The Dating Game

Oh, this is the part where we pretend that I don’t want what you want.  Because I do, actually. I want you to kiss me. I want you to touch me.  I want you to want me.

But I also want it frequently, and for that you have to feel like you’ve earned it.  You have to feel like you’ve somehow convinced me.

You have to value what I offer – and that’s just the thing.

People put little value to what’s free or “easy.”

So it’s going to cost you.  It’s going to cost you time.  Energy. Attention.

You’ll have to work for it.

And I will, too.  I have to work at waiting for what I already know is both our end game.  It’s a game where, when played correctly, everybody wins. I say let’s just skip to the end, but you like the process. It’s what you want.

And I want to give you what you want.

Oh, but this is the part where we pretend that I don’t want what you want.

Douchebag Revenge Fantasy

The following is a completely fictitious account of what it might be like if some clueless “dom” made one of their brazen attempts at “dominating” me in public, rather than hidden behind the safety and anonymity of their fetlife cockshot avatar.  None of this happened.  It was just a fantasy that tickled me on my way home from work one day.

“You will address me as Sir.”

I looked up in the direction of the voice that was addressing me.  I was sitting in the lobby area at the dungeon, catching up with a friend when this guy came over, hovering.  He’d interrupted my conversation.

“You’re not wearing a collar,” he’d pointed out.

“No, I’m not,” Captain Obvious, I thought silently.

“But aren’t you a sub?”

“I can be,” I responded. I could see where this was going and I vacillated between educating the bastard and destroying him.

“How are people supposed to know you are a sub if you don’t wear a collar?”

“I imagine they could talk to me…maybe ask?” I couldn’t hide the snark if I tried. At that point, I turned back toward my friend and picked up our conversation where we’d left off when the douchebag interrupted again.

That’s when he said it: “You will address me as, Sir.”

“I beg your pardon?” I felt the anger flare up.  I sensed my friend’s tension beside me, however, and pushed down the urge to throttle the bastard.

“You are a sub. You will show respect.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” I raised both my eyebrows.  Did he really want to carry this further with me?  My friend sitting beside me stepped in, “You might want to back away slowly,” he said.  He put a protective hand over my thigh.

“Oh, is she yours?”

I interrupted before he could answer.  “I don’t belong to anybody, and certainly not to you. Please go away.” I’d lost my patience with this douche and wanted to carry on with my evening free of him.

My volume had raised a little and part of my brain noticed the other voices in the room had stopped competing with my own.

“Don’t tell me what to do, whore.  Little slut like you should be taught her place – on your knees.  No wonder nobody owns you. You’d be too much work to train.”

At this point, several things happened at once.  My friend beside me stood up, as did another that I hadn’t noticed sitting several feet away on the other sofa. Three additional friends put out their cigarettes on the patio and stepped into the room.  I remained seated, crossing my legs as I watched the chess pieces move into place.

The douche was completely oblivious.

I took a deep breath.  “I did not consent to being dragged into your attempt at a humiliation/degradation scene.  I suggest, that unless you’re interested in being on the receiving end of one, you walk away now and don’t ever so much as look in my general direction again.” My eyes conveyed pure venom; my voice laced with ice.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but had by now become increasingly aware of the growing number of people standing ominously around him.

“Walk away,” said my friend beside me.

“Now,” said another one standing behind the douche.

I wanted to smile.  I wanted to smile so badly!  But I kept my mouth in a stern line.  Couldn’t keep the smile out of my eyes, though.  One of other onlookers saw it and started giggling.

The giggle set the douche into a rage, his face turning read.  “You’ll be sorry, little bitch.  I have over 300 friends on fetlife, and I’m going to tell all of them what a disrespectful whore you really are!”

At this point, everyone in the room started laughing, including me.

One of the DMs, who’d witnessed a good portion of the interaction decided to step in and break it up.  “Alright, bozo.  Time to go,” she said, stepping between us and moving him toward the front entrance.

He blustered and spat, “She was disrespectful!”

“I doubt it, jackass.  Let’s go.”


It wasn’t until the laughter had died down and people had moved on with their night that I started to feel the shakes come on.  My friend had asked if I was okay right after the douche had been escorted out, and still high off the adrenaline, I had responded that I was.

But he’d gone off to have a scene with someone else and I was curled up in a dark corner in the main room, processing what had happened.

That’s when he came over.  My other friend – the quiet one. The one who’d stood up on the other side of the room, but never said a word.

“May I sit?”

I took a breath and tried to push the well of tears back down.  “Sure,” I said, smiling.  But my eyes are terrible liars.  He knew the answer to the next question before he asked it.
“You okay?”

“I will be,” I responded. I looked down toward my knees. My legs were tucked up under me, my shoes on the floor beside the sofa.

He reached over and gently touched my face.  He took hold of my chin with one finger and drew it up toward him.  My eyes met his.  The tears weren’t staying back.

His eyes searched my face.  Then I watched as his gaze traveled down – down the nape of my neck, over my shoulders and breasts,  down to the hands that lay folded over my knees. He picked up one of my hands and brought it up to his lips, planting a light kiss near my wrist.

“How hard to you want it?”

“Pretty hard,” I responded.

“Pretty hard, what?” he asked.

I smiled this time in earnest.

“Pretty hard, Sir.”

Conducting Scene Negotiations from the Bottom

As someone who identifies on the submissive/bottom side of the tilted fence, I really enjoy it when a partner has that take-charge and confident sort of attitude, especially when it comes to negotiation. Kind of like how it’s an indication that a restaurant serves really good food when they bring out fresh-baked still-warm bread from the oven over stale dinner rolls, the way a top conducts a scene negotiation is usually an indication of their experience and talent in leading the scene itself.

The riggers I’ve played with tend to be the best when it comes to scene negotiations. I think it’s a byproduct of them having to take classes in order to get any good at the thing they do. It’s kind of built in – understanding safety, questions to ask, etc. – and it totally inspires confidence in me to be able to let go and let them lead the scene.

And, while there are definitely classes for things like spanking, flogging, and other fun impactey things – it’s kind of a skill you can learn on your own without the benefit of learning from many others’ years of experience.

No, not all tops are created equally, and frankly – some of them are quite mediocre at scene negotiation.

So, as much as I would really dig for a new top to be a fuckin’ pro at this stuff, sometimes I’m the more experienced one in the scene and I have to lead the negotiation myself, or risk getting hurt in a bad way.

That’s not really a risk I’m prone to taking lightly. This being my body and my emotional well-being, I’m kind of the head honcho in charge of taking care of it.

So when a super cute dude asks me to play and I’m like, well….hell yeah. I want his super cute hands to be all fondling and grabby and stuff – I have to be prepared to deal with the possibility that super cute dude has been a “dom” for about six hours and needs a little guidance.

Here are some things that have helped me be more comfortable in leading the scene negotiations.

1) Remembering that I hold the highest responsibility for my safety. It is absolutely okay to ask someone how long they’ve been doing X, what their experience is in Y, and asking to inspect and approve each and every toy they want to use on me.

2) It is absolutely awesome for me to look at a toy and say “nope, not that one.”

3) If they try to convince me at that point that the toy I just noped out on is “not that bad” I can absolutely end the scene before it starts.

4) I have written out my list of limits and requirements and I have them pretty well memorized. It is okay to tell a new play partner “do not bruise me.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “Don’t hit my feet.” It is okay to tell a new play partner “I like to untangle the rope at the end of the scene as part of my decompression.” Everything from what gets used to what my needs are for aftercare are absolutely awesome to discuss up front.

5) I can control whether or not I let myself go into subspace. If I’ve found myself having to lead the scene negotiation, it is absolutely okay for me not to be the worlds greatest and most responsive bottom so that I can stay alert and keep tabs on what the top is doing. I can still have a fun time without going into orbit.

6) It is absolutely super-duper cool for me to correct a top mid-scene if they are going too hard, hitting the wrong spot, touching something they didn’t ask to touch, or doing something I’m kind of uncomfortable with. It is absolutely okay if he or she fucks up and I correct them and they say “Oh, sorry” and doesn’t do it again. Their next bottom will thank me.

7) If they don’t like it, they can go find someone else to play with.

Any other bottoms have some tips on handling scene negotiations from the bottom? Any tops out there learn from something their bottom has brought up that they didn’t think about?

I’m a big fan of the “exchange” part of the “power exchange.” Can you tell? ,k