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My face blanches. “Is there anyone who doesn’t know about my crush on Dream Daddy?”
A banner notification pulls down from the top of my screen, letting me know @kristinreuterphoto duetted one of my TikToks, and it distracts me with enough “somebody loves me!” warmth that my embarrassment fades a little.
She grins at that. “Apparently, Sir Jeremy himself. Seth said the man was very flattered and interested to meet a woman so special she inspired friends to go full-on junior high school to let him know he had a secret admirer.”
I groan, “Oh God. He probably thinks I’m an immature and completely inexperienced prude now. The complete opposite of the super-confident, masochistic submissives he always scenes with.”
“Ha!” Vi squawks. “Yeah, right. I’m sure he knows if someone has a crush on him, it’s not because of his movie-star good looks, seeing as no one knows what the hell he looks like. And it’s certainly not because of his charming personality, since the man only speaks to the sub he’s sceneing with. If he finds out a woman is interested in him, I guarantee he’s well aware it’s because of his other… attributes. And a woman who’s attracted to those? She ain’t no fucking inexperienced prude, my girl.”
I sink back into the couch, mollified by her reassurance, and while my blood pressure is slightly lower than it was, I reach for my trackpad on my laptop and hover the pointed finger over the Accept button by Sir Jeremy’s friend request.
Should I click it? Should I start talking to another man, when I’m already feeling a connection with someone else? I enjoy the conversations I have with Gym Daddy. Not only am I sexually attracted to him, but he makes me laugh, and I actually like what I know about him so far. He makes the 24/7 sub in me feel seen and extremely validated.
Sir Jeremy speaks to the… I guess you’d call it the “scene submissive” part of me like no other. Playing with him would be intense and all-consuming. I have no idea what it’d be like around a man such as him all the time, to be owned by him, his to dominate every second of every day. It might be too much of a good thing.
No. I don’t think I could handle being around such extreme power all the time. It might be judging a book by its cover, prejudice, whatever one would want to call it, but I couldn’t imagine the man I’ve watched so closely at the club, the one who seems to suck all the oxygen out of the room while he literally brings his sub to her knees with pleasure, would be able to joke around and be goofy. There’s no way there’s a jovial sense of humor beneath that mask of his. And even though his aftercare looks like it would be heaven on earth to receive, I can’t see any other form of gentleness coming from that man. He’s too big, too strong, too… much.
I’m ashamed of myself the moment the thought enters my mind. How many times in my life have I been called “too much”? Too excitable. Too anxious. Too caring. Too scatterbrained. It hurts every single time it happens, my face heating with embarrassment, feeling like I’ve been slapped, because usually it happens when I’m being animated and showing my passion about a subject. I’ll be full of so much joy and excitement for something, and then the second the person says “whoa, calm down” or “take it down a notch” or however they say it, it’s an instant glass of ice water thrown on my happiness fire. A punch in the gut that takes me from maxed-out to negative. So I feel like a hypocrite thinking Sir Jeremy is “too much” just because he’s so intense to watch at the club.
But still, I feel somewhat guilty considering talking to another man when I’m feeling something for another. I know that seems a bit premature, since Gym Daddy and I aren’t even dating. Hell, we haven’t even met in person yet.
I don’t even know his freaking name!
But the fact of the matter is, anything with Sir Jeremy would basically be an automatic sexual situation. He sent me the friend request after being told a fellow member of a BDSM club admires him, which can’t mean anything other than I admire the way he Dominates a woman sexually, seeing as that’s what we mainly do at Club Alias. It’s not like I could admire him for his dancing skills, or his taste in food and beverage—since I’ve never seen him on the dance floor nor at one of the bars next to it.
Deciding not to accept or decline the request, since I have such mixed feelings at the moment, I sit up to tell Vi just that, when suddenly my phone dings loudly, making me jump… and click the mouse… which was still hovering over the Accept button.
