I’m on my knees, anticipation coiling in my gut as my arms strain to be held in position. I see the bright glare of my phone screen, turned on and set off to the side, as it displays the message I had just received.

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Almost there. In the elevator, boy.

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My head goes down, obediently, even though I desperately want to see the look on your face as you enter and see me kneeling for you. See the gifts in my hands that I’ve so painstakingly prepared for you. I hear the click of the lock and it’s like my heart constricts in time with it turning over. I feel the brief brush of air as the door opens and my mouth runs suddenly dry.

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“Hello, pet. Look at you!”

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Adrenaline goes through my system as I respond “Hello, ma’am,” with my head still down. The click of your heels draws my eyes out as my head stays bowed and I watch you walk towards me. I feel your fingers trail against my shoulder, along my back, up along my neck to the base of my skull. I shiver, in pleasure or anticipation is impossible to tell. It’s all the same, at this point, one large gordian knot of emotion that I’ve no desire to slice through. I’d rather just luxuriate in the artistry of something so undecipherable and profound.

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A finger, on my chin, lifts me up and I see your face. Your smile is wide and infectious; it takes over my face as well, splitting me cheek to cheek as I can’t help but match your grin.

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“Are these for me, boy?”

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You gesture to my hands, held aloft and holding two separate gifts for you. Both were prepared and wrapped with care. The wrapping paper is in colors you prefer, the wrapped knot around the middle of each edge is silk, in a pretty bow.

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“Of course, ma’am. I hope they please you.”

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It's clear in how you act that you are thrilled to receive them, picking them up tenderly, and your attention and the care you take in handling them keeps the smile on my face. You take your time inspecting it, paying close attention to the care and effort I’ve put into it’s preparation. The hours of thought into presentation and the nights spent preparing each gift so it’s pristine. Every single second was worth it even if you hadn’t been so pleased. It was a representation of spending everything I had and devoting it to you. Spending money on you, spending thought on you, spending time on you. Because I deem you to be worthy of my time.

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But your appreciation of it takes me to a whole new level of pleasure; to have my effort and devotion be not just recognized, not just thanked, but appreciated with fervor? To hear the joy in your voice, the delight as you open and take in your new gift is to experience that joy myself along with you. It’s a validation of every moment of effort that’s gone in to producing a physical manifestation of my feelings and servitude for you.

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Because that’s what a gift is, to me. The ability to take my intangible, sometimes unnameable, emotions and produce them into something tangible. You see the sweets I’ve hand picked and purchased for you and it shows I listen when you tell me you enjoy a certain shop. I ask insightful questions when we speak on your preferences and I put effort into remembering them, then making extrapolations from there on what else you may enjoy. I hand craft works of art or poetry with you in mind, and put effort into making them look pretty or aged, as I know you enjoy aesthetics and one of a kind items.

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The gifts are manifestation of my servitude and devotion. Your reaction is one I watch intently, where every expression is cataloged and filed, every utterance memorized, as your own declaration of your mirrored intangible, ephemeral opinions of me and my servitude.

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So when you say “I’m so pleased, boy,” or “These gifts are lovely, pet,” it means so much more than a simple “thank you.” It’s like a secret code we share, a call and response.

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“Do you see, ma’am,” I secretly say “do you see how amazing you are to me?”

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“I see, boy,” your reaction responds “I see and I find you just as valuable.”

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And for those few moments, nothing in the world matters except for our joy.