The Reluctant Goddess Part II

The crowd wasn’t what I expected. If I hadn’t been told it was a dungeon, I would have thought it was a Dungeons and Dragons tournament. Most of the party goers were men who looked like they rarely left their parents bedrooms. In the back were two 18 year old dominatrixes. I quickly dismissed Tony. I could take anyone at the party with an eyebrow. I chatted with one guy who attempted to handcuff me to a chair. For his trouble, he found himself handcuffed. While I sat chatting, the dominatrixes brought out the “house slave.” A house slave has to serve anyone instead the specific needs of one master. One of the dominatrixes chained him to the wall and whipped him for our entertainment. For the first time, I was amused. “I bet you he’s some big banker or CEO,” I said to my hostage. “Let’s find out,” he said to me. Once the whipping was done, the house slave, whose name was Jim, went around the party refilling drinks, lighting cigarettes, carrying trays of cheese and crackers. While he stopped to refill my glass, kneeling first so he would be below me, my hostage asked him what he did for a living. “Oh, I’m teacher.’ “What’s your specialty?” “Classical literature.” My hostage and the rest of the party guests were quickly forgotten as Jim and I began chatting. He was handsome, kneeling at my feet, and I thought, “How can this go wrong?” The universe likes to answer that question very quickly. After dating for about a month or two, I noticed the day after I saw Jim I would be very depressed. At first, I thought it was because I missed him, but then I realized it was because every time he opened his mouth, I wanted to throw a toaster at his head. There was the fact I couldn’t do anything right. Why didn’t I go to the Met more often? Why is it when I greeted him, I was immediately affectionate? Why couldn’t I stop being such a drama queen? And he was obstinately opinionated. If I pointed he was incorrect on a matter, even if it was insignificant, he would get furious. He would defend himself and claim I was an idiot, how could I question HIS authority? If I showed him evidence, he wouldn’t apologize, but slowly his anger would subside. Now I would like to think that eventually I would have broken up with him. One night he casually mentioned that he saw other people. “What?” “Yeah, I see other people.” “What are you talking about?” “I told you that at the beginning.” “No you didn’t.” “Yes, I did.” “No you didn’t because I would never have agreed to see you if that was the case.” “Well, I remember telling you.” “Well, maybe you remember thinking about telling me, but you didn’t.” “I can’t remember, but I thought I told you.” “Nope.” “Oh.” I don’t remember how we ended the phone call, but I remember being crushed. Not because I liked Jim that much. He was horrible in bed and rapidly becoming a bore. But if there is anything worse than being broken up with, it’s being broken up with by someone who you didn’t even like anymore. Here you’ve bargained down your self esteem and even the miscreants you rationalize dating don’t want you.