This even­ing when Master returned from work he instruc­ted me to lower my body to my knees at which point he meas­ured the length of my back to my feet and the length of my right wrist to my left. Master did not wish to dis­close to me what exactly he was doing; how­ever, he has returned from Home Depot with what I believe to be four wooden posts, numer­ous metal brack­ets and I can now hear him using the elec­tric drill.

My curi­ous mind is run­ning wild. I actu­ally feel nervous and have a feel­ing of trepidation.

I won­der what he has planned.

~His

Addendum:
Master just called me to go down­stairs at which point he had me kneel, just like I had hours earlier and meas­ured my shoulders with the one piece of wood. I believe from what I have seen that he is mak­ing some form of a cross to hold my frame in place while I kneel. I can not begin to express how unsettled this leaves me.

Early Sunday morn­ing as Master and I were driv­ing to Canadian Tire, we over­heard a com­mer­cial regard­ing “Back to School” shop­ping. Like many North American tra­di­tions, Master expressed his puz­zle­ment and so I began to share the his­tory of pur­chas­ing new pen­cils, new back­packs, new cloth­ing for the start of a brand new school year and sud­denly the nos­tal­gia of those long for­got­ten days filled my mind.

I can recall the excite­ment as I entered the depart­ment store; everything smelled dif­fer­ent, felt dif­fer­ent and when I pulled those crisp new jeans up over my four­teen, fif­teen, six­teen, sev­en­teen and even­tu­ally eight­een year old body, the thrill of new adven­tures filled those denim pock­ets and the count­down to the first day of school began. There was some­thing magical about the unmarked bind­ers, the freshly sharpened pen­cil cray­ons, the soft sweater no one had seen me in yet and of course, the funky knee high socks that expressed my new found wild­ness I had dis­covered dur­ing the heated sum­mer nights. The school hall­ways turned into a fash­ion run­way dur­ing that first week in September and unlike the per­fect clutch, my ideal access­ory was the leather sling bag car­ry­ing my text­books and lab coat.

“Back to school” shop­ping quickly became obsol­ete once I entered University for the money I would have spent on flirty skirts and Madonna style gloves, was now used to pur­chase tuition, bus passes and of course all those late night cups of extra strong tea from the old 1970’s vend­ing machine. Even after I had gradu­ated and stepped into, what I was told was “the real world” the ritual of those late August after­noons scour­ing through racks of cloth­ing and shelves of sta­tion­ary were long aban­doned and instead I pur­chased blouses, day timers, shoes whenever I wanted (or could afford), rather then wait for any one par­tic­u­lar time of year. And gran­ted, dur­ing those escapades to the mall or more import­antly to my favour­ite adult boutique, I may not have car­ried the same level of enthu­si­asm I did as a teen­ager, I did regain those old famil­iar flut­ters when my nos­trils were moles­ted with the fra­grance of leather and latex; when my fin­gers caressed the bon­ing of a tightly laced cor­set or when the world dis­ap­peared as my second skin slid over my face, con­tour­ing to the angles of my jawline. And every time I go shop­ping for some­thing new, whether it be cloth­ing or access­ory, I giggle as the but­ter­flies in my stom­ach begin to blos­som at the idea of don­ning some­thing pro­voc­at­ive in both private and pub­lic settings.

And there just so hap­pens to be a very pub­lic event in which Master has stated he would like to attend: the Montréal Fetish Weekend. I can not help but find myself gig­gling as I pic­ture fet­ish shop­ping for a week­end that was once con­sumed with find­ing the per­fect sneaker for gym class as well as the ideal vogue jacket — the one that can take you almost to the heart of winter and yet still look classy and styl­ish. I never would have thought that I would now asso­ci­ate labour day week­end with kinki­ness; how­ever, I like the idea of bring­ing back a tra­di­tion, now mat­ter how dif­fer­ent it may be from the original.

Master has not decided for cer­tain whether or not we will be attend­ing the week­end of poly­ureth­ane; how­ever, the anti­cip­a­tion that rumbles up through my toes every time Master brings home some­thing new for our toy closet will allow me to feel those delight­ful youth­ful sen­sa­tions more than just once a year.
~His