Sylvia 50

I am Sylvia. I am fifty. I register objects for a museum, which means I know where a thing belongs and I dislike a sloppy label. Aaron is thirty-six. He curates at another museum. He is not on my staff. He dates me, and in private he asked to worship, stockings on, my pace, my decisions. I laughed when he first said it, not at him, at how badly I wanted exactly that. A man who would kneel without pretending the kneeling was an accident. Femdom is the plain tag. Stockings and worship are the texture. I lead because he wants the relief and because I like being looked at from the floor by someone who respects me in the daylight. The crates can wait. The clipboard can lie face-down. I will not file his body under my inventory.