Not long ago I got an interesting proposition via the web: "You seem like an open-minded woman," said this gentleman, whom' I had never met. "Would you be in the market for a slave?"
I've never been asked a question like this before and it rang a little strangely in my ears, like George Carlin's "Hand me that piano." But I surprised myself by thinking..."You know what? Maybe I am." It would be nice, I thought, to have a guy do what I say....but then I realized it would even be nice to have a guy do what HE says he's going to do, never mind listening to me. Follow-through, by both men and women, has come to be more scarce than self-service gas stations. It's a sad commentary, but if it takes a leather corset to get someone to act right I have three words to say: Lace. Me Up.
Admittedly, though, I was nervous about contacting my new lapdog. This was a big, leather-booted step into a brave new world for me and I adapt as well as the beetle (IOW: unchanged for 300 million years). Besides, I'm not used to pushing people around. Under all this flash, brassy pink icing, I"m really just a cupcake.
"Go ahead! You could use someone to wash your car," said one friend, who I guess thinks I have a dirty car.
"Go ahead!" said another, "It will be the most empowering thing you ever do."
"Go ahead," said the rest, "if it doesn't work out at least you can write about."
Three guesses why I'm writing about it.
Before long I grew a pair and texted the guy. He texted back immediately - I almost fell off my new stilettos. Most of the time when you call people and it's not about money you're lucky if they reply before you get Alzheimer's and forget who they are and why you called. Maybe, I thought, this is my destiny.
We chatted for awhile - nothing too hair-raising, but I was getting getting comfortable with the whole idea. Very comfortable. Enthusiastic. Excited. About 20 minutes in I got this (paraphrased):.
"Can I talk to you online? I'm in jail and we're not supposed to use cell phones."
Get it? Cell phones!!
The problem was he was serious.
"No," I said, "No, you can't."
Jail is a deal-breaker for me, deal-breaker being the adult word for "cooties." Unless you're a political prisoner, like Neslon Mandela or Joan of Arc, it's kind of a turn-off. I never even found out why he was in jail. I didn't care.
"I understand," he said and that that. I was worried I might have a stalker on my hands, but he never contacted me again. This jailbird submissive respected my wishes, which is more than I can say for many.
I wondered briefly what curse I must be under that i couldn't even make something work with a submissive, who, by definition, should have been primed to please. But on reflection I felt worse for him. He should have been in a submissive's paradise, after all, ordered around and bullied to his heart's content. So why bother responding to me?
The answer could be as simple as "Cuz you're a woman," but I think it just underscores the fact that everyone is hungry for something, even the people you think oughta be rolling in it. You have no idea what it is that other people want. Most of the time we're just too busy filling our own holes to notice where other people are empty.
So, I had a micro-adventure and didn't get stalked. That, in 2008, passes for happily ever after.