Men in My Life: The German, the Dane, and the Imaginary Cannibalistic Serial Killer & Culinarian

    I dunno about The Painted Word, man.  Tom Wolfe is very witty, but like Christopher Hitchens, he rubs me the wrong way.  MMM.

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     I told my analyst about my birthday gift to myself, my Abduction Weekend.  I shared some humorous anecdotes and told her about some of the things that happened that I can’t tell anyone else, like some of the sexual details.

      “What did you like the most about it?” she asked me.

      I had to think about that one for a minute.

      “It was an adventure.  I didn’t know what was going to happen to me.  I was afraid, and that was very exciting.  I knew it was dangerous.  And it was fun to be at the center of all that male attention.”

      I paused.

      “I didn’t think about the Mathematician once the entire weekend.  Now I have a bunch of fun new sex memories in my head, instead of the old ones with him that were intrusive and still hurt me to think about,” I said.  I felt myself smiling, but it didn’t feel like a gentle smile.  It felt like more of a sneer.  It probably wasn’t nice to look at.  

      “Were you attracted to any of the men?”

     “Oh yes, definitely, to a greater or lesser extent.  I’ve always thought Heinrich was very attractive, I just never acted on it because I didn’t want to fuck up the friendship.  I wasn’t attracted to that meathead Dudebro until the very end, but I figured out exactly why Heinrich asked him to be there.”

      “Why is that?”

      “Hatred is an aphrodisiac.  So is anger.” 

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       Speaking of aphrodisiacs, I’ve been watching the new TV series Hannibal, and I find myself utterly captivated by Mads Mikkelsen:

“Miss Margo, I see you are admiring my suit.”

   
     It’s embarrassing to admit to having a crush on a ludicrous character wikipedia describes as “a brilliant forensic psychiatrist, cannibalistic serial killer and culinarian.”  I’m crushing on him nonetheless.  It’s silly and harmless enough, right…?  

      The other Dane (Mikkelsen is Danish) in my life, Fortinbras, gave me a book to read: The Painted Word, by Tom Wolfe.  The last time I was at his apartment we were discussing the art critic Robert Hughes, and Fortinbras went to one of his bookcases and selected the Wolfe book for me.  I’m going to start reading it tomorrow.  

       I like Fortinbras.  I am also completely sure that he is going to try to have sex with me.  Then I am going to have a decision to make.  

      (Tangentially, this is something I couldn’t help but notice: my submissive or masochistic clients, who hire me as a domme, almost never proposition me for sex.  In my entire career, I’ve only been asked maybe two or three times from the subs, and they seemed to think it was a total longshot because when I politely declined, they apologized and backed off immediately.  I have no idea if they entertain the fantasy or desire–I hardly see how at least some of them could not–but for whatever reason, they don’t ask.

      The male Tops that hire me, on the other hand, eventually push the sexual boundaries.  The only one that has not tried to fuck me is Mr. Wolf, and I think that the only reason he hasn’t is because he probably gets more ass than a toilet seat every other night of the week.  I am probably his kinky night off.  

       Why do the male Tops always end up making a pass?  Is it because they’re paying so much?  Is it part of the power trip?  Do they think “I’m in charge here!  Why am I sexually frustrated?”  Is it just because men try to have sex with you, or what?)

         I can’t take a photograph of Fortinbras, but I will try to sneak a pic of his odd but lovely clothing.  I mean, who the hell wears an ASCOT?  Fortinbras looks a bit like a 60-year-old Richie Rich:

     


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