Painfully Honest and Introspective

A sex site's raison d'être is is to offer choices. Much like catalogue shopping. One can scrutinize a deluge of supposedly willing cocks and tongues and choose which one will suit your purposes best.

Of course, you are selling yourself as well. Will my legs as displayed in my avatar to the right please a man whose primary interest is breasts? Will my proclivity to be pinned up against the wall and penetrated in a position which may allow for unsuspecting voyeurism be arousing?

For the most part I find the men on those sites to be only marginally discerning. The men who are and generally those more worth getting to know. However for the most part, the naïve and simultaneously amusing hope of the vast majority of men on those sites is that they will connect with some willing slut who will, within hours, be presenting themselves to them as an offering like to a God. A naked whore-virginal sacrifice there to satisfy their needs with no past, no baggage, no health concerns.

Of course each woman will be beautiful, sexy, talented with her tongue, tight, and insatiable. Why wouldn't they be? Each God-like man on that site is endowed with an enormous cock, loves to eat pussy, can go for hours, minimal refractory period and loves to do precisely what you like and need. Only they can satisfy you.

These sites are simultaneously arousing, amusing and tragic. It screams out society's need for intimacy and connection while at the same time extolling the virtues of selfishness and isolation.
The apparent contrived-ness of it all occasionally spirals me to the depths of desolation. While the ill-written poetry and blunt offers to fuck me hard are on the surface flattering, they are in essence unconscious demonstrations of a person's attempt to find some sort of solace in their search to find meaning in their lives.

This week, having spiraled down to such depths, I temporarily turned off my account, and decided to join the real world for an evening. Tight jeans and equally tight sweater - while still appropriate enough for work, also suggestive enough for an evening out. I've been losing quite a bit of weight and this was my attempt to show it off a bit.

While I wasn't opposed to meeting and taking someone home, it wasn't my aim for the evening. I was out with a girlfriend, and this was a social/work function. Now while I had given up on him as an object months prior, I confess, the fact that Flynn was going to be there wasn't completely meaningless to me.

My friendship and flirtation with Flynn had cooled considerably. A few of his personality quirks had succeeded in cooling my ardor, coupled with the fact that he had a girlfriend. Though he never failed to mention how good I looked when he saw me, our rapport had definitely lessened.

The girlfriend was of course there that evening. She was the stereo-typical version of gorgeous. Blonde. Tiny. Cute. Outgoing. Clearly impressed by Flynn.

Both of them had at least 10 - 15 years on me. To my mind, I was a young girl who should be married but wasn't, could still stand to lose a few pounds, and not very good with small talk in social settings. Translation? Not a threat.

It is only in the context of the internet that I can play the Duchess role. On sex sites where we're all searching and presenting hyperbolic caricatures of ourselves. On the sex sites where our desperation to connect, to touch, to feel where we force ourselves outside of our comfort zones in order to achieve our aims. Because we unconsciously realize that each person there is engaging in the same struggle. Those sites are only a reflection of a compartmentalized version of ourselves. A version of ourselves that we attempt to diminish in importance, when in essence that longing for connection might be one of our fundamental driving forces.

In the real world? I do mousy and polite with much more ease. But it's impossible to know how others view us. Impossible to know whether that gorgeous blonde waif-like goddess berates herself each day for some barely discernible flaw, whether physical or otherwise.

Midway through the evening, Flynn and his waif left unexpectedly with nary a glance in our direction. Rude, but soon forgotten. However, when I mentioned this to my ride home, she mentioned that the reason for their departure was in fact because of me.

Speechless with shock I attempted to go over the evening in my head and find the source of this outlandish statement. I realized that I had barely spoken 12 words to Flynn. As I said, the rapport was gone and conversation no longer flowed with ease. I think I had at most smiled at the blonde waif, and then gone on my way.

My ride carried on to tell me how the waif was shaking in outrage at my behaviour towards Flynn. She thought there was something going on between us and one more move on my part would have resulted in physical violence on hers. My ride continued to assess the situation stating that the woman was clearly insecure, viewed me as competition and who are we to know whether I had ever come up in conversation with them before.

I simply could not (cannot) reconcile my behaviour of that evening with what I know I'm capable of. When I play the Duchessy coquette role online I understand the ramifications and possible consequences of my behaviour. I know that I could get myself into trouble in a variety of forms. I know that my search for intimacy and release comes with it's own complications.

But to be vilified as competition by the waif is simultaneously laughable, flattering and shocking. Shocking at the injustice of it. Laughable at the unlikelyhood of it. Flattering at the fact that someone like me could possibly be viewed as anything other than less somehow in comparison to her.

My ride has admonished me to "not own" what went on that evening. Such a reaction from the waif is surely indicative of something far deeper that in actuality has nothing to do with me at all. But while I am surprised and saddened at the apparent lack of harmony in their relationship, a tiny part of me feels the slightest bit triumphant. Maybe something of the Duchess is finally spilling out into my real life persona without me realizing it. Maybe the desolation of sex sites will soon be replaced with real live seductions, and I can come out from behind the safety of the screen and keyboard.