I met her online and we chatted and found we had things in common.
I showed her round London and helped her go shopping for kinky gear.
I shifted my weekend with my kids around because I wanted to see if this was a friendship.
I invited her into my home, fed her, showed her how to tie rope and even gave up my bed so she would have somewhere to sleep.
She called me a “wog lover” twice, once to my face, where I tried to point out that wasn’t something I found acceptable. I decided there and then that I was going to back off, make the gaps between conversations longer and let the “friendship” die.
The second time was by text, and then I hit back more directly. No swearing. No rudeness. Just a simple, “Please don’t contact me again.”
This has been playing on my mind because I haven’t really said much about it. I know I’ve mentioned it to a couple of people, but I don’t think I’ve been able to express how hurtful those words were. It struck deeper than I thought it would because it attacked a preference. A part of who I am.
Perhaps it also hurts because I misjudged a character. I keep wondering whether there were warning signs, things I missed. Only the short answer is there was no warning. Until confronted with this person’s racism I had no idea it was in them.
Self-critical, self-analysing me is therefore left in one of those positions where I try and work out what I should learn from this experience and I’m not sure I can learn anything. I will chalk this one up to experience, but for now I think I will let time heal the wound a little.
Tagged: BDSM Relationships
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