I returned home later than normal, and while I pride myself on being a man that who pays attention to detail, I am often surprised at how much detail I fail to notice. Normally when I come home the house is in flurry of activity. The stereo playing music, the sound of mouse singing along while preparing dinner, the dog jumping excitedly announcing my arrival, recounting to me telepathically his day and I'm am instantly distracted by the sounds, the laughter and scents.
Last night however, I entered an extraordinarily quiet home, and sat down my briefcase as I have done many times before in the entryway. I paused for a moment regarding the antique wooden table constructed by my granddad, and the mirror hanging above it, which he also constructed, from leftover scraps. My mind journeyed back to when I was boy, and the special times my granddad and I shared. I take notice on top that table, a hurricane like vase seated upon it and the candle inside lit, welcoming me home.
I turned my direction to the area directly across the front door and noticed there an old antique writing desk belonging to mouse and considered how much of our presence filled that small room. From there I entered the family room and found mouse with dog sprawled on the sofa sound asleep. I crouched by her head and loosened my tie, making careful note of how her presence seems to want to me to relax, and brushed the hair from her eyes. She stirred only slightly, and remained asleep, as my eyes fell across her body to the dog, his closed eyelids only revealing to me the essence of his dream state.
It was then it occurred to me that I was free of all distractions as I looked about the room, and noted it was mostly me present there. My furniture, my desk, plasma TV all in that room, however the walls are mouse, with paintings done by her grandfather and father, which seemingly blend well with my own things and they seem to tell a story as look across the room.
I turn my attentions to the kitchen where again I see me. The uncluttered appearance, the long forgotten kitchen tools of my mother and grandmother are found there, displayed above the cabinets. My mother while cleaning was going to throw those old seemingly useless things out, but mouse rescued them, claiming them for her kitchen. The dining room behind is all mouse, while the living room has nothing of either of us it would seem. Save for the bookcases
On those bookcases as my eyes scanned the seemingly endless rows of cook books mouse has collected, leading me to chuckle softly as I note how many revolve around chicken. On the other shelves, however that is where mouse and I are both found seemingly commingled. It is there a copy of Pride and Prejudice stands proudly beside a biography of Richard Nixon. Where Andrew Jackson and John Adams share a spot with the Twilight series. Tom Sawyer sits quietly beside Atlas Shrugged. Treasure Island mingles there with an ancient copy of Anatomy of the Human Body by Henry Gray. It is completely us.
I return to the kitchen and open the refrigerator, and see a note beside a container of food for me to eat if hungry. I realize I am famished as I pull it out along with a beer, and open the cabinet where I see mouse. Her plates, cups, bowls are all present there. I see her reflection in that Fiestaware she collects. I pull out a plate, and place the left-over food on it, heat it in the microwave, noticing now the dog is stirring, watching me with his hopeful eyes now alert. I look at the kitchen table and see a place mat waiting for the plate; the fork and knife are already there as is the napkin. When the plate goes onto the table the dog jumps from the sofa, and comes to my side. Now mouse stirs, sitting up, eyes blinking asking in a sleepy voice the time.
Now I am distracted but not in a bad way; I find myself grateful for the few minutes I was afforded to regard my life with mouse. How much of me exist in her life. I cannot help but feel pleased, and even somewhat lucky to have such a woman as I have found in mouse. Certainly in other past stations in my life, I would never have allowed that much of a slave permeate my life. Yet it was mouse that permitted me into her life and despite my favorite old leather recliner ended up in storage, so much me did make the final cut into her life.
I am a middle aged Dominant man who has spent much of his life surrounded by random slaves, bottoms, and submissive women, still existed much in a solitary fashion, and yet finds such immense comfort in life as it is now.