Last week Rebecca went on her first real date with her Master, but it may be time for her to move on. Check out the latest entry from Rebecca’s Lost Journals.
Read the first and second entry from Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals to catch up with her romance. Don’t forget to check back in next week, as Hypable will be running weekly entries from Rebecca’s Lost Journals, which are featured in her Inside Out series, until Valentine’s Day.
Rebecca’s Forgotten Journals: Dream Man Part three
June 2011
Saturday, six pm
I’m supposed to write about my date last night but right now I’m riding this high that I can’t let go. Maybe I don’t want to write about that date. Maybe some part of me knows I handled the night wrong. Maybe I know I sealed the deal that means THE END. Or maybe I really am just excited about today. I sold a hundred thousand dollar painting today. I almost thought I saw Mark Compton smile, but Bossman, doesn’t do smiles. He does disapproval or approval. I pleased him today but more than anything I pleased me. I’m good at this job. I know art. I love art. This is my world. And that is the entire point in taking control of my personal life. Since I lost my mother, really since she got sick, I didn’t own my life. I think for a while I had a man at work and in my bed, that were such control freaks, I let myself lose touch with me. As I mentioned several entries ago, I’ve thought a lot about why such a strong independent person like myself dived into the role of submissive. What got me to a place with him that I had to say no more.
It hit me when I was with him last night, why I said yes, and it comes back to how it all started. What he’d promised me, what he’d made me feel. It came back to safety. I still remember the moment when things between us had changed. I’d been sitting at a little bakery coffee shop a few blocks from work. Not the one next door. That one is owned by Ava. She’s in love with Mark Compton, Bossman himself, and from the moment I started working at the Gallery, she was snotty. I stay away for her. How I know she loves him is another story for another entry. Bottom line. I don’t like visiting her coffee shop.
Anyway, this is about him and me. About the way things between us had changed from casual acquaintances to submissive and master. And actually maybe I have Ava to thank for that otherwise I might not have been avoiding her, thus being at the right place at the right to run into him. So…I’d been at the bakery, sitting at a back, corner table when he’d walked in. I remember knowing the very moment he entered, the way the energy in the room had shifted and changed. The way I’d looked up, my gaze lifting to land on him to find his attention on me. Almost as if he’d come for me.
He’d crossed the bakery, and ignored the pastries and sweets, making a beeline my direction, stopping at my table to stand above me, his attention landing first on the books I’d been studying and then at me. That man’s good looks and intensity had overwhelmed me. Intensely consumed me. We’d known each other before that encounter, but when he’d sat down across from me, there had been this shift in the air, a shift between us. “There’s a place I know that I’d like you to know,” he’d said.
“What place?” I’d ask, and believe you me, my heart had been thundering in my ears.
“Say yes, and I’ll take you there, and show you.”
I remember knowing in the moments that followed, that if I did, everything would change for me. I don’t know how or why. But I knew. I think that is why seconds ticked by without my reply but I remember that he sat there patiently, waiting, almost in need of my approval. He wouldn’t pressure me. He didn’t pressure me. And that’s the thing. He never did. Every choice I made was mine. Every choice was absolutely mine. He said that was my control. He said I was always in control.
Needless to say, I said, “Yes.”
He always insisted that I say “yes.” He always insisted that I make the choices. That’s part of why I was able to be submissive. But there was more. He promised me, that for those windows of time I was with him, none of the hell that was my life at that point in time, would exist. And that’s what became addictive. I could go to him and for the time I was with him, there was room for nothing but him. No fear. No loss. No worry. Just him.
And yes, sometimes driving everything else away came my way of him pushing my limits, most of the time it did. But it worked. He worked for me. I trusted him. Would I have been able to be submissive with someone else? No. I do not believe it could have been someone else.
Just him.
But that relationship was not a whole relationship. We were not whole. And so the question remains, can he be the whole package, my dream man, or is he only capable of being my Master?
Monday, eight pm
I’d barely gotten to work today when our receptionist, Amanda, appears in my doorway, looking as excited as a school girl and holding a box with a red ribbon. She sets it on my desk and then stands there. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know,” I’d told her.
“Open it and see.”
“Later,” I’d said, setting it aside, though it was killing me. I wanted to know what was inside. What I didn’t want was for anyone else to know. I’m private that way. And so is he.
“What exactly are we doing?”
At the sound of the boss, or Bossman, as we call him, Amanda jolted and turned around, and while I couldn’t see her face or his, I could hear the exchange.
“I was just passing a delivery on to Rebecca.”
Bossman says nothing, which means he’s giving her one of those steeling gray-eyed stares of his that intimidate even the most confident a person, which Amanda is not. She’s too young and sweet, as well as without experience, for the likes of that man.
“I’ll just go watch the front desk.”
“See that you do,” he says.
She scrambles away and he appears in my doorway, and what can I say. He’s tall. He’s blonde. His gray eyes striking, hard. And he wears a custom suit better than any man who’s ever graced the pages of GQ. The problem is that he knows it. He owns it. And he owns everyone around him. He’s wanted to own me from the moment I came to work for the Gallery. A part of me wanted him too, as well. But after my recent submissive experience, I’ve learned that being owned, isn’t right for me. Oddly though I can say that the more I was owned outside my work, the harder “Bossman” Mark Compton found it to intimidate me as he does everyone else in the office.
And he knows that, too. I thought this would displease him, but another oddity. It doesn’t. He seems to in fact, be pleased by this new side of me. If that is even possible. Maybe I’m wrong. Whatever the case, Bossman stood there in my doorway, staring at me. Never once did he look at the package. Never once did he speak. He just stared at me and I stared at him, and tried, like I always try, to read his thoughts. To feel what he was feeling, but that isn’t something that happens, unless he allows it to happen. And I suspect, that in his workplace, that would never, ever happen. But still I try. Still I want to peel away some layer of this powerful man’s shell, to see inside his mind.
“What are we doing Ms. Mason?”
“Amanda brought me a package that I intend to open alone and at an appropriate time.”
“As it should be,” he approves, and with that, he’d disappeared back into the hallway.
I’d wanted that private moment to be then, right after he’d left, but when I’d stood to shut my door, to open the package, I’d changed my mind. I’d waited until I arrived home. And now it’s sitting here, beside me and I can’t seem to open it. For some reason, I just…can’t. I haven’t even written about what happened last night. But I know that this package is about just that. What happened. What I didn’t think could happen. What he didn’t think could happen and yet, it did.
And it changed us. I’m not sure he can handle that. Maybe I can’t either. Maybe we don’t know how to be anything but what we once were and that I can’t be that anymore. Maybe I’ve already lost him and he’s lost me. That scares me. Outright terrifies me. So the package. I think I’ll wait to open it.