It could have gone either way.
Including really badly.
He had a relapse last night. Sunday night. Some of the nasty thought demons were partying in his brain. Sort of a Best-Of show, featuring favorite fury points from the previous week.
He was almost thinking that maybe he shouldn't see me today. But he decided to go ahead with it. He felt he needed to see me, as the next step in the process.
We took precautions, though.
I was ordered to keep my eyes down.
And I closed my eyes when my head was raised.
He was still afraid of what he might see there.
He was even more afraid of what might not be there.
He said: "You're so beautiful with your eyes closed."
He kept saying how beautiful I was.
He said lots of other things, too, and not all of them were nice. Especially in the very beginning. But then...
I'm not going to give you all the details. This all feels so deeply intimate. Plus there's something else.
It feels more intimate.
Even with the rupture that we are both working to repair.
And yes, he does seem committed to the effort.
Something changed when he admitted to his feelings, even though he didn't come up with a precise word for them beyond what could be termed less than love and more than manipulative disdain. (He wasn't even that specific.) Something changed. A wall came down. I'm sure he has many walls behind that first one. But one wall did come now.
I made love to him today.
I didn't serve him.
I made love to him.
And he felt it.
He felt it in my kisses.
He felt it in my hand,
in my mouth,
as I adored his cock
and gave him the sweet, sweet pleasure
he thought he might never know again.
Oh, he has plenty of people to take care of his needs. But they are not me. And for me, he has special feelings. I know that now. It's real.
We are acting like a couple now.
A couple in pain,
but a couple nevertheless.
And that, I think, will make all the difference in the world.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Signs and portents
We had to ride it out.
He had to ride it out.
He was stuck on a furious bull, condemned to ride until one of them wore down. And for a while, it was unclear which one would survive.
Luckily for both of us, he managed to hold on.
We spent hours chatting today.
Hours.
And even after things smoothed out, he would have kept going.
Except I was exhausted.
I needed to get out.
Away from the computer.
Into the air.
So he let me go - but offered me more time later if I wished.
He calmed down a lot last night. He kept cycling through all the different emotions, but not as fast and not as intensely.
He wasn't cruel today.
He confessed that he had been deliberately cruel before.
The Beast had been party to our previous chats.
He never knew the Beast could type, he said.
It was nearly an apology.
He asked how I was. He hadn't wanted to hear about my feelings before. But now... somehow, through those letters on my laptop, I could hear a gentleness in his voice.
This whole thing has been awful.
The pain on both sides has been nearly unbearable.
And the damage has been real.
There are no guarantees that we will return to where we were.
But we're going to try.
And we've made a lot of progress already.
In some ways, though, we're way ahead. Because he's not hiding. He's not pretending. And I'm not doubting what my eyes and mouth and ears and heart were telling me.
He came as close to a declaration of his feelings as I can expect. He defined them as "somewhere BETWEEN what [he] was admitting and what [I was] hoping/suspecting." Which sounds just about right. Except that I didn't actually think, or even hope, that he full-out loved me. It would have been inconvenient at the very least.
Are you wondering what he thought he had been admitting? He thought he was telegraphing things by saying how I was his special treasure and all that. Men. Feh! Because he kept vaccinating me against believing this meant anything by reminding me that I was one of many, just something he used and could easily through away. (I'm sparing you his really awful metaphor.) Protesting too much. Definitely. But it hurt. A lot. And made me doubt that there was indeed so much more.
He is, as I've said, very vulnerable.
And he carries around hundreds of pounds of armor.
The thing is, now it's out there. It's acknowledged. Directly. Not just by the inference that if I could cause him that much pain he must have cared very much indeed.
I'm not used to people having such strong feelings for me.
I could almost handle his lust and his sadistic urges better than that.
So there it is. A wall has come down. We are in some ways still further apart than we were, but in some ways we are closer. Although he shies away from the word, we are an Us. That feels very different.
That feels very beautiful.
Remember how on Saturday he said he was afraid to see me?
He's talking about coming on Monday.
Tomorrow.
One last thing.
We are going forward very slowly.
Very cautiously.
Or so he says.
I'm not the only one who can be impulsive.
So there are rules.
There are always rules.
I can still address him only as Sir.
And I wasn't allowed to tell him that I loved him.
Until this afternoon, as I said goodbye before going on my walk.
I always cry.
He had to ride it out.
He was stuck on a furious bull, condemned to ride until one of them wore down. And for a while, it was unclear which one would survive.
Luckily for both of us, he managed to hold on.
We spent hours chatting today.
Hours.
And even after things smoothed out, he would have kept going.
Except I was exhausted.
I needed to get out.
Away from the computer.
Into the air.
So he let me go - but offered me more time later if I wished.
He calmed down a lot last night. He kept cycling through all the different emotions, but not as fast and not as intensely.
He wasn't cruel today.
He confessed that he had been deliberately cruel before.
The Beast had been party to our previous chats.
He never knew the Beast could type, he said.
It was nearly an apology.
He asked how I was. He hadn't wanted to hear about my feelings before. But now... somehow, through those letters on my laptop, I could hear a gentleness in his voice.
This whole thing has been awful.
The pain on both sides has been nearly unbearable.
And the damage has been real.
There are no guarantees that we will return to where we were.
But we're going to try.
And we've made a lot of progress already.
In some ways, though, we're way ahead. Because he's not hiding. He's not pretending. And I'm not doubting what my eyes and mouth and ears and heart were telling me.
He came as close to a declaration of his feelings as I can expect. He defined them as "somewhere BETWEEN what [he] was admitting and what [I was] hoping/suspecting." Which sounds just about right. Except that I didn't actually think, or even hope, that he full-out loved me. It would have been inconvenient at the very least.
Are you wondering what he thought he had been admitting? He thought he was telegraphing things by saying how I was his special treasure and all that. Men. Feh! Because he kept vaccinating me against believing this meant anything by reminding me that I was one of many, just something he used and could easily through away. (I'm sparing you his really awful metaphor.) Protesting too much. Definitely. But it hurt. A lot. And made me doubt that there was indeed so much more.
He is, as I've said, very vulnerable.
And he carries around hundreds of pounds of armor.
The thing is, now it's out there. It's acknowledged. Directly. Not just by the inference that if I could cause him that much pain he must have cared very much indeed.
I'm not used to people having such strong feelings for me.
I could almost handle his lust and his sadistic urges better than that.
So there it is. A wall has come down. We are in some ways still further apart than we were, but in some ways we are closer. Although he shies away from the word, we are an Us. That feels very different.
That feels very beautiful.
Remember how on Saturday he said he was afraid to see me?
He's talking about coming on Monday.
Tomorrow.
One last thing.
We are going forward very slowly.
Very cautiously.
Or so he says.
I'm not the only one who can be impulsive.
So there are rules.
There are always rules.
I can still address him only as Sir.
And I wasn't allowed to tell him that I loved him.
Until this afternoon, as I said goodbye before going on my walk.
Him: Do you want to go?I cried.
me: I think so, Sir. I think I need to go for a walk.
I... that thing I'm not allowed to say now.
But I do.
Him: Go ahead
me: I love you.
Him: Good girl
I always cry.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Working for the Beast
I'm writing sadistic porn for the Beast. He likes me, it seems, or perhaps merely enjoys my suffering. So I have been assigned to serve his literary appetites, with the chance that he will put in a good word for me with the sadist.
The story I just sent him was so dark that I almost vomited as I proofread.
Which is no surprise, really.
I've been nauseous most of the day.
We've talked a lot today, the sadist and I
"Talked."
The modern way.
E-mails, texts, long conversations via IM.
He went to see his slave this morning.
It could have been me.
He had the time and it could have been me.
He even thought of that, of visiting me.
He pictured me.
The way I greet him,
standing naked behind the open door
so as not to embarrass the neighbors.
The way I stand against the dungeon wall,
the way I kneel before his chair.
And then...
I can't even describe the horrible, horror movie fantasy that came unbidden into his mind and left him afraid to look at my face. Afraid to look into my eyes. Because last Tuesday, when he looked into my eyes, the way he always looks into my eyes, he didn't find what was usually there. And in some ways I think that hurt him more than anything.
So he didn't come to see me.
He went to see his masochistic slave.
The slave survived - I'm assured he's all right -
and the sadist was somewhat cleansed.
He did a lot of thinking on the drive home.
We took a break, then he e-mailed me that he was sending me 4 more e-mails, which I should read without responding. He would then sign on to IM in 5 minutes. Except it must have been about 10 minutes, because I had time to read the e-mails and then listen to an assigned gut-wrenching song by his favorite singer-songwriter.
One of the e-mails told about the hour he had accidentally spent with the solider Friday night. Back at the bar. They didn't spend the whole time speaking of me. But obviously they did. Speak about me. What a concept.
Two of the e-mails referred to the possibility of never seeing me again.
I felt as if I'd been punched in my pale white belly. Something the sadist in fact likes to do. But he holds himself back with me.
Excuse me.
He has held himself back with me.
No assumptions can be made about the future.
And then we talked.
Instant messaging.
Must have gone on for hours.
So many ups and downs.
So many tears.
But in the end...
He is working on a new plan.
Very cautiously,
very vaguely,
he is working on a new plan.
There are no guarantees.
And so far there are only 2 points.
1. It will take time.
2. Since the stories I write specifically for the beast seem to win myself some support from him, the sadist thinks it would be a good idea to continue that activity. Except for scaring myself with how extreme and dark my imagination can be, I'm glad to be doing it. I hadn't written much in the way of fiction for a long time. And at least this way I feel that I'm doing something when really there is nothing I can do.
The sadist must heal.
He must recover.
The question that came up is whether he will recover from me, or merely from the wound that was inflicted by an arrow coming from my direction. At least, today, he mentioned the possibility that he might be able to consider (even if not believe) the idea that I didn't fire it deliberately. A small step, for sure, not to be given more weight than it deserves, but a generous step nevertheless.
So I wrote him (or, rather, the Beast) a story that makes me want to vomit.
I wrote a poem, too, though it's not quite finished.
And I'm not sure I should send it.
Perhaps I'll post it here instead.
Before I go off to watch one of his all-time favorite movies and then report my reaction, I want to add one caution about what I have been and will be writing about all this and everything else.
Especially about all this.
Be careful about what you assume about him and his reactions and feelings and psychology. What you read is my interpretation. It is not objective. It is filtered through my own weaknesses and emotions and neuroses and faulty memory. In some ways, for him, for any of us, objective truth is irrelevant. All that matters is how we experience the world. That is our reality. His experience of what I did and what I said and what was not in my eyes is his reality. What happens hereafter must proceed from there.
And my eyes?
I do not dispute that something he usually finds was absent from my eyes.
This I cannot dispute.
And therein lies my grief.
The story I just sent him was so dark that I almost vomited as I proofread.
Which is no surprise, really.
I've been nauseous most of the day.
We've talked a lot today, the sadist and I
"Talked."
The modern way.
E-mails, texts, long conversations via IM.
He went to see his slave this morning.
It could have been me.
He had the time and it could have been me.
He even thought of that, of visiting me.
He pictured me.
The way I greet him,
standing naked behind the open door
so as not to embarrass the neighbors.
The way I stand against the dungeon wall,
the way I kneel before his chair.
And then...
I can't even describe the horrible, horror movie fantasy that came unbidden into his mind and left him afraid to look at my face. Afraid to look into my eyes. Because last Tuesday, when he looked into my eyes, the way he always looks into my eyes, he didn't find what was usually there. And in some ways I think that hurt him more than anything.
So he didn't come to see me.
He went to see his masochistic slave.
The slave survived - I'm assured he's all right -
and the sadist was somewhat cleansed.
He did a lot of thinking on the drive home.
We took a break, then he e-mailed me that he was sending me 4 more e-mails, which I should read without responding. He would then sign on to IM in 5 minutes. Except it must have been about 10 minutes, because I had time to read the e-mails and then listen to an assigned gut-wrenching song by his favorite singer-songwriter.
One of the e-mails told about the hour he had accidentally spent with the solider Friday night. Back at the bar. They didn't spend the whole time speaking of me. But obviously they did. Speak about me. What a concept.
Two of the e-mails referred to the possibility of never seeing me again.
I felt as if I'd been punched in my pale white belly. Something the sadist in fact likes to do. But he holds himself back with me.
Excuse me.
He has held himself back with me.
No assumptions can be made about the future.
And then we talked.
Instant messaging.
Must have gone on for hours.
So many ups and downs.
So many tears.
But in the end...
He is working on a new plan.
Very cautiously,
very vaguely,
he is working on a new plan.
There are no guarantees.
And so far there are only 2 points.
1. It will take time.
2. Since the stories I write specifically for the beast seem to win myself some support from him, the sadist thinks it would be a good idea to continue that activity. Except for scaring myself with how extreme and dark my imagination can be, I'm glad to be doing it. I hadn't written much in the way of fiction for a long time. And at least this way I feel that I'm doing something when really there is nothing I can do.
The sadist must heal.
He must recover.
The question that came up is whether he will recover from me, or merely from the wound that was inflicted by an arrow coming from my direction. At least, today, he mentioned the possibility that he might be able to consider (even if not believe) the idea that I didn't fire it deliberately. A small step, for sure, not to be given more weight than it deserves, but a generous step nevertheless.
So I wrote him (or, rather, the Beast) a story that makes me want to vomit.
I wrote a poem, too, though it's not quite finished.
And I'm not sure I should send it.
Perhaps I'll post it here instead.
Before I go off to watch one of his all-time favorite movies and then report my reaction, I want to add one caution about what I have been and will be writing about all this and everything else.
Especially about all this.
Be careful about what you assume about him and his reactions and feelings and psychology. What you read is my interpretation. It is not objective. It is filtered through my own weaknesses and emotions and neuroses and faulty memory. In some ways, for him, for any of us, objective truth is irrelevant. All that matters is how we experience the world. That is our reality. His experience of what I did and what I said and what was not in my eyes is his reality. What happens hereafter must proceed from there.
And my eyes?
I do not dispute that something he usually finds was absent from my eyes.
This I cannot dispute.
And therein lies my grief.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Lost. So much is lost.
I can't wrote anything.
There's too much pain.
On both sides.
And the story -
it keeps changing.
I thought he had feelings for me,
but who knew they were so deep?
I thought he was vulnerable,
but who knew he was so fragile?
It feels as if I destroyed him at some very deep level. And I don't quite know how it happened. I certainly didn't mean to. My heart is ripped to shreds. To find out what what I suspected was true and then to lose it all at the same moment... it's unbearable.
Things looked better for a while.
This afternoon, things looked a little better.
At least he was ready to try,
oh so cautiously, to work our way back.
To something.
To take that chance.
But he's in such pain...
it started up again tonight.
It scares me.
Sometimes it sounds as if he's never felt this deeply before.
Or let himself feel this deeply.
He's had reasons to protect himself.
But oh God, when that armour is pierced...
So I don't know what to say.
But he wanted me to tell you something. To tell it to you and to myself. That he really doesn't care if I have sex with other people. In fact, he wants me to, for various reasons, including that the thought of it arouses him. That anyway I have my own life and he understands that and that yes, it would be a good idea for me to find someone to take care of me in my old age, which he won't be able to do. That all this isn't about that.
I am desperately trying to get him to believe my own avowals.
I will not doubt his statement and I urge you to take it at face value.
In fact, I do believe him.
I think there is something else that happens.
And really, what does it matter, who or what or why. I admit that I was angry at being pushed into something I didn't want to do. But if I was that angry and that disgusted as to want to end it all, I wouldn't have gone ahead and fucked the soldier. There would have been no point.
I love him very much.
I love him in his power
and I love him in his pain.
But he doesn't believe me.
He thinks everything that went before was a lie.
He is convinced of this.
And I fear he will never be able to get past this.
I love him and he is in pain.
He rails that I must be exultant over his pain.
He says you all must be sharing my triumph.
There is no triumph.
He is in pain
and I am in pain
and there is nothing I can do.
Either he will recover enough to deal with it rationally
or he won't.
He's not used to feeling.
He has always protected himself against feeling.
I'm afraid he will never recover.
What a horrible thing to have on my conscience,
whether or not we can ever be together again in any way.
I didn't mean to do it.
But I've done it.
I seem to have broken a heart that he always hid from me,
and I fear I've shredded his soul.
I love him and I've destroyed him and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do.
There's too much pain.
On both sides.
And the story -
it keeps changing.
I thought he had feelings for me,
but who knew they were so deep?
I thought he was vulnerable,
but who knew he was so fragile?
It feels as if I destroyed him at some very deep level. And I don't quite know how it happened. I certainly didn't mean to. My heart is ripped to shreds. To find out what what I suspected was true and then to lose it all at the same moment... it's unbearable.
Things looked better for a while.
This afternoon, things looked a little better.
At least he was ready to try,
oh so cautiously, to work our way back.
To something.
To take that chance.
But he's in such pain...
it started up again tonight.
It scares me.
Sometimes it sounds as if he's never felt this deeply before.
Or let himself feel this deeply.
He's had reasons to protect himself.
But oh God, when that armour is pierced...
So I don't know what to say.
But he wanted me to tell you something. To tell it to you and to myself. That he really doesn't care if I have sex with other people. In fact, he wants me to, for various reasons, including that the thought of it arouses him. That anyway I have my own life and he understands that and that yes, it would be a good idea for me to find someone to take care of me in my old age, which he won't be able to do. That all this isn't about that.
I am desperately trying to get him to believe my own avowals.
I will not doubt his statement and I urge you to take it at face value.
In fact, I do believe him.
I think there is something else that happens.
And really, what does it matter, who or what or why. I admit that I was angry at being pushed into something I didn't want to do. But if I was that angry and that disgusted as to want to end it all, I wouldn't have gone ahead and fucked the soldier. There would have been no point.
I love him very much.
I love him in his power
and I love him in his pain.
But he doesn't believe me.
He thinks everything that went before was a lie.
He is convinced of this.
And I fear he will never be able to get past this.
I love him and he is in pain.
He rails that I must be exultant over his pain.
He says you all must be sharing my triumph.
There is no triumph.
He is in pain
and I am in pain
and there is nothing I can do.
Either he will recover enough to deal with it rationally
or he won't.
He's not used to feeling.
He has always protected himself against feeling.
I'm afraid he will never recover.
What a horrible thing to have on my conscience,
whether or not we can ever be together again in any way.
I didn't mean to do it.
But I've done it.
I seem to have broken a heart that he always hid from me,
and I fear I've shredded his soul.
I love him and I've destroyed him and there doesn't seem to be anything I can do.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Casualties
He's wounded.
Angry.
He says I changed,
that everything changed,
that he could hear it in my written words Sunday morning
and then saw it in my eyes when he was here.
He says I turned away.
It's true I was thrown by things that happened at the bar on Saturday. I wrote that here myself. And its true that I was struggling - and unhappy - with what he wanted me to do. It's true I wasn't usually where I am when he was here. I couldn't get there. I could get to that place. I was struggling and couldn't get there, and yet he said he was proud of me for what I did do. And then I struggled and pushed myself to be here with the solider and make him feel good.
And I did.
I made him feel good.
And had a good time while still feeling all the time that I was doing what the sadist wanted me to.
Doing it because the sadist wanted me to.
I was so proud of myself.
But he was wounded.
Wounded sore.
All that vulnerability I knew was there had been pierced and he was wounded sore and now he thinks it's over and he won't believe me that it's not! Nothing I can say will get through and there's no persuading him.
If I didn't care about him, if I didn't love him, I'd just say fuck you, this isn't worth it, and walk away. Except I do. Stupidly, I do, although he seems to be doing his best to push me away. Which is always my biggest fear, has always been my biggest fear. That he will send me away.
If I'm honest he doesn't like what I say.
And if I'm not honest he doesn't like it either.
I can't win one way or another.
But I am being honest. He just can't believe me. Personally, I think he is feeling his vulnerability and is running scared.
I was so afraid of this. He says it has nothing to do with my fucking the solider on his orders, and certainly my feeling disconcerted started Saturday night. Though much of that did had to do with his insistence that I fuck the guy. Everything is all entwined with everything else. Still, I knew this would happen. Because it has happened before when I've been with someone else, no matter his insisting that it was fine with him and he was happy to know I was fulfilling my destiny to provide men with sexual pleasure and all that crap.
And on top of everything else, I get confused by what he says and sometimes think it's OK when it isn't. But tonight he was having a major hurt tantrum, so there was no denying he was ever so upset.
I can't reason with him.
I was supposed to go away this weekend, to visit my parents, but the weather might be bad - might - so they are wanting me to postpone the trip. I said I would decide Saturday morning, but maybe I'll just say the hell with it and tell them I'm staying down here. Then I'll have time to sort things out with the sadist one way or another. Or try to get stuff done. Between being out so late Saturday, and going to bed late last night and using the whole day yesterday to shop and cook and clean, I am so far behind in getting things done to make up for all the weeks I was sick that it might be a good idea to stay home in any case.
I don't know.
He almost always knows what is going on in my head.
Almost always.
Not this time.
He did see things when he was here.
That is true.
But he's wrong now.
He's wrong.
But he's working so hard to protect himself that he won't let himself believe any more.
There is nothing I can do.
It's all up to him.
And when he gets an idea in his head, he's unshakable.
Angry.
He says I changed,
that everything changed,
that he could hear it in my written words Sunday morning
and then saw it in my eyes when he was here.
He says I turned away.
It's true I was thrown by things that happened at the bar on Saturday. I wrote that here myself. And its true that I was struggling - and unhappy - with what he wanted me to do. It's true I wasn't usually where I am when he was here. I couldn't get there. I could get to that place. I was struggling and couldn't get there, and yet he said he was proud of me for what I did do. And then I struggled and pushed myself to be here with the solider and make him feel good.
And I did.
I made him feel good.
And had a good time while still feeling all the time that I was doing what the sadist wanted me to.
Doing it because the sadist wanted me to.
I was so proud of myself.
But he was wounded.
Wounded sore.
All that vulnerability I knew was there had been pierced and he was wounded sore and now he thinks it's over and he won't believe me that it's not! Nothing I can say will get through and there's no persuading him.
If I didn't care about him, if I didn't love him, I'd just say fuck you, this isn't worth it, and walk away. Except I do. Stupidly, I do, although he seems to be doing his best to push me away. Which is always my biggest fear, has always been my biggest fear. That he will send me away.
If I'm honest he doesn't like what I say.
And if I'm not honest he doesn't like it either.
I can't win one way or another.
But I am being honest. He just can't believe me. Personally, I think he is feeling his vulnerability and is running scared.
I was so afraid of this. He says it has nothing to do with my fucking the solider on his orders, and certainly my feeling disconcerted started Saturday night. Though much of that did had to do with his insistence that I fuck the guy. Everything is all entwined with everything else. Still, I knew this would happen. Because it has happened before when I've been with someone else, no matter his insisting that it was fine with him and he was happy to know I was fulfilling my destiny to provide men with sexual pleasure and all that crap.
And on top of everything else, I get confused by what he says and sometimes think it's OK when it isn't. But tonight he was having a major hurt tantrum, so there was no denying he was ever so upset.
I can't reason with him.
I was supposed to go away this weekend, to visit my parents, but the weather might be bad - might - so they are wanting me to postpone the trip. I said I would decide Saturday morning, but maybe I'll just say the hell with it and tell them I'm staying down here. Then I'll have time to sort things out with the sadist one way or another. Or try to get stuff done. Between being out so late Saturday, and going to bed late last night and using the whole day yesterday to shop and cook and clean, I am so far behind in getting things done to make up for all the weeks I was sick that it might be a good idea to stay home in any case.
I don't know.
He almost always knows what is going on in my head.
Almost always.
Not this time.
He did see things when he was here.
That is true.
But he's wrong now.
He's wrong.
But he's working so hard to protect himself that he won't let himself believe any more.
There is nothing I can do.
It's all up to him.
And when he gets an idea in his head, he's unshakable.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Success
The soldier left a very happy man.
With a very happy cock.
And me?
I was pretty happy, too.
The main problem was that I was afraid the condom would come off. He hadn't brought any, not wanting "to be presumptuous." (He's very sweet and polite, although a little dumb for being so smart - and he is very smart - and a Democrat.) Of course, I have a goodly supply and plenty of Astro-Glide. But the condoms... well, they're normal size. He isn't. Oh my, he isn't.
And I enjoyed his company.
So we'll see each other again.
Two smiling people.
Isn't that nice?
With a very happy cock.
And me?
I was pretty happy, too.
The main problem was that I was afraid the condom would come off. He hadn't brought any, not wanting "to be presumptuous." (He's very sweet and polite, although a little dumb for being so smart - and he is very smart - and a Democrat.) Of course, I have a goodly supply and plenty of Astro-Glide. But the condoms... well, they're normal size. He isn't. Oh my, he isn't.
And I enjoyed his company.
So we'll see each other again.
Two smiling people.
Isn't that nice?
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Spreading around my sexual favors
So many ups and downs... so many twists and turns... and more to come.
I started writing one post along the way.
And then stopped as things started changing and evolving.
So maybe a summary will have to do.
Daddy sees me as a sort of "sexual Florence-Nightingale-to-the-world" (his term). I was created to give sexual pleasure. Generously. He really believes this. He thinks it's a crime and a waste for me not to use my talents broadly.
Which is all well and good. And sometimes I almost believe him. Almost. He knows I don't though. not really. And while I do go through these horribly horny spells, when it comes down to it I hold back. Even with these two old friends/lovers who have wanted to have sex again. I turned them down. Partly because I don't want to mess up what we've managed to achieve with our friendships, after some rough spots connected with our former sexual relationships. But partly because I felt so filled with the sadist that I felt I would be only half there with either of the other guys.
Meanwhile, the fiend keeps trying to connect me up with people, without fully registering the possible complications if I end up dating any of them. One of the guys he has in mind he met through business, and has a house that's visible from mine. Which would mean the guy would see Daddy's car in front of my house from time to time. Not cool if he and I were dating.
It's odd, you know. I feel fine with him bringing over who knows what sex fiends to do who knows what awful things to me while he watches and enjoys. But I'm really struggling with the idea of meeting some guys with whom I'll probably enjoy spending time, and with whom I'll probably enjoy having sex - precisely because Daddy does really want me to have sex with them. Because he feels this is what I was meant to do.
It does sound weird, doesn't it?
It's weird.
It's hard.
It's a challenge.
Which so far I have been failing.
Saturday evening, the sadist surprised me by inviting me up to hang out at a bar in his town. [Here were a lot of details that I've chosen to edit out.] Eventually I relaxed and stopped feeling so out of place. And eventually we - well, Daddy first - made the acquaintance of a good looking , lonely young soldier a few stools down the bar from us.
Young like the philosopher.
39.
It was inevitable that Daddy should decide that it was my destiny to relieve the young man of his loneliness and horniness.
Certainly, the soldier was interested in me. Aside from anything else, I was dressed per instructions in a sexy, clingy, very low-cut black sweater. Without a bra. And I'm sweet and sometimes I even agree that I'm beautiful and I was definitely both flirty and kind. And he was lonely. New to town, working at a nearby base, and not wanting to hang out with other military people. A sweet guy.
One of the things that I admire so much about Daddy and that give him so much power over me is that he sees into my head and heart as if I were made of clear glass and running non-stop electronic signs spelling out my every thought and feeling. But this time his vision was clouded. he was drinking. A lot. And while he certainly knew what the soldier wanted, despite the guy's being confused - or maybe not - about my relationship with the fiend - he misread me. Or maybe was just indulging in wishful thinking. he thought we both wanted to go off together. So he kept leaving us alone and then left the bar early (well, not that early, maybe 5-10 minutes before he needed to), intending for me to go home with the guy.
I refused.
The guy was actually very sweet - is actually very sweet - but I just didn't want to. Cautious, I suppose. Which wasn't a stupid thing to be. And just having trouble with it. So I said no, but gave him my number and e-mail address and offered to get together this week. The guy was disappointed, but happy, I think, at the thought of having made contact with someone.
Daddy was angry.
I let him down.
I was not taking seriously his intentions for me.
And rightly enough, he reminded me that we both say that we are not playing. This is for real. Which means sometimes I will be doing things I don't want to do.
As the sadist likes to say, you prove nothing when you order an ice-cream loving submissive to eat ice cream.
There was more about Saturday night.
Daddy was drinking.
A lot.
We were in an environment in which we are usually not together.
He often seemed different from the man I know.
Certainly, we were mostly behaving together in a different way.
It was so odd. Especially in the presence of the soldier, I was teasing in the way I never could be if we were alone. But we were trying not to broadcast our relationship. Fat chance. A few times the soldier asked point blank what our relationship was. He said he saw how I looked at the sadist. How my eyes were on his face all the time. It's hard to hide something like that. It's hard to change something like that. I told him we were just old friends, but I'm not sure he swallowed it.
So.
We each went home to our own homes.
And the next day, and even Monday, I was feeling different. Uncomfortable. A bit estranged. Disconcerted by how Daddy had seemed. There was a vulnerability about him... he seemed to grow shorter... We had two conversations that were rather revealing on his part, which I treasured for their openness, but which also revealed his vulnerability, although that kind I can deal with and love him for.
And he was quite annoyed with me for not going home with the solider.
Still.
Things are moving along with that.
So maybe I'll get to redeem myself.
Or not.
He's a nice guy, the soldier.
hes a sweet guy, and polite and considerate and with more depth than I first thought.
He called me late Sunday afternoon, having waited all day, trying to figure out the right time to call. We talked for 40 minutes. He's coming over on Wednesday (tomorrow as I'm writing). He'll bring a DVD. I'll make dinner. Daddy is assuming we'll end up in bed, that the guy will be all over me after 10 minutes of the movie. But really, the solider is so phenomenally polite and thoughtful that I'll be surprised. But if I wants to fuck me, I'll let him. (And yes, of course, safe sex!!) It could be very sweet.
A few more things.
Yes, he knows that I'm 23 years older than he is. (I wonder how old his mom is...) He asked straight out. Politely, of course. He took me for early 40s. I wonder what he'll think when he sees me in full light?
Daddy was here this morning. After I made him feel ever so good, we talked about the soldier's upcoming visit. Which Daddy fully respects will be a cumming visit. We talked about what to say about our relationship, expanding on an early e-mail discussion. And Daddy gave me a gift. He said that I could say that we were friends with benefits. Or tell even more of the truth if I wished. I doubt I would do that. But I'm so glad that I can say - or at least imply, depending on the situation - that we're involved. That I have an involvement. That he - or anyone - shouldn't assume that I am available to be his girlfriend.
That was such a relief.
Part of me is so afraid of being swallowed up.
I'm already swallowed up.
Swallowed and burnt by digestive juices.
I do think Daddy knew that I needed to be able to say that. And then he went further. He said that if I wanted I could tell the soldier exactly what our relationship was. Now that I don't think I'll do. I think it would shock him. make him uneasy. But if I did, Daddy said, I could tell him that the sadist was here today - and deliberately didn't mark me because he knew I would be seeing the soldier tomorrow.
Now that could be interesting...
I'm afraid to re-read this for editing. I suspect it's much too rambling. So I'll just check for mis-spellings and hit PUBLISH POST. What the hell. I'm living dangerously already.
(Actually, not as dangerously as it might seem. Daddy grilled me on making sure someone knew the soldier was coming over. And of course he knows. And the solider knows he knows, and will see me text Daddy on his arrival. Daddy does take care of me. My only concern is that the guy is so polite that he may not actually try to fuck me. I sure hope he at least tries to kiss me or I'll really be in trouble!)
I started writing one post along the way.
And then stopped as things started changing and evolving.
So maybe a summary will have to do.
Daddy sees me as a sort of "sexual Florence-Nightingale-to-the-world" (his term). I was created to give sexual pleasure. Generously. He really believes this. He thinks it's a crime and a waste for me not to use my talents broadly.
Which is all well and good. And sometimes I almost believe him. Almost. He knows I don't though. not really. And while I do go through these horribly horny spells, when it comes down to it I hold back. Even with these two old friends/lovers who have wanted to have sex again. I turned them down. Partly because I don't want to mess up what we've managed to achieve with our friendships, after some rough spots connected with our former sexual relationships. But partly because I felt so filled with the sadist that I felt I would be only half there with either of the other guys.
Meanwhile, the fiend keeps trying to connect me up with people, without fully registering the possible complications if I end up dating any of them. One of the guys he has in mind he met through business, and has a house that's visible from mine. Which would mean the guy would see Daddy's car in front of my house from time to time. Not cool if he and I were dating.
It's odd, you know. I feel fine with him bringing over who knows what sex fiends to do who knows what awful things to me while he watches and enjoys. But I'm really struggling with the idea of meeting some guys with whom I'll probably enjoy spending time, and with whom I'll probably enjoy having sex - precisely because Daddy does really want me to have sex with them. Because he feels this is what I was meant to do.
It does sound weird, doesn't it?
It's weird.
It's hard.
It's a challenge.
Which so far I have been failing.
Saturday evening, the sadist surprised me by inviting me up to hang out at a bar in his town. [Here were a lot of details that I've chosen to edit out.] Eventually I relaxed and stopped feeling so out of place. And eventually we - well, Daddy first - made the acquaintance of a good looking , lonely young soldier a few stools down the bar from us.
Young like the philosopher.
39.
It was inevitable that Daddy should decide that it was my destiny to relieve the young man of his loneliness and horniness.
Certainly, the soldier was interested in me. Aside from anything else, I was dressed per instructions in a sexy, clingy, very low-cut black sweater. Without a bra. And I'm sweet and sometimes I even agree that I'm beautiful and I was definitely both flirty and kind. And he was lonely. New to town, working at a nearby base, and not wanting to hang out with other military people. A sweet guy.
One of the things that I admire so much about Daddy and that give him so much power over me is that he sees into my head and heart as if I were made of clear glass and running non-stop electronic signs spelling out my every thought and feeling. But this time his vision was clouded. he was drinking. A lot. And while he certainly knew what the soldier wanted, despite the guy's being confused - or maybe not - about my relationship with the fiend - he misread me. Or maybe was just indulging in wishful thinking. he thought we both wanted to go off together. So he kept leaving us alone and then left the bar early (well, not that early, maybe 5-10 minutes before he needed to), intending for me to go home with the guy.
I refused.
The guy was actually very sweet - is actually very sweet - but I just didn't want to. Cautious, I suppose. Which wasn't a stupid thing to be. And just having trouble with it. So I said no, but gave him my number and e-mail address and offered to get together this week. The guy was disappointed, but happy, I think, at the thought of having made contact with someone.
Daddy was angry.
I let him down.
I was not taking seriously his intentions for me.
And rightly enough, he reminded me that we both say that we are not playing. This is for real. Which means sometimes I will be doing things I don't want to do.
As the sadist likes to say, you prove nothing when you order an ice-cream loving submissive to eat ice cream.
There was more about Saturday night.
Daddy was drinking.
A lot.
We were in an environment in which we are usually not together.
He often seemed different from the man I know.
Certainly, we were mostly behaving together in a different way.
It was so odd. Especially in the presence of the soldier, I was teasing in the way I never could be if we were alone. But we were trying not to broadcast our relationship. Fat chance. A few times the soldier asked point blank what our relationship was. He said he saw how I looked at the sadist. How my eyes were on his face all the time. It's hard to hide something like that. It's hard to change something like that. I told him we were just old friends, but I'm not sure he swallowed it.
So.
We each went home to our own homes.
And the next day, and even Monday, I was feeling different. Uncomfortable. A bit estranged. Disconcerted by how Daddy had seemed. There was a vulnerability about him... he seemed to grow shorter... We had two conversations that were rather revealing on his part, which I treasured for their openness, but which also revealed his vulnerability, although that kind I can deal with and love him for.
And he was quite annoyed with me for not going home with the solider.
Still.
Things are moving along with that.
So maybe I'll get to redeem myself.
Or not.
He's a nice guy, the soldier.
hes a sweet guy, and polite and considerate and with more depth than I first thought.
He called me late Sunday afternoon, having waited all day, trying to figure out the right time to call. We talked for 40 minutes. He's coming over on Wednesday (tomorrow as I'm writing). He'll bring a DVD. I'll make dinner. Daddy is assuming we'll end up in bed, that the guy will be all over me after 10 minutes of the movie. But really, the solider is so phenomenally polite and thoughtful that I'll be surprised. But if I wants to fuck me, I'll let him. (And yes, of course, safe sex!!) It could be very sweet.
A few more things.
Yes, he knows that I'm 23 years older than he is. (I wonder how old his mom is...) He asked straight out. Politely, of course. He took me for early 40s. I wonder what he'll think when he sees me in full light?
Daddy was here this morning. After I made him feel ever so good, we talked about the soldier's upcoming visit. Which Daddy fully respects will be a cumming visit. We talked about what to say about our relationship, expanding on an early e-mail discussion. And Daddy gave me a gift. He said that I could say that we were friends with benefits. Or tell even more of the truth if I wished. I doubt I would do that. But I'm so glad that I can say - or at least imply, depending on the situation - that we're involved. That I have an involvement. That he - or anyone - shouldn't assume that I am available to be his girlfriend.
That was such a relief.
Part of me is so afraid of being swallowed up.
I'm already swallowed up.
Swallowed and burnt by digestive juices.
I do think Daddy knew that I needed to be able to say that. And then he went further. He said that if I wanted I could tell the soldier exactly what our relationship was. Now that I don't think I'll do. I think it would shock him. make him uneasy. But if I did, Daddy said, I could tell him that the sadist was here today - and deliberately didn't mark me because he knew I would be seeing the soldier tomorrow.
Now that could be interesting...
I'm afraid to re-read this for editing. I suspect it's much too rambling. So I'll just check for mis-spellings and hit PUBLISH POST. What the hell. I'm living dangerously already.
(Actually, not as dangerously as it might seem. Daddy grilled me on making sure someone knew the soldier was coming over. And of course he knows. And the solider knows he knows, and will see me text Daddy on his arrival. Daddy does take care of me. My only concern is that the guy is so polite that he may not actually try to fuck me. I sure hope he at least tries to kiss me or I'll really be in trouble!)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
