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Waiting to be Claimed
TIA FANNING
ChapterOne
As I collected my stuff to leave, I again asked myself why I even bothered. I wasn’t doing anything more than wasting my money here. I went to the club all the time but did nothing. I didn’t top. I didn’t bottom. Instead, I sat at the bar, watched scenes play out, sometimes made idle chitchat with people I didn’t know for the minute or two it took them to get their drinks, then I headed home.
This had been my routine for almost a year.
A bad breakup drew me to this club in the first place. After years of emotional abuse and insipid sex, I wanted to try something different. Something more structured.
I’ll be the first to admit that I had entered into this lifestyle a little naive. I had kind of hoped it would be like the erotic books I often read, like I would walk into the club one day and some sexy Dom—or even sexy sub—someone—anyone—would just come claim me for their own.
That never happened.
I know, it was silly of me to think the world worked this way.
There was no consent in claiming a stranger, right?
And BDSM was all about the consent.
Like I said. Naïve.
Sighing, I gave a half-hearted wave to the bartender and headed toward the exit.
Maybe I wasn’t attractive enough, I mused as I passed club members in all states of dress and undress. While healthy, I was also a little fuller-figured than most men appreciated. But looks shouldn’t matter much in a place like this. Surly there were people who wouldn’t mind a quick session with a stranger whether they were pleasing to the eye or not. Dominants wanted to dominate. Submissives wanted to submit. Switches wanted a chance to do both. And here I was, able and willing, but nothing.
I was kinda over it…
Yet, I returned this place all the time, like I was waiting for something to change…
Waiting for something to happen.
Waiting for someone to see me.
Waiting for someone to think I was worth approaching—other than the bartender who served me alcohol.
Anyway, I was not sure who or what I was waiting for, just that I was. I was opened to entertain anyone willing to give me an experience beyond the nothingness that was currently my life. I had grownthatdesperate. Other than the bartender on shift working hard for their tip, I had very little interaction. It was all so…mundane.
Unfortunately, unless someone was brave enough to come up to me, nothing was ever going to change. I’m not sure why I was too shy to approach the other members. I guess I didn’t want to intrude. I hadn’t jumped into another committed relationship after my awful breakup. I hadn’t even used the dating app I had downloaded for casual sex. The only sex I’d had since I left the asshole was with myself.
At least it was satisfying. Couldn’t say the same for the ex.
Shaking my head in the disappointment of it all, and my life in general, I pushed out the front doors—even held one open for a nice couple coming in who offered me their gratitude but not their eye contact. With another sigh, I let it swing close once they were through.
I navigated the darkened parking lot, grateful that there were people around even if none of them bothered to speak to me. The sun had set. The night was filled with an air of fun, but it wasn’t meant for me. I would be returning home by myself, unsatisfied, once again.
Maybe it was time to get a pet. I was giving myself a complex by hanging out at this club alone “but not alone” all the time just so I wouldn’t feel lonely. I probably needed find a real hobby besides stalking a BDSM joint.
Maybe I needed to play BINGO or something. At least at BINGO, I might meet some older, wealthy glucose guardian who was as lonely as me. Not that I needed their money. I had plenty. I just didn’t want another asshole sucking off my teat like my dickwad ex-fiancé while giving me absolutely nothing in return. Not money. Not happiness. Not even an orgasm.
Grr.I had stayed with him for years because he’d convinced me that no one else would want me. I finally got the courage to leave that fucking narcissist once I found out he was spending my wealth on his sidepiece like it was his to spend. But now I was getting a sinking feeling that he might be right. Maybe no one did want me. Maybe he was the best I would ever get.
He had been the only man—person, actually—who’d ever approached me, asked me out, showed some interest in me. Probably because he was a damn delivery guy and had no choice but to approach me. He was a fucking courier, for God’s sake. It was his job to seek me out. He was probably just as surprised at my saying yes to his half-hearted request for a date as I was at myself for accepting it. But women like me didn’t have time for meeting new people and cultivating meaningful relationships, and it’s not like men just fell into my lap when I could spare the time.
It had seemed so easy then.
But I worked long hours. He didn’t. I made a lot of money. He didn’t. I paid our rent. He resented that his check barely covered our basic utilities. I was organized. He thought I was a ball-busting bitch about stupid shit.
