This blog post will be considerably more cheerful than the last one…
I recently decided that I was sick and tired of not getting my masochistic needs met. I’ve seen Heinrich a few times, and he gives me assignments to do via email and on skype, and he’s an excellent Top (I mean that), but our relationship is kinda rocky right now because of the fact that I’m doing sex work. He doesn’t tolerate it.
So, that meant I had to search for a new guy. I wasn’t looking for a master, a boyfriend, or a real relationship. Just someone safe, who I found attractive, who visit me and manhandle me once a week, and maybe order a pizza.
I put an ad up on the internet. I was completely frank about what I was looking for. Why be coy? Why fuck around? This was the opening line (and the ad is taken down now, so don’t bother Google-stalking): “Very experienced slavegirl, single/unowned and not on the market…but I still have needs and they must be met.”
My email box blew up immediately. Predictably, most of the mail was from idiots who got their ideas about how to be dominant from disgusting misogynistic porn. Sorry, pornsick dude, I’m pretty wild in bed, but sex with me will never be an episode of facialabuse.com! Pass!
The next largest group of emailers were just horny guys with no BDSM experience who said that they wanted to learn and were eager to try it. While there’s nothing wrong with that–I’ve taught a few of my vanilla boyfriends how to meet my needs–I really don’t have the patience right now, and also, the time and the effort that would require teaching a new guy how to be my Service Top, would move the relationship into a level of intimacy (emotionally, psychologically) that I am just not interested doing. I taught my vanilla boyfriends because they were already my boyfriends and we had intimacy and an existing relationship.
I was almost positive that I was going to find my new Top in San Francisco. I was extremely skeptical that I’d be able to find anyone local. I mean, there’s no kink scene in this stupid town–it’s one of the reasons I had to move away. It’s true I met my first-ever Top here, but that was a random fluke, incredible good luck, like winning the lottery!
Well, incredibly, I hit paydirt! I found someone local (well, sort of)!
He’s a military guy who works at the Air Force base outside of town.
I know, I know….you’re thinking to yourself, Huh? Miss Margo and a military guy? How’d that happen?
I’ll tell you how it happened: beggars can’t be choosers, and since I have absolutely no intention of dating this man or sharing any romantic activities or feelz with him, I set the bar much lower than I usually would. I don’t need an intellectual scumbag with good taste who can impress me with his conversation and the things he’s accomplished in life. I just need a safe, competent, experienced male who will respect my emotional boundaries, not get possessive-stalker-y on me, and who will go away and get out of my hair when playtime is over.
And, of course, who won’t chicken out on the violence when it’s time to get down to business. That’s happened to me a few times, and it’s frustrating, and it’s another reason I wasn’t interested in training a novice: sometimes guys are not as capable of being mean and violent as thought they were. It’s exasperating to weed out a contender, email him for a week, go out to dinner, get him home, and find out all he really wants to do is slap some handcuffs on you and have sex. :/
Meet Top Gun. Whatever else you can say about the man, he’s not a chicken.
Top Gun has a long career of flying airplanes and serving in our various illegal and ill-advised military campaigns. The first photos he sent me were of him flying some freakishly fast-looking fighter jet. I wrote back, asking for more elaboration, and he actually sent me a link to a video of him doing maneuvers. I couldn’t believe it.
I’m sure his pilot abilities and the video would be enough to give the average woman major vagina tingle. I’m sure it’s been getting him laid, and attention from chicks in bars, his entire life. Macho shit like this doesn’t do much for ME, I’m afraid–I’m much more impressed with intellectual stuff–BUT, I will concede that it suggests some things about Top Gun that are attractive, and germane to our purposes:
Flying planes for the military, while uninteresting, is not a small accomplishment. In fact, it is infinitely more impressive than anything I have done with my life thus far. So, kudos.
Also, it means that the government trusts this man enough to let him fly very, very expensive pieces of machinery. That means that he is competent, responsible, and not an idiot.
And he’s not an idiot. He took me out to dinner at a local seafood restaurant (a nice place! Good food, ambiance, not cheap! Sorry, hate to sound like a bitch, but if a grown-ass man took me out for buffalo wings on the first date, well, yeah, I would raise an eyebrow. College is over with) where we could sit in an isolated booth and get to know each other.
He’s not an idiot. I’m really good at getting a handle on peoples’ intelligence. I think this guy would probably get about 115 on the ole IQ test. He has a degree in Engineering from a very respectable school (memorable quote, over our crab cake appetizers: “I got good grades in college because I had to!” This quote caused my inner educator to die a little. He went on: “But school was such a pain in the ass! I was glad to be out of there. Professors are some of the stupidest people I’ve ever met!” To be fair, he said this before he learned that I used to teach college. He did feel embarrassed, and apologized to me.).
Politically, he is an atavisitic knuckle-dragging fascist. I expected that he would be, because military guys skew right-wing. Normally, this would be a deal-breaker for me. The idea of actually sucking a Republican’s cock is pretty depressing. But, what are you going to do? What did I expect, that this macho career military person, who voluntarily terrorized a bunch of foreign brown people for four tours of duty, was going to tell me that he was a huge Dennis Kucinich fan?
“Women don’t belong in the Navy OR the Air Force!” he told me, with complete confidence, over his drink. He was snarfing Royal Crown. What a shocker! “They’re ruining everything!”
I almost said: “Well, given the astronomically high rates of rape and sexual assault in the military, maybe you’re right.”
But I didn’t. I just nodded politely and smiled, a skill I have perfected from many long, excruciating dinner-dates with clients. In my head, I was wondering if maybe there was a way to work with this awful chauvinism: was there a way to somehow make it sexy? Maybe I could somehow eroticize this piggish male dominance? Can I make lemonade with this, somehow? I am a sub, after all!
I continued to observe him and listen to him talk. The Empire needs guys like Top Gun. He is a happy, contended man (well, somewhat–the government won’t let him fly as much now, because he’s getting too old, and I think that’s really crushing his self-esteem, which is understandable and which I actually found touching). He is completely unburdened by imagination, introspection, or curiosity. I have never heard anything remotely speculative come out of his mouth. He never says things such as, “I wonder why that would be?”
What Top Gun is, is a big dumb shark. That’s what he is! He’s at the top of the food chain, a big dumb dangerous predator shark, just cruising along in the ocean. The only thing he knows, is what he likes and wants, and that hunting is fun.
“Are you going to punish me for voting for Obama?” I asked him, at the dinner table.
That made him start laughing very hard. Then he got serious and nodded solemnly: “Yes ma’am.”
That’s when I knew, that this guy could do the job. Getting shit done–completing the mission, following orders, bringing back the prize–is this man’s entire reason for being. He wouldn’t be afraid to get violent. Violence is his job. Some of my readers will probably find my characterization offensive, but when you get right now do it, the military exists to secure resources via death and destruction.
And I was right: I invited him back to my place, and he tore off my dress (that actually pissed me off, but he paid me for it, including the underwear) and beat my ass. He brought a pair of sap gloves. It was the only piece of gear he brought with him. Which was fine. I have plenty of my own. I asked him to use my favorite wooden paddle, and he did. He didn’t have much experience with that, but, you know, it’s a paddle. It’s not rocket science. He did just fine.
Hottest part of the evening: I was over his lap, screaming (it hurt a LOT, there was no warm-up), and he told me to shut up, and put his enormous hand, still wearing the sap glove, over my mouth. It covered the entire lower portion of my face. Pretty hot!
It is with great shame that I report that I did end up sucking a Republican’s dick. I’ll never forgive myself for that. But, what are you going to do?
The shark took a shower and left. He returned to his cruising.
I’ll probably see him again, if I develop a craving (the bruises are going to last the better part of a week). I don’t trust him enough to let him tie me up yet, which is too bad, but we can do other things. He doesn’t know how to use a lot of the other BDSM gear, but I can teach him. I’m sure he’s a quick study. I taught the Surgeon.
And that’s my blog post about Top Gun. I dunno, readers. I kinda-sorta like him. He’s polite and respectful (except when he’s not, if you know what I mean). He brought me flowers, called me ma’am, pulled out the chair. He’s safe. Didn’t complain about the condom (always the mark of a gentleman).
But he doesn’t capture my imagination, at all. But maybe that’s a good thing. He can’t get into my head. Can’t seduce me, can’t rattle me. I will always be in charge of this relationship.
But his job is Service Top. And he’s good enough at that.