About a week ago, I went to a lecture/discussion led by a retired pro-Domme, now lifestyle Domme. Nothing she said was all that enlightening, but she was a good speaker and shared some interesting stories.
I noticed that during her talk, she seemed to be speaking to me–literally, speaking to me (or at me?). Perhaps I read too much into it, but she made a lot of eye contact and interacted with me much more than she did with the other people in the room.
After the presentation, she approached me, and the short exchange we had kind of weirded me out. What follows is a ramble I scribbled down when I got home. I don’t know what the hell it is or what it was supposed to do. But here it is… guts and garters, right? I never promised it would make sense.
“Having troubles in love, love?”
It seemed like my words from her mouth, only her voice was steadier and more assertive. Her features, my face in fifteen years, yet happier than I imagined. Hopeful. She was comfortable in her own skin, although mine might fare better, assuming that I commit to my sunscreen. To her credit, I’m sure she smiles more than I do.
She owned the room well enough. And me too, until she chose to call me out.
“Troubles in love, love?”
You aren’t my Domme, I thought, with slight offense at her assumption. But still, I see the appeal in giving in, giving over… maybe giving up. There was momentary hesitation, my wanton lust for direction, for friendship.
“Oh. No. But thank you,” I said and turned away.