Missed Connections

I'm falling behind you, desperately gripping a phone in my hand while the cold wind beats against our faces. You start walking faster and I can't focus fast enough to understand where we are exactly on this strange city's map. The first wrong turn I direct makes my heart race and my head fill with self deprecating thoughts. Five minutes ago you were telling me to be less stressed and now your supposedly comforting words will haunt me for the rest of the night. By the second wrong turn I know I've done it and you confirm that this is the case. I'm instructed to wait on the other side of the bridge and maybe if you feel like it you will come back for me. My thoughts are coming so fast that I can't focus on any specific one. Bingo, I fucked up again by walking to the wrong side of the bridge and I hear your voice calling me a stupid cunt. It's at this point that I let go of any hope of salvaging the night through my service. It feels cooler out now, the sky is dark, and the wind is strong. The bridge is immense and watching you walk away feels permanent. Autumn nights usually feel lonely with people but this is something else. I spend some time debating if I should jump knowing how hopeless everyday feels. It's a complicated thing to have the ability to ruin someones day yet have no actual control in life. Therefore, I take my hate, anger, and sadness inwards gripping the bridge and mentally masturbate to how it would feel to not feel. I beg god to strike me down for being such a terrible person. I wonder how many slaves have found themselves where I am standing. Two wrong turns. We both know that I won't do it and I cease wasting energy on selfish thoughts. My mind reviews the night and the other times when I miss directed us. The chilling wind blows and a fox runs by - the first wild fox I've ever seen. I wish I could tell you about it, I wish I could tell you a lot of things.

The few minutes on the corner eventually turn to over an hour. Dressed for a fetish party I'm wearing a short tight black dress, lingerie, a cat mask, tail butt plug, and all under a light jacket. My feet hurt from being in serious heels all day, my face is covered in remorseful tears, and I'm so very cold. It's a real possibility that I will be here all night and my mind goes back and forth on if its appropriate to call and beg to be relieved. What I did is a serious offense that I would like to fix.1 Apologies don't count for very much in the life of a slave. What you do is how you will be judged and its a treat if your past good deeds make it in. Mind you this isin't a complaint, I spend every morning hoping that I will be able to spend the day successfully serving a Master whom I dedicated my life to and failure is, well failure. Eventually I make the call, between the tears and begging my words are hardly audible. Permission is granted for me to come back to the hotel. Although one step of the punishment is done, I know I've barely begun to suffer. The masochist part of me enjoys this thought while walking through the cold and rainy empty streets of Vienna. The other part of me toys with the idea of what a hug would be like.

Walking down the bridge towards the metro I notice a small shitty honda civic type car driving noticeably slow. The car passes me and eventually pulls over on the side of the road that I am walking on. It's parking lights come on. The obvious guess is that he thinks that I'm a prostitute by the tights and the butt plug sticking out from under my coat. At any rate, I've been a street walker for the last few hours. The man in the car makes sounds and gestures for me to come towards his now open car window. Picking up my pace I stare forward and focus on the metro which is 15 feet from me. Suddenly, I hear whistling and the car door opening. I feel the john's hands brush up against my arm when I start running. It wouldn't be a night that I fucked up if the universe didn't add insult to injury. If only I could trade flight or fight for being able to give directions without panicking.

On the metro platform I hold my head while tears run down my face. A girl comes to talk to me, happy and with so much energy she's practically jumping up and down. I notice her book bag, tennis shoes, warm coat, and map in her hand. She's smiling so wide her red lips almost touch her gold horseshoe earrings. First, she asks me if I'm okay and I stay silent but nod up and down to gesture yes. It'll be okay she says, the sun will rise again tomorrow. This thought makes me cry even harder. I'm envious of how naive she is to the reality of my world. Then she asks me for metro directions. Of course she would be lost asking me for directions here and in this exact moment of time. It's hard not to see the cruel humor in it all. I give her directions and she only runs off after asking me a few times if I'm sure I'll be okay. I wanted to tell her that I hope she'll be okay, I'm not exactly known for my preciseness.

The tears won't stop coming on the metro ride. My brain won't stop cycling regret and pain. Tonight was supposed to be so good and here I sit after fucking it up with a few words. Am I this bad of a person...does being a good or bad person even matter? Turmoil is not being able to make sense of the world. Part of what attracted me to leaving my old life behind was the hope that something would make sense now. I'm guilty of romanticizing BDSM and slavery in thinking that it would solve or fix some parts of me. Quite the opposite happened and faults become exposed. And once exposed, those faults are your reputation until god himself says otherwise.

Despite being overwhelmed with sadness I get off the train at the right stop and make my way down the stairs in order to make the last connection. The timer says 15 minutes until the train gets here so I find a seat on an empty bench to sob. A woman talking on her phone walks down the hallway dressed in traditional Austrian wear. A man sits to my left with large headphones on his head and a couple of four take a seat on my right to discuss their night at the museum. The man with the headphones takes them off of his head and asks me the question of the night. For some reason and in between long gaps of tears I tell him the truth that, no I'm not okay. He looks at me with such kind intelligent eyes and asks me if I'd like to talk about it. The train comes soon after the conversation starts and we continue talking until his stop. Before he gets off he gives me a long hug and tells me not to hesitate... Money can't buy genuine kindness from strangers.

I make it back to the hotel in time for a reunion. Of course you know by now what a joke that is. Punishment is almost always in the plural form. Now the hotel room is my cage and dog food is my dinner. I haven't seen my you in a few days and now have to travel alone to another part of the country where I 'may' be picked up.

  1. The fear of doing the wrong thing (like announcing the wrong direction) becomes a powerful uncontrolled thought in my head that manages to fuck me over again and again. The panic comes quickly and useless thoughts race so fast I lose control over myself. []

One Response to “Missed Connections”

  1. [...] took the train from Vienna to Linz by myself for an infraction that I won't repeat the details of again. I will say though that the train ride was unenjoyable, desperate, and lonely. [...]

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