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No, when I walked into the gym’s café and spotted her sitting with her back against the wall, sequestered in a way that wouldn’t allow anyone too close to her, I had to blink twice.
I know she warned me she didn’t look like her profile picture in real life, especially at the gym, and even though she’d sent me pictures of herself not all dolled up like her professional author photo, I hadn’t expected that.
Was it a costume? Was she role playing? Or was that really the woman I’d been talking to day and night for so many days now?
I had my doubts she was showing me her true self… until I approached her and she became stiff yet twitchy with nerves.
The many books she’s written, her profile stating she was there to interview people in the lifestyle for research, the reviewers mentioning just how explicit and “filthy” the sex scenes are… I expected something much different than the almost mousy woman huddled beneath her huge laptop, which put it in my head that maybe she was playing the part of the nerdy librarian countless men fantasize about. A bun on top of her head, glasses so big they kept sliding down her pert little nose, long legs wrapped in workout tights that fit her like a second skin.
But then I looked more closely and purposefully shed any preconceived notions I had about her from knowing her occupation and hearing her vast knowledge about BDSM.
The bun on top of her head was messy, as in it looked like it was actually thrown up quickly just to get her hair out of her face—not the artfully twisted hairstyle young women like to call a messy bun. There was even a couple of pens sticking out of it, either being used to actually hold it up or to keep them handy for her to write with.
The glasses were prescription, not costume ones or the kind people bought just to protect their eyes from blue light coming off their devices. Her real, everyday glasses, not anything fake.
The pert little nose they slid down was completely makeup-free, along with the rest of her pretty face. Not even a swipe of mascara to bleed down flushed cheeks if I were to make her orgasm to the point of tears as she begged me to stop.
If this was an act, a put-on to look like the nerd fantasy brought to life, then she would’ve certainly at least worn gloss to draw a man’s attention to her pillowy lips. Yet another check in the Genuinely Her column.
Those long-ass stems in the tight-as-fuck leggings weren’t posed to entice when I was to get my first real look at her. They weren’t positioned in a way to make a man imagine being between them upon their first impression. They were actually drawn up onto the bench, where she sat Indian style. The only reason I knew how long they were was because of her photos and TikToks I’d seen. She was practically folded in on herself, using that big computer as a shield to keep between her and the rest of the world.
Or more likely, in her mind, without her even realizing it, she kept the world she created on that laptop screen between her and reality.
This was no super-experienced, well-trained sub who was so versed in the art of submission she could know how delightful an intelligent librarian type would be to a man like me. That would take an impossible amount of sociological skill to decipher from our messages alone. After all, she has no idea what I do for a living. No, this wasn’t a role-playing game. I had just walked into the café to find a real-life She’s All That situation. And realizing that, all her messages warning me of what a “hot mess” she is flashed through my mind, and I understood she wasn’t just being playful or exaggerating her cuteness and submissive personality. She truly was the dorky heroine of a ‘90s teen rom-com come to life. She truly was the sweet, self-conscious, caring, awkward, artsy, clumsy girl on the outside with the straight-up naughty vixen thoughts on the inside.
She knows so fucking much about BDSM from her obsessive researching, and she may have lived it as her ex’s sub, even seriously enough to be a member of Club Alias. But she clearly had not been given the opportunity to find herself in her role as a submissive. She hadn’t been taught or given the space to play in order to discover who she is in the lifestyle. Probably, she’d just gone along with whatever her ex wanted, allowing him to take the lead as she knew a submissive would, but he hadn’t given her the chance to find out what she enjoyed herself. A Dominant can still keep their submissive on a leash, but they should give them enough slack to dance around, play, and have fun. Otherwise, what’s the point? It’s not a true power exchange if she’s not enjoying what she’s giving. Sure, there are times to choke up on the sub’s leash, to rein her back in and use a firmer hand and take a more controlling tone, but in return, she’s rewarded with time to be who she likes being.
