A Missed Opportunity

A sexy young redhaired woman in a maid dress wipes a surface with a blue cloth

Did I just miss out on a dream job? Unlikely, but maybe.

It took a mere eight days for me to break things off with my ex. I think we missed one another, but we hadn’t recovered from what happened and frankly I don’t know that we ever could or would. Before too long old habits came back – the gaslighting, the blame shifting and the hurtful, one-sided teasing. In the end, the bad outweighted the good by a wide margin, I felt empty and dispondent about the relationship and so for one final time, it was time for me to leave.

Sometimes you only need a few days back to remember why you left in the first place.

I remember particularly one joke that stood out from this past week:

You found your worth then, followed by a couple of laughing emojis. I scowled slightly at my phone: What was that suposed to mean? Didn’t he think I had any worth? Rude!

Maybe though, that was exactly the problem. I know my worth now and I won’t be treated as anything less. Not without my prior given consent, anyway.

“Maybe it wasn’t him that I needed” I mused, smiling at myself weakly in the mirror, “perhaps it was me. I needed me to kick my own ass into gear.”

Truthfully told, I know full well that what I fear most in a lot of circumstances is also the thing that is least lijkely to happen, but such is the lizard brain that it’s going to worry about it anyway. I realise now that I have therapy work to do to tackle my fears, but still, admitting it is always the first step. Writing letters to myself will be tonight’s task – one for when I fear the world will blow itself up and one for when I’m next tempted to go back to a relationship that I know isn’t good for me. There, that feels like progress.

I am worth more. I do deserve better, and I’m okay with being monogamous until I find my other person, or people. There’s no rush!

I remember reading something not so long ago about soulmates, that sometimes they enter our lives to give us an important message, and then they leave. Sometimes our soulmates aren’t our lovers, they’re actually our boss or an enemy. Perhaps it was that then, perhaps we weren’t meant to be in one another’s lives forever. Maybe he was only meant to enter my life to kick my ass and remind me that I was worth more than I was settling for at that moment in time, and to give me a taste of the submissive that I wanted to become, – playful , dedicated, honoured, hardworking, loyal.

I also realised that it’s hard – if not impossible – to love someone who doesn’t love themselves, and as much as we might want to, we can’t fix anybody but ourselves. We all have broken parts, but nobody can fix them for us, but us. Just like I’m now fixing mine.

Yesterday I took delivery of another 12 + 1 (it says so on the bag) red cherry shrimp, plus half a dozen chilli rasbora today. The shrimp are settled in nicely now and the rasboras are currently getting used to the lounge tank. As I unpackaged the bag containing the shrimp though, something caught my attention:

‘Housekeeper Required’ the advert began.

“Ha! You’re not the only one who could do with one of those!” I muttered.

One of the many talents you adopt as a busy housewife is the ability to read text upside down, because you’re just too busy to stop and read text the normal way. You don’t get to know how or when you master it, you just realise some day that you can read text without turning the whole article around. As I unwrapped the quantities of cling film from the polystyrene insulation box, I read on – still upside down:

... The Lady seeks… a rank of tasks from houskeeping duties, cooking nutritious meals from scratch, with some infrequent entertaining, companionship… Must be a dog lover… accomodation in the wing…

I cou;dn’t lie, then in another dimension, then.the whole advert had a whiff of the start of some kinky movie. As I busied myself with the shrimp I thought about the advert more – how would I, a bicurious female who regards herself as Dominant towards other women, feel under a Dominant, older woman? I supposed I’d never considered that possibility before. There was something bizarrely erotic about it, though. Almost forbidden in some bizarre way.

Alas, kinky or not, the advert expired last weekend.

With my ex, I’d had a sort of fantasy, of country houses and service and entertaining. There was The Great Room – based on a building I have visited – with it’s anthracite grey walls, white woodwork, marble fireplace and gold detailings. There was the Garden Girls – a horde of submissive women, stripped save for their identifying anklets and tasked with serving drinks, canapes and entertainment for those who looked. There was entertaining in itself, sexually, to please him or whoever else he saw fit to receive me, however it pleased him. In all of this, I found the submissive that I wanted to be. That I could be.

I really can be good!

Make no mistake, she’s till strong-willed and she still moves with utmost dtermination, but there was still the willingness and want to please that called out from within. I supposed that when I looked back, then those fantasies too were never really about him, after all.

They were about me.

Me, and my desire to submit to another yet. To make another proud in all ways.

Perhaps someday.

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