I wrote recently about how Charlotte wants me to write about her every day. I wrote about how I’ve been busy. I didn’t write – though I have before – about how often, what inspires me to write aren’t necessarily things Charlotte would wish to be affecting us. Conflict. Obstacles. Deprivation.
Anticipation occasionally also motivates me to write, but then, it typically only does so when it’s not yet certainty. I mean – once in a while, certain anticipation can give birth to words from me. Look back at that threesome Charlotte and I had, and you can see a shit-ton of writing. But in that instance, there were reasons beyond just the anticipation: it wasn’t a certainty, at all, even up until the moment it started, for one. But also? There was so much lead-up to that date, and the lead-up itself featured a lot of writing on my part. Bingo cards. Questions. Exercises. All sorts of other things.
Nowadays, Charlotte’s and my relationship has settled into a more or less comfortable pattern. We see one another regularly. Sometimes for drinks (and, usually, some sex). Sometimes, for longer date nights. Sometimes, for adventures. But all of that – even the adventures – at this point happen within a mostly comfortable, familiar relational context. For which I’m, honestly, grateful. But it doesn’t inspire a ton of writing in me. I wish it did. It just doesn’t. So instead, I have to hunt around for things to write about.
Her tongue, which I wrote about here.
Or, say, a collar that I bought her: earlier in our relationship, I bought her a leather collar.
Too black. Too possessive. (Well, not really too either of those things; just too either one of them for her to be comfortable.) So we went looking for another one. And we found this:
Which looks lovely on her. And which, for the most part, she wears. The other day, though, I noticed (she sent me a picture of her pretty face) that she wasn’t wearing it. “Do you want me to put it back on?”
I wondered if this reflected her feelings about me. “Why’d you take it off?” I asked.
“It didn’t go with my outfit one day.”
“Yes, please, put it back on.”
And so she did.
It’s not quite as good as the black one: the black one announces to anyone around that she is (my) property. But, truthfully, Charlotte isn’t really my property most of the time. So this collar, more understated, just reminds her that she is, intermittently at least, mine. Which I like. Which makes my cock hard.
Postcript: Charlotte wondered, reading this, if I’m bored. I’m most emphatically not bored. What I am is comfortable. Comfortable is nice, but it’s also potentially dangerous in a relationship. In my mature relationships, too much comfort can lead to boredom. But too much discomfort? Well, it passes through “excitement” on its way to “intolerable/unpleasant.” I’ve got to find the right spot on the comfort/boredom spectrum as well as on the discomfort/excitement/intolerability spectrum. We’re in a good enough place, but maybe the “boredom” Charlotte thought she sensed is an indicator that I might do well to step up my game a bit when it comes to planning our next few get-togethers.