Today I met with a 24 year old service submissive.
The history on him soon.
Suffice it to say that service submissives are the unicorns of the F/m world, talked about with awe and wonder and more than a little scepticism.
I may just have found my unicorn: A smart, opinionated, pretty unicorn with pure blue eyes and and a great attitude.
In my defence of non-dating, I was caught up with the cougarling soon after that so it was moot.
I invited him out without much preamble in line with my ‘immersive dating’ attempts. He had interesting photos, was a half dozen years older than me, sounded ‘fine’ (‘dating immersion’ dictates that ‘fine’ is good enough to try).
So I turned up for a mid morning coffee meeting and quickly realised that attempting this sort of thing without wine was a bad idea. Not even because alcohol lubricates social interactions (though there is that), but because for me the tactile pleasure of having a cold, crisp glass of wine at hand is enjoyably distracting in a way that coffee is not. In my head coffee is for drinking, wine is for socialising.
He was ‘nice enough’, but after an hour, I was done. I felt… nothing. Like a person engaging in polite chit chat with a stranger, which is exactly what it was.
It was pleasant, but I pretty much gave up on ‘interesting’ when he said something off the cuff that actually revealed a little about his view of the world and I followed that path because ‘finally, something with a bit of substance!’ He got all flustered at where I was leading the conversation, and wanted to talk instead about whether I liked golf (I don’t).
He had a strange and distracting way of moving his mouth: As if his almost-perfect teeth were too big for him. I think maybe they were dentures, and if they were, they were new ones that he wasn’t used to yet. I felt marginally sorry for him, which is obviously about the furthest away from ‘hot-sexy’ as you can possibly imagine.
I abruptly declared that I had to go when I’d lasted as long as I could. Pleasantries on the way out, including him stating the obvious fact that I was really tall as he looked up to me. I put my height in my profile because I know it can be an issue for some men, so it was hardly a surprise. I asked him how tall he was. “6’1, he said. I know I looked sceptical because he SO wasn’t, but it didn’t matter.
In the car park, he asked what I was doing on the Saturday night. Being a crap liar, I told the truth: nothing. He invited me out for dinner. Being crap at politely declining when I’m taken by surprise, I said ‘yes’. Idiotic dating rookie!
Then I kicked myself for the next couple of hours and finally texted him, said I’d had a think about it and apologetically declined his dinner invitation. Ugh. HATE.
He was fine about it: I’m thankful for mature men.
All in all, the entire experience sucked. No doubt it sucked for him also.
I hate to say to myself (but I do) that I probably need a few more really lacklustre dates like this to elevate the ones that actually aren’t so bad. Though maybe that’s akin to trying to teach myself to ‘lower my expectations’ and I know that when I’ve done that in the past, I can end up putting a bunch of energy into something that has NO chance of working out. And that’s just a waste of time for both of us.
I have written more, lots, reams, but I just don’t feel like posting it because REASONS.
Thank you so much for all the travel you did to come and spend time with me, I really appreciate it.
I enjoyed so much about our time together: you’re lovely, and you’re so beautiful, and I feel like there is more to explore. I’d be delighted to see you again to kiss and pet and play some more if you would enjoy that also.
But given how we communicate, trying to build a long term relationship over this distance isn’t going to work for me.
I can’t imagine you’re surprised, and I hope you aren’t too disappointed. I’m happy to talk about it if you want to.
I know, I know: by email, what an arsehole! But we’ve only had one phone call EVER: our communication was either in-person or by text. So, yeah.
He said he would send a reply to it: he didn’t. But we’ve exchanged some friendly texts since I sent it, so it’s all amicable. There is no grand heartbreak here: I have no idea if he will be interested in getting together again. If he lived close by, I’d be happy to date and see if anything developed, or just to enjoy him for all the beautiful things he brings to the table, but the distance makes any get-together into a huge project, so it seems doubtful.
I’m fine, but underneath the ‘fine’-ness, I feel tired, disappointed, sad.
I will probably write more about this, but the truth is that I struggled to get below the surface with him in person: the distance just exacerbated that and made it untenable.
I keep thinking that if I can’t make connections with men who are clearly awesome, then it must be me. I’m pretty introspective and, I think, honest with myself, and I genuinely can’t see what it is about me that makes me continually fail to make the kind of connection I want.
This time it hits especially hard because I really like him and I really fucking tried. I tried even though in the back of my mind, I know I’ve never really HAD to try when there was something firing between us. It just… worked. So even in the trying, I was already aware that I was reaching for something that wasn’t going to develop naturally.
It almost feels like there’s some subconscious thing going on with me where I don’t WANT it to work, and I’m somehow scuppering myself in some way that I don’t understand. That’s not how it feels when I’m in the face of these men who I like: I WANT everything to fire up, for both of us. I really really do. So when it doesn’t I just feel… tired, disappointed, sad.
It will pass, of course.
But for now, I’m just doing a lot of heavy sighing and feeling sorry for myself.
I knew he was into rope. I’d warned him that I have no skills with it, but that I was absolutely happy to learn with him if this went somewhere. In that way I’m like some ‘fantasy Domme’: kinks in and of themselves don’t interest me much, but HIS kinks do. Because that’s how I get reactions and that’s where I enjoy playing.
We played some with rope this time. I have a couple of books, youtube videos, even a video of myself doing a chest tie that I learnt in a shibari class (takate-kote, TK: I had to look that up, did I mention ‘no skills’?).
He stood patiently, while I carefully and tediously followed the instructions to do the takate-kote.
He didn’t mind my slow fumbling.
People react to rope differently of course. He flopped face down onto the bed once he was tied. It wasn’t clear to me at first that rope makes him languid and relaxed: that he likes to just ‘be’ in it.
I let him stay in the first tie for a short while, checking knots, stroking the bonds, touching him gently, shoving him around a bit, and then I was keen to try something else.
I undid the first tie and tied him a second time: A dragonfly sleeve. His hands behind his back, multiple loops down his arms, then my rope running down his arse between his tight little cheeks, around to the front, cupping his cock, and then over his sensitive nipples, making patterns on his chest. So beautiful.
He made a show of escaping, not from the rope, but from the room. He backed up to the door handle like some James Bond villain, quickly opened the bedroom door and scampered (an odd word for a huge, built man, but scamper he did) into the living room where he flopped backwards onto the couch, a huge smile on his face. Funny.
I put cushions under his head and he lay there, content. I petted his beautiful body and he drifted off, not quite asleep, but blissfully dozy, his cock paying attention when I played my fingers against it. I kept checking the circulation in his hands, not just tied now, but with the weight of his body on them.
I’m not sure how long we remained there, but his pleasure in relaxing in my rope was palpable.
When I untied him, the rope marks were vivid and distinct, less because they were tight than because he’d been lying on them. The photos I took are so pretty, I wasn’t sure which to post.
My goodness he’s lovely.
6’3 of very very pretty…
I’m good at remote communication. Probably better than in-person. I can write thoughtful, funny, intimate emails. I adore someone who does the same, who fires me up, who is able to bring something to our exchanges that makes me excited and fascinated, that feeds me. That thing where I can’t hit reply fast enough: I need that.
I’m also good at doing long distance. I seem to do it a lot. Not because it’s a thing I choose as such (though self-examination makes me wonder about this), but because the men I really like seem to have an annoying habit of not living anywhere near me. To me, distance is a logistical and financial problem, and it can be overcome if we want it enough.
But I’m not good at maintaining interest over distance when the communication isn’t excellent. And largely that’s a matter of style and taste and proclivity, and whatever anyone thinks, frequency and type of communication CAN’T be mandated. Making a chore and an obligation out of it will not work. Ever.
And to put it bluntly: The cougarling is not good at it.
In person, he is a beautifully built bundle of affectionately-sweet viking-beast. He shows his interest and affection with physical touch which I love. But remotely, he is simply… absent.
We had a lovely voice call last Friday night after my weeks away. We reconnected, we flirted, we talked about our time together. We agreed that there is something worth pursuing here. I told him that our communication wasn’t working and that I can’t make something out of this long distance if this is how it was going to be. That I would drift away. He understood, but also explained that essentially ‘this is how he is’. I understood.
I suggested I come and visit him as soon as possible since I have the flexibility. He wasn’t keen on that idea: small town, not pleasant, he would be working.
“What are you doing next weekend?” he asked me.
“It’s a long weekend, I’ll come up…”
“But it’s a 12 hour drive… that’s pretty much the entire weekend gone…”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He did. He’s arriving sometime Friday. He will go home around midday Monday. So we will have three days and three nights.
I’m really pleased and excited, and I do love a man who sees a problem and takes action.
Even if this doesn’t work out in the longer term, the more I can get of him, the better. I feel like I have only just scratched the surface and I wasn’t anywhere near ready to let this go yet.