You didn't win, Sir.
He was supposed to write today. I think he'll claim my behavior was an excuse, but really, there is no excuse. And besides, my behavior was inevitable.
I lost today. I like to push, but this time it wasn't my fault. He called when I was at the bar with 31, E, Japan, PC and his woman. He let me smoke while we talked. That was nice of him; it's the one thing he only regulates when it irritates him, not because he wants to throw his weight around. He said, "Finish your cigarette because when you're done, you're going to the bathroom and we're going to play."
So, of course, my mind jumps on the practicalities: You have three minutes. It's a onesie bathroom and if I am in there for 15 minutes there will be a whole slew of women outside waiting impatiently. And considering that I once totally puked on myself waiting for someone to come out of this bathroom, I am entirely sypathetic to this situation. But I was into it. I had had plenty to drink at his point.
I went past my table and locked myself in the bathroom. It was one of those deadbolt-style locks, so I could be sure it was closed. When I got inside, I wee'd real fast and then I climbed up on the make-up table/vanity across from the sink and toilet and put my hand on my cunt. I told him that I was touching and that he better make use of his three minutes. He was none too pleased that I was already handling his toy, but considering the circumstances, he let it go, jumped straight to the field goal: Touch your cunt. Slide your fingers into your pussy.
I was really into it. I mean, like every other time we have played with someone else in my house or knowing someone would be home soon, I was quiet and focused, but entirely wet with anticipation. He only said a couple of things before the door opened. FUCK! It was some woman waiting in line and it was very obvious what I was up to. I mean who sits on the vanity in a bathroom...on the phone? I tried to compose myself really quick (this is not the first time I have been caught -- I'm starting to think Johnny wants me to get caught) and apologized. She saw me. She apologized.
Here's what surprised me; he said, "Lock the door, we're going to finish." There was no fucking way. No chance. This woman was waiting for the bathroom and she knew what I was doing in there. No, no, no. And I said that, "No, we're not. No fucking way. I'm peacing out and fast."
I washed my hands while he continued to lecture, "Yes, we are. We're finishing. Fuck that woman. She didn't know what was happening." There's no way I could finish now if I wanted to. I was mortified. I know it was disobedient, but come on! Ask him when he last got caught. Yeah. Empathy, baby. I continued to refuse, washed my hands and headed outside. He hung up on me.
He fucking hung up on me.
I texted him. I should have said it differently, but I think I texted, "Did you fucking hang up on me? Fucktard. Call back." It wasn't my fault. He wouldn't have continued playing in that circumstance! But at 5:55 I hear from him, "No. I'm not playing games. We're done for today." I texted him a number of times. It wasn't my fault, Johnny! Can't you see that? It wasn't!
Okay, maybe I didn't have to be so indignant when I texted, and I didn't have to tease him about his age, and I didn't have to pester him for several hours, but really, that was totally uncalled for. I didn't even get a proper goodbye.
So, he thinks he won. He thinks that he's made a point. Yes, yes. He's in charge. But really? What a waste of an evening. I blame him.
I lost today. I like to push, but this time it wasn't my fault. He called when I was at the bar with 31, E, Japan, PC and his woman. He let me smoke while we talked. That was nice of him; it's the one thing he only regulates when it irritates him, not because he wants to throw his weight around. He said, "Finish your cigarette because when you're done, you're going to the bathroom and we're going to play."
So, of course, my mind jumps on the practicalities: You have three minutes. It's a onesie bathroom and if I am in there for 15 minutes there will be a whole slew of women outside waiting impatiently. And considering that I once totally puked on myself waiting for someone to come out of this bathroom, I am entirely sypathetic to this situation. But I was into it. I had had plenty to drink at his point.
I went past my table and locked myself in the bathroom. It was one of those deadbolt-style locks, so I could be sure it was closed. When I got inside, I wee'd real fast and then I climbed up on the make-up table/vanity across from the sink and toilet and put my hand on my cunt. I told him that I was touching and that he better make use of his three minutes. He was none too pleased that I was already handling his toy, but considering the circumstances, he let it go, jumped straight to the field goal: Touch your cunt. Slide your fingers into your pussy.
I was really into it. I mean, like every other time we have played with someone else in my house or knowing someone would be home soon, I was quiet and focused, but entirely wet with anticipation. He only said a couple of things before the door opened. FUCK! It was some woman waiting in line and it was very obvious what I was up to. I mean who sits on the vanity in a bathroom...on the phone? I tried to compose myself really quick (this is not the first time I have been caught -- I'm starting to think Johnny wants me to get caught) and apologized. She saw me. She apologized.
Here's what surprised me; he said, "Lock the door, we're going to finish." There was no fucking way. No chance. This woman was waiting for the bathroom and she knew what I was doing in there. No, no, no. And I said that, "No, we're not. No fucking way. I'm peacing out and fast."
I washed my hands while he continued to lecture, "Yes, we are. We're finishing. Fuck that woman. She didn't know what was happening." There's no way I could finish now if I wanted to. I was mortified. I know it was disobedient, but come on! Ask him when he last got caught. Yeah. Empathy, baby. I continued to refuse, washed my hands and headed outside. He hung up on me.
He fucking hung up on me.
I texted him. I should have said it differently, but I think I texted, "Did you fucking hang up on me? Fucktard. Call back." It wasn't my fault. He wouldn't have continued playing in that circumstance! But at 5:55 I hear from him, "No. I'm not playing games. We're done for today." I texted him a number of times. It wasn't my fault, Johnny! Can't you see that? It wasn't!
Okay, maybe I didn't have to be so indignant when I texted, and I didn't have to tease him about his age, and I didn't have to pester him for several hours, but really, that was totally uncalled for. I didn't even get a proper goodbye.
So, he thinks he won. He thinks that he's made a point. Yes, yes. He's in charge. But really? What a waste of an evening. I blame him.
posted by macaroon at 8:49 PM
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