I don’t have a set posting schedule in mind for this new little project of mine. I write when I can find the time. That being said, I don’t plan on ever having such a long gap between posts as this last one has been.
As I said last time, we have some time traveling to do. Now that you know how the D/s relationship between Amy and I got kicked off, let’s go back ten years to explore how our vanilla one began. To fully appreciate the moment the wheels fall off of this car, you must first grasp how it was built, from the frame up.
We met the same way many people do today, online. This was before the big surge of dating apps hit the scene but there were plenty of websites out there, we had both tried them all. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with the whole process. Putting time and effort into communicating with someone over a period of time only to be ghosted, catfished, or letdown by who they prove to be in real life. I had adopted a new policy. If a woman seemed interesting, genuine, and sane, I would ask her out very quickly. Real life happens in real life so I figured it was best to just cut to the chase.
I had another policy. I didn’t reach out to women who didn’t appear as though they had put any thought or time into their profile. Yes, I see from your pictures that you’re hot. So what? That’s all that you want and need any interested parties to know? I was in my mid-twenties and looking to establish a real connection with someone, just being sexy wasn’t enough for me. I figured if you can’t be bothered to put in a little work attracting the right man, you’re not going to put in the work that a relationship requires. I had seen Amy’s profile and glossed right over it. She was a beautiful girl, but aside from a few pictures her profile was essentially blank.
She reached out to me first. Just a few words to my inbox, the equivalent of a bashful wave from across the room. I responded and we went back and forth over the course of a few hours. We had similar tastes in music and were from the same approximate area. She had a good sense of humor which is very important to me. So I instituted my policy, I asked her out to dinner as we were winding down. “Let’s just rip off the bandaid.” I thought to myself. She accepted and we agreed to meet a few days later.
I got to the restaurant early and made sure to seat myself on the side of the table that faced the door. I glanced over every time someone new walked in. I was ready for the laundry list of possibilities any internet dater preps for. The no show, the person who used a picture that was taken five years and fifty pounds ago, the crazy girl who can keep it together in an online exchange, I had met them all. I never encountered the one scenario that I feared most. The forty five year old plumber named Steve who knows he lied about what he looks like, but he’s really Amy on the inside and he just knows that we can be happy together. Thankfully that one never played out, but we’ve all feared it, let’s be honest.
Then there she was. She looked just like her picture, she really was a beautiful girl. She scanned the room and I stood as our eyes met. We did the standard “Hi N’ Hug” that generally precipitates these types of meetings and sat down. She looked so nervous. We each ordered a drink and I did my best to get her to settle in and relax. It’s hard to explain the feeling she conjured up in me. Somehow she seemed so fragile, like if you touched her she would break.
As we talked I noticed that she hadn’t even glanced at her menu. I asked if she already knew what she wanted to order and she told me she wasn’t hungry. I certainly wasn’t going to eat a meal in front of someone who wasn’t eating, especially on a first date, so I made a suggestion. The restaurant sat on the corner of a street that was lined with bars and pubs. I asked her if she would like to take a little walk and pop into one or two of them. I thought that maybe her nerves would be calmer if she wasn’t stuck sat at a table staring at a stranger.
She liked the idea, and just like that, we were off into the night. That night, as it turns out, would last for twelve hours. We wouldn’t just pop into one or two bars, we hit all of them and then some. The fragile girl who seemed almost to shy to speak at the restaurant? She damn near drank me under the table. From that night on we would be joined at the hip. In fact, in one month’s time we would be living together. It all seemed to perfect to be true, because in the end, it was.
Next time we’ll talk more dirty BDSM stuff. Think of my whole story as a meal, posts like this are the vegetables. Of course you will eat your vegetables, and drink eight glasses of water a day, and…