My Grey Reveals his True Self

Tuesday the 20th

And for your reading enjoyment this blog is best read to this song;

https://soundcloud.com/manilakilla/blue-jeans-manila-killa-remix

I'm packing frantically before I hop on a plane in the morning back to Los Angeles. My phone is blowing up, I'm not taking calls, and I'm just trying to eat some food before my stomach implodes.

I'm upset with My Grey... in our last email correspondence, he signed off with his real name,

"Jackson"

Wait.. I thought his name was something else, and now he's Jackson. He has a whole professional life he has to keep from me, as if he's not a free man. Mr. Jackson Grey is probably married...or at least in a relationship. This is only one piece of himself that he’s hiding from me. There’s so much more under the surface of “Ian” than he lets out to be. If he's been living in the barren mountains, I am his tropical paradise.

I tell him I'm over it, and part of me is over it, because honesty is important to me, and I don't like being the Scarlett Letter in someone's life that they have to hide from everyone else. Why can't someone meet a stranger, fuck them... and parade them around the town to for all their colleagues to see? Why, as his greatest inspiration am I his most hidden secret? There are things that we hide, even from ourselves.

I was pissed at him for telling me he "loved me" and didn't even share his real name with me. In my head, pronouns should become before subjective expressions such as "love." Seems so fake and disingenuous to me. But I'm learning Daddy's soft spots, and he needs to know that his little girl cares about him.

Despite me being upset at my Grey, I want to see him; badly, yet I keep pushing him out of my schedule as if somehow denying my feelings would make them go away.

My reluctance and pissed-off, hurt demeanor somehow draws him closer in; Daddy came over for one more rendezvous before his kitten took off from DC.

He walks into my apartment at 5:30pm without a knock. I have been running around all day from errands, I'm high on coffee and little food. I'm annoyed that my laundry isn't done and everything isn't packed for me. It's so annoyed at wasting my time on these little tasks called life.

I tease him for just walking in. And it's the first time I've seen him since he lied to me.

He's dressed in a blue dress shirt, a tie and his trademark blue scarf and no hat despite the crisp January weather. His cocky stance and entrance fit his Dom personality well. He doesn't ask permission, he just walks in. Despite his cockiness, he's vulnerable with his heart.

"Don't go," are his first words to me. This hits me, but it's an unrealistic request.

"Don't go?!" I laugh in his face. If he wants his kitty to stay he's going to have to make a much more grand gesture than just to ask me to stay without any sense of security.

He sees a part of me that I haven't shown him yet; confident, self-assured and independent.

"So you don't knock any more do you,?" I say chewing the first bite of my salad. I'm starving and I don't care if I kiss him with a mouth full of food.

His presence is big, and he makes my heart race, despite his 5 foot 8 frame. He kisses me, passionately, like long lost lovers meeting again after a long separation; of two days.

"How do I make you feel?" He says, hovering over me, his cold blue eyes staring into mine, demanding an answer.

"Scared.... and turned on."

"No. How do I make you FEEL... " it rolls off his mouth with power and passion, his voice gets quieter when he really wants me to listen

"Vulnerable... tender... soft.....?" He asks again.

"Yes exactly, that's why I'm scared." There aren't many men who make me want to squirm and run away, despite the magnetism drawing me closer in.

I try to push him away, I try to deny the fact that he makes me dripping wet.

"Daddy has been stroking his cock all day at his desk thinking of you." He says while his cock is bulging out of his suit pants, staring deep into my eyes, burning his desire into me.

I've been too busy to be stroking cock all day...

We get comfortable on the bed, and he is already raging hard for me.

"I want to lick your cock." He still hasn't let me...it makes me think there's some weird hidden reason. His cock is bulging so close to me and I want it to be pressing closer to my face. 

Instead he pears over me, stands above me on the bed, and pulls his drawers down and starts stroking it. It's pure torture, and he knows it; making me stare at his eyes, and not his cock that is dripping pre-come. I'm begging for it to land in my mouth.

I'm touching my pussy now, it's juicy and wet, I'm shaking out of control just wanting a drop to fall on my tongue. I'm begging to have his cock in my face, but he never gives it to me. It's just hovering over me, like a phallic symbol of dominance, of his power over me, I, as sacred site he can conquer any time he wishes.

He comes down closer, his cock still a foot away, and teases me with it.

"Please fuck me Daddy."

"I don't want to just be another one of your men... a pronoun.. a sugar daddy."

Clearly he is something different to me, but maybe he doesn't' know that yet.

I beg until he is about to come, hovering over me, drips of nectar hitting my face..... and he finally breaks..

"What do you want?" He says in a domineering voice

"I want to sit on your cock."

He hovers for quite some more time before saying,

"Do you have a condom?'

"YES!" I jump up like a giddy girl that gets to go to the candy store.

I know it's rushed, and we want to be all romantic... and really I would love to be able to be fluid with him and not have to use a condom.. but ... we do. He puts it on, and despite his previous tease of how he would put his cock in me so slowly, just the tip, and then slowly pull it out, only to then put it in a little deeper, and pull out, then deeper again, causing divine torture inside my pussy. Instead of the tease, he just puts it in, nervously almost, like my pussy is the Bermuda Triangle and he is never to return the same again.

After a few awkward pulses, he realizes he wants to surrender, and he pulls me on top of him.  Finally I get to have him the way that I would like; on top, ravishing my Daddy, feeling his cock and orgasm, the moment of intensity, of him bursting inside of me like the most perfect light... if you could see what we were feeling.. it would be the most shimmering radiant golden light. We just hold each other here in this perfect moment, my pussy throbbing in his post orgasmic bliss, riding him every so slowly now, feeling him quiver beneath me, merging with him, kissing his neck, I could devour him completely, but he has to go.

He gets up too soon.. I could cuddle him for hours, his pants are on before I know it and we are saying good-bye. He has a business dinner to get to, and I need to finish packing.

Later, much later I find out he is married. Yet another older married man that has fallen for me. I am not sure what the responsible thing to do is now. But in some ways it doesn't matter because we live across the country from each other, yet I still crave the feeling of floating with him; on a cloud, being seen by him completely, penetrated with presence, and teased and denied because a man wants to be in control of me. I miss his voice, his domineering me into innocence, I miss his palms slapping my face and hitting my thighs. I miss the wonderment I see in his eyes when he looks at me and tells me how beautiful I am. 

Yet he forgot to mention yet another small detail.. he’s not Australian either. 

3 Months Later 

Daddy and I don’t see each other until I return to the East Coast back from California. We have one Skype session in between those long months, with spotty reception and I barely make out his blue eyes, yet his presence still burns into me. His communications are short, although I know he’s constantly thinking of me, and in another time and place maybe he could be mine.

But not in this one. 

As soon as I land he asks if he can come over. I tell him Thursday, even though I arrive on Monday night… there’s another relationship I am tending to, a heart even more tender and pure… but that is another story. 

Thursday it is. 

He walks in the door again, firmly, in a blue suit of course, without the scarf and jacket since it’s April now. I am just out of the bath, and don’t feel like getting dressed despite his request for me to be in stockings; so I’m completely naked under a simple dress. I figure that can be more seductive than having extra layers on. 

I don’t want to have an orgasm although I am completely turned on and would love to fuck my Daddy. He doesn’t let me.

“That not what this is about.. it’s not all about sex you know.”

“Then what is it about, darling?”

“It’s about you,” he says, his accent starting to sound a bit more British than Aussie. 

“I want you to feel taken care of,” so Daddy has a nurturing side.

Despite our intentions to cuddle, his tongue is down my throat and his fingers are inside of me pretty fast. Yet he smells different; he’s acting different, not as domineering, like I have softened him, and he really does just want to spend time with me. 

He draws back, sensing my apprehension, and just studies me. His eyes wander down in between my legs, and he spreads my lips and gazes upon me, 

“It’s like a Georgia O’Keefe painting. The most beautiful pussy I’ve ever seen. You couldn’t make it any better.”

While I’m flattered of course, we are all our own self-critics about our little roses… yet he is completely taken back by my beauty which is quite a magical thing to watch as a woman.

We have our moment together.. the chemistry is less intense, as he is not as determined to completely obliterate me with his seduction, he’s showing me a side of him that is less fantasy, and somehow more real. He’s showing me he doesn't’ just want to fuck me, that he wants to have a piece of my heart.

“We live such different lives,” It’s like the Montagues and the Capulets; the married businessman and the freedom loving hippy who has no real responsibilities other than herself in the world. He is much more tied down than me; literally. He lives the white-picket fence American Dream, in which I can never partake with him.

And to top it off.. he’s not even Australian. He’s from Mississippi. Of all places.

..................................................................................................................................................................

A few Days Later

I have my first conversation with him, as him, Southern accent and all, and it’s normal, comforting, his voice deeper than usual, as it’s late and he’s had a few drinks. His wife is out of town and he’s at home with his son all weekend so I can’t even see him; I can’t meet him out at a park, or go anywhere with him because his son will see us together. I find out he’s local to this area for the last 20 years, so going into public with him is not an option.

My 1,000 square foot apartment is the only place we can exist together at the moment, and that’s not a great existence for a relationship, even if it is a make believe one.

I text him tonight,

“I don’t even really remember what your real name is. I am completely confused about you.”

I met my Grey as an Australian man, dominant, piercing, intimidating with his presence. Now he is softening, turning more into a southern gentleman, from the South of all places, and he has a life; people to take care of and responsibilities to handle. He can’t just get up and go to Burningman if he wants to. 

Instead of responding in some kind of consolidating way, he just says, dryly,

“wanna name me?” 

I smile, “Daddy….It’s just strange to meet someone and they’re not who you met them as. It’s as if I have to re-learn you in so many ways. And yet even then I can never have you.”

“want me to leave you alone?” These weren’t the words of comfort I was fishing for.

“That’s too easy.” My heart sinks at the thought of saying good-bye to my Daddy right now. 

“your call” 

We go on for a while, I demand an apology for lying to me. He doesn’t have much of a conscience around it because he knows how safe he make me feel in person. It’s perfection. It’s strong, it’s solid; it’s as if I can completely relax as a woman because he is in the room. I don’t want him to disappear. I want him closer and I can’t have it so I’m upset at him for even beginning this whole rendezvous which definitely can’t end well.

“Tell me something sweet.” I ask tenderly, as I want to know how he wants me; and I know that he does.

“I wish I were 30, and you were sitting in a college classroom with me. And I could just ask you out. I wish I could just drive over and pick you up.”

But none of these things can happen. He’s in his bed, at home, and I am in mine, vying for him and his presence next to me. 

My heart is slightly shrunken, at least I know how I feel about him. 

That he’s made his way into my life, into my heart, being my “Grey” or “Daddy” or whatever the fuck he is. He’s here. And I don’t want him to go away.