Last week’s column was waylaid by a trip to the City of Angels. This week’s column was waylaid by my own complicated feelings.
Excuses, excuses, I know.
In short: I got dumped.
No, not by my partner, but by a client.
Clients come and go. We see many faces (and the accompanying cocks), and interact with a lot of different people. While many of the interactions are painfully human, the deeper interpersonal connections are less frequent. No matter how casual the interaction, rejection never feels good.
Relationships with regulars are emotionally complex. They don’t fall into any typical, expected category , and sometimes it can be difficult to define the emotional aspects of the relationship.
The client who dumped me was the one I mentioned before. You know, the regular with the wife and kids. The client who asked me to mark him. The client who went into his first subspace with me.
I knew this was coming. The emotional intensity of this connection had nowhere to go. While I may have a deep affection for him, I know that his intensity of feeling for me was far different. I knew that his feelings would eventually cause him to desire a level of reciprocity–a level of intimacy–that I could not provide.
It wasn’t sex that he was looking for. He made it very clear from the outset that he respected (respects?) my boundaries. He knew that that level of physical intimacy was never in the cards for him. He came for the same thing as most clients: they come for the fantasy.
Like most relationships, the signs were clear. The last time we sessioned felt imbued with emotion. Rather than any kind of BDSM play, we drank tea while sitting next to one another on the dark red leather ottoman in the dungeon. I had gotten dressed up just for him; I dolled myself up in a black vintage waist cincher with pink detailed thigh highs (including a pink backseam!) and matching vintage pale pink bra.
It felt strange to sit next to each other, having a completely non-sexual, non-sensual interaction, while dressed in merely lingerie. His anxiety was evident, and he told me that he thought the close of this part of his crisis was imminent. He said it wasn’t over yet, but that he knew that the time when he wouldn’t be able to see me anymore was on the approach. I had told him early on in our interaction that I knew that he would be the one to end it because of my disconnect from the entire exchange. He was in the throes of a crush; I was paid to be there. It was an inevitability.
Part of the reason this post was so hard to formulate is because of how complicated I feel about being, essentially, broken up with. Obviously, the loss of money is big; I won’t get into the details, but he was seeing me enough that he was helping me pay my bills. I will not deny that losing that is a huge bummer.
Aside from that, though, there was an emotional letdown that, despite feeling aware of my affection for my regulars as a general whole (and this one in particular), caught me off-guard. While I preach my own affection for the people who see me regular, perhaps I believed that I was immune to genuinely being moved by their sudden absence, should it arise. Once again, this job exposes me to my own naiveté and incorrect presumptions.
Originally, I had formulated a diatribe, theorizing why he decided to stop seeing me. My theory was that I was his Manic Pixie Dream Girl, and when the fantasy was destroyed, when I became a Real Person, he decided he didn’t want to see me anymore. He found my Twitter, which if you follow me (hint: you should be doing that), you already know that it includes personal updates, including photos of me, my partner, my friends, my life. It has links to the things I write for the Playpen Report, as well as other links I find interesting. (There’s a whole other thing to be said about having both your face and your information out in the world publicly, but I will save that for another time.)
It was not particularly shocking or violating for him to find my information. It is all public! More than anything, it was a disappointment. It seemed like this was yet another man who, despite my respect for his privacy, felt entitled to more than what he was offered. Once the fantasy was shattered, once I became real, he rejected me.
As I proofread the first draft of this post, I realized how bitter I sounded. I know that wasn’t the only reason he broke up with me, if it is a reason at all. He said he was “working out personal things,” which I know is connected to what we talked about involving his overwhelming existential crisis. I know that he has to figure those things out for himself. Our brief relationship was a symptom of his problems. These are things I know, and knew, but it took some time to recognize that the bitterness in my writing was coming from a place of pain.
As predictable as it was, it still hurt. Even if I know that the basis of our interaction is not about me, the sting of rejection is undeniably real. There is a courtship between domme and regular that is not unlike the courtship during dating. We go out of our way to impress each other; we dress ourselves well, we try to smell nice, we offer each other gifts. However casual, a bond is there. When a significant amount of time is spent together, it is inevitable that a genuine human to human interaction takes place. This person was someone who was more than a passing stranger, but the context of our interaction guaranteed we were never meant to be more than ephemeral forces in one another’s lives. That’s it. That’s all.
Tizzy Wall is the Playpen Report’s petite spitfire sex-worker, here to talk about queerdom, sex work, and other kinktastic wonders. Take a peek into her big, lovely brain on both Tumblr and Twitter, or like her on Facebook. Have specific questions about the domme world, topic requests, or need sex/fetish/freaky love advice? Email her !