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...

Marketing/Networking In Modern Times: Golfing vs. Gaming?

I consider myself a child of the letter ‘M’ not the ‘X-Y’ Generation because of MacGyver & MTV. In other words, sorta a Millennial just a bit older. Plus as my PIC likes to tell people, I’m a Liar, er, excellent Creative Editor of some of the details of my life. Note to my younger readers, Richard Dean Anderson ran around for an hour each week on my TV set saving the world by using his intelligence, Mr. Wizard’s World-style science tricks and a lone Swiss Army knife to get him out of sticky life/death situations between 1985-1992. Not to be confused with RDA’s role on the TV series Stargate: SG-1. The forementioned character’s name? Secret Agent Angus MacGyver.

He was a pretty to look at leather wearing badass and wicked smart. He got the girl, lost the girl, got a new girl, basic 80’s TV drama 101. I think the show MythBusters got its start disproving awesome MacGyver Universe Scientific Explanations. Week after week the handy pocketknife was the only thing that stood between the hero and certain death. Today’s equivalent is Scorpion which airs on CBS. CBS is considering a MacGyver reboot too.

I did a blogpost years ago about my formula for fiction. As a writer, I find it’s a multi-layered hidden code that I try to break. Some genres work like vampire fiction, romance, sci-fi, etc. I have to figure out what I want to write about, but I also need to know why I’m writing certain themes over and over again. I’ve been writing since I was 7 years old. What you may not know about me is that is also the age I stopped being molested. Accidently I discovered my talent for the written word by picking a path to deal with painful events in my life. I survived them and turned those experiences into what I believe is something positive.

I do enjoy telling people I meet in person, “I write porn!” I’ve mentioned before this is a marketing tool. I like to push the envelope from time to time, throw an average person off their game. I want to be remembered. Now that I finally have taken that scary step of purchasing business cards, I can use them instead of my one-liner. For me it really depends on the person and my mood, but it usually leaves a random individual laughing. So I’ve decided to continue to drop the line.

These days you have to have a battle plan, a course of action to get remembered. If you have goals of selling your body, er, uh body of work, yeah that’s it, to other people get your hustle on. It is part luck, right place, right time, right person to help you achieve the next level in your climb to fame and money. In my case, current high priority goal? New York Times Best Selling Author. My day to day troubles are I’m trying to make it to tomorrow.

As far as I can tell, most people prefer to accept cold hard cash in exchange for things like a roof over my head, food, hot water, etc. As the saying goes, “In God We Trust, All Others Pay Cash”. In other words, some days I have to be a responsible adult. Dammit! Adulting sucks, but it’s the way the world works for me so far. I also pray on my desires, push my intentions out to the universe and hope for the best outcome. Or, I thank Goddess I’m an Atheist and keep it moving forward. You know me my loyal 8 followers, I love to cover all bets. Speaking of gambling, just so ya know, as a babygirl who loves her mocha/caramel skin tone, I always bet on Black to win.

I mean yeah, I could bitch and moan about being a member of the born a Black Woman Club. Hey, I didn't pick it! That was on my parents and my mom's choice to have me as a parasite on her body for 9 long months. My bio-dad had other ideas as to how my mom became pregnant, apparently he missed Sex Ed that day when he attended school. I heard a rumor from my favorite Auntie that a bed was broken the night of my creation. She was quite pissed about it because it was in her guest room at the time.

My ethnic ancestry has shown throughout history people of color, especially the ladies haven’t always been treated the best by other human beings. Or I can use these documented injustices to fuel my creative passions. I count myself lucky to not have experienced rape and I can relate to men/women who have been a victim of that crime. So I write about it.

Personally, I narrowly escaped that same fate at 7 years old right before I learned to fight back against my abusers. I had no choice but to stop the sexual violence in my life. I chose to believe the rumor that most pedophiles don’t survive long in the prison system. I’ve recently changed my thinkin’ on this topic which I will address in my next blog post, working title. You Drank What? How I Found My Sexual Power! Through my writing I’m a champion of my causes. I tackle the abuses of black women first, but I hope that my words apply and help victims in general.

Personally, I try to take full responsibility for my actions, even when caught doing something authority figures deem bad, naughty, wrong. Oh my, a spanking? “Yes, please and thank you! May I have another?” my inner drunken babygirl answers a little too loudly. Fortunately/unfortunately for me this is the only way I know to be the best me I can be.

Other than Putt-Putt Golf I have no interest in golfing. I played the www.pogo.com version for awhile but mostly I find that game boring as all get out. Yes I think Tiger Woods is nice to look at, but unfortunately for him my bio dad thought Tiger was an ideal life mate for me. That means he has never been on my ‘Celebrities 2 Fuck’ list. If that wasn’t enough, Tiger’s reported treatment of his romantic partners sent him to the ‘No Chance Ever’ list with a quickness.

I drive a Ford truck for its symbolism to me. 'Fix Or Repair Daily' is sometimes suggested as an acronym for these car makers, for me, I prefer the slogan 'Built Ford Tough'. That’s the thing about good marketing. It’s why I continue to be a proud Ford Truck owner. Dante 2 and I have been rolling around the US for over 10 years now. For about 8 months he was the only home I owned. Dante the sequel has proven himself dependable except for the need to replace the battery from time to time. He pimps The Devil’s Panties with 2 bumper sticks, “Being silly keeps me sane!” and “Time is like a zombie. It moves slow, but all of a sudden 'Boo! Got your brains!'”

If you live in the Portland, OR area you may have seen Jennie’s car. It is covered in fun quote bumper sticks and has a beautiful octopus trying to eat it. She’s a valuable resource in my life on the how-to self-pimpin’/market your artwork. I check her out daily as a matter of ritual and have even purchased her work. Though a perk of our friendship is I used to get free swag all the time. Her heterosexual life mate, er husband, Obby did the modern day version of networking to job search. Instead of heading to a golf course, he’s a gamer.

Traditionally business/professional men and thanks to the Suffrage Movement of the 1920s women head to a golf course to discuss business. It allows for privacy and they use 18 holes to decide the fate of a company, patient, client, even criminal. This is what I refer to as 'White Male Thinkin'' process of how-to conduct business deals or the Baby Boomer Generation way. It’s old school, setting up people of privilege to succeed through antiquated abuse of power practices. In other words for the longest time over here in the grand ol' US, Caucasians stacked the deck in their favor turning the other 98% of US citizens into virtual slaves. I thank Goddess this is becoming obsolete in modern society. Ease of access to a PC, tablet, or smart phone means the average or even poor individuals in my country can break the glass ceiling and skyrocket to super stardom. Even lil old, er, I mean, young at heart me.

Today everyone has an opportunity to have their voices heard. The only problem, how do you make your one little voice heard among 7 billion others? Wake up to the world and necessity of social marketing. It gives me way more opportunities to get my message out there in the world.

So here’s me, marketing, er, uh, pimpin’ like a gangsta my product, building my platform, sharing my experiences and making my voice count among the myriad of other voices in this world. I’m hoping you love what I have to say, that my message resonates with you. I want what I have to say to help someone, somewhere with their day.

If you don’t like my message, I ain’t mad at ya. Please let me know if you’re brave enough to challenge me. And I’d rather you not hide behind an Anonymous button when you do. Okay? Cuz you my friend could end up blog fodder or even the basis for one of my fictional characters. BTW I dare ya to try to prove I’m talking about your dumb, I mean, er uninformed ass. At current, I’d gain a story to tell, but as my butt remains poor, bring it on!

Bumping Uglies Used To Sell, Now It’s Abuse & Dysfunction

Yes, I read all three of the books I shall not name (there’s a blog post about that). I read the Twilight books. I want to write a best-selling novel, so I read a lot. I read what sells in hopes of figuring out what appeals to a mass market on a grand scale. I freely admit that is my goal. I also watch an insane amount of television. I go to the movies by myself a lot too. I listen to a ton of music, and not just heavy metal or folksingers, but every type of music. I love the stories, I love the beats. That form of storytelling is two-sided, music and words, they both evoke emotions. Some days I consider myself an observer of human nature. I create characters in my head to work through my own demons. Rising From The Fire is a story that was born from attending Catholic school from first through fifth grade.

(The entire time) I struggled with religion versus spirituality. My mother was married to an abusive man, my stepfather, and he was a deacon in a Lutheran church. He would drag me with him every Sunday morning. So I was bombarded on both sides by religion. Eventually my mother opted out of church attendance. As my mother’s child I was also given a reprieve. That still left school, where every time I read passages from the bible, I found the entire thing confusing from the language to the stories. Add to that, those bits in conflict with the bible and my stepfather’s actions caused me to seek my spiritual guidance elsewhere.

Personally, I felt God had a lot of explaining to do while I was growing up. What kind of God allows sexual abuse of a three year old? Or lets a teacher’s entire family die in a fire? Those answers were in no bible I ever read. Growing up was hard, scary, and lonely. I had no siblings, and there was a time when my relationship with my mother hadn’t quite hit the level of friendship we shared toward the end of her life.

As much as I loved my mother, when I was younger spanking was an acceptable form of punishment in our home. As I got older there were times when it turned into physical abuse. Again, I had times where I got contradictory messages. I wasn’t allowed to be physically abusive, yet I was abused in my home. This is why I struggled with my temper and anger, and sought out abusive and dysfunctional relationships as a young adult.

It took two years after my mother divorced my stepfather, for me to do something to break the cycle of abuse in our relationship. The catalyst of the final physical fight I had with my mother was when she hit me with a broom for refusing to take out the garbage. I refused because I was in my underwear. She demanded I do it immediately before going to bed. I yelled I would get up early enough to do it in the morning, but since I was supposed to do it the night before and she was angry about something else, that fight happened instead. The night after my mother threw me out of the house in my underwear for an hour, I went to my school counselor and reported the incident.

I made the choice to seek help for what was happening in my home because of what happened between my mother and stepfather. At the time I don’t think she could see that I was in a similar situation, and although the movie Irreconcilable Differences opened the idea to me of a kid divorcing their parents, I didn’t feel that was an option for me at the age twelve. We entered therapy together, and separately after my school brought my mother in for a conference.

My mother grew up in a physically abusive household, just as I assume her parents did, and so on and so forth. I heard story after story from my aunts and uncles on my mother’s side, about how their mother would discipline them. A well thrown wooden spoon incident created a lifelong scar between my uncle’s toes; he’d  snuck a peek at what was in the pot for dinner. The burn marks on my aunt’s upper arm by a fresh off the stove hot comb from when she wouldn’t sit still to get her hair straightened. All I could think after hearing these stories for the first time was I was okay with the fact that my grandmother had passed before I met her.

I think I had a fear I would abuse a child and that is a huge part of why kids ain’t for me. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t, but this way I’ve never had to test the theory out. I’ve had enough therapy, and Nike, my cat, who I love and adore. Nike is not declawed. Even when she scratches me or hates on me for turning over when she was so comfortably resting on my leg, I do not abuse her. I love her so much that there’s nothing she can do to make me angry. Sure she annoys me, or amuses me, but she never does anything to spark a feeling of anger. I guess that’s the biggest difference between a mostly defenseless pet and a child.

I’ve written quite a few pieces with a non-consent/rape as their genre/theme. Some are posted, some are not. I know that I write those kinds of things, not to glorify rape or non-consent, but to work through my own demons on this subject matter. It is therapeutic and since I choose to write erotica it is easier for me to make my characters rape victims rather than molested children. It’s a way to conquer my demons. I think with Forced To Change I’ve finally been able to gain closure on my need to work through that particular issue.

So now onto the next, I’ve mentioned before that I’ve been in a few abusive and dysfunctional relationships. I brought up the books I shall not name and Twilight because both series are bestsellers that glorify very dysfunctional relationships. Then to further the issue, both heroines not only allow this abuse, but go on to forgive, much too easily, the assholes and call it love.

Neither character addresses these issues or even acknowledges that there’s a problem with their love interest’s behavior. Okay, maybe a little bit from the books I shall not name. Either way this trend started so many years ago and recently a posting on Facebook by Laurell K. Hamilton got me thinking about the fact that this issue isn’t new. The glorification of abusive, dysfunctional relationships has been going on for years. Ever notice that it’s easier to eliminate sexual content from viewing on your television than violence?

Don’t get me wrong, I rather enjoy reading LKH, she’s one of my favorite authors. I even found the recent posting interesting and agreed with some areas of it. One thing I cannot condone is her assumption that abusers cannot change. I agree that loving someone hard enough will not get it done, but therapy is only one path to self-growth. I don’t condemn therapy, I’ve found it quite useful for myself. The bottom-line is an abuser has to want to change, and then make every effort to change.

Not a single change is ever made in your life without your participation. It could take forever, and therapy is a tried and true way to do some self-discovery, figure out who you are and who you want to be. But to suggest that it’s the only way doesn’t leave room for those who find help in support groups or church or whatever it is that people do to conquer their issues.

We’re all on a life journey, I call it a divine path. As individuals and together. To suggest that your way is the only way to enlightenment is to say that there is only one way to love, live, and be. Therapy worked for LKH. It worked for some of the people in her life. But what drove me nuts about her posting was therapy doesn’t work for everyone. Religion isn’t for everyone. We don’t all learn the same way.

Personally I’m a hands on learner, I have a friend that has to read every manual to figure out how to do something. I like tutorials that I can do at my own pace. He reads a how-to book one time and he’s mastered the craft. He didn’t grow up in an abusive household. I did. So yeah, I had a real fear of passing my issues on to a child and opted not to have children. He can’t wait to have kids. He’ll probably make an excellent parent. I’ve been told by a lot of my friends and family that I’d make an excellent parent too.

I think back to my own mother and there are things that I found sadistic and twisted about her parenting style. Crap, I’d probably pull pranks on my kid, too. Some of it sorta walked the line, like when she used to lock me out of the car just to watch me chase after it, tears streaming down my face because I was four and thought she was really leaving me. Now, looking back, can’t say I wouldn’t do that shit to my own kid, cuz today, it makes me laugh my ass off retelling the story. Some of it just made me grow a thicker skin and trust me when I say, I needed one growing up.