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My (sex) life story part III; from Formal Protocol to Fresh Pizza
4/26/2005 10:52 am Last Read: |
Well, as you might imagine, the dominant in question, from the truth or dare night, with the boots and the whole kissing them thing, made a bit of an impression on me. That night, when I arrived home, I was tasked with IMing and filling in my online master on the details of the evening. He asked if Id had a good time, I said yes. And that was it. Part of me reflexively felt I should tell him about the boot-kissing incident, and yet another part of me slammed the lid on it. If he wants details, he should ask. My, that wasnt very slavish, was it I realized, as I started to attend more Munches and events in the next couple of weeks, that submitting via e-mail and chat was no longer an option. Besides .Mister Engineer boots came to the next Munch I attended specifically looking for me. (!!!!) Things clicked, and I wound up becoming involved in his House. It was a fairly formal Leather Family structure, and at the time I began my training he had several other submissives he played with regularly, and 2 other submissives in service, one of whom served, in essence, as Major Domo for the House. There were all manner of formalities in this household, protocols that were to be observed at all times. I never entered his house without first kneeling in the foyer and awaiting instructions. There was to be no sitting on furniture unless specifically ordered to do so. Permission had to be obtained to use the restroom. There was a system for adjudication should in intra-household conflict arise. All personal social activities had to be specifically approved by him prior to accepting any engagements. And so on. I was in training for close to 2 years, and learned a great deal. About patience, boundaries, trust, about how far ones heart can stretch, and about how you can still feel lonely among people who love you. And believe me I learned a WHOLE lot about diplomacy. There were times where I felt trapped or put upon and acted out, and those were mostly dealt with compassionately. There were also times where involved parties willfully misconstrued my behaviours. What can you say? The politics of D/s can be as labyrinthine as tax codes. Eventually it came down to 2 things: well, maybe two and a half. Firstly, things moved to a point where my Trainer had me in his house under him, and no other submissives. Immediately, an active search commenced. I began to wonder what poly was all about. I am of a position that being poly means that you are capable of having more than one person in your life with whom you share a love bond. He seemed to HAVE to have more than one person. This helps, I suppose, to insulate from one-on-one intimacy, a situation in which he insisted he never wished to find himself. I was starting to think that I actually DID wish to have that type of intimacy. Secondly: while his search was on for another submissive, I not permitted much in the way of playing with others myself. This had to be cleared with my Trainer, and as often as not my requests were denied. There was the occasional and mind-boggling exception, like the one night I was handed to 4 different tops in sequence, which was an amazing and delightful surprise. But thats its own story  But I was feeling that my needs were not being fully met, and, not to put too fine a point on it, I wanted to gat laid WAY more than I was. The kicker was the time conflict, however. Id received training in presenting formal tea, and it was my Trainers habit to host Leather Teas for his friends and people in the Community. I was going in to rehearsal for a show, and this was going to, perforce, limit my availability on the weekends. Although my schedule had been cleared, as was the protocol, I still was receiving scheduling requests that conflicted with my rehearsals. It was really, really difficult for me to have to come back again and again and say Sir, my apologies, but I have rehearsal that afternoon My focus and commitment as a slave-in-training were called into question. In the House that my Trainer and his Second-in-Command envisioned, there did not seem to be room to have anything outside of the house that could pull rank. I felt as though I had failed, that I had aimed high and missed, that Id never be a slave. We parted ways, not without sadness but without bad blood. I began playing pretty regularly with my friend Steve after that parting of ways: Id not been permitted to play with him before, so, of course, like any kid, I immediately jumped with both feet right into that. A vey intense player, we had fun shocking the natives around town now and again. Not long after my break with the House, I was back in touch with Jim yes, him again, that English musician guy. We began talking, and I really wanted to see him again. Nebulous plans for me to visit him began to coalesce. It turns out that the girlfriend hes had when I first met him had found the letters Id written to him, and the box of photos hed had, and that was the beginning of the end. While I was flirting with the idea that my long-standing torch bearing would bear fruit, I met this guy. He was working behind the counter of a Pizzeria in Berkeley, and I was there with friends. The Pizzeria has a theater in the basement, and my friends and me were there to see a production of Romeo and Juliet. The production was simply horrid, but I noticed The Pizza Guy was staring unabashedly at me every time I went to the counter for a refill, or came up from the incredibly stuffy hot basement for water. I was a bit ticked off; until my friends pointed out that maybe he was checking me out, not waiting for me to steal something. I reappraised him. He was attractive, but tall blonde blue eyed white men usually are not drooling over thick thighed black women, sorry, it just aint like that. Besides, he had this southern drawl that tends to make me sort of smirk when I hear it. Well, by the time we were leaving, hed made enough of an impression on me that I thought perhaps I would not be loath if he made a move. I lingered on the way out, and although his attention never flagged, he didnt say anything specific. I was standing in the courtyard of the pizzeria, which is shared by a little taqueria and other little storefronts. What the fuck. I thought to myself. I wrote him a note, told my friends Id meet them by the curb, and ran back to the walk-up window of the restaurant. Hey. He turned, with a lazy half smile Yeah? I handed him the note, and saidWait until I leave to read it, though.and backed away. Of course, he opened it immediately. I squeaked and ran away. My friends had NOT walked to the curb and had watched the entire thing. They razzed me mercilessly. What are you like in the 6th grade?!? That was hilarious!! I was blushing. They wanted to know what it said. Greetings I am really bad at this sort of ting, but I think you are kind of cute. If youd like to get together for a coffee or a drink or whatever, give me a call (XXX) XXX-XXXX ~Mollena. I doubted hed call, but I felt better for trying. He did call, in fact. That night. I didnt get the message until the next day, but I was tickled. We made plans to get together on the following weekend  Mollena
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