Bill last week. The heading said “Way, Way After Aftercare,” and I just asked him to do sort of a postmortem on our shenanigans, especially since I couldn’t get over the fear that doms would always want me to be a doll the way he did.
I couldn’t believe he wrote back, but he did, and said he’d be happy to help. He also said he never wanted me to be a doll, which kind of revolutionized my idea of what happened.
Of course I couldn’t go through with the call; it would’ve been a one-way ticket back to smittentown. But the fact that he’d have been willing to help was kind of comforting—maybe my taste in men isn’t as completely fucked as I thought it was?
Anyway, I told him I still wish I could have seen him as just a playpal, because jeez, we could have come up with some stuff.
I think I’ve been nostalgic for him this week because I’ve been reminded that “brat” > “good girl”—I always want to remember to fight back a little. I took “Yes, Sir” off my list of fetishes today.
Also, that situation may have been screwy, but it was perfect in its own way and really belonged to me, as opposed to being borrowed from another redhead. Here’s hoping smittentown will come along again before too long, with someone emotionally available.