Last night, M asked me why I always catch attitude when he tells me to put on my leather collar and cuffs.

Normally a question that accusatory would put me on the defensive.

What’re you talking about? I don’t catch attitude when you tell me to put on my collar and cuffs. Quit being such a baby.

But the thing is… I do catch attitude when he tells me to put on my collar and cuffs. And when he decides he’d like to see me in something other than running pants and a long-sleeved athletic shirt. And when he asks me to put on makeup. Particularly red lipstick and fingernail polish.

I am not, by any stretch of the definition, a girly girl. Occasionally, I want to feel pretty (“Pretty” will always be a word I associate with femininity, but that is not to say that a man –cis or trans– can’t be “pretty”.) so I’ll do my hair and face up, and search my almost-bare dresser (Have I mentioned I hate shopping? I’ll wear clothes until they literally fall apart before I’ll go shopping for new ones.) and closet for something not stained, and fairly feminine, to put on. But most of the time? I just want to be comfortable. And I’m comfortable in running pants and long-sleeved shirts. That’s probably part of the reason for the attitude over him having me wear lingerie. And the fact that it’s freakin’ freezing up here right now.

Well… and… I found my way back into not liking my body. What? I never claimed the confidence would last forever! Only this time it’s mostly stuff I can fix, if I could just find the time.

But the collar and cuffs… I don’t get it. I used to love them. I keep passing it off in my mind as a time constraint thing, but really… How long does it take to buckle on a collar and a pair of wrist cuffs? The other day, it was a comfort thing. For some reason, I was ridiculously hot in my usually freezing house, and leather really doesn’t help much with that. And the collar is way thicker than it should be for everyday use, but I have yet to find one I like enough to ask M if we can buy it. I may have to check out one of the custom collar stores around the web for that. Most of the sex toy stores I affiliate with don’t carry what I’m looking for. Even the kinky ones!

But sometimes the point of the collar and cuffs is to make me uncomfortable, and in those times, they certainly serve their purpose.

The next excuse I came to was wanting to have the blinds open, but why should that stop me? Nobody should be staring into our window hard enough to figure out what’s around my wrists and neck. And, like I said, I usually wear long-sleeves. And occasionally a black turtleneck sweater, with a big fluffy turtleneck that hides the collar. And even if I didn’t, what difference would it make if someone did figure out what they are? I mean, everyone knows M wears the pants. And they all know we’re kinky. So that’s not it.

The question that keeps circling my mind is Does it mean I don’t want to be a slave anymore, and I’m just not willing to face it?

I didn’t come up with that question on my own. M asked me if I had lost interest in being owned. Lately, all I’ve been thinking about is how much I miss the stranglehold he usually has on me, and the ritual we used to have in place, and really feeling like a slave. And it’s not really our tight schedule that’s gotten in the way of that, though we’d both like to pretend it is.

It’s my constant railing against him. My seeming inability to just gracefully submit to his will. My obvious disinterest in worshiping him the way we both claim to believe a slave should. My unmatched ability to make a person feel about two inches tall for daring to want something from me that doesn’t fit in with my immediate plan for myself.

The door to my cage, should I ever have one, will probably say, “Some slave.” Though it will have a different meaning entirely than the one intended over Wilbur’s door.