It’s probably me

February 2, 2010

I just skipped over to the former boy’s blog out of curiosity. Almost immediately, I found out he’s moving in with his domme–the one he hooked up with shortly after our thing ended. It’s been about six months.

So he’s moving in with her and thrilled about it, it seems. I still remember standing on that train platform and hearing him bluster about not wanting a relationship, how shocked and sad I felt. And all those times I heard him go on and on and on about how he’s still so devastated from his divorce (which was years ago) that he couldn’t ever let himself get serious about anyone, that he was “broken.”

Bullshit.

He just couldn’t get serious about me. It’s miraculous how his heart healed so soon after we ended.  It took him zero days to get over me because he never gave a shit about me. Not really. He cared about the domme, not the woman. He’s said otherwise, but if he were being honest, I think he’d acknowledge that I was just a convenience for him. A domination-dispensing machine. A nothing. Definitely not even a real ‘friend’.

I’m now thinking that the blusher will probably be at least engaged to this new woman by the end of this year.

That’s what I do. I find men and fix them up for other women. I should start charging for this service.

I can’t believe I keep getting involved with men who have no intention of getting serious with me, who don’t really care about me except as a means towards their own gratification. I’m sure if you asked either of them, the problem was me, just me. Something wrong with me.

And that’s just in the past year, in kinkworld. I haven’t even mentioned the vanilla guy I was involved with prior to meeting the former boy. He was similarly conflicted about our whatever-it-was. He didn’t mind screwing me, but couldn’t bring himself to ask me on a proper date. He began dating someone seriously not long after our whatever-it-was ended.

Not good enough. Nothing. Nobody.

Clearly I should just resign myself to my fate. I’m just a stepping stone, a rest stop, something to play around with until someone better shows up–someone real and worthy. I’m not worthy of love or affection. Hell, even decency and kindness are too good for me. I’m just a domme, just some girl, just a fling, a thing–replaceable, inherently worthless.

Use me, throw me away. It’s fine, boys. I’m used to it. I shouldn’t expect anything better anyhow.

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