No Ordinary Love Story: Sequel to The Diary of a Submissive (3 page)

Why wasn’t he interested in me romantically? What was I, chopped liver?

I know, I’m a lunatic. But it was just a thought. I kept it to myself. Then one day we were discussing Charlotte’s latest attempts to get him to go to a munch with her and Tom. What
was
it with her trying to hook him up anyway?

I bet you can see where this is going. I didn’t; I wasn’t even conscious of my fingers moving until I’d tapped out the message and hit send.

Fuck. As soon as I said it I wished I could take it back. What was I thinking? I know I hadn’t had any kind of sex with anyone in months, much less had any D/s-ish fun, but he wasn’t interested in me that way. Shit. Now this was awkward. I began trying to type something,
anything
, that would make it sound like what I’d written was a joke, but before I could finish the sentence his reply flashed up.

Oh.

The thing is, saying something in the heat of the moment and then having the courage or inclination to actually do it are two slightly different things. I’ll admit it, reading Adam’s reply made me smile to myself and feel a little bit giddy, not least because it proved the growing text-based attraction between us wasn’t (all) one way. But it didn’t mean we shut down our laptops and he came flying round so we could fuck fifteen ways to Sunday. It’s not that I have any moral issue with that – hell, we’d chatted enough that we knew each other better than the average couple hooking up in a club on a Saturday night. But I was cautious. And, I was realising, so was he. And maybe it’s a bit crazy, but that knowledge actually made me feel reassured, especially after falling so far so fast for James.

I honestly didn’t know how to reply to his message. Feeling lost for words was very uncharacteristic for me, but in the days that followed it became a recurring theme of my chats with Adam.

I was torn. My head still said I wasn’t ready to try any kind of relationship again, much less in the market for a ‘with benefits’ arrangement. But my heart (and, OK, places a fair bit lower) found Adam fun and sexy and, as his messages got flirtier as the days passed, I increasingly thought, ‘Well why not’?

He didn’t push for an answer about us meeting, but we ended up having increasingly rude chats. In hindsight it felt like it was a mixture of him giving me an insight into the fun we could have together and intriguing me enough to want to try. What helped was, as a copywriter, he was incredibly creative when he chatted about things we could do (somewhere along the way our chats had moved from things we had done or might like to do to things we might like to do together) and I increasingly found myself lying in bed at night thinking of the scenarios he had woven. They were definitely hot thoughts.

The conversation still ebbed and flowed between kink and real life. One week I had two busy days complete with evening jobs and our email exchanges were brief and purely about news stories developing through the day. But then on the third day I opened an email from him and found lengthy paragraphs – he’d turned a casual comment I’d made about fantasising about having sex outside into a full-length story with us as the protagonists.

It took a couple of seconds for me to realise that, though. I was sitting at my desk at work, and as I scanned down the message I found myself beginning to flush bright red. I closed the email in case anyone in our open-plan office could read it over my shoulder.

He then sent me a separate message, asking me if I’d liked the story. I told him that I hadn’t read it properly yet, but had been given a bit of a shock getting it out of the blue while in the office. His response suggested I should potentially be worried about his interest in embarrassing me.

I felt my lips twitch into a smile even while I still felt the warmth on my cheeks. As if I was going to tell him that.

OK, maybe in hindsight I actually had just told him that …

After what felt like the longest afternoon in the world I finally got home from work and read his story. It was incredible. The scenario was hot and it was really well written (I know that shouldn’t be a major factor, but trust me, for me it was). By the time I got to the end my hand had slipped inside my knickers.

Interestingly, he’d focused a lot on the female sub’s point of view, exploring her thoughts. Mostly that was the kind of erotica I enjoyed anyway, but over and above that
I found his choice of style interesting – his insights into the shifts of fear and excitement, and his understanding and explanation of her mindset showed he was clearly very perceptive, and that made me more intrigued at the kind of dominant he might be, how he would control me. It also, of course, made me think about how easily he might be able to understand and respond to my own reactions if we did anything together. He was definitely clever.

After I’d finished reading I logged in to Messenger and sent him a message.

My fingers stilled over the keys. Of course it had made me wet. We both knew that. Why was typing out that it had so difficult? This really didn’t bode well for challenges in person.

From that point our chats on Messenger shifted a little further along the axis of smut. He didn’t make demands or act like some kind of überdom, but he made oh-so-polite
requests that I found increasingly difficult to turn down – and while I mentally cursed the need to please so inherent in my personality, I knew it was more than that. Increasingly, I wanted to please
him
.

I wrote him a story too, channelling a lot of the thoughts I had lying in bed at night about the kind of things we could get up to together. He sent me a message saying how much he enjoyed it and how hard it had made him, both of which made me feel butterflies. Then he suggested some things we could also do in the scenario I’d sketched out and suddenly we were having creative, filthy chat.

It was huge amounts of fun. Nothing was off limits, and – in part because of Adam’s easy-going openness and in part because our friendship was relatively new and thus it didn’t feel like a huge risk to say something rude that might disturb him forever – we could talk about anything: fantasies, limits and the like. It was a new level of communication for me and it was really lovely and liberating. It was often illuminating too, for example when it became apparent that we were both quite laid-back in our attitudes about D/s.

Before I’d even begun typing a reply, a second comment pinged in.

His messages made me smile. They also eased my mind a bit – his motivations chimed very much with my own, and his ideas on the kind of sub he liked fitted well with me. I liked him but I knew I wasn’t going to be the ‘eyes permanently downcast, referring to herself in the third person’ kind of submissive that some dominants liked. He wasn’t interested in that either. Phew. I was already pretty sure he didn’t have a problem with being disagreed with and mocked, but it’s always good to know for sure.

We discussed my limits (and his – another comfort; I’d never been with a dominant who’d talked much about his own limits, the implications being that it didn’t matter). He asked how I would feel about breath play and face slapping – I had limited experience of the latter and was intrigued by the former, but explained that while I was curious about both and found them hot in the abstract
they were things I was concerned about trying for the first time.

I felt reassured.

We chatted like this every night for a few weeks, driving each other a bit loopy with lust, although it wasn’t all sex talk – sometimes we just exchanged thoughts while watching the same TV show in our respective flats. Then one day he said he had a big night out the next evening with his friends and wouldn’t be around to chat.

I admit it, the thought of not speaking to him felt weird, but I told him to have a good time and that I’d speak to him the following day. Not talking to him made me feel strangely out of sorts, though, and my resolution to leave him in peace and not text and email (no, not even the link to that hilarious cartoon that I’d just read but which could keep until the morning) was tough to stick to.

But at about 7.30 p.m. my phone pinged and I realised it wasn’t just me finding it difficult. It was a text from Adam:

Hey gorgeous. How’re you
doing? Did you get back
from your meeting ok? X

I practically hugged myself with the knowledge that he was thinking of me. Lame? Yes. But I did.

I’m good. Got back a while
ago, now just watching TV and
having dinner. X

I know it wasn’t the most riveting of texts, but it was true, plus I wasn’t trying to pull him into a long conversation while he was out with his friends, remember?

In the next hour he texted a few times. As time passed, his messages became more frequent.

I know you might think it’s the
beer talking, but I’m missing
talking to you tonight. Filth
and otherwise. X

I replied (secretly thinking it probably was the beer talking, but if there was one thing my university years taught me it was never argue with a drunk person when you’re sober), saying that I felt the same way but that he should concentrate on socialising with his friends. He replied quickly, pointing out it was a big group and there was lots of chat going on so it wasn’t especially rude. I wasn’t convinced (but I’m the sort of person that bristles if someone gets their phone out while at a restaurant unless they’re an on-call doctor, leader of the free world or some such) but at the same time I was chuffed that he still wanted to chat. And he really did. His spelling got a bit worse the more he drank and his language got dirtier, but by the end he was most definitely, in newspaper parlance, sexting.