Miss Margo Gets Her Gloat On

   Okay, this is going to be totally undignified behavior, but I don’t care.  Let us engage in sleazy gossip.

     Remember the Attorney, the guy I was all fascinated with last month?  I mentioned on this blog that he rejected me, but I withheld the gruesome details.  

     So, he was writing, texting, or calling just about every day trying to set up another appointment with me.  I finally capitulated.  I know it was bad, I know that I said I wouldn’t do it.  But I did.  It was a compulsion, okay?  

     I invited him to my home.  

     He showed up with his bag, as promised.  

     I was so anxious that I couldn’t see straight.  This is a huge warning sign for me, because men typically do not make me nervous.  I’m not bragging about that, I’m just saying–I have a lot of confidence about my power with men.  They’re easy.  

     Following that, though, I absolutely do not trust my taste.  If I am really attracted to a man–really, immoderately–there is almost certainly something very wrong with him.  That’s just the way the cookie crumbles, I’m afraid.  Margo was imprinted wrong.  Thanks for nothing, Dad!  

     So anyway, by the time he showed up, I was strung up tighter than goddamned piano wire.  If I’d had alcohol in the house, I would have drank it.  

     He didn’t hurt me as badly as he did the first time around–that first time, I think, was a contender for the worst beating I’ve ever taken in my life, which is really saying something.  Within the margins of my body where I granted permission to be marked, there wasn’t a three-inch patch of skin that wasn’t bruised or welted.  

      This time wasn’t as hard, but it was still quite a ride.  I will spare you the pornographic details. I was glad the neighbors were gone.  I tried not to scream, but sometimes, you can’t help it.  

Remember this? I did!  Took skin off of two of the knobs on my spine.

My abdomen, afterward–the concave feature/hole at the bottom of the pic is my navel. 

      I also gave him access to my sexuality.  I have never crossed that line with a client before.  But let’s cut the horseshit here–I knew I was going to do it when I invited him to my house.  

        In retrospect, I am grateful that all he did to me–or let me do to him–was all that happened.  Because he could have done anything.  I had absolutely no boundaries.  None.  

        Before he left he said that it was time to settle up.  I told him that I couldn’t take payment.  This seemed to please him, but what do I know?  

        (FYI, I don’t think that prostitution is necessarily objectively wrong, but I do not do it.) 

        He announced that he was hungry.  Was there a place around that had good pizza? 

        (note to readers: the pizza will return)

        I recommended a tasty Italian place down the block from my apartment.  

        Afterward, I spent a day turning it over in my mind.  Dwelling on it, I guess you could say.  Not debating, really–my mind was made up.  I was gone.

        I sat down at my desk and composed a note.  Thank God I had the presence of mind to keep it brief and informal.  I said that I was at his disposal.  Yes, I really did say that.  (What can I tell you…?  In the right circumstances, I can be very submissive.) 

        No response.

        I know that he got the message.  His communication turnaround had previously been very, very quick.   

        So this guy chased me for weeks, and then when he finally got me, he didn’t want me anymore.  Okay, well…  Wasn’t expecting that, but everyone gets dumped sometime.  

          Two days later, I’m sitting on the bus when I get a text message from him: By the way, the pizza was fantastic! 

         If someone can come up with a bigger douchebag quote, I’d like to hear it.  Yeah, that text message became an instant classic.  I was stunned at being rejected–I mean, I just didn’t see it coming–but after I got over it, The pizza was fantastic! became a running joke around Margo Manor.  

          I told Heinrich about it when we ate lunch at the Frick.  

         “You offered to serve heem and hee told you vat?” he asked, brow furrowing.

         “He made me cool it for two days and then just said ‘The pizza was fantastic!‘”  

         Heinrich rubbed his forehead like he’d just gotten a headache.  “That is pathetic.”  

         Bless your heart, Heinrich, for reaffirming my sexual value.

        So, a couple weeks go by.  I figured I’d never hear from the Attorney again.  

         Then my phone beeps.  Hmmm, who is texting me at 6 AM?  Our favorite sadistic pizza-loving sexual-favors-enjoying attorney at law!

       The text contained a magnanimous offer to administer extreme acts of violence upon my person.  And if I say they’re extreme, please just take my word for it.  Miss Margo didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday.  Violence is one of my favorite recreational pastimes.  

        I did not respond.

        Exactly one week later–exactly one week later, like down to the hour–the guy shoots me an email reiterating his offer.  

         And again: I trust I will hear back from you.   

         But he won’t hear back from me.  NOPE!  As tempted as I am write back: “If you think the pizza is good, you should try the calzones!” 

          Nope!  That would be beneath my dignity. 

          What isn’t beneath my dignity, though, is engaging in this sordid gossip with my 8 readers and enjoying a good gloat that now I get to reject him!  HA!  NEENER NEENER NEENER!

           I invite you to join me in doing the dirty chicken victory dance.  

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