Authors: Eden Elgabri
Red Sage Publishing
Copyright ©2011 by Eden Elgabri
First published in 2011, 2011
ISBN: 9781603106689; 1603106685 My Dates with the Dom Adobe PDF
ISBN: 9781603106719; 1603106715 My Dates with the Dom MobiPocket
ISBN: 9781603106726; 1603106723 My Dates with the Dom MS Reader
ISBN: 9781603106702; 1603106707 My Dates with the Dom HTML
ISBN: 9781603106696; 1603106693 My Dates with the Dom ePub
I'm more partial to this story than any I have written so far because I started dating again after a long hiatus while I was in the middle of writing it. Like Victoria, I was learning what reentering the dating scene was like—the fear, the excitement.
My name is Victoria Daniels and what I'm about to tell you is true. Life is often stranger than fiction. For me it started with a short cut—a means to end.
See, I was about to start law school and knew that meeting someone and maintaining a relationship would be nearly impossible. The thought of even a few more frustrated, sexless years was more than I could bear, but I didn't have time for the meet and greet, the get to know you, or the drama.
I didn't need to care if he liked my taste in music or books, or if I liked his. All I really cared about was if he liked my taste in sex. And to be honest, I wasn't experienced enough to even know what my taste was, but I was about to find out and fast.
I lay in bed naked and wanting and as my hands eased over my body, I wondered what it was I really wanted. So often women never consider this. They meet a man, fall into a sexual habit, and lose sight of or never think about what they'd honestly want.
I have an analytical mind. A smarty-pants. A nerd. A person sex never came easy to. I think too much, and it often gets in the way of the big O. This time when my hand stopped rolling the nipple of my left breast, I decided I was going to imagine every last thing I'd like to happen to me sexually. I was going to write them down and then actively seek a sexual partner who I could explore fantasies with. Not someone to love or someone to marry, but someone to satisfy and someone who could satisfy me.
These are my journeys of self-discovery and my dates with the Dom. My first revelation was the fact that the multitude of mundane decisions I made on a daily basis zapped my energy. The bedroom seemed like a good place to relinquish command. I wanted things to happen
. I wanted to surrender control so without guilt, shame, or choice, I could actually enjoy sex and maybe, just maybe, not think away arousal.
I'd heard the term before: submissive. It always made me think of some mindless woman. I mean, really, what sane woman would completely submit to a man?
That's how my research started. I got on the Internet and looked up the terms Submissive and Dominant, found sites where people who lived the lifestyle existed, and set up a profile.
If I had it to do over again I might have done a bit more research first. Read more before I set up my profile, looked at what others were interested in. But no, I slapped on a profile and waited. Within two days the emails started. Um, yeah, I'm in law school so I'm not stupid. I didn't give my regular email. I set up a phony one. I became an ‘Erotic Writer.'
I didn't want to give a fake name in case I decided to meet the person, so I went with what I knew I was going to do. I wanted to exchange fantasies until I could find a match. A person who I could live them with.
I thought my partner would get me through what was sure to be a tough period of my life, and then I'd move on to a normal existence. What is normal anyway?
The fuck I'll ever find out now. My normal will never again be the average. It took me a week or so to meet Michael. Compared to some of the people I exchanged stories with, Michael seemed
as vanilla as I was. Curious, intelligent, and exploring the way I was. The difference between us was he knew what he wanted. He'd always known and had started his sexual exploits as a Dominant. After about the third fantasy exchange, I knew I wanted him to do the things I dreamed of, wanted to please him in ways I'd never pleased another man.
Only I had a problem. I hadn't exactly been honest with Michael. Well, I had in the fantasies, but not in the reality. I had told him I was a student. What I hadn't told him was I had taken twenty years off between college and law school.
He thought he was getting a twenty-two year old fairly innocent, when in fact, he was getting a forty-three year old one instead. How the hell could I meet him? One look at my body and he'd surely be disappointed.
I had children of my own in college. My divorce had just become final and I put my half of the house in a savings account, got a tiny apartment, and moved on to my dream of law school and of real sex.
I wasn't a virgin when I married my ex, but my few unskilled lovers did little to increase my expertise in carnal knowledge. No ‘Studly-Do-Right’ ignited a grand passion in me and since my ex was a get on, get off and roll over kind of guy, I'd had a lifetime of wanting, a lifetime of imagining.
But why hadn't I told the truth? I asked myself that as I sat waiting in Starbucks. I'd told Michael exactly what I would be wearing down to the earrings. I figured he'd look at me and move on, disappointed or pissed off that I'd lied. Or maybe he'd fuck me anyway. Pick a fantasy of his and go one round just for the hell of it.
Every younger man that walked in made my pussy throb more. Could this be the man who'd maybe take control?
Deep down I knew in about an hour I'd be creating another profile, one that wouldn't lie. Then I heard a voice. “Is this seat taken?"
I looked up at the man standing in front of me and wondered why the hell he'd picked the chair next to me when there were still plenty available.
"I'm waiting for someone,” I managed to say calmly despite the emotion that bubbled beneath the surface.
The corner of his mouth turned up. “I'm here to meet a writer."
The shock of his smile overwhelmed me. I should have realized a young man could never have pulled off the emails he wrote me. Maybe I wouldn't be such a disappointment after all.
"Michael?” I asked wide-eyed.
He nodded. “Are you my erotic writer?” There was something in the way he said ‘my’ like I already belonged to him and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that although he had never touched me,
he owned me
. I belonged to him in a way that I had never—would never—could never—belong to any other man.
I could feel the blush spreading up my neck and over my face. This man knew my innermost fantasies. Things I had only just admitted to myself.
His brown eyes twinkled and he sat down. The way he looked at me warmed me from the inside out. Proprietary and thick with desire.
"Looks like we both lied. Are you disappointed?” I asked.
"Not at all. You?"
I shook my head. And I meant it. In many ways I was relieved that he was an older man. A man even older than I was. I didn't have to worry about him finding me unattractive because of my age. For the life of me I couldn't figure out why I had lied in the first place. Except at first I didn't think I'd have the courage to go through with it. In the beginning my brain pretended the correspondence would be enough.
"I wasn't sure I'd go beyond the emails,” I said as an excuse.
"I knew you weren't a kid from the chat room. I set up a new profile so I could talk to you. I wasn't sure if you really wanted some young guy or not, but figured with your intellect you'd get bored with the twenties crowd pretty quick and then settle in with me."
"We haven't exactly had sex yet."
"Of course we have. We just weren't in the same room when it happened.” He paused for a second and then added, “Yet."
That one word made me shiver. He was right. We'd sent each other our deepest desires and agreed to meet to enact them. This was the next step and my body thrummed with excitement.
He plugged his computer into the wall and opened a word document. “Now we agreed we'd set up a contract. He took out an envelope from his briefcase and handed it to me. His STD free form. I glanced at it and handed him my clean bill of health.
Holy shit, we were really doing this.
Calm, cool, and collected, we discussed and typed out a sexual contract.
"We agree for the next eight weeks we will meet once a week for the purpose of sexual congress and that during this time neither one of us will have sexual relations with another person?"
"Agreed.” Had I really just said that?
As he typed he spoke in a businesslike, professional, unemotional manner. “And during this time period we will email the night before and the night after the visitation for instructions and reflections?"
I nodded. “Agreed."
"For the purpose of the eight meetings we will follow out the fantasy for the day or evening as it may be and will use safe words in case you at any time feel uncomfortable?"
I nodded again, this time too nervous to use my voice.
"And as a submissive partner, for the duration of our contract you will surrender your body to me?” He didn't just glance at me for consent this time. His fingers stopped moving on the keyboard and he looked directly into my eyes awaiting a response.
I swallowed hard. My mouth seemed suddenly dry and hard to open. He waited patiently without condemnation. If I had said no, he would have packed up without any hard feelings. I could tell.
"Yes.” A mere whisper of a response, but one that had him grinning.
"That's my girl. This might be a good time for you to tell me your name. Real first name. You don't have to tell me the last at all."
I hesitated, but there didn't seem to be any point in lying. Since I'd be having sex with this man, it might be nice if he called out the right name. “Victoria."