You've Probably Never Heard Of Us
So, when I met Sally and Joe, Whisperer told me she thought they were into it. She said, “it’s 1950s Household.” “1950’s Household” is actually an “official kink” – what is, essentially, a traditional marriage with a husband that brings home the bacon and a wife that makes the home. With spanking, perhaps. Three years later, when I see Sally and Joe at a function, I’m talking to them and I remember what Whisperer said. At some point Joe wanders off to get a glass of wine and I’m talking to Sally and it pops into my head. So I take a good look at her. She’s a mother of three, probably 40 something, and very attractive for her age. One of those women that is just “feminine” in every positive way. I look at her in her eyes and I swear there is like this meaningful moment. She’s a sub. Call it “subdar,” like “gaydar” for people like us. Her husband, the father of her children, is her dom. They are still in love after who knows how many years and have smart, attractive children. She got “flightly” after 2 seconds of me making that eye contact, does the little half laugh thing and excuses herself to go find Joe. She thinks I’m attractive, but she is a happily married woman and those two seconds were enough for her to feel like a line had been crossed so she left. A woman of character. Joe is a very lucky man.
So, five subs altogether: Whisperer, Sally, Little Miss Fuck and Run, Dancer, and The Angel. Whisperer was basically my soul mate. Sally I barely knew, other than through her husband Joe who was a social friend. Little Miss Fuck and Run would be my “friend with benefits” for a few years, Dancer would be the hottest 21 year old I’ve had sex with in a decade, and The Angel, Sally’s daughter, was the Perfect 10 Christian Virgin that I would have killed for.
So … Little Miss Fuck and Run. I was hiding out outside of this medium sized city, on this farm owned by the governor’s lawyer, posting from an anonymous proxy, confessing everything and putting it on the record before whatever was going to happen happened. So I went to some hipster bar in town and hung out. Little Miss Fuck and Run asked me something and started flirting. I was a good way to drunk at that point, but had enough of my wits about me to flirt, give her an improptu intellectual test (seeing if she knew anything about her own ethnic background) and did that trick where you make them put their number in your phone. Dunno why it works. Women are crazy. She was 22. Long black hair, voluptuous in the good way, very smart, the kind of girl that goes back and forth between overconfidence and crippling self-doubt. Sexually submissive and desperately fighting her submissive tendencies outside the bedroom, because that wouldn’t be feminist and all.
So I texted her the next day (all the young ones text these days) something or other, made a date, forgot what we did, she invited me to her apartment and plays the “push and pull” game for like an hour. We’re making out on her couch, it starts getting hot and heavy, and then she pushes me away. So, figuring she’s not going to put out on the first date, I stop. Then, she starts it up again. This happens five times until she gets up from the couch, grabs my arm, and leads me into the bedroom.
We would fuck like bunnies for a few months, then she would do the “run” part. I didn’t really care all that much, because, you know, she was just some girl that picked me up in a bar. I liked her fine, but it was just a hookup. Neither one of us were interested in anything more than getting off. At first. That’s how it always works.
To Be Continued