Friday, October 30, 2009

And Then Again ...

"And I was just feeling so guilty because you had been holding out so long", she said.

"It's Day 60."

"Really, yeah, well it was one of the major reasons I was feeling so badly about having to not see you," she gushed.

"Well, it was your idea", I said matter of factly.

"I know."


"What if I flew up for the day, early in the morning; let you get off in my presence, and then took a night flight back?"

"Awww, you are sooo sweet. But wouldn't you want to stay the night?", I greedily grubbed.

"We'll see," she teased, "We'll see."

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

It Is What It Is...

So... How do you like the GrooveShark widget? I've been on Pandora alot and someone told me about GrooveShark. Compulsive playlisting. Music OCD heaven. When I saw the widget option it was so easy I couldn't resist. Old school hip hop. I'll change it up from time to time. Let me know if you like it...

A lunchtime email from She...uh oh.

Captital letters at the bottom. That's bad. She was going to buy her ticket but ...

Oh wait...

Only two days ago she'd ordered a crinolene skirt and a retro garter belt from Secrets In Lace. Part of a tease plan. She'd told me to line up stores in Miami that sold vintage lingerie. My favorite. At Day 58 it makes my knees buckle. I'd asked on the weekend if she could to give me an idea of when she'd arrive so I could plan meetings...but if she couldn't it was all good. Waay T&D. Heard nothing...

Until today.

Mr. She got an unexpected long weekend, she wrote, and had asked that they spend the found time together. She was stressing on the him or me. Said they'd talk tonight to divide the weekend, but I should come to her.

So I wrote back she shouldn't stress. There was only one answer and I would understandingly ride the backseat. As for coming to her, there's a very good reason I just can't. I've explained this many times. Believe me, if I could - I'd be there in a heartbeat.

So...Friday makes Day 60 and I have an absent keyholder. Funnily enough, I got over the shock pretty quickly. But whence chastity as a mutual bond? Do I I free? Do I wait for her to ask and focus? Maybe tomorrow will bring some new twist.

I'm an emotionally single, needy, play starved subbie. But I'm a married, emotionally single, needy play starved subbie. The wife thinks I'm going to Miami to meet some dominatrix. Meanwhile, my domme is going to spend our weekend with her husband.

Isn't life just a beautifully frustrating adventure? I guess it's all just dead-end roads and warning signs. Frustration surrounds me...solution bid farewell? Sedation, what the hell.

Nah ... I'm a writer. Such great grist for the mill.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

An Ungrateful Kvetch

It is so unbecoming to whine. One should just suck it up. No muttered, grumbling asides. No sniveling simper-fests. But look. It's my blog and if I feel like yammering and yawping you all are going to get an earful. So give this offering a wide berth if you believe in the stiff upper lip. But if you like a little pout every now and again, then join me while I stamp my feet and squawk.

It's Day 53 of on my honor chastity. It's been years since since I've lasted this long. It's definitely an altered state of consciousness. I find I have more energy and need less sleep. While I'm not insanely horny all the time - sometimes I am deliciously out of my mind. Stir in that practically every aspect of my cozy, familiar life is in a serious state of flux and I end up wanting just a little tending.

I think a domme has a responsibility to check in on the chasened. When She couldn't come to Miami last month She asked me to wait. Until Day 66. So now, at her urging, I'm less than two weeks away from the goal line. She and I are bound up together in this process. It was not my idea and I'm not wanting to be ungrateful that she asked me to do this. But as is often the case with her, I'm feeling ignored and sorry for myself. It feels like weeks since she even asked how the chastity is going. Is it too much to want a little encouragement?

Yesterday after just missing me on the phone, She left a voice mail asking if I knew off the top of my head whether there was a fetish store in town that sold latex sheets. Not for her, but for Mr. D. Mr. D is the subbie hubbie of Ms. D - She's predecessor in her vanilla job. Ms. D is a domme. Now what are the chances of that? Of all the gin joints in the world... There on her perfect little Carribean Island, She has a nice kinky coffee klatch whenever the mood hits.

So I called Leatherman and had a fun chat with the sales guy about their Mind Fetish and Nasty Pig rubber fitted sheet offerings. I sent her website links, prices and of course offered to pick up the preferred bedding choice.

At her further request, I sent her flight information. Her exact words were she needed to make her reservations before it was too late and it just didn't make sense. So far as I know, She has not made her reservations yet. Nor has she dispatched me to do bedding shopping.

So She is teasing...right?

I'm not going to push or ask. When I do that She just gets mad. Either she'll book her flight for our weekend or she won't. If she doesn't, I'm sure I'll have another great time on my own down there. If she does come, I know it will be heaven. But come what may shouldn't I get at least a little pat on the head for making it through my days. I don't require much. Just occassional acknowledgement. I am learning I need an engaged keyholder. I suppose I could just sexualize being ignored but it seems too lonely.

While She is enjoying her weekend in the Caribbean sun - I'm a lonely, hurty, horny mess. And on top of it all, Alisa at Kink in Exile, thinks I'm a downright offensive, presumptive, submissive who doesn't see women as "holistic beings" and is unable to find a single sucker of a girl who will have even the most rudimentary of conversations about kinky sex ("or sex of any kind") with disrespectful, nasty, ill behaved old me.

Hey, I told you it was a pity party. Go's my pity party and I'll cry if I want to.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Caveat Venditor

So the wife and I have the co-op on the market in the tough buyer terrain of recession ruptured New York City. My shrink had suggested a broker we worked with briefly last year before the crash and burn when we were flirting with a downsize. Shoulda, coulda, woulda. Oh well, we live in challenging times.

This time around the broker came from the bride's side. I figure, let the wife control this decision and in the clinches, the broker is her's. I know for sure if the agent was mine I'd take heat. So about six weeks ago I met this woman and she seemed incredibly knowledgeable. An attractive, late 40's-ish woman who is billed as one of this agency's top producers - she is striking, sharp and completely relentless. I even felt a little tingle, but dismissed it immediately. At their most excellent, brokers are all about the deal. Since they're making money off any potential pact, they are, in their best incarnation, shepherds of the sale. At worst they are snakes in the grass who lie, cheat, and steal. I've worked with a few over the years, and have even represented a handful who faced time in the pokey. While Ms. B seemed honest, ethical, caring, and good - a cut above the rest - I just never trust a broker.

As well, Broker Lady knows we're separating because I confessed when my wife and I first met her. I thought it was important she know we are going to rent separate apartments and, with a little help from her, walk away with enough of a chunk-a-ca-ching to ease the pain of transition. Lots of dwelling agents deal in the muck of separation and divorce. Indeed, the prominence of real estate in the annals of Manhattan Splitsville is iconic. Ms. Broker Babe done been around this block before.

Anyway, without revealing too much detail, I made a bit of a risque comment in an email to Ms. Broker. We were talking about the origin of her email name and she said that instead of her current one she had considered insisting that her email name be "ASS" as she'd spent her life convincing people she wasn't one. However, upon reflection, she'd decided to go with the more upscale choice. I replied that although it was clearly the right pick, for some at least, there was a certain down and dirty charm to the road not taken. A bit suggestive perhaps but perfectly within tasteful bounds, no?

So today, without boring you with all the juicy market intrigue of useless, flaccid, soft offers and vainly trying to manipulate a bidding war, we were considering a price drop. At a hurried three way conference call my wife lost her highly vaunted temper and started cursing the absent interested buyers and berating our broker. She's such a top in the street and a bottom in the sheets, the wife. Later, when she and I spoke alone, my splenetic spouse proposed we essentially throw in the country home, like a flat screen TV, to sweeten the pot and motivate these attracted buyers. Since we've seen no interest in our country place despite a year on the market, the wife reasoned, it was a way to simply unload it in order to stimulate an ante. She was calling Ms. Sells Alot with the suggestion and that's all there was to it.

So Ms. Broker emails me and says the wife wants to dump the coop and throw the country home, the dogs and me into the deal to any single, straight woman who'd take the bait. I write to Ms. Broker and ask what she'd bid for me and was she looking for a chauffeur, a secretary, and a willing gofer as I was available. Then I called her to discuss the price drop and asked;

"So, don't you want to bid on me?"

She laughs a real, throaty, genuinely appreciative laugh.

"I can't afford you!"

"Come on! Sell our apartment and you could," I wheedle. "Besides, I look great in a chauffeur outfit."

"Well," she leers suggestively, "there are a few outfits I'd like to dress you up in."

"Whoa." I blurt.

"So now I'm talkin' your language, huh?", she smirked.

I was rendered dumbstruck and, tail momentarily between my legs, stammered back to our price drop chat.

So that was hot, huh? What do you think? Is she just a reptilian broker, not to be trusted and looking for any edge and angle? Or is she a hot, smart, attractive, age appropriate kinky girl? I think I'm gonna think up some more suggestive little come ons to test whether I have Mistress Broker on my hands. Hey, worst comes to worst, I sell my apartment and move into a one bedroom in the East Village.

Best case? She visits me there and we play a little dress up. Because baby, you know I'm a sharp dressed man.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Harsh My Mellow

I rented the sexy little Audi TT convertible She said she'd love to try. Wanted to see how it felt to have her stiletto hit the pavement from the hot little car, she said. I stuffed a substantial duffle bag full of goodies for her. I pack muled her internet shopping spree. I hauled her skirts, her blouses, and her 15 pounds of protein shakes. I made two, count them two, little outfits to serve her in. Collars and cuffs cut from shirts that I had especially tailored to fit bow ties. Matching cuff links or woven cuff buttons, of course. I even had the tailor sew in velcro so the cuffs would stay. I bought a cock cane. I bought two lycra masks with the eyes and the mouth cut out. I bought an adjustable blindfold with faux fur on the eyes.

I bought eye care products for her friend. I bought She and her friend StriVectin Anti Oxident face cream. I brought my very own soft green nylon rope from RopeShare to give to She to tie up Mr. She. My gift to them as they'd been going through a rough patch and, at least in part from my urging, She had made a significant effort to reconnect. He loves to be tied up. I figure we're a three legged stool. One leg decays and it's bye, bye bench.

I even made her a mix tape with all the songs from all the posts I've ever written here on "Client Nine" about her.

And you know what? You can see it coming, can't you? She's not coming. It can't be helped. It's not her fault. Immigration and work permit hassles on her island paradise. Poor advice from lawyers she believed when they told her she could leave and come back no problem. I can't be mad at her. But it was completely last minute.

I'm just such a bummed out pervert. Day 31 and no She. No chance of She until November 5th. She asked me to go until then. Which would be 66 days. My personal best is 82. I can't even get into the thought. I just really wanted to spend the weekend with her.

Well...okay. At least tonight I won't jerk it out.