handle on me.

I am Not Thinking. I'm leaving that up to Sir. I wait and trust.

The journey will be difficult for both of us. I'll be challenged, tested, forced to confront things I'd much rather avoid. Big will be disappointed, angered, frought with doubt. There will be pain. There's always pain. But also joy. Because there is always joy, too.

But for now, I can relax. I'm wearing a collar.

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