The Little Window

To bed late last night, five hours later I am aware of my breathing. It is shallow and my mind is restless. I detect the reason for my discontent within moments and know instantly that there is no more sleep to be had until I explore the words of that conversation...and here I am.

I think I already mentioned that technology came rather late into my life. Thus it is with those little Google ‘chat’ windows. Quite recently, I have become aware of them, and I now have three possibilities for a ‘Google chat’. I must say that I am quite smitten. One can be typing away, to find at any given moment, that there is a ‘friend’ up for a chat. Once upon a time, of course, it would have been the doorbell that one would hear ring. It is all the same, really. A friend has been good enough to call by, and it is always welcome.

My three potential ‘chats’ are with dominant men. I like dominant men and I like their conversation. Out there in the big wide world, men are not too sure about expressing their dominance. It is such a pity. Here on chat, they speak their mind. I expect that. But, I will admit to you that I was not quite prepared for last night’s candour.

My chat last night with him was, in fact, our first. I’d noticed that he was on the left hand side of my screen for some time – perhaps weeks. I wasn’t too sure of how he got there and frankly, I was a little intimidated. His emails have always been rather formal, and so have mine. I simply followed his lead. He’s that kind of a Dom. In an email, I can go at my own pace. I can reveal or not reveal. I can answer questions or not answer questions. And, in any case, he had always been polite, his disapproval guised more in a polite suggestion occasionally. ‘Chat’ opened up more possibilities, and I had put it off.

Yesterday, I opened the little window for the first time and bravely typed in ‘hello’. “Now, why is this the first time you’ve reached out to me?” he wanted to know. I did not have a good answer for that question. I had so often thought to make contact but somehow I needed to be ‘on my game’ to do that; to have an air of confidence about me. I had no idea why I had opened that little window when my vulnerability was all about me and we played cat and mouse for a bit.

Finally, he had had enough of my stalling and he put me on the clock. “You have me for 9 minutes. Best not dawdle.” So, I told him. I had not been asking for what I was due. “I had to ask. Why did I have to ask?” I was not prepared for his response:

“Because perhaps you're not a good girl. Good girls needn't ask."

I felt my ire rise and I responded with bravado:

“You can’t be good all the time. It’s boring.”

He scoffed.

“I am as good as I can be.”

I had never pretended to be perfect. My defences were up.

“I suspect you could be better. Two minutes.”

He’d pulled out the big guns! There was the disappointment. There was the judgement. There was the suggestion that I was not up to standard. My defences had been worn away in no less than six words.

“What do you suggest?”

“Asking for your correction
And asking very directly
Do not dawdle
Do not hint
Be explicit
Understood?”

I considered his words for a moment or two. It was all the time he had allowed.

“Understood.”

“Good girl.”

I just want to be a good girl. I really do. You know that.