It’s not a secret to most of you that have stumbled across Me that I don’t believe in the whole male Dom thing. I love guys..real men. I don’t think most men, even real men, can effectively have any sort of meaningful control or influence over any sane person with an IQ above, oh I don’t know, dog level. I’d run out of space if I had to go into all the reasons why I feel this way.
With that said, I’m still not understanding why a guy that probably doesn’t even dabble in the whole D/s thing has so many underfoot and by the balls. He could buy and sell your ass 100 times and still send you home with a few crisp $20 bills tucked in the same coat pocket as your jizz covered manties. So many of you reading this would probably gladly give him your wife or mother for the week(end) in exchange for just ten minutes of his lips pressed to your ear, guiding your hand up and down…
YOUR INVESTMENT PORTFOLIO!!
Yep, I’m talking about Warren Buffet. My senior year history teacher refused to acknowledge the fact that Bill Gates was the wealthiest man in the U.S., insisting that Warren Buffet was. Even after someone wiki’d it and brought an article to class proving that it wasn’t true, he spent an ENTIRE class period basically worshiping the man’s O-ring from afar. I could practically smell the precum dripping from this loser as he wasted the tuition dollars of our parents(legal guardian in my case). Of all the people to have fag lust for…a 70-something who looks like a geriatric version of the Hamburglar ?!! Well, I guess it wasn’t too hard to imagine considering the fact that…
The teacher was 28 with a voice that suggested puberty never found his name on the guest list. He drove a Saturn with extremely misguided pride, and would try seem above it all by telling anyone who would listen that he was only teaching until he was accepted into the Law program at Harvard. I guess Harvard needs to expedite their admissions process because, nearly three years later, you can still call and ask the secretary to leave a note in his mailbox!! Anyway, I’m getting off of the subject and abusing ellipses…
About 2 months ago, rosie sends me an email saying goodbye. No surprise there!! s-he must have a template of those goodbye emails or something because I’ve gotten at least 10 of them before. Chasing “normalcy” around the bedroom he and his wife share with a butterfly net while a plaster of paris mold of my foot is crammed up his ass..that’s the image I get whenever I read one of rosie’s goodbye emails.
I think it’s cute…that whole trying to balance the “he” s-he has to be with the SHE “he” NEEDS to be thing. It’s always REALLY hard to take seriously ANYTHING said by someone who has a bio on their company’s website that screams how full of integrity and honor they are when you’ve seen them with a face/mouth/ass full of another guy’s load. His favorite thing is…well, I think I’m going to make that an assignment for some lucky sissy who’s up for more than just roleplay. This is one piece of flesh that can’t live without that weird feeling in his belly, the lump in his throat and the hint of one in his panties that only I can give. So I’ve built his goodbyes into our play. They usually come around the time estimated taxes are due, Christmas, and Easter(Grown men dressed up as bunnies, Cadbury cream eggs, and Jesus jumping out of that tomb seem to have a sobering effect on my fav cock snot wearing manwhore). It lasts about a week and then we pretend to pretend that it never happened. I know he’ll be back because I’ll still have total access to one of his bank accounts.
So I just added the email to a folder and printed off a hard copy. I like to read them all out loud one after another when he needs something really badly…just to remind him that his attempts at self-esteem really aren’t a good look for him. The fun part starts 12-16 hours later with a text message. asking if I’m busy and if it’s ok for him to call. I’ll call him…congratulate him on the new man he’s becoming and then the conversation automatically turns into something that sounds like a conversation a battered woman may have with her guy that loves with his fists. The one where she wants out because daytime tv says she should…but everything inside her is telling her it’s going to be all hearts, stars and four leaf clovers if she can just stop making the fucking pot roast so damn dry!
rosie did an excellent reprisal of the battered wife/martyr role s-he likes to play. I’d been sitting in line at a gas station forever waiting on gas when I got the text. Atlanta was short on gas and I was short on patience when I got the text then called back. The basics were that s/he couldn’t come out to play anymore, that the economy was looking rough, and s/he had a family to think about. Heard it all before!! The next thing that came out of its mouth was that it had sent Me a cashier’s checks for $2000 and it would send Me $500 more if I would get rid of everything in its storage unit. I may be a lot of things but I’m not anyone’s janitor..especially some loser born in the wrong body who thinks he has too much to lose.
I drove 20 min out of My way that day to deliver the storage keys not so personally to the receptionist at his office. Essentially harmless enough, but I knew he’d wake up in a cold sweat the next couple of nights wondering if I’d said anything to anyone while I was there.
I decided to extend those sleepless nights a little by mailing the cashier’s checks to his workplace…knowing that the administrative assistant opens the mail before delivering it to him. I got a 3am text 2 days after I’d made my trip to the post office that said
Why are you doing this to me? Please let me know what I can do to make You stop!!
I text’d back
Nothing
After I woke up at 9 the next morning…I decided to finish my text because I was too sleepy to do it the night before 
Sorry, that should have said ‘ Nothing bad is happening to you..it’s all in your head…just like it always has been. Go ahead and change your online banking info, please…for your own peace of mind…take care babes..MUAH!’
That was it… I was actually a little sad. Kind of like when u have a fish die…that kind of sad. I’d decided to take a break from school this semester and the next to focus on some other things I want to do anyway, so that pretty much gave Me the push to get out of Atlanta.
I found someone to sublet and went to New Orleans to work on some projects and just have fun. The plan was/is to move to L.A. by February…I though it wasn’t going to happen for a while until…
Starting about 3 weeks ago, I got several calls from a number I didnt know in the middle of the day. I didnt pick up and they didn’t leave a voicemail or anything. I thought maybe it was some recording telling Me that my car warranty was about to expire or something until I called it back and heard a very familiar hollow sounding guy on the other end with a horrible southern drawl answer.
First thought: WTF? Second thought: end button!! It called right back. Long story short…it was sorry. It was having a lot of rough times. It just wanted to talk. It had apparently been washing it’s klonopin with that bottle that says ‘birthday bourbon’ and calling that its lunch. I’m no shrink…but I know u dont hang up on “people” like that. So I just let it run then speed walk through something like a conversation. I kept calling it by it’s birth certificate name. It didn’t like that. I didn’t know what else to call it because I really didnt need a rosie anymore and it started crying when I said that.
You don’t hang up on “people” when they’re like that.
So to keep the conversation going, I asked why it had called Me. Dead silence…
Then it started rambling something about how it had been following Warren Buffet in the news, that things were bad for a lot of people but probably wouldn’t affect things on its end. I pretty much stopped listening to the babbling just as I had almost 3 years ago in history class. I can turn a guy who was too scared to do anything but suck dildos dildos in front of prostitutes into a cum-guzzling part-time transvestite that menstruates for Me through its wallet…but Warren really has all the control…and that’s just sad on my part!! 
. u sluts will all know about each other, but you don’t have to know one another. u will get ONE “Kara is going to treat Me like a person card” per week and u guys will have to compete for it. Again discretion must be very important to you, you must be able to submit to regular tease and denial sessions and other “things” on demand, must have an awesome slave mentality or something absolutely better. Must not be white trash.
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