She’s back on the other side of the Atlantic, and behind her laptop again. I wonder what Southern Belle has in store for us tonight … 🙂
Miss Twenty-Nine xxx
After six months of on and off dating, I had decided to settle into my Houston life and just give it a break for a little while.
I’d finally bought some furniture and was enjoying living in my beautiful apartment overlooking the Houston skyline. I’d developed two really good friends in my apartment building. We all had dogs the same age (yes, puppy playdates is a thing!) and spent a good deal of time together. It actually felt a lot like a grown-up University hall! Everyone was friendly, and the apartments hosted Brunches and BBQ’s every other week. We lay by the pool at the weekends and relaxed, not quite believing that we lived in such a beautiful place.
It was all pretty idyllic for a 24 year-old who had questioned moving to the States at all.
I noticed him one day as we sat on the grass (with drinks, of course) watching the dogs play in the park.
He was tall, with dark hair and a scruffy beard, wearing an Indie band t-shirt over some very well fitting jeans. I was pointing him out to the girls, when he turned and walked straight towards us to ask for the code to the building. He’d just moved in.
Being the friendly and welcoming apartment building that we were, we invited him to join us for a couple of dinners, pool BBQs and drinks. An easy friendship turned into some hardcore flirtation, and soon after we started dating.
He was my complete opposite.
A Petroleum Engineer working downtown for a well-known Oil & Gas company. His logical brain appealed to me. He was a die-hard Republican, rooted in Mid-Western cynicism and with very strong opinions on everything. He was a cigar-smoking, whiskey-drinking 23 year old with a membership to the Houston Safari club and a zebra skin rug called Fred that he’d shot himself. Don’t even get me started on the hunting side of things.
The first time he took me to his wealthy Aunt and Uncle’s house in Houston, I was dumbstruck. There was a giraffe by the coat stand; a lion behind the bar; elephant footstools. There was a hippo skull by the piano. It was the Lion King, horror movie style. I fiercely debated the logic of hunting, only to be shushed a couple of times, which didn’t go down well.
Despite the differences in opinion, we were very much together, and worked surprisingly well as a team. He had a strong personality: so did I. We fought over really interesting things, but were never negative towards each other, never mean. He was affectionate, loving and we were fantastic in the bedroom together.
He invited me to spend Thanksgiving with his family and so we drove from Houston to south lllinois, listening to Bluegrass music and taking it in turns to drive his truck. I was a bit nervous about meeting the family, but they were lovely – welcoming and kind. There were a couple of dead animals on the wall, but at that point, so long as Simba wasn’t there, I had managed to block it out. We made gingerbread houses at his Grandma’s, deep fried and smoked turkeys, made some traditional English sides for Thanksgiving, and taught them how to make Irish Coffees and a few drinking games: all lovely and fun times. They asked whether I’d be visiting for Christmas. We had discussed him coming to the UK for Christmas – everyone got pretty excited about that.
We’d been together about a year by the time he visited for Christmas.
He loved the UK and charmed everyone with his ‘Ma’am’s and ‘Sir’s. When he flew back to the US, I told him I loved him in the airport. I know it seems like a really long time to wait but honestly? It was a slow burn. He wasn’t great at expressing his feelings and I was just fine with taking it slow. He didn’t say it back but I wasn’t expecting him to. If you’ve ever read about love languages (which I recommend, by the way) he was someone who expressed love through acts of service. He would do all sorts of sweet manly things to look after me and that was his way of expressing himself. My “I love you” was his “I took your car to the garage and fixed the brake lights for you and there’s the gin you like in the fridge”.
When I got back to Houston in the New Year, we were spending 24/7 together. We actually joked about one of our apartments being used for storage seeing as we were never there, so it was a surprise to come home and find him waiting outside for me.
We walked to his place and he was nervous, completely stuttering and out of character, saying that he needed to tell me something. I sat on the couch and waited, when my guy started to cry. To say this completely freaked me out is an understatement. Emotions being displayed in general were unusual so crying was just off the charts. He kept repeating how scared he was, how much he wanted to share something with me. I said what I felt. “There’s nothing you can tell me that will make me not love you. It’s ok.”
So he told me.
My Republican engineer – a right wing hunting/shooting/fishing whiskey drinking Alpha male, wanted to be the woman in the bedroom.
He wanted me to take charge of everything and to dominate him, psychologically and physically speaking. There would be no regular penetrative sex… unless it was being done TO HIM.
Miss Twenty Nine has asked a couple of times for people to write openly and honestly about sex on the blog and I’ve often thought it’s something I could do. I consider myself very open minded and have no problem talking about things that are different, or controversial.
What was shocking about my guy’s confession however is the 12 months previous of Grade A regular, normal-kinky sex.
We were a passionate couple – sex nearly every day, and morning and night most weekends – even after 12 months of dating and a lot of living together. I’d thought we communicated well about our preferences – he certainly hadn’t been shy about asking for other things and neither had I!
It took me by complete surprise.
Surprised Belle is a quiet Belle, so he forged ahead and showed me the strapless strap-on that he wanted me to use on him.
It was HUGE.
I told him I was scared of hurting him and he quietly replied that he’d done bigger himself, which knocked me for six.
This was not a new thing.
This was something he’d been hiding for a very, very long time. I needed time to process, so I asked him if we could just take it very slowly and give me some time to adjust mentally.
One of the main things that attracted me to my guy was his Alpha maleness. I loved the guy who would stand up to me, argue with me, not let me get away with things, but treat me with utmost respect. Equally matched in bed, we’d never had a dominant/submissive tone at all, we’d just both enjoyed each other often, so the idea that all this control and responsibility was suddenly mine (plus the basic issue that I very much enjoy being the woman) was dreadful.
I felt sick.
I did research, watched some FemDom porn to see what I would be getting myself into.
I didn’t like it.
I asked for time and we regrouped, and started back about our daily lives: him curious to see when I would be ready to try; me suddenly dreading every conversation that took a flirtatious or playful turn.
I reached breaking point quickly as we argued over some upcoming local elections. In the middle of what was a perfectly normal debate, he threw out “If you think I’m so wrong, you could always punish me”.
I agonized over how to make this break up as easy as possible. I didn’t want him to feel shame for his preferences when he’d already had such a rough time communicating them and hiding them from the world. And so I pressed the relationship emergency exit button (using something I knew was a deal breaker for him) and blamed it on me.
Reading that back, it seems like he would have known what it was really about, but he didn’t. I was proud of that.
I was angry when the relationship ended because in a way I felt like I’d been duped.
What amount of time is really acceptable to hide your sexual preferences when dating?
Sure, you don’t necessarily want to throw it out there on the first date that you want to be tied up and spanked, dangled from the ceiling or locked in a cage, but when your sexual preference is more of an identity that a preference, I think there’s a certain obligation to reveal that in the early stages to your partner.
It wasn’t something he developed an interest in while dating me. He’d been interested for years. And so I felt like hiding the truth was lying by omission.
The deal breaker for me was the difference outside of the bedroom.
If he’d have been able to compromise a little in bed, we might have made things work. To suddenly have that shift of power in my day-to-day life though was something I didn’t want. I learnt that I need a strong guy to stand up to me, in and out of the bedroom.
At least I can thank him for that.