There’s no response. At first, I feel bad, but if the truth is too much for him, then so am I.
With that, I close the app and get back to work. At least, I try to. But it’s hard to focus. I fight the temptation to message him back. But then I remind myself I don’t need another man to babysit.
Rule #7: Don’t make it awkward.
Beau
“What about this?” I ask, turning the tablet toward Sophie.
“Holy shit. You’re getting good.”
“Sophie!” Gwen snaps. “You better watch your mouth or I’m going to take that iPad away.”
She responds to her mother with a roll of her eyes, and I stifle a laugh. Across the table, Charlie does her best to look innocent, but we all know she’s the one enabling Sophie’s cussing.
My dad is sitting next to Charlie with his hand on the back of her chair, but I turn my eyes away from them, glancing down at my tablet, where I’ve been working on this sketch for over a week now.
Sophie was the one to inspire me to buy a tablet with a drawing pen. She always brings hers on our weekly family dinner outings, and I found it intriguing how easily she can come up with these sketches, so I picked up a used one for myself. I was never much into art, but I find drawing on the tablet strangely addicting.
When I glance up, I see my dad watching me with curiosity. He’s trying to peek at the drawing, which is lame, so I click out of the app before he can see it. It’s just something inspired by a video-game character: a bulky female soldier covered in blood-spattered armor and a machine gun arm.
See what I mean? Lame.
“What are you working on?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing,” he replies.
“It’s badass,” Sophie replies, making Gwen wince. “Show him.”
I let out a sigh. I know he’s just trying to show interest in my hobbies, but my default is, and always has been, to shut him out. But since Sophie’s pushing, I open up the app and turn the tablet toward my dad.
“Oh wow,” Charlie replies while my dad simply smiles.
“It’s good,” he says. “I didn’t know you were such a good artist.”
My jaw clicks as I squeeze my molars together. “I’m not. It’s just a stupid sketch.”
Just then, the waitress brings out our food, and I slip my tablet onto my lap as we dig in. The entire time I eat my steak fajitas, I’m thinking about what the mystery Domme wrote today about being so ingrained with masculinity that I’m afraid of being submissive. It’s been killing me that I haven’t responded, but what the fuck am I supposed to say to that?
You’re right. I must have been lied to my entire life. Please fix me, Mistress.
But, at the same time, I’m not going to argue with her. Yeah, she’s probably right, but you know what? That’s just the world we live in. Men have to be tough, dominant, in control. I mean, look at my fucking father. He wouldn’t kneel for anyone, and because of that, his masculinity is safely intact. He can sleep well at night, knowing he’s properly being a man. It’s not toxic masculinity when it comes to him, it’s just a shit-ton of it.
And he has a woman who loves him for it.
Then my mind goes back to the lady in my chat. And I’ll admit, there’s something very liberating about the idea of not having to be so in control. I never seem to get it right anyway. She admitted that she’s new to this too, but how nice would it be to be with a woman who knows what she wants and takes all the guesswork out of it for me?
All the black leather and whips aside, it sounds…hot.