Choices
Copyright 1997-2002 by OldTom, all rights reserved.

As time passed, he knew, his written memories would become the strongest of all. Thus when their relationship found its completion, he captured the event in a story, as was his way.

She had prepared herself exactly as when he had seen her for the first time, in corduroy overalls, knit top, bare feet, carefully tended nails. He knew the scent that would reach him when he stepped closer.

She stood still, as nervous as that first time, framed in the doorway. She was looking for his acceptance of her, exactly as before. She gave him her best smile; he needed to see how truly happy she was.

The words had already been spoken; her choice made and accepted. There was no need to invite him in with words; he understood. He understood the message of her appearance as well. She was not denying, but consciously evoking, the memory of their relationship.

He stepped in. He moved in silence, gently shutting the door. He stood before her, almost within reach, looking slightly down to study her eyes, her face, her mouth. His eyes were always steady... she liked that.

She began to tremble. The war of emotions played itself out across her face; her face was always so expressive. She was happy, yet sad. She had decided she could not serve two men - for her it must be all, or nothing. Neither man, she knew, would have it any other way.

She remained still, bound by her choice, awaiting his initiative. His voice had been their connection, and now his careful silence dug into her heart. She so wished she were free to please him - but she had chosen, and he clearly intended to hold her to her choice.

To never be touched by him again... She stepped forward in sudden panic, to hug and hold him before he could deny her need. He returned the embrace, but briefly and carefully, as had always been his way. The lush fragrance of her hair lingered on his cheek, no doubt by design.

She stepped back to again search his face, not daring to speak into his silence. They stood in thrall for the longest time, lost in their own thoughts, each building an image of the other that must last a lifetime.

He was finally able to study her collar, acknowledging that she was owned by another. He asked if he might touch it. She nodded, unable to say anything lest the tears come once again.

He touched her collar, gently, respectfully. He knew it to be a joint design of hers and her Master's. The symbolism pleased him. He reached down to take her hand.

He pressed her hand to his lips without another word, letting his eyes say what must be said. He was so proud of her, while still fighting to let go of what was not his to grasp. He turned and left, without further ceremony, for he understood how much she hated long departures.

She watched his departure, silently crossing her wrists in their chosen sign of complete submission, finally allowing her tears their freedom. If only he knew how fully her dilemma remained.

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