As hot as our encounter was, he refused to meet my eyes after, and it’s hard not to take that as rejection. This little sharp nugget of truth makes it impossible to maintain an erection, and I release my cock, drying off before shoving my dirty clothes into the hamper.
As I slip into my favorite silky pajamas, I wonder if he scared himself. Guilt swirls in my belly, like maybe something about me makes a good man stray from his principles.
That’s stupid though. This all started with Dr. Barlowe taking charge during our sessions, and he’s the one who’s continued it on the outside. That’s not a complaint—I had no idea I’d love it so much, need it even—but I’ve been quietly going by his rules without knowing what they even are.
Dropping into the secondhand recliner that I re-covered myself—thank you, prison education—I pull up a browser window and try to figure out how to search for…whatever this is between us. I don’t even know what to call it, so the initial search results forI like it when he gets bossyare all articles on shitty boyfriends who try to boss around their significant others in a hurtful way.
Bram isn’t hurting me. Honestly, I can’t imagine he ever would. I think hurting someone else goes against his principles, not just as a therapist but as a human being. I tryI like bossy men,which comes up with more of the same, plus a few articles about being attracted to dominant men.
Reading through them, it’s still not quite right. Many of the articles have to do with women being the more submissive spouse and men being more dominant. Depending on the flavor of the website, people are either pro or con, and none of it has anything to do with me.
OnePsychology Todayarticle does mention some people like domination due to boredom or impulse control issues. I never get bored, and while I like having fun, my continued sobriety proves I have a system for dealing with my impulses.
Truth be told, I don’t like being told what to do. One of the reasons I get along so well with the Jennings brothers is that once they saw how well I worked, they never tried to micromanage me.
The defiance I showed Bram in our first meeting was pretty standard for me, if a little heightened because of everything I’d been through. Still, while I was a good prisoner, I didn’t let just anybody tell me what to do. That’s a good way to get punked on the inside.
Because the word dominance comes up, I do a search on BDSM. I’m vaguely aware of what BDSM is, and I find several articles that discuss bondage and impact play but nothing on what Bram and I have going. Finally, I find a couple of non-whip-and-chain articles and run across a phrase I haven’t heard before: power exchange.
Most of that is still way beyond what we’ve done and much further than I’d ever want to go. Some people engage in total power exchange, and…yikes. That’s definitely not my yum.
Thankfully, I find a website that explains the various levels of power exchange. The basic level is conditional compliance. Finally, something that sounds familiar. I’ll comply, but only because I want to and because I hope to get something in return: his praise and approval. And maybe, hopefully, his dick buried deep inside me.
Fuck, the memory of his cock pressed against mine, even through layers of fabric…
Focus, Nacho.
It’s a little embarrassing to admit I still need approval at my age, but I’ve never had somebody be so consistently kind to me. He might get stern, and he absolutely gets bossy, but he’s never once made me feel bad about myself.
The one thing that bothers me, though, is nearly every article about power exchange stresses the importance of having conversations ahead of time.
Hell, we’re not even supposed to be doing this. How can we possibly have a conversation about it? Especially when he couldn’t even look me in the eye after.
I wonder if he even understands that this wrong thing we’re doing…we’re not doing it right. Not to mention the thought of telling him how much I enjoy his demands makes my face so hot I can’t stand it.
I mean, in general, I like a little give-and-take. I love bottoming, but topping is great too. Would I ever want to top Bram? Would he control from the bottom, or would I take charge? I have no fucking idea.
We haven’t even made it to a bedroom, and I have no clue if we ever will. Based on how turned on I get when he fusses over my sugar intake, I can’t imagine what having him in my bed would feel like.
It might blow my head clean off.
With my mind going in circles, I close out of the search engine and pull up Insta. I’ve got over a thousand likes on my H-E-B post, which cracks me up. We Texans do love our grocery store. I feel a little better about myself as I scroll through the thirsty comments.
There are always a couple of boo birds, people wondering why I post at all, saying I have no purpose for this account. It always amuses me when people feel the need to comment such things. It’s as if they don’t understand social media at all.
One commenter with a generic ab shot as his profile pic leaves a simple message:Check your DMs.
This is probably a massive catfish, but I’m feeling lonely and rejected. It can’t hurt to check.
I don’t think I could’ve been more wrong if I tried.
When I check the DM, it takes five scrolls to get to the bottom of the message, which I decide not to read in detail as the various slurs pile up.
Having had enough of that before and during my incarceration, I don’t feel the need to engage with this person.Screenshot and block, motherfucker.
This afternoon has me in my head, which is never a good place to be. I normally go to my AA meetings on Saturday mornings, bright and early, but I might need a midweek pick-me-up.
Just as I’m grabbing my keys, I remember what Ant said about Bram’s and Levy’s schedules. They always leave room for emergency sessions.
