Archive for collaring


Posted in Nonfiction with tags , , , on September 6, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I suppose you could compare the way I like to be treated by my partner to a house cat. You wouldn’t hesitate to clean a cat’s ears or face, or feed her, or give her fresh water. In return she trusts you completely; she knows you’ll take care of her. She requires firm discipline, too. After all, you’re the adult in the situation, and you know what’s best for her. She’s cuddly and playful, but fickle and sometimes she hides under the bed.

There’s something very compelling about feline behavior as well. Cats are such sensual animals. They want to be caressed and stroked almost all the time. The rest of the time they want to be played with, intellectually stimulated. And a cat stretching is structurally beautiful, in the way that a well-designed bridge is lovely.

He calls me “kitten.” Kittens are energetic and snuggly, with soft fur and sharp little claws that don’t retract. The pet name makes me feel like he’s holding me, even in public when he’s not. Kitten is a verbal hug. Kitten also flips a mental switch. It’s one of those paradoxes- do I behave in a kitten-like fashion because he calls me kitten, or does he call me kitten because I am kitten-like?

I am dying for a rhinestone collar, like a pampered kitty might wear. I love the idea of being treated like a pet. Walking on a leash, eating out of a dish on the floor, being caged, licking my masters’ fingers in appreciation. Laying my chin on his feet while watching tv. Sleeping at the foot of the bed, perhaps.

The cage is probably the most attention-grabbing of all of these rather cozy activities. There’s a lovely cage at one of the playspaces I like. Someday.



Posted in Nonfiction with tags , on July 2, 2009 by scarlettbottom

I tend to mark my lovers. I can’t help it. I try to be considerate and use the pads of my fingers, but in the middle of sex, I don’t have the attention span to moderate natural impulses like scratching and biting.

I do keep track of the scars I leave. Rather, my lovers insist on telling me about them. So far I’ve left permanent or semi-permanent marks on all of my serious lovers (and some not so serious). To my great embarrassment, my first girlfriend in high school showed all of my friends the bloody cat scratches the next day. A more recent girlfriend still insists on showing the four very clear fingernail marks from one very stormy night several years ago to anyone who will look. And *everyone* will look, at the marks, and then at me.

But I think I want to be marked, the way I do others. I’m not huge on personal property in general, and I’m learning to be even more open about ownership in relationships, but there’s something animalistic about leaving a mark on your lover, shared or otherwise. And the mark is a souvenir- I’ll never forget those marks on her shoulder, and neither will she.

The collar I wear is my mark. it has its upsides; it doesn’t fade over time, it doesn’t heal, it doesn’t hurt (whether that’s positive or negative depends on your view of pain), and it’s very obvious. But it has its downsides, too. It’s removable, and it can be taken away from me at any time.

Best to stay on his good side.