All the clichés about love have started to come true for me. They seem to be taking longer for the object of my desire, but I know that given time he will wake up to the truth.
When I met my boyfriend I had no intention of making it last. Ever since my first experiments with humiliating my lovers I found that I wanted to be rid of them after a while. The ones who seemed to like it bored me and the ones who didn't took too much energy to maintain.
My boyfriend, as I call him, was particularly reluctant to let me dress him up in girly nightwear let alone introduce him to pegging. In the end, though, I got my way.
I told him that wearing the satin didn't make him a sissy, only wanting to would do that, and distracted him orally long enough to let me get the silky floral shorts on him. The matching camisole took a little more persuasion but once on it had a pacifying effect.
I mocked him for being so feminine as I took his anal virginity and afterwards took a photo for posterity. I have treasured it ever since.
When he left the next morning, finally convincing me to return his clothes after some accomplished oral sex on his part, I told him that I'd be seeing him soon. It's something I always say to see the look on their faces, and his was nothing short of ashen.
This time, though, I realised that I wanted it to be true.
I tried a conventional approach first, messaging him through social media and ringing him at work. When I eventually got through he told me that he was sorry, but he did not wish to see me again. The tease.
I waited outside his office but rather than confront him in such a busy space I decided to follow him home. It was a lovely ground floor flat with nice big windows that I could gaze through from my car. When I rang his mobile phone, the number of which he helpfully gave out on his office voicemail message, I could see him checking his screen before ignoring the call. He looked so cute when he frowned. He looked cute doing anything.
If a conventional approach would not work, more unorthodox methods would have to come into play. I bought him a lovely pair of knickers in the same floral pattern as the nightwear he wore for me and sent them to his office with a number to call. It wasn't my usual phone, but a pay-as-you-go one I bought for the purpose. He was my special project and it had occurred to me while watching him at home that it was like being a secret agent. Having a "burner" phone seemed only fitting, and given his wilfulness it made sense to have deniability.
You can imagine how disappointed I was when he didn't ring. I decided to resume my vigil outside his flat. When he returned home there was a parcel waiting for him, which he opened in plain view in his sitting room. He held up the stretchy floral mini-dress, in as close a pattern as I could find to his knickers, before throwing it across the room. He was on his phone for the rest of the evening, gesticulating angrily as he spoke to whoever it was. I wondered if it was a woman. Who was she? What did she have that I did not? He should have been calling me.
As I sat in the car I browsed the internet for private investigators who might be able to let me gain better access to his life. I realised that I had a trump card that might prove irresistible. The photo of him looking demure in his girly outfit, so precious to me, would remind him of the love we shared.
Before I drove back home I posted a job on a freelancing website popular with coders, offering a reward to anyone up to the challenge of a bit of corporate website hacking.
