by Ms. Jennifer
No.
No, what?
Oh my God.
Oh my God, what?
Not happening.
What’s not happening?
I’m not attracted to him.
Are you shitting me?
I wish I was.
Yesterday I owned his cock and today, face to face, I’m not interested in his cock or the rest of him. Sigh.
I liked how open he was despite my not “getting it,” but it was exciting even if I didn’t understand why he kept asking me if I wanted him waxed or wearing a bra. I figured it had something to do with him being more in touch with his “yin” then most men. And the few men I know that aren’t all yang are very appealing. It was like they had the right/left brain and the yin/yang worked out.
And I have to admit I liked controlling his, I mean, my cock. I could get it hard and tell him not to cum and the power in that, surprisingly, was invigorating. At first I was totally turned on. Imagine “my” cock in a cage and not being let out to play until I say so. I could make “my cock” wait a week or a month before I would let it cum and I knew that would make me very popular. If I ruled the cock, I ruled the man, and if I told him to show up or pick up the milk, by God you knew it would happen! I wouldn’t be told “I forgot.” And if that shit did happen then his little pecker would be in jail. No parole for you, baby!
And the more I thought about this the more I liked it. After my last two relationships finding the pussy elsewhere and forgetting to tell me, and the online dating world full of ADD men who are afraid to commit, I was looking forward to having my cock all to myself. Imagine the power if I say jump and the guy says, “how high,” without the negotiations or the passive aggressive bullshit that I have come to know. Yeah, I was liking this.
We had been practicing over the phone and I was hearing a lot of “yes, Miss Jenny.” If I said to call me at 11:00 am I would get a call at 11:00 am sharp. If I didn’t like something going on I could say “no more questions” or “I may need you to wear the lavender bra.” He liked not having control…it was exciting and humiliating, but he was clearly getting off on my telling him what to do, well not EXACTLY telling him what to do because that was too easy. More like I will let you know if I want you to wear the purple bra to meet me at the restaurant. Keep him guessing!
But I had to drive over an hour to meet him and the last two nights with my dad were particularly over the top bad. He was constipated and CONSTANTLY FORGETTING that he just sat on the freakin toilet. I arrived looking and feeling tired, faggered, flat. Even meeting “my cock” for the first time couldn’t change that.
But the thing is that morning after sleeping for no more than three hours, I realized I am a “free spirit” and curious about everything, but I don’t want anything rigid. I don’t ALWAYS want to own the cock or go out with a guy who wants to wear a bra. Sometimes I just want to be made love to in a “vanilla” sorta way. I want variety and the kinky shit may be all dressed up as something novel and unique, but it can be boring just like vanilla sex. I think it has more to do with the people and their chemistry/love rather than what they are doing.
When “My Cock” sent me a photo of himself in a white linen shirt bra with inserts I should have known, because I didn’t find that sexy. I would rather play with a pair of real tits.
“Take the shirt off and show me your tits,” was my response, (and of course, he complied) but it wasn’t really me. In the moment I liked being the aggressor, feeling that power, being on the other side of things, because all woman know what it’s like to have a man demand something. And all women know what it’s like to agree to something they really don’t want to do or at least weren’t sure they wanted to. The bad boy leaves no space for the woman to feel…into what she wants. So I relished being on the other side of the fence at least for as long as it lasted, but then we met.
“My ass is coming apart” my dad says as I’m writing this. “Pieces are falling out of me.” Today I can deal with this a bit, yesterday I was ready to kill him. Why couldn’t I like this guy? Settle down with a boyfriend, because he was ready, eager to be mine. Instead I went on Tinder and found:
1. A guy in an open marriage.
2. A domme.
Maybe I should just go and take a nap since my dad is sleeping at the moment. Is this the end of me having my own cock? Sigh.