I was out last night with a woman. Young, smart, beautiful - an artist with a killer accent. We've been friends for three years or so. She did the art for my office, helped with design ideas, and has graced my fantasies with her wicked body and her slightly off-kilter smile. It was a beautiful night. My plan to take her to the Rise Bar at the Ritz Carlton on the tippy toe of Manhattan was foiled by its change in status to a private event venue. Undettered, right across the street was nice little Italian with outdoor seating overlooking Mistress Liberty and the massive body of water that has made New York, New York . An amazing sunset was ours.
My friend knows my wife. I had told her before our "date" that we were probably separating but when I began to talk about it she was just devastated. What a classic move on my part, no? Tell the alluring young artist you're the sensitive, well-meaning sex starved victim of a dying marriage and hope for mercy nookie. Sometimes I'm just a middle-aged cliche.
But my wife and I were somehow my friend's paradigm of perfection. Go figure. She became visibly upset when I began to tell her my version of the maritial meltdown. My wife on the other hand has snidely suggested that among my controversial women friends, this one was most likely to be a tie-me-up-tie-me-down kinda girl. Hmmmm...let's see.
So I described our precarious fisc as a contributing factor to our discord and confessed that sex had been a long term problem. I told my very hot Russian artiste and pretend paramour that although I had provided my wife, prior to the "I do" thing, with full knowledge and notice that I was as kinky as a very cheap garden hose, she and I had become enemy combatants over this issue. My friend laughed appreciately at my plagiarized, on-the-money descripition of my sexuality. Thanks, Elihu!
But as I gave a highly edited history of "client nineness" it became absolutely clear that the woman I've lusted after for sometime, written about in posts , and had all to myself for a gorgeous mid-summer sunset had no clue whatsoever about what makes me tick. Explaining bdsm to attractive, clueless women is a total downer. It's just complete social saltpeter. My horniness quotient, which was pretty high, went from a 9.5 to less than zero.
I guess I just needs me a domme.
But last night it was nice to own. I was remembering when I was single and would tell a girl I was into that I liked lingerie and maybe a little restraint? I would hope against hope for a positive response. These days, if a woman demonstrates no appreciation for the Scene, kink in general or isn't intensely curious about the whole deal my attitude is ... next. It's not that I won't be friends. I really like the Russian artist hottie. But I'm a submissive and I'm proud of it. I'm not looking for crumbs. I want me some cake, baby. With your permission only, of course!
Guess I'll just have to date kinky. Do I wanna touch?
And Yo, HMP, insteada that Joan song, how 'bout ... Joanie does Iggy - from me to you!
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