I shall blog but briefly, as I need to high-tail it over to boy wonderful's digs to present him with the collar I obtained for him. I'm looking forward to it, but I'm a little nervous. I mean, I've been telling myself that I'm not collaring him per se, just presenting him with the gift of a collar to wear so that he may think of me. But I think that Existentially, it's the same thing. And I think I'm telling myself this obfuscation because even though I really really really want to collar him, call him my slave, and embark on a new journey with him, I haven't begun to think through the implications of that. And I should. I mean, I'm not Mr. Benson. There's no padlock on the collar; it's not permanent. Too, I have no special expectations of him once he's wearing the collar. But I do feel deeply moved by his submission to me, and I want to acknowledge that.

In Guy Baldwin's wonderful book 'slavecraft,' he opines that it is a fallacy to think that Masters 'train' slaves. Masters and slaves are different species; the ways of slaves are mysterious and inscrutable to Masters, and vice versa. So really, all I need do is offer him the opportunity to take his place as my slave if he desires that, and if he does, then I'll take my place as his Master. (Jumpin' Jehosophat!) Since there really isn't any reality-based perscription for how that works, especially when the slave pays roughly two-and-a-half times the amount of money for storage of his mechanical engineering hardware as I take home in salary on an annual basis; and I'm not inclined to have someone who has probably rarely--if ever--made himself breakfast start doing that for me, the guidelines are even murkier. Co-habitation is pretty much out of the question, for example. But, I like him, and we really have a connection, so we'll see where it goes. I want to embark on this.

Oh. Here's an interesting thing. Today at work, the cockring I was wearing slipped off and slid down my pants leg onto the floor. Various physiological explanations for that, all of them plausible, but I'm sort of giggling thinking that it was my genitalia got self-protective, and fearing actual castration slid up inside my body. Actually, things are going not so badly at work. I just stay really really busy all the time. And, on Tuesday the Boss flies off to Taiwan on some junket or other. (Al Quaeda operatives, take note...)

(I'd better break myself of that habit of verbalizing my fantasies of my Boss being taken out by terrorists, or else I'll be having John Ashcroft's henchmen cart me off to Camp X-Ray in the middle of the night.)