You all who know me IRL…and there are a few of you…know that I’m mostly a confident person. Shy at times, and ebullient and boisterous at others (and able to get mildly drunk on one drink!)–I don’t spend tons of time doubting myself. I’m a very capable person–I can hang a door, fix a window, replace toilet guts, clean up cat vomit and dog poop, clean house, cook well–other than car repairs and roofing, there isn’t too much I’m not able to do. Okay, I can’t dance worth shit, but that’s another issue!
You might also remember, if you’re a long time reader here, that when M and first met online in the late summer/early fall of 2009, we chatted for a long while. And when we scheduled our first meeting, a friend of His passed away, and the funeral was out of state…and of course on the day of our meeting. We made plans for a second try…and that fell through as well (I don’t recall what, exactly that was, perhaps weather?). Our third attempt was bludgeoned to death by one whopper of a snowstorm, and I remember crying my eyes out over that one.
And then in January 2010, after months of getting to know one another–swapping pictures, and stories and tidbits about our families, we finally, finally met. It was epic…but it came after a most tremendous mind-fuck.
He kept telling me that things would come up. That this or that was happening–all silly stuff, mind you–and He would be in the Netherlands harvesting tulips, or something wacky like that. He had me on tenterhooks right up to the day of our meeting. (And that was the day that I almost died, in the parking lot, as I’m going to meet Him…a semi-truck came )*( that close to wiping nilla from the face of the planet. While Himself was standing under the portico of the hotel. I was *that* close to touching Him for the first time. Finally, HE scooted around the truck (which had backed up and gone forward several times)…and fetched me Himself. Sheesh. Yet I still remember the firm grip of His hand on my arm as He steered me away from harm, and into the hotel.
Ever since, we’ve had this little tussle going, His mindfuck and teasing about our playtimes…and how they will fall through. (He uses the one about going out of the country a LOT. A whole bunch of different tales why, but the tulip one is still my favorite!)
I know it’s a mindfuck.
I know that it is His teasing.
Last night before bed I sent Him a sad little doubtful text.
“Do you really want to play with me?”
“Are you still into this whole D/s thing or are You just not comfortable telling me that You’re done with it and just putting up with my needs and wants?”
I can’t believe I sent it, either.
Blame it on exhaustion. I’d only slept 2 hours the night before, up early, and when I went to bed that night I was just so tired my brain wasn’t in any kind of good headspace. I’d begun to doubt that He really did want me.
He sent me at text at 130 in the morning.
I don’t want to ‘play’ with you. I want to beat you.
So much for that little niggling worry of doubt. When I read that this morning?
And I’ve been smiling ever since.