I did it again. I scrolled through Twitter and read tweets. Many bloggers I follow do that thing, where they automatically tweet old posts. Blasts from the past. I do that too. And sometimes I check out which older posts of mine were shared and I read them. That can be fun, it can be disappointing. But it always means that I find spelling or grammar mistakes. But that’s not the point.
So I was on Twitter and one old post came into my timeline. It wasn’t just any post. I knew it would mention the man I’m dating now. You might call me a masochist or silly for reading those posts, but I do that. Not always, but I do. Sometimes I just enjoy that it has a picture of him in it. His face or any part of his body. After dating for about 1.5 years I still don’t have many pictures of him. Even less of us together. I guess we are occupied with other things when we actually get to be together in person. And I have never been know to be someone to take many pictures. Again not the point.
I read that post. It described the way he looked and his words. Reading that sometimes is so familiar. It is actually nice. I enjoy it. If I’m in the right state of mind. I can assure you, I was that day. I actually see him move, feel his looks and hear his voice.
I was reading along and came across him saying “my little slut”. I will admit it was weird at first. I immediately thought “that’s my name”. When we started talking and exchanged numbers, he saved me as LS – little slut. Over the next weeks and months I became “his little slut”. That is what he calls me. There are plenty of other names, as seen in the picture above. But “my little slut” is what he says and writes the most.
The feeling I had was the same as when I come across someone with the same name as my real one. Or better yet, hear someone talk about a person with the same name. It’s a bit weird. My point is that it didn’t bother me.
I remember a discussion some time ago on Twitter about having one name or title for a dom or sub and not to ever use it with someone else. I pointed out back then that I think it’s hard to do. Especially with titles. Michael is not the first man I call Sir, there have been some before. But that doesn’t make it less true. He is my Sir and I’m happy about it.
In the end it doesn’t matter whether he calls me his little slut or his bitch (I’m sure he used that one before) or any other name. What matters is that I’m his and he is mine.