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And I’m not giving it up.
I’m not going to get in a relationship with one of my play partners only to have us break up. Then coming to the club would be awkward, weird, and uncomfortable. I’m not going to get into a relationship where we have a fight, and then neither one of us goes to the club. I’m not interested in that.
I don’t want to sacrifice my safe space for the temporary satisfaction of being someone’s romantic partner. That’s not what I want and it’s certainly not what I need. That’s not for me.
So at the end of the night, after I play with Mistress D, I’ll spend some time crying in the locker room showers. I’ll wash my hair. I’ll clean my face. And then I’ll get dressed, get in my car, and go back to the real world, where I am a mother, and a childcare worker, and a widow.
I’ll go back to the real world where everything hurts.
I’ll go back to my life as a solitary person.
I’ll go back to my world.
“Christina,” I hear a sharp, crisp voice, and I turn. A tall black woman with braids tumbling past her shoulders is walking toward me. A corset pushes her breasts up and out. She’s wearing tight leather pants and stilettos that are even taller than Odessa’s.
Instantly, I drop to my knees, palms down. I bow my head and I wait quietly for my Domme of the night to tell me how I’ve done so far. I wait until she tells me it’s time. I wait until she tells me she’s ready.
And when Mistress D tells me I look beautiful, and that she’s ready to play with me, I take her hand, and I walk into the world of Anchored.
