Daddy the Pimp

The man is incorrigible.

Although maybe that's not an appropriate word to use for such an innately dominant sadist. You don't try to correct a sadist. Still, I do sometimes wonder whether he has thought everything through.

He can't help telling other men about me.

I know that he strongly believes that my destiny is to provide sexual pleasure. Largely to men, it seems, although he knows my desires are fluid and he himself is omnivorous. I also know that he is extremely aroused by both his fantasies and the reality of watching me serve and being used by other men. So I am never surprised - and mainly amused - by reports of the latest man to whom he has marketed me.

But every so often he gets the urge to play matchmaker.
He can't help himself.
He knows -
or runs into -
a man who might want to date me.
A man who won't, who can't, be told about our relationship.
A man who might want to date me.
Not just fuck me.
And certainly not cane me.

Or at least not as far as Daddy knows.

These men do not get to see any of the pictures or video clips that Daddy carries with him on his phone. These men aren't told that Daddy owns me.

And the sadist doesn't stop to think what might happen if I did start dating any of these guys. How do I phrase my involvement with other people, even without mentioning him by name? How do I deal with my not being ready to give him up for a more standard relationship? How would he deal with my falling in love with someone he couldn't keep from giving me to?

The latest guy?
Daddy met him through his business.
The guy lives within sight of my house.
Jewish.
(Not really a plus - I have this thing for the Irish.)
My age. (But 60 is too old for me.)
Divorced. (Inevitable.)
Government employee. (Around here? Also inevitable.)
Well educated. (But how does he feel about Shakespeare?)

Of course, my own feelings about it are irrelevant.
I'll do whatever the fiend wants.
Until it comes down to hurting someone else.
Unless the guy pisses me off.
Unless the guy tries to smother me.
Unless the guy bores me.
At which point I will extricate myself.

Of course, who knows if it will comes to anything. I've been hearing about all sorts of men and only one has ever actually gotten his hands on my body. I'm starting to think that a lot of these sales pitches - and his telling me about them - have been as much for their current entertainment value as for whatever may come of them.

He loves to plan.

So now he is concocting a plan for me to meet this man whose house I can see from mine but who, being on the next street, I have never met.

A man who really wants to meet me.
A man who says he knows what 60 looks like.

I admit that, like Daddy, I can't wait to see the look on this man's face when he realizes that no, he doesn't really know what 60 looks like.

Not to mention 62.
Which I'll be in a week and a half.

We'll see...