Contemplations on being submissive (and I don't mean in the wifely way)

So the other day (this marks the first in my serious of "so the other day" blogs) I went to Funky Town with a friend of mine. Lillie is a little more mature in years (fine wine and all that) and so we got there a little early. (Actually I think we got there at like 8 o'clock which I think is really early. But we sat in my car talking while L passed more gas then I will use in a vehicle in a lifetime and chatted. Eventually the workers of Funky Town waved us in...yes I said they waved us in, hilarious). When we finally went in the place was empty and so we sat as close as we could to the dance floor but were still back a couple tables because the ones in front of us were reserved.

Eventually there three people sat down at the first of the reserved tables (a couple whose names I never did learn and a lady named Susan). Anyway after a small passing of time they told us we were welcome to move up a table because they weren't going to need the second table they had reserved. Sweet! It is always a goal when one visits Funky Town to be as close to the action as possible. So we moved up and exchanged some pleasantries. I found out that Susan was 43 and I complimented her on not at all looking her age. She assured me it was due to her fake breasts (second set, but hey who is counting). I agreed that they must clearly be the cause and wandered back to my new, shiny and much closer table.

Most of the night passed fairly uneventful (with the exception of the nerdy boys bachelor party that stole my heart...the villains!). At some point another man had joined Susan's party and the couple seemed to have left. Toward the end of the evening the new guy in the party approached me and commented on how I must feel young at Funky Town because he felt young at age 45. I politely informed him that Funky Town is solely a "dance your pants off" kind of establishment and that age matters little when I'm sweating like a man from dancing to 60's, 70's and 80's music all night long.

Susan (young boobs) came over and looked at her friend and said (referring to me), "Isn't she adorable". Her friend agreed and then she went on to inform me that he was her sex slave and that she was a Dominatrix. Ok. From then I think it best I relay the rest in conversation form:

Me: "Well Congratulations on having your own sex slave"
Susan: "You know I'm always looking for good female slaves if you’re interested."
Me: "Well as it turns out I'm not very submissive"
Susan: "Those are the best kind!" (While giving me her phone number and name)
Me: "Thanks for the offer and if I change my mind you will be the first to know"

And then we left. I guess I can cross "Get asked by a woman to be her sex slave" off my bucket list. Big accomplishment.

So I guess the moral of this story is that my milk shake brings all the S and M bisexual Dominatrix ladies to the yard.