Domination & submission _ the BDSM relationship handbook ( PDFDrive )
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Domination & submission _ the BDSM relationship handbook ( PDFDrive )

alejandroheinricks
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27.10.2020 Views

and I was serving in the Army, stationed in Germany at the time. This was longbefore the era of cheap long-distance plans or the advent of internet voice callingand, as a result, I was beginning to see phone bills (which included a pricy dataplan) from Deutsche Telekom in excess of a thousand dollars per month.Clearly, we wouldn’t be able to keep doing that for much longer. We wouldeither have to scale back our relationship or take it a step forward, and neither ofus was willing to step back.I started making plans for what would be our first meeting. Once we agreedupon a date, I got approved for two weeks of leave. On the first day of myleave, I drove two hours to Frankfurt’s Rhein-Main Air Force Base (which todayno longer exists) and hopped aboard an Air Force C-5A Galaxy headed forMcChord Air Force Base (now known as Joint Base Lewis-McChord) which isnear Tacoma, Washington. The flight, which was 5200 miles as the crow fliesbut not, apparently, as the Air Force flies was mind-numbingly long andexcruciatingly uncomfortable.I arrived in Washington State at mid-day, and took a taxi to my hotel in thecenter of the city. From the hotel room, I called Sensual (who lived fifteenminutes away) to let her know that I had arrived, and to inform her where I wasstaying. I explained that I needed a shower and a short nap, but would meet herfor dinner downstairs, in the hotel’s very nice restaurant at 7 PM. We lingeredfor another thirty minutes on the phone like the star-struck lovers we were,tittering in complete and utter disbelief at the notion that we were finally about tomeet each other in real life. We had talked about this for months, and now it wasreally about to happen.At the appointed hour, I went downstairs to the restaurant, where I lingered inthe waiting area for twenty minutes before finally agreeing to be seated at atable. I told the waiter that I was expecting someone, and he responded a slygrin and a wink. It was an intimate little place, so I was fairly certain that I’d beable to spot her as soon as she arrived. Today, just about everyone has a cellphone, so it’s hard to imagine just sitting alone in a restaurant for an hourwaiting - hoping - that someone shows up, without trying to do something aboutit. But this was before cell phones were commonly available; there wasn’t awhole lot I could do, other than drop a quarter into the lobby pay phone in anattempt to call her, which I eventually did. There was no answer, which onlyserved to give me false hope that perhaps she’d been delayed, and was now on

her way. Finally, after almost ninety minutes of waiting, I gave up hope andordered a meal, which I consumed alone as I juggled equal portions of anger,concern and gloom.I went back to my hotel room, frustrated and angry, and attempted to call heragain. This time the phone was answered, and on the other end of the line, shewas sobbing. My anger instantly melted away as she tearfully told me aboutdriving to the hotel and experiencing a debilitating anxiety attack which made itimpossible for her to get out of the car. After sitting in her vehicle in front of thehotel for close to an hour, she then circled the block several times before finallyjust returning home. She begged for my forgiveness, and promised to see meafter she got off work the following day. Thinking that perhaps meeting in ahotel might have contributed to her anxiety, I suggested meeting at 7 PM at anearby Irish pub which had caught my eye along the route from the airport to thehotel. She said she knew the place, and promised to be there without fail. I wascautiously hopeful once again.I spent most of the day meandering through this strange new city, exploring itsnooks and crannies and taking in the sights at its quaint, bustling harbor. As thesun sank into the sea, I treated myself to a light but tasty dinner at the OysterHouse as I watched the fishing boats returning for the evening. I went back tomy hotel to shower and prepare to go out again. As a final precaution, I calledSensual to confirm the time and place of our meeting, and to verify that she stillintended to be there. “I’ll be there, my Love,” she assured me, “with bells on!”I smiled, and my cautious optimism took an immediate turn towards buoyantexpectation.The Irish pub was, in a word, amazing. It oozed with Gaelic charm, boasting ahuge selection of Irish brews, friendly barmaids, and even a talented musical triothat played lively Irish tunes throughout the evening. It might have been theperfect evening, if only my date had shown up. Fortunately, the cheery musicand their selection of superb beers were sufficiently good to keep me fromwallowing in self-pity for very long. Some five hours later, I staggered back tomy hotel in a pretty decent mood, considering the fact that I’d used up myvacation time, spent a great deal of money, and flown over five thousand milesto be stood up, not just once, but twice by the same woman.When I opened the door to my hotel room, the telephone was ringing. Ianswered, and once again, she was sobbing. This time around, I was far less

her way. Finally, after almost ninety minutes of waiting, I gave up hope and

ordered a meal, which I consumed alone as I juggled equal portions of anger,

concern and gloom.

I went back to my hotel room, frustrated and angry, and attempted to call her

again. This time the phone was answered, and on the other end of the line, she

was sobbing. My anger instantly melted away as she tearfully told me about

driving to the hotel and experiencing a debilitating anxiety attack which made it

impossible for her to get out of the car. After sitting in her vehicle in front of the

hotel for close to an hour, she then circled the block several times before finally

just returning home. She begged for my forgiveness, and promised to see me

after she got off work the following day. Thinking that perhaps meeting in a

hotel might have contributed to her anxiety, I suggested meeting at 7 PM at a

nearby Irish pub which had caught my eye along the route from the airport to the

hotel. She said she knew the place, and promised to be there without fail. I was

cautiously hopeful once again.

I spent most of the day meandering through this strange new city, exploring its

nooks and crannies and taking in the sights at its quaint, bustling harbor. As the

sun sank into the sea, I treated myself to a light but tasty dinner at the Oyster

House as I watched the fishing boats returning for the evening. I went back to

my hotel to shower and prepare to go out again. As a final precaution, I called

Sensual to confirm the time and place of our meeting, and to verify that she still

intended to be there. “I’ll be there, my Love,” she assured me, “with bells on!”

I smiled, and my cautious optimism took an immediate turn towards buoyant

expectation.

The Irish pub was, in a word, amazing. It oozed with Gaelic charm, boasting a

huge selection of Irish brews, friendly barmaids, and even a talented musical trio

that played lively Irish tunes throughout the evening. It might have been the

perfect evening, if only my date had shown up. Fortunately, the cheery music

and their selection of superb beers were sufficiently good to keep me from

wallowing in self-pity for very long. Some five hours later, I staggered back to

my hotel in a pretty decent mood, considering the fact that I’d used up my

vacation time, spent a great deal of money, and flown over five thousand miles

to be stood up, not just once, but twice by the same woman.

When I opened the door to my hotel room, the telephone was ringing. I

answered, and once again, she was sobbing. This time around, I was far less

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