Date with prey

A date with a lovely submissive boy who has been in my inbox on and off for about four years. He’s smart, personable, articulate, and pretty as fuck with a body to die for.

We talked about meeting a few years ago, but when I dug a little deeper, I could see that we weren’t compatible, so we never did. There were a few factors: He’s nearly 20 years younger than me (obviously that’s still true!), he had some very strong (and incompatible) ideas about how D/s relationships ‘should’ be run, and he was still carrying the weight of his last relationship on his shoulders. I didn’t have the appetite to tackle it.

And still every time he popped up in my inbox, we’d have a fun little chat, he’d hint at maybe meeting up, and I’d pretty much ignore it until the next time. This time he cutely pushed a little harder with the hinting, and I picked it up and suggested we get together.

We spent about 4.5 hours together. It was easy, interesting, fun. He still has some ideas that are incompatible with me, but he seemed more open to alternatives now.

And he is prey. He is prey in that way that few boys are. He knows his value, has some cockiness about him, but underneath he is a deer that wants very badly to be caught in the headlights of some truck that is hurtling at him full tilt. He is disappointed each time it fails to happen.

We’d been talking for a long while when I kissed him.

Leaning over, pulling him towards me, exploration there in that bar, just seeing how it felt. He came to me with a kind of surprised shyness, then was all-in. It was good: sweet, promising. And afterwards he was a little dazed and flustered, which I love, softly exclaiming that I was like a man, well not *like* a man, but my approach was more like a man, but not that he felt like a girl, really… Like I said: a little flustered.

We went for a walk in the last hour or so. Beautiful, along the river, the sun just dipping below the horizon. Talking about nothing in particular, my hand on the back of his neck. When we stopped, I let him come to me. He doesn’t like doing that. I know he doesn’t. So I enjoyed even more that he did it. Stepping closer, slowly, his head slightly tilted, then almost waiting to see if his offer would be accepted. Still prey. Even then.

It’s hard to describe how someone is prey. It’s uncalculated, guileless, they signal a kind of innocent vulnerability, emit an unconscious distress signal. In the face of it, I feel aggression, and I love that. Grabbing him by the scruff of his jacket and around the throat, holding tender skin between my teeth, hearing a soft grunt, an exclamation, shoving him around a little, touching muscle under his shirt with cold fingers, using handfuls of flesh to pull him closer, feeling that ache in my belly that makes me bare my teeth and want to snarl. It’s rare.

Sounds promising right? Of course it does.

But… (there has to be a ‘but’…) he’s not looking for a long term relationship. I hadn’t asked about it. He’s been on my radar for so long that I didn’t really ask any of those kinds of pre-meet questions. It’s fair enough: He’s young, wants to explore, play with new people, is planning more travel.

He’s absolutely open to meet up again, but casual is not a thing I do well. Too greedy, too demanding, too possessive. But mostly, it just leaves me feeling bereft: lonely for everything that it isn’t.

I’ve told him that if I want a boy for some casual cuffed-and-collared shoving around, he’s the first on my list. Truth be told, I’m thinking about it.

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16 Comments

  1. “Prey” – and your definition of it – is almost exactly how I like to be regarded in those early stages with someone new, except without the cockiness (although I do know my worth).

    It was how things went with my ex, and it was amazing. One of our first times spending time together, we met up at a sandwich shop for a munch. We’re sitting across from each other in a booth, and she practically pins me back in my seat with a drawn-out stare, looking like she’s deciding what part of me to devour first. Instinct tells me to hide, but I can’t, so I squirm just a little bit and blush. “Wrong” move. She likes watching me squirm and blush, and she tells me so, and I get even more shy, blushing even more.

    There’s a little bit of exaggeration or play-acting to my shyness in that sort of situation, but only a little bit. It’s more a matter of letting down the facade of stoicism.

    I guess my style of flirting is more of a matter of inviting someone to flirt with me, with the promise I’ll flirt back; inviting someone to pursue me, with the promise they’ll be able to catch me. It’s HORRIBLY ineffective most of the time, but it’s so good when it works.

  2. Thank you for sharing, Ferns.

    There have been a number of times that I have felt like prey and it is quite exhilarating. From how you described things it seems even more exhilarating for a predator. I do very much enjoy your writing.

    It would be a lie to say I am without envy, for both the position and the idea of cold hands after it was a million degrees here today.

    Take care.

  3. I love your description of him. There’s a young man like this in my inbox, but that’s as far as it’s come. I’d be interested if he translates that way in real life, too, and if I’d respond as you do.

    Fingers crossed for you!

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