Ch. 4 Chat Box Dominant: Diary of a Broken Me

Diary of a Broken Me

Anticipation’s a bitch I despise: Fuck me!


Dear Lucas,


Yes, I just called you Lucas.

And I hope that as I write you this journal post, you’re reading my email where I tell you to go fuck yourself.

I thought I meant it…

You stood me up for our Skype date. Sending me an email to explain why.


Giving me instructions on how to proceed with the week, since you have extended your vacation.

Really? You think I’m just going to do what you say after that?

Why do I let you do these things to me? Because I think I love you— you asshole!


Now that I have that off my chest, your email was quite lovely and apologetic. That doesn’t change the fact you waited until it was time for us to be on Skype to send it. That said you didn’t care enough to know it would hurt me tremendously that you canceled. It also said you thought so little of me that you waited until I was already ready, and prepared for you to call off our meeting.

Right, so you were an asshole, and now I’m being bitchy, and I feel horrible, Sir. You’ve never once made me feel unimportant or useless to you, until that email.


(my phone’s ringing. I’ll brb, Sir)



Umm… well I’m back obviously.

It was you on the phone, Sir. You just read my email. And although you see my point of view, you’re not happy at all about the way I handled things.


Let’s also include that we have NEVER spoken on the phone until that conversation.

I nearly peed myself when I realized it was you, Sir. Your voice sounds even more dreamy in person, than in those recorded messages we have been sending to one another. I miss you so much, Sir.


So, you apologized again, and explained further why you must stay over another week. I wish you had said those things in the email, Sir. But then again, if you had, then I never would’ve had the pleasure of speaking with you for an entire 30 minutes. Gosh… I know that conversation cost you a pretty penny. However, you only have yourself to blame for the money well spent, if you ask me.

Sir… you told me you loved me tonight. It’s the first time you said those words to me out loud, or typed them in a chat-box either. I can’t tell you how happy that made me feel.

But then you said, “My wife and I had a discussion regarding you before I rang you.”

I couldn’t even wrap my head around this enough to talk to you about it.


You told your wife? Why would you do that, Sir? Is she going to call me now? Is she coming to the states to hunt me down? I’m not trying to break up your happy home. I’m not a home-wrecker, Sir.


We neither one wanted to spend our time talking about those issues. You’ve even promised to call me again this week. Sir… I hate fighting with you, but if the end results are you realizing that the broken me really needs you, then I guess I can deal with a few tiffs here and there. I hope you’re up for the same, since you dragged out of me how much I truly care of you as well, Sir.

I’m going to tell you again, just in case you might have missed something with the iffy connection we had at times, Sir.

I love you. I’m not sure when it happened, but I do know how it happened. You cared enough about me to let me be me, Sir. Even with all the times I’ve told you to take a hike, you still continued to fight for me, for us. Thank you for that, Sir.

Again tonight, you proved you’re willing to fight for us, willing to risk your reality for mine. That’s pretty amazing, Sir.


No one’s supposed to be able to get past my walls, yet you have broken down almost all of them, and left me vulnerable. I feel exposed, scared, and weak, Sir. I know I shouldn’t, what we shared should’ve been freeing, but instead it has me wanting to shut this chapter in my life, and pretend we never met.


You and I both know that isn’t possible, I’m too invested, and so are you at this point. You told your fucking wife, Sir.

I think you must have known how much stress this trip of yours has put upon me, Sir. You’re being quite generous, and aren’t making me fulfill any of those things in the email you sent tonight, and you’re calling me in two days.

You also are coming home three days ahead of the email schedule you sent me. I’m pretty sure due to my melt down.

Sir… I’m scared to talk to you about this, but I know if I don’t do it here, I won’t have the guts to tell you when I know your response could come in seconds, IE: the chat-box etc.

If your wife made you picked between her and I; I’d never let you choose me, just so you know. I think you should be aware of that, before you end up alone. I cannot be the reason your happy home’s broken, Sir. Your children deserve better than some two-bit hooker that horned in on their reality, and made it a nightmare, Sir.

I think maybe I should go to bed, and write you more tomorrow. I’m not thinking clearly, and honestly I’ve written enough to make your head swim already.

I want you to know, no matter what happens… I won’t regret meeting you, or knowing you, or loving you, or being owned by you, even if it’s only for this short amount of time. I’m a better person for it, Sir. And I think you know the broken me… is better for it also.

I’m not anticipating our conversation on Wednesday… I think I might even be dreading it.


I love you more than I fucking should,