When Work & Play Meet

Today is the first day of NaNoWri (National Novel Writing Month.) As some of you already know, I have participated in the event, in a sometimes-perfunctory, sometimes-engaged fashion, for the past several years with my daughter. This year I wasn’t going to participate, but she has been insisting we do so since August, so here I am again, attempting 50,000 words in one month.
I’m actually more enthusiastic than the previous paragraph implies.  Mostly I am enthusiastic about the fact that the Missy wants me to participate in it with her so much. I love that she loves to write, and connects that wonderful activity, that has given me so much joy my entire life, with me. I hope, when I am gone, that this will be one of those things that will remind her of us, and bring her happy memories.
In any case…here I am.  New novel, new dedication.  We’ll see how it goes. 😉
At the moment, though, I am in my office, thinking about last night (a first date); W (he’s gone for two weeks, back for a week, I’m gone for a week, then he’s gone for two more); a meeting/play date he wants me to set up for us when he gets back; and the heavy, beaten-metal collar I have around my neck.
First, last night.
I had a first date with a Top that wants a play partner once a month when he comes to St. Louis. He has a long-term partner in his home town, but due to his heavy travel schedule, neither she nor he get as much play as they’d like, so he has been looking for someone for her to play with a few times a month when he isn’t there and for someone for him to enjoy on a long-term, but extremely part-time basis when he travels. It could be an ideal situation for us all: I get a monthly play date with someone new, who enjoys some of the things that W doesn’t (D/s ritual/interaction being the main one of interest to me), without the attendant “relationship” type stuff that I just don’t have the time, energy or interest in.
I got to meet him in my “Bad Sandy/Rizzo” get-up that I donned for our Halloween party here at work, which looked pretty hot:

But of course I wasn’t actually “bad.” In fact I was very good, following W’s instruction on meeting with him to the letter. Which was an unusual situation in the first place (W giving me such precise restrictions on what I could and couldn’t do on the date.) But which I liked. A lot.
More on that at another time, perhaps.
Prior to going out though, (and speaking to the second subject of my musings this morning – W being out of town), I found myself at W’s, freshening up after work. It’s both sad and comforting to me to be in his house when he goes away.  I wander around and look at his (and my) things, and miss him, even yesterday, when he’d only been gone a day. And like a dog pining for its master, I curled up on his bed, an old shirt that smelled like him under my cheek, and took a quick, restorative nap. Well, after I masturbated until I came (twice) thinking about having sex with him only the day before, right in that same spot.
As we have done the last two times that he’s gone away, we discussed ways to help me (and him) deal with our separation. I think it’s easier in some ways for him to deal with. I know he misses me, but I don’t think he misses the D/s part that is so integral to my experience of our relationship. It’s more than missing him, it’s feeling unmoored in a way, set adrift. And so most of what we do is geared towards incorporating a small bit of that into my life daily, either in a way that just has me thinking about him and our connection, or in games that we play or tasks that he sets for me. This has become sort of a ritual in and of itself for us, the preparation on his part prior to leaving, the discussion of what he may require of me, the anticipation on my part of it, and then, of course the execution of said tasks, etc. and the recording of them here.  Oddly, I have come to enjoy this aspect of his absence, and even, while not looking forward to his absence, looking forward to this part of it. It’s a little bit of ritual in a largely ritual-free relationship.
That symbolism today is this metal collar I have around my neck.

The theme of this month’s trip is “Wearables.” I think there may also be some Tasks assigned, and the week that the Missy and I are on our writing retreat will have it’s own particular games to be played, but for the most part I believe that part of my daily, or almost-daily, routine will be to wear some sort of “reminder” beneath my clothes, such as this collar, as directed by W.
I don’t know if W really gets the mind of someone that gets off on this sort of thing, to be honest. This morning, knowing I had to wear something that would hide the collar, I looked at the weather report.  Hoping for, you know, a snowstorm or something to justify wearing a heavy turtleneck sweater.  No such luck. While it was only 43 degrees this AM, it’s supposed to get up to the low 70’s by mid-afternoon. I couldn’t justify a heavy sweater. I really can’t justify a turtleneck, even a light knit one like the one I’m wearing.
But that’s the fun of it.  Making me have to think about it this morning as I dressed, having to choose to obey his instruction, and go through a bit of discomfort and gyrations to make it happen, because he said so, because I want to please him. Making me a little uncomfortable. Making me aware of doing something that might draw a little bit of attention–not enough to have people really wondering, but just enough to make me self-conscious when my coworkers look at me. Self-conscious and very aware of this band of metal laying so heavily around my neck.  The clasp sticks out just a bit, pushing the fabric of my turtleneck out, and I wonder every time they look at me if they can see that. Getting out of my car this morning to come into the office, I felt a tremor of anxiety and excitement, knowing I was wearing it. Excitement that translated to a throbbing between my legs even as my brain told me how stupid it was to get wet about wearing a collar.
The things is, I know that I could have used any excuse to get out of it.  W truly doesn’t want me to be discommoded in any way , and if I ask him to allow me to get out of something he has told me to do, he generally will.  But…I don’t want him to let me off.  W doesn’t necessarily get the mindset that accompanies this whole scenario–I don’t want him to give in, to be “thoughtful” when I whine that it’s “too hard” or I just didn’t have time, or it’s uncomfortable or I don’t like it or “the weather is too warm for a turtleneck,”–but I think he’s figured out that it’s very much a part of my mental-makeup and has started to play with that concept.  It’s that I have to do this thing, and find a way to do it in spite of my own reservations/resistance, that makes it hot.
To a reasonable degree, of course.  Right now, my head hurts a little because of the weight of the damn thing. This is no delicate, “just-for-looks” collar.  It’s heavy, and industrial, and merciless in its weight. Not something that I could wear every day, and in fact may not be able to tolerate for a full eight hours (and get my work done.) But that, too, is part of it. Every so often I have to hold it up off my neck, discretely, so nobody sees, to alleviate the pressure.  And later I may ask if I can remove it, and if he allows me to, even the removal, in the bathroom stall here at work, will become part of it all.  (That he is reasonable in these matters, in spite of the “not wanting him to give in” rhetoric, is also why I am with him, by the way. He does know how to balance “not giving in” and knowing when I am just whining, with reality and the need to be sensible.) And meanwhile, the weight of it, every minute, has me thinking about him, about how I am his Industrial Girl, his Industrial Fuck, even here at work.
As for the other thing I’ve been thinking about, the task of setting up a play date for his return, well, that tale will have to wait until another time.  This Industrial Girl has to go be Worker Girl for awhile.