The Return of Chibs

The guys I’ve dated have been a varied bunch, all with their own unique traits and characteristics. Several of them have had the same name, so to help differentiate between them and for fun, I give them nicknames.

There was Brian*, a longtime ironworker who apparently never wore sunscreen, so he came to be known as George Hamilton Brian. A few months later I dated another Brian, who I called New Brian, then about a year after him there was yet another one whose nickname was obviously New New Brian. Now, when John and I talk about him, we just call him NewNew.

There was Robert*, who was married and refused to share a picture of himself with me before we met but assured me that I’d like him – he said he looked like Clint Eastwood. Usually I won’t meet a person without seeing a pic first, but I was intrigued by his confidence and wanted to see if his claim was true. Turns out, he did resemble Clint Eastwood in his Dirty Harry days. He was great in bed, but one weird thing is that he’d had prostate surgery and as a result when he came, no actual sperm came out. Imagine a totally normal hard cock, and a typical male orgasm, without the mess! It was kind of nice, actually. I told my friend Jin Soo about him and he instantly named him Clit Hardwood. So perfect.

There was Big Mike, Salad Mike, Conny, Coppy. Beardo. Beige.

But first, there was Chibs. I’d seen his ad on Craigslist before, but had been afraid to answer it. He described himself as a Dom, looking for a willing sub to use as he wished. When I first saw the ad I don’t think I even really understood what those terms meant – by the time I came across it again in the summer of 2013, I was willing to explore a D/s relationship, knowing that I’d do it if I could top from the bottom. After a brief email exchange we agreed to meet at one of my favorite meeting places, Cesar Chavez Park in Berkeley.

As soon as I saw him I knew I’d made the right choice. He was tall, with salt and pepper hair, glasses, and just a hint of a drawl, rugged good looks, like he was raised in the country in Montana somewhere. He looked like he might’ve once been in an outlaw biker gang. Like Chibs from Sons of Anarchy. We took a walk around the park, the conversation was easy and lively. We were feeling it. At one point he said, “I want to see your tits. Take them out.” I was like WHAT. Of course I said no, and he said, “I’ll keep watch over your shoulder while you keep watch over mine. No one’s coming. Take them out.” Now, ordinarily I would tell someone who I just met and asked me to do this to fuck themselves, for real though. But there was something about this Chibs, something sexy, and safe, and extremely attractive in his bossiness. I did it, and he said I was his good girl. We made a date to hook up the next day.

We saw each other regularly, once or twice a week for the next five or six months. I learned so much with Chibs – he was married, so I learned a lot about discretion; I was forbidden from wearing any kind of fragrance, nothing, not even deodorant. He was my first Dom, so I learned about safe words and rules – my favorite thing that we did is that we’d use the name Angela when we were playing. It turns out Angela is a complete whore that will basically do whatever is asked of her (I’ll tell you about the time we took a field trip to Secrets another time). But, if there was something serious I needed to address or an issue that went beyond our safe word, then we’d use my real name. Having that rule gave me such a sense of safety. I went farther with him than I had with anyone else up to that point. So, when he suggested that he find a third person for us to play with, I said yes. I would fuck this guy sight unseen, literally – Chibs would find the guy, vet him, make all of the arrangements. I would leave my front door unlocked and wait for them, blindfolded and on my knees in my bedroom. I did. They came, and we had fun. We always did. Chibs and I liked each other a lot.

There was always the issue of his wife, though; he’d been caught cheating before and it devastated her, devastated him to have hurt her. He was always torn between being a filthy dirty pervert and a husband and father. One day he told me that he couldn’t do this anymore, that he couldn’t continue to see me. That he was sorry, but that our relationship had to end. I knew he was serious because he addressed me by my real name. I was bummed, but I understood. This was January of 2014.

Fast forward to the summer of 2015. I haven’t heard from Chibs in over a year – he sent an email to check in with me a couple of weeks after we broke up, but other than that, radio silence. I’m working at my shop, it is hot as hell and I have the door open to let some air in. I was super focused on whatever I was working on when I sense someone behind me. I turn around, and Chibs is standing there.

We made small talk, caught up with each other a bit, and then he asked me if I was still his good girl. I said, “I never stopped being your girl” which, you guys, was a really good response!!! I felt super sexy when I said that. He asked if his girl would be willing to give him a blow job and I said that of course I would. So I did, right there on the dirty ass floor in my shop.  He finished, left, and I never saw him again.

I stalk him from time to time on Facebook – I see his profile pic with him and his smiling wife, his photos from the anti-Trump march in Oakland this past January, his lefty political commentary. I miss my sweet bossy Chibs. I’ll always be his girl.

 

*names have been changed

 

One thought on “The Return of Chibs

  1. I’m so happy to come across your blog! Entertaining and educational and resonant with my life, I’ll keep coming back.

    Like

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