My Shitty Daddy Dom

This is my experience with one person I met on a different site. It is a cautionary tale from my perspective. Take what you need or want from my words and form your own opinion.

Internet based relationships are so common today, I believe people rarely take the time to consider there is a live person, a human being on the other end of that chat ID. Really, I swear, there is. Maybe you know this in theory, but it is something that is easy to forget.

I knew someone who didn't put that connection together. Granted he was a self-proclaimed asshole and stuff like that was why he announced it with pride. I found his view rather douchy and we are no longer speaking to one another.

So, I was going about what I do, which is write porn, when I come across someone who interested me. I observed their postings on a forum and got a feel for them before I made contact. We exchanged a few instant messages back and forth and after about a month we even exchanged phone numbers.

He identified himself as a Daddy Dom and polyamorous. Neither of these identifiers are true of this jerk. He’s on the ‘down low’. He is married, publicly and socially ‘heterosexual’ while indulging in adulterous usually homosexual extra marital affairs according to his own words.

The reason I didn’t see any of this at first is because I’d always thought that ‘down low’ guys were men who were closeted homosexuals, and although not every case is the same, usually what is really going on is they’re self-serving entitled assholes who want their cake and to eat it too without giving any consideration or respect to their spouse.

So, um, sorry about that, but back to my story. Mr. Jerkoff and I talked at length about what his current relationship status was, 'married, but unhappy', where his tastes lie, the particulars, pet peeves, etc. all the things two people getting to know each other discuss.

Something that should have sent up a red flag at the time was the 'married, but unhappy'. I have a personal policy about that one, where if a guy is 'married, but unhappy' I have no intention of moving our interactions to a RL environment. In other words, I will not help you cheat on you partner without their consent. I’m upfront and honest about my rule. I can't be convinced to break it, no matter what someone says or promises me.

Usually, I wouldn't even have gone phone # exchange with a ‘married, but unhappy’, but in this case, I bent my own rule. Mistake number one. In my defense, I liked him. I enjoyed our chats. He stimulated my mind. He appeared vulnerable, yet strong, and our chats were the highlight of my stressful day. I felt as if I could share my thoughts with him easily without fear of judgement. I received such support from him, I let him talk me into going for it, the phone calls I mean. I had to hear the voice behind the words.

So we spoke on the phone and it was satisfying and enjoyable and I let him into parts of me I'd never shared with a single soul, including myself. It was addictive, something I craved, wanted, no needed daily, hourly, every waking moment. Another month goes by and I give serious consideration to throwing my little rule out. Rules are made to broken and he seemed so worth it.

It was a two-way street, I wasn't having a stalker moment at the time. He said all the right things and I truly believed and trusted the words that poured out the tiny speaker of my cell phone. I was happy, he was happy things were great and then, suddenly and without warning he stopped.

The morning greeting via IM just disappeared one day. Out of the blue, just gone. For the first two days, I was like, hmmm, okay, he's busy. He has a wife. Stuff could be happening. Maybe he really doesn't have time to drop me a simple, "Good Morning" via IM. I didn’t know. I continued my morning virtual wave and tried not to let it bother too much.

Then as the end of the first week approached and even the two "Hey, are you okay?"s received no response either, I was worried something had happened to him. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, but seriously, I had no information to go on. Finally, frustrated, confused, and worried I broke our agreement and sent the following unsolicited text message to his cell phone, "Are you alive?"

Mistake on my part # 2, was agreeing to that particular rule. I mean, yes, I was chatting and then talking to a 'married, but unhappy' man. I was not allowed to send him a text unless he gave me permission to do so. This sent up a red flag, but like I said, I was already past the point of no return. I liked him that much.

That text message got an immediate response. I was admonished for sending it, as I knew I would be. He was fine, but very busy with work and there was a situation with the wife and he'd call me later that night. Two hours later, he calmed all my fears via phone and I was satisfied with this and we moved forward. This pattern repeated off and on over the course of the next month and finally I was done with it. I told him we could still be friends, but the phone calls stopped.

I did the things I needed to do to protect my fragile heart. I said I was pulling back, I'd gone too far and I didn't even want contact going forward for a while. Only problem with this course of action was I’d gotten something out of it all and I wished we could go back to where we had been months earlier, even though I was the one who’d cut off contact.

Then as if to pour salt into my wound he began publicly flaunting a new relationship on that other website I mentioned. I gotta admit, that hurt me on a level I didn’t understand. Either way, it was an ego bruising harsh reality, but some guys are dicks, not all of them, or even the majority of them, but occasionally you’re going to come across a few.

All of this was the inspiration for the following piece titled ‘Cyber Fuck’.

Cyber Fuck

At first it was me,
That's not true.
At first it was HER,
then it was you.

And I want to understand, I don't want to care. I don't want to hate or hurt or care. I don't need to see, and I see the way you say you would love me. And I want to feel secure. So I open to you. I let you see me. But not all of me. I let you see the lost me. The hurting me. The little girl who needs what only you can be. The loving, safe and secure Daddy. I crawl into your lap and let your arms wrap around me, and hold me. and I open to you, I let you see all of me. The most fragile part of me there is. The part of me that is there to give. The frightened piece of me that no one else is allowed to see.

Then I see HER. I see her, and she's not just one person. She's many women to you. She's your daughter. She's your wife. And I see you love HER. She's your friend. She's your lover. She's your mistress. There's my heart, on display to you. Trusted to you, and only you.

And so I knock at the walls that I've built around my heart. And I let it beat with something it hasn't seen, or felt or even known in years. And then I see you with HER. And I'm missing you, and hurting and then you do this thing. You cyber fuck HER, in front of me. And you know, because I've told you it will hurt me. And that when it hurts me you said it was nothing. That SHE means so little to you, that you're just trying to be a good person, to HER. That SHE needs you. I want to understand that, and not hurt because of it. But I can't. I just can't. Because I gave you more than I knew I had to give. And just like HIM, you hurt me too.

And so SHE comes between us. So I say that I won't care. I try to put the wall back up. And protect the fragile little thing I call a heart. And for a moment, for a second I believe that you really don't mean to hurt me.

Then I see you and SHE. SHE and you. And it hurts. My heart, the thing I know in my head must be protected. Because my body can't live without it, bleeds as you cyber fuck HER.

I bought the bricks today. I won't look, so I won't see HER...And I have a different hope. A new hope. I hope it never hurts again. That I cannot be cut, or slashed, or torn by YOU...

Death of The Starving Writer/Birth of The Satisfied StoryTeller...

Maybe you noticed or maybe not that I’ve changed my label from Starving Writer to Satisfied StoryTeller. At around 200 lbs. I’ve never actually starved for my art. Almost, there was a time I was forced onto a Ramen Noodle diet due to my budget. Though, I ate everyday even when life was suckage and the only roof over my head was that of my truck, Dante 2.

So why would I consider myself Starving at a time in my life I wasn’t starving for food? Well, I was starved for something else. Inspiration, motivation, love, Goddess. I was cut off from the bounty that is the Divine Design in my life. I was unsure of my every step. Failing at the highest level for what I thought was how my life should work. I was suffering from depression and an inability to see how much better my life could be if I, the Sleeping Beauty of my life could just wake up.

Recently, I fully woke up. I’ve done so every once and a while over the years, but today I can say I’m completely awake, finally. I’m Satisfied with my life. I’m satisfied with the person I am today. I know what I want to do for a living, writing full-time, and how to accomplish that goal. I have a roof over my head and food in my fridge.

I’m happy, content. I have goals and I’m working toward them. I have everything I need and more than I could possibly want. So the time to change my title has come. I’m no longer starving, I am Satisfied. So if you see the ‘starving writer’ label somewhere connected to me, let me know. Thanks my loyal 8 followers. Much appreciated.

Simone

PS. New Literotica story up...Goddess, Simone & YOU

What Do You Mean I’m Not Perfect?

Recently (the last few years) I decided not to leave this world with regrets. So when asked or even when not asked I say, “I have no regrets.” I tend to follow that statement up with how I plan to leave this world, ‘surrounded by a rainbow of beautiful men and a few choice women’. It’s true. In addition to having no regrets it means I had to accept that I’m not perfect. This was really difficult for the control freak/perfectionist in me. What do you mean I not only make mistakes, but will continue to make mistakes? Yes, you make mistakes, Simone. Not me, I’m perfect.

Part of the game plan on leaving the world without a single regret means admitting that I make mistakes and accepting that I will continue to make mistakes. That I will and have had major failures in my life. When I make a mistake I forgive myself for doing so, because I’m a human being. I’m not a goddess, all-knowing and powerful. I could throw hours of a good pity party and feel sorry for myself or I can correct the error as quickly as possible and keep moving forward.

When I linger on my past mistakes over and over again, this causes depression and low feelings about myself. It’s a very passive way to live and not very healthy. Coming to acceptance that yes, I do make mistakes, gives me choices about how to handle the situation better. For example, I grew up hearing that God doesn’t give me more than I can handle. What I’ve learned from that is not only is it usually something that I can handle, but I’ll keep dealing with the same issue again and again until I learn the lesson from it.

Basically, it’s how I avoid insanity, which I define as doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. When a pattern starts to repeat in my life, dysfunctional relationships, bad living situations, crazy ass bosses who work my last nerve, the common denominator every time is me. I’m the only one who can change. I have to stop reacting to the situation and start responding to it. Taking a moment to recognize that pattern and decide that if I want a different result, I must do something different than what I’ve always done in the past.

Sometimes it sounds like personal growth is easy for me. It’s hell. It’s hard work. When I was younger I learned various reactions to the myriad of situations life handed me. I developed an instinctual way to solve each problem. Even when the consequence wasn’t something I wanted. It was easier to blame things outside of me. I think that’s the nature of the American culture. I grew up hearing that if someone wronged me, sue them, which reinforced the thinking that nothing was my fault. What makes it difficult for me to accept my mistakes is because I didn’t want them to be mine.

They are my mistakes. Mine all mine. Sad, but true. So it becomes a thing of how do I break a bad habit in my life? Recently I read that breaking a habit is a very difficult thing to do, much harder than I grew up believing. When I was younger I heard it takes 21 days to develop a new habit, turns out it takes 66 days. Three times as much time? Triple the dauntingness plus three days! Then add to that my mind is precondition to reward myself (IE: it’s okay to do the bad habit) because I started the good habit and therefore I defeat the good habit I’m trying to instill in myself. Yikes. Let the vicious cycle begin.

It is hard to stop rewarding myself for doing the good by going back to an old familiar habit. My mind rationalizes it though. If I go for a two and half mile walk, I cannot have the slice of cheesecake or pint of ice cream at that point. If I write 2500 words in a day, I can’t take the next day off to watch a TV marathon. Doing the instant rewards sets me back to zero, immediately. They are mistakes. That’s not to say that I won’t make them, but I know that it defeats my chances of successfully building a good habit. Especially when the reward I’d like is a little more long term, like fitting into a smaller size pair of jeans or finishing the first draft on a novel.

The smaller, bad habit rewards aren’t the true goal for me. So a sacrifice has to be made and eventually I can and do get to the bigger more rewarding consequences. It becomes a matter of convincing my head that it’s worth it because in the end, I'm worth it.

Rain, Rain Go Away - Missing The Milestones

I wasn’t particularly depressed today. I wasn’t upset about anything. I wasn’t overly happy or mindful. I was pretty much content, yup, that was me this morning. I have plans this evening that I’m looking forward to and my family is in town so they’ve been running me ragged the last couple of days.

So, I sat down to do this week’s blog post. In an attempt to avoid discussing my family I searched wordpress for a blog topic and landed on college. Hey, I did that. I went to college. With a topic in hand I was all set to start writing.

I started my fairly random babbling about my college experience just as it started to rain here in Atlanta. I wrote about how my mother had me sign a contract when I was eight years old that I would either attend college, get a job and start paying rent, or get the hell out of her house when I turned eighteen.

The post was light, kinda, sorta and then my Muse danced over to my dark side. I felt gloomy and down, but I ignored the feelings and wrote two pages about the ups and downs of my college life. I wrote bit by bit about my freedom, my failures, my partying, my mistakes, my successes while attending college. I was plugging along, plopping down words. I typed and typed and then I stopped.

During my third year of college my mother died. That happens to be a part of my college experience. Don’t ask me why because I couldn’t say, but when I started writing about college I didn’t see that one coming. By one, I mean I didn’t think about the fact that I’d end up writing about my mom anyway if I were going to write about my college experience. Don’t ask, I don’t always credit myself with being the brightest bulb in the room.

I decided to discuss my college experience and not the family in town for a visit to avoid writing about my mom in first place. Why didn’t I want to write about my family? My visiting family is not biological family. They’re my mother’s best friend and her clan which is why I picked what I thought was a random topic and yet, I still ended up writing about my mother.

I guess the universe would like me to write about my mom and her death for some reason. So I’m going to write about that until I figure out why it seems to be this week’s subject matter.

I miss her. Not all the time, but when I think about her that’s the first thing. She was sarcastic, sometimes sadistic, beautiful inside and out, complicated, and nurturing. She was my foundation. My mother was a wealth of wisdom, knowledge, and guidance, with a wicked and often twisted sense of humor. She was my best friend, my biggest advocate, and my security blanket. She defined unconditional love and showed me what it meant.

Her passing left a hole in my heart that I’m not sure anything other than mommy memories will ever fill. To tie this back to college, graduating was my first milestone after her death. I remember the day I graduated, not really celebrating the experience because it made me think of all the other milestones in my life that she wouldn’t share with me.

I shared my first piece of writing with my mother at seven years old. It was a short story about a girl who was about to move away from her best friend (which I’d done three times in my life at that point). My mother said the piece was too over the top emotional. She encouraged me to rewrite it but tone down the emotional pain and make it more realistic.

Just because I didn’t cry rivers of tears when I moved away from my best friends because of her job, didn’t mean I wasn’t frustrated by moving so much when I was a kid. Instead of arguing with her about it, I rewrote the piece.

Over the next four years my mother passed up two promotions until her job offered her a position and salary she couldn’t turn down. Although she had to take the position, she let me live with friends until I finished the school year.

We shared a love of reading, although I tended to lean toward Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Mary Higgins-Clark, while she read Harlequin romances and Danielle Steele. Occasionally we traded books as was the case with Jackie Collins and Kathryn Harvey (Barbara Wood). I mostly wrote poetry in high school and college and when she passed I was taking a creative writing class.

The professor praised the work I created during that time. It was real and honest reflection on watching my mother die of pancreatic cancer. There was no effort to writing for me, I wrote because I was in pain, my world was crumbling and I needed an outlet. I have no idea where any of that writing is today. Probably on an ancient hard drive of a computer that died the final computer death.

I guess my mother is on my mind a lot right now because I’m hitting another major milestone in my life that she’s not around to share. I wrote a book and it is going to be published. I’ve celebrated that accomplishment a tiny bit, but again, it makes me sad that my mother isn’t around to celebrate with me.