Seattle continued.

Fucking Sleeves. Jesus. Isn’t it enough to just bang hoes and drink all day? No? You have to tie them up and photograph them too? Frankly, I don’t give two shits about any of it, but this next little twist kind of irks me and I’m not entirely sure why. Again I’m reminded of the fact that my brain wouldn’t be working nearly as hard if C had just left well enough alone in the first place. Bad idea all the way around. Actually, that’s not fair. I needed a Band-Aid. She was right. What I did not need was to spend any time outside the bedroom with Band-Aid. They aren’t designed to be a permanent solution and are much easier to discard in the middle of the night versus after brunch on a Sunday. 

Moving on. So he’s into some freaky shit. Who cares. It’s safe, consensual, and relatively harmless save for a few welts and a bruise here and there. The part that’s currently fucking me up aside from the sheer volume of participants is relative to trust. 

The first time we hung out without the tornado that is drunk C, he showed me their photos. Lots of them. Lots of women and lots of photos. He’s about a twenty-seven on the OCD crazy scale so naturally they were catalogued, separated by date, and likely alphabetized. Frankly, they were beautiful. Tasteful, black and white, stunning really; even with the nipple clamps and hog ties. 

Speaking of crazy, I’m completely off my rocker when it comes to puzzles. I need to know the methodology behind everything. I ask a lot of questions. We played  “Show me on the doll…” until 4 o’clock that first morning. I did not fuck him. Instead, I learned about Dom/Sub roles and the basic rules of engagement. According to Sleeves, the most important piece was trust and intimacy which is likely why I was so uneasy when I stumbled upon his Tumblr archives. 

Before we dive into the photoblog abyss, I should probably explain why I had that much time on my hands on what should’ve been Sunday Funday. It all started with an invite. Our mutual friend had invited the whole Hee Haw gang to get drunk and cook meat in his backyard. 

 Now Sleeves and I maintain a fairly predictable schedule with regard to texting or talking in general. He texts first after we hook up, but we usually have zero contact the following day. One day on, one, maybe two, off in order to solidify the fact that we are NOT in a relationship. We had Tuesday sex and he had already declined drinks on Thursday, so it was his turn. Unless it is a life threatening emergency, I don’t double-text, but serving grilled corn without Cholula is blasphemy. I asked him to bring the bottle I had left in his fridge, and that’s when it happened.

I learned he would not be joining us. Instead, he would be entertaining a ‘friend’ from a different city. By ‘different’ I mean weird. It’s a ‘weird’ city. He travels there quite frequently. In fact, he had just returned from a week-long business trip to the weird city located three hours away from Seattle. Also, his ‘friend’ was a girl. 

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