“Are you sure you’re in the right place?” he messaged. It was just a chat message on Facebook, from someone I’d never met, but somehow I could picture him with one eyebrow raised. I laughed.
And messaged back, “Oh, probably not. I rarely am.” It was a hook-up group of sorts where we’d met, on Facebook, of all places. But a hook-up group made up almost exclusively of pretty nice people who spent most of their time taking care of their sick or disabled spouse.
And it wasn’t that I didn’t have a sick or disabled spouse – I did – and I guess I’m nice enough. But these were people who thought they were sexting if they asked what I was wearing. Not all of them, of course, some of them seemed to be more experienced. Like one man who kept explaining things to everyone – like how this was just supposed to be for fun and not become something serious. How we should respect each other’s boundaries. And then explained what boundaries are. Yes, thank you.
But this guy – the one messaging me now – there was something different about him. Something more intriguing.
So I message again, “But what makes you think I might not be in the right place?”
‘You seem different,” he typed. “More like you know what you want. Even if it’s not quite what everyone else would expect you to be into.”
I hesitated, my fingers poised over the keys. Really, there was no reason to think that meant anything specific. He couldn’t possibly know. “What do you think I’m into?” I wrote, adding lol because after all, that makes it safer, right?
His response was quick. “I think you like to be of service,” he said, “and that you give of yourself generously.”
I wasn’t sure why I shivered when I read those words, but I did, and there was a twinge of excitement that stirred in me. As I hesitated, not sure what to say, he messaged again, “But it doesn’t matter what I might imagine about you, at least not now. Tell me about yourself. Tell me what you like.”
I smiled, relaxing again. What would he think if I wrote, “I like to submit to Dominant men?” But there was no way I was writing anything like that! Instead, “You have a lot of questions,” I said.
And his reply was swift. “Knowledge is power, isn’t it?”
Oh, shit. He had tweaked something in me again, hitting a note that was barely familiar anymore. Slowly, I typed back, “Well, I’ve certainly known people who feel that way.”
“Do you disagree?”
“Nooooo,” I wrote, wondering why I had the urge to add Sir. Damn it, this was silly. What was I thinking? “Of course there’s some truth to that,”
“Exactly,” he replied, “Even people who might prefer to let someone else have the power are likely to agree with that.”
I stared at his words, wondering if there was something underneath them. Before I could think what to say, he messaged again, “Thank you for chatting. Work time for me. I’ll check back later today or tomorrow and see if you have time to talk again.”
Smiling, I wrote, “Of course! I’ll look forward to it.”
“Good,” he wrote, and it almost felt like a “good girl.”
I shook my head. Silly, silly. Looking back over our messages. He was just a bit formal. Always checking to see if it was a good time to talk rather than just starting a conversation. Always letting me know when he had to leave, thanking me. None of the joke-y, mildly suggestive comments other men from the group made, as if they were trying to test the waters safely. But this one. Nicolas. He was never like that.
No, Nicolas asked me questions about myself, what I was doing, what I enjoyed. His wife was in a nursing home, in a coma after a car accident. As far as they knew, she had no idea about what was going on around her. She had been on life support, but he and her adult children had agreed to remove it after the first month when the doctor said no change could be expected. She continued to live, and he visited every day.
At least, I reminded myself, that was what he said. It was what showed up on his Facebook page too, but that didn’t mean anything.
He only lived a few hours away. It would be interesting…
No. I shook myself. I was not going down that path. This was just a fun way to spend a few hours when I wasn’t working or taking care of my own husband, Bill. I should just take it for what it is and not go any further. Absolutely not.
I started to turn my computer off, and then realized I had work to do, I couldn’t just walk away. I laughed. Ok, at least I can shut down Facebook. And I did. For now.
7 thoughts on “In the Wrong Place… a fantasy”
Glad to see you are still writing
And – it occurred to me when I saw this comment – I’ve been writing stories or keeping a journal since I was 7 or 8. If I didn’t have this blog to write in, I’d have to start another one! Funny, isn’t it?
Would you ever consider writing a book? Or collection of stories? Parisian Phoenix would be interested in publishing
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We should talk…
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Ooh, I enjoyed this. I always enjoy your writing. Would love to read more of this story 🙂
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Thank you so much Roz.