The Shirt

The Shirt

A lot of us do it.

Wearing our boyfriend’s, husband’s, lover’s shirt. They are comfy. They smell like them. They are big and great as sleep wear or a lazy Sunday.

When I left England in December, I left with more than just a collar and bruises. I also left with a t-shirt.

I knew he was bringing it, because we talked about it before. I got to chose the colour. First we thought about sending each other things (a t-shirt for me and panties for him), but as meeting happened earlier than we thought, we decided to exchange those things in person.

The first night back home, I wore his shirt. I took it with me on vacation and I was wearing it when I was home sick. I sent him a picture of me in it and he loved it.

It stopped smelling like him a long time ago. And I did wash it since. For the last week or so, I have been wearing it to bed, but also around the house.

Seeing the shirt and putting it on brings a smile to my face. But most of the time, it’s simply something I wear. Although he is always on my mind, sometimes other things need my focus. (Shocking, I know šŸ˜Š)

Today I had a hard time. Emotionally. Not because of anything that happen to me and I won’t get into detail, but it took a lot out of me and all I longed for was emotional support.

That was the moment that his shirt suddenly became more than that.

His t-shirt wrapped around me, holding me the way he would. His shirt representing that he is always with me. No matter how busy either of us is.

His collar (bracelet) symbolises my submission and his dominance. But this green t-shirt represents his, my, our love, connection and commitment to each other.


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