Date: Fri, 12 May 2023 22:59:17 +0000 (UTC)
From: ropingtop@aol.com
Subject: 1000 feet away - installment one (authoritarian)

    Hey. I'm Duff (actually, that's what everyone calls me. My real name
is Peter, but when I was in school, we all called each other some form of
our last name. You can probably figure out what mine is, LOL).
      I'm 49 years old, and a big guy. Yeah, I have a few extra pounds on me,
but I'm physically big. All over (wink wink, nudge nudge). I played defensive
line for the football team where I got the name Duff. That's also where I
began to realize I preferred men to women - by about 100:1 - and I also
learned that when I had sex with men, I liked to in charge. And I found
it pretty easy to take charge, too. Not gonna lie: during those
"formative years", I think I met ten bottoms for every top. And if any of
you readers remember your college or university days, you'll remember
that for all the stuff we said, we valued quantity over quality. Back
then, I woulda chosen meaningless, hot sex six nights a week over a
meaningful relationship one night a week. It might be a main reason I got
to the ripe old age of 48 without wanting a permanent relationship.
    So, some of you will realize I said I was 49, and I didn't want a
permanent relationship until I was 48. Is there a typo? No. I'm here to
tell you the story of my budding relationship with Robbie. (Lots of name
changes in this story: Robbie's real name is Steve, but when I "met" him,
he said his name was Robert).
    This is all pretty confusing, right? Ha ha. Well, I'm gonna start
unraveling it for you. And myself. It's really not ver complicated.
Robbie - who, by the way, is in the bedroom, spreadeagled and tied down,
with one of my bit gags in his mouth- and I met on one of those apps. And
here's how it happened. (If any of you have had similar experiences, feel
free to tell us about them. You can even use fake names).

    I wasn't looking for a steady relationship when I joined the handful
I did. I was looking for some fun. It's not always easy to find what I'm
looking for. My screen name gives it away, doesn't it? Yup, "Roping Top."
And that "Top" part is absolute. Again, no 90/10, 80/20, etc, for this
guy. I'm in charge, there are ropes involved, or it doesn't happen. Ya
can't argue with what you like. But of course, you have to get used to
realizing you may not have a truly big pool of selections.  That's what I
was experiencing when I signed up for these sites. I live in what is
arguably the biggest city, people wise, in the world.  Good old NYC. And
even in NYC, as bar culture has dried up, I'd see the same people, time
after time, when I went out. Yeah, the sex with some of them was really,
really hot. Not so much with many of them. But I hadn't found "the one."
What I like in a man probably factors into that. I want someone younger
than me, but not younger than about 35. And remember that phrase we all
banned from our vocabulary:  "straight looking and acting?" Yeah, I'll
fess up. That's what I was looking for too. A fit, straight looking "dad"
type. No facial hair. No tats (I have a few. My sub won't).  I could give
you some examples of guys who'd fit into my favorite molds, but I'll save
that.

    I described myself a little bit before. Here's some more. Blue eyes.
My hair is prematurely gray. I'm hairy: if I don't shave for three days,
you'll think I'm on my way to a full beard. And I said: I'm big. I stand
at 6'3". Some of you may think I left out the most important feature.
You'll get that later because Robbie kind of had heart palpitations when
he saw what was going into his mouth the first time... (That's all you'll
get about that for now).

    So, I did what my young friends told me I needed to do on these
social apps: I included a picture - an HONEST one - and wrote a profile.
I laughed when I heard some of the language the young'uns wanted me to
use. I was more direct:  the profile said almost exactly what I said
about myself above.  And then, it was like fishing: you toss out the
bait, and see if anyone's biting.

    Some old pop song contains the line "too many fish in the sea." Well,
yeah, that's what I found out. I got messages, looks, cruises, etc, from
people all over the world. Some of them I recognized right away as people
from the local bars.  I'd write back to them and include a message like
"Jerry, how ya doing? The red moustache bid gave you away," or "Greg,
tell me the truth: how many specialists in the medieval period of Asia
are there out there?"  Then there were the guys from thousands of miles
away. I got a LOT of those. And, lots and lots and LOTS of guys who were
awfully cute, and looked like I'd break them in half if I got my cock in
them. There was one guy whom I REALLY liked: half Japanese, half
American. DARK black hair, handsome face, told me he was an experienced
slave, started calling me SIR right off (good start for him), and sent me
nude photo after nude photo, and I reciprocated. Two problems:  one, he
was working in the middle of Europe, and he wasn't looking to relocate.
Second - and this was a biggie - he wasn't into monogamy. I mean, what he
said he liked was to serve as a sub for one Master for about a month,
then move on to another, and yadda yadda. Maybe come back to a Master who
had used him again, but nothing permanent.  GOD, do I wish I could've
changed his mind. I had more than wet dream about Toshi, up until things
started with Robbie.

    So, how did they start? Well, one day, when I was checking my profile
on one of the sites, I had been "checked out" by someone who, according
to the app, was "1000 feet away" from me. He didn't leave a message or
anything like that, and his profile name wasn't promising:  "curious str8
guy." He didn't say much about himself in the profile, only that he was a
submissive with women, and he was looking for tips on how to be better at
it. He thought gay subs could tell him.

I HOWLED when I read that. Right. Yeah, we have forums for straight guys
who want to say "Yes Mistress" to their wives.  If we do, I don't know
about them. But what made me laugh even more was that he checked out MY
profile. Now, if there were ever someone who was NOT going to give you
advice on being submissive, it was yours truly.  And finally, there was
the final part that really p'd me off.

    You know what's coming: NO PROFILE PICTURE.  "Screw that," I just
said to myself. Yeah, I have (or rather, I HAD) a fantasy about
dominating a straight guy, maybe even having a regular thing with
someone. Again, those of you who are as familiar with these apps and
sites as I am, know how many "str8" guys are on, scared as rabbits,
looking for afternoon encounters, weekend adventures, so on and so forth.
PLEASE. I remember an expression my grandmother used to use: "shit or get
off the pot." That's how I felt about all of that. So, I snorted, and
ignored him. Yeah, he may have been right in the neighborhood, but that
could've meant he was on his way to some sports bar with his "bro's" , or
just feeling horny, who knows (Later, Robbie told me that he copied my
photo from the site, and he'd pull it up and jerk off to it before he
went to bed. Now THAT's a way to woo a man, huh? LOL again).  I had no
time for this.

    Four days later, I had another hit from him. Still 1000 feet away. I
almost wrote something back to him, but GEEZ. Then I got three more, over
the course of two weeks.  The last one came in at a time when I was in a
particularly foul mood, having to do with OTHER guys on that site, but I
took it out on him. I wrote a snotty answer back in which I said, among
other things "If you don't have the balls to have a photo, then you
probably don't have any balls. I don't date eunuchs. Look it up if you
don't know what it means."

    It took three days until he answered, but he did. "I'm scared
shitless, Sir, but I'm not stupid. I know what a eunuch is and I assure
you, I'm not one of them. As for a photo, if you had asked I would have
sent one. Steve."
Yeah, he sent a photo. Shirtless, in jeans, and without a face.  Now, to
be honest, from what I saw, he had a good body: sort of a runner's build,
some lean muscle on his arms, and he had picked a pair of jeans that
indeed, let the audience know, he had balls (and a cock). His nips were a
little on the small size, but as a nip conoisseur, I could live with them
(the smaller the berry the sweeter the juice and all that). He gave me
some more info. He told me he was 6'1", 185 pounds, had curly brown hair,
brown eyes, and was single. "If you want to know anything else, let me
know" is how he ended the email.

    I was intrigued. Wouldn't you be? But DAMN it pissed me off that he
didn't include a facial shot. So I wrote back "Ya know, I've never bedded
a man without a face so, I think this is a waste of both of our times.
Nice jeans, though."  I waited another week before I got an answer. This
time, he answered "I have a very responsible job and I'm not out. I'm
nervous about people finding out." Well, I was in my apartment at the
time, and I laughed for a good five minutes. Granted, where I live USED
to be the center of gay culture in NYC, although that's changing. Still,
if you're a single guy, living 1000 feet away from where I live, people
will assume what they will assume.  I wrote back again. "When was the
last time you went to an affair for your 'responsible job' where you
brought a woman anyone believed you were dating? When people find out
where you live, what do you think they assume? Trust me, Steve, if there
are any people out there who actually think you're straight, you should
push them out of your life. They're way too stupid for someone with a
'responsible job'."

    Three guesses what happened after that. He blocked me. I figured that
out when I didn't hear back from him for another two weeks, and found
that his profile had disappeared.  I was having drinks with a bud one
night, and I told him about it, and how I figured the guy had just
dropped the app. I didn't know about blocking, but my friend did. "Well,
sounds like you scared him off, Duff. Wouldn't have been the first time.
Let's see." He went onto the site, and looked up "curious str8 guy."
There he was.  "Yup, scared him away too, Duff. What happened? You run
out of gay guys to scare, not you're working on straight ones?"  I
laughed. "Yeah, and if you believe he's straight, I'm wearing a fucking
garter belt." My friend (Aaron) has a droll sense of humor. He responded
with "well, to be honest, Duff, you might think about that. I mean, or a
girdle or something like that. Things are beginning to sag." Aaron is a
good friend. He could get away with that. And I told him that his new
toupee' reminded me of an overcooked veal cutlet.

   Well, Mr. "I am curious but I'm yellow" must have screwed up his
courage because a couple days later, there was another hit from him. He
was still 1000 feet away. This time he sent a whole photo: not a nude,
but clearly a photo he had taken at his office. He included a message.
"You win. I thought about it. You're out there, everyone can see what
you're about, Sir, and you deserve better than you got from me. So,
here's a photo. Please don't ask me to sent a nude, Sir, I just can't get
my head around that. I hope you like what you see. Sorry for insulting
you and being a dick head (P.S. My secretary knows what I'm doing and she
told me I was the dick head. She's right. Steve). "


    Objectively, no one would have said that he was hot. But he WAS
handsome. He was smiling in the photo,and you could see his face really
clearly. His hair was a little long and unkempt (still is. I'm trying to
decide how I feel about that), but he dressed well, he seemed to have a
few freckles, nice cheekbones and - a very important feature for me - a
set of good, full lips. His ears were nice and large, and he didn't carry
his shoulder halfway up his neck the way so many guys do. He DID give off
a sense of confidence. If I didn't know that he was submissive, I
wouldn't have guessed it.

    I wrote back. "You're a brave boy. A handsome one too. Feel like
getting a coffee or a drink sometime? We must live, what, 3 or 4 streets
away from each other?"
    Radio silence followed.  "FUCK THIS" I yelled after I found myself
checking for a return message from him - again. I think I checked every
day for three weeks, and every day I checked three or four times.  I had
settled into my familiar pattern of having one nighters with guys I met
on the apps. Some were really a LOT of fun, but there was always
"something" that made me think "Steve would be better." I guess I WAS
intrigued about the idea of breaking in a straight man, and he DID check
off just about all the boxes on my "what I like" list.

    You ever hear someone say  "NYC is really just a small town?" Well, I
think it's a big city made up of small towns, like my neighborhood.  I do
all my shopping in the area: don't need to go to the box stores or far
away to get anything, and one day, I was picking things up at the local
pharmacist. I was chatting with one of my favorite cashiers there, and
then out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone who intrigued me. He was
a little obnoxious, but sometimes, especially for a DOM, an obnoxious
attitude makes a guy hotter. I heard the other clerk tell him "I'm sorry
Mr. Stevens, but your doctor hasn't put through the refill yet. I can
call him and see if I can make it happen.  I heard him say, in a raised
voice  "WELL ISN'T THAT YOUR JOB?" I was about to say something about his
attitude, but when I looked at him I thought: "Geez. He looks like he
could be Steve's brother. " Then some of my remaining neural cells began
talking to each other. The clerk had called him "Mr. Stevens", my boy's
name on the app was Steve, I knew he was trying to be as discrete as
possible.

    Yeah, it was "Steve." At least I thought so. Now, had I been
insistent, I could have pushed one of the clerks to tell me his full
name. That would have compromised them, though, so I decided to do
something else. I had some time to kill and I made as if I were looking
at some of the merchandise in the store until he left. Then I started
following him. He made a first stop. "Interesting," I thought. The stop
was at one of those places that essentially serves as a mail drop off and
pick up for folks. When he left, I followed him. There are two really
big, REALLY expensive apartment buildings in my neighborhood, and he
walked into one of them. I saw the doorman greet him. It was the kind of
building where someone with a "responsible job" would live. (I work in
theater, but not in the glamorous part. I'm the foreman of a crew that
builds the sets, fixes the stage, etc. I wouldn't need to be at work for
a few hours. Yeah, it was Saturday, but the show must go on, and my
assistant foreman was on a vacation with his family).

    "He lives at 299" was what I thought. That was the address of the
building. I wondered if Mr. "Responsible Job" lived in the penthouse or
maybe in some shabbier digs. It didn't really matter to me, because I had
what I needed. I waited until Sunday, and then thinking that someone with
such a responsible job probably had a bunch of equally obnoxious friends
he hung out with on Sunday. "2pm is probably a good time to rattle his
chains," I thought, and I went on the app, found his profile and wrote
"You never answered my message about a drink or coffee. Maybe I should
just park myself outside of 299 12th Street, and introduce myself to you.
Don't be surprised if some of your neighbors recognize me. I've fucked at
least five guys who live in that building. By the way, is Gustavo still a
custodian? You can ask him about the mole on his left thigh."  What
Robbie told me, later, was that he had to leave his friends (yes, they
were out drinking, at a straight sports bar), run to the bathroom, and
get his act together. "You scared the shit out of me," he told me later,
and my answer was, well typical "Good. Because eventually I FUCKED the
shit out of you," (And I did. Be patient). On Monday, I got an answer
from him. "Sorry, Sir. Work has been insane. Yeah, I live at 299. I don't
know how you figured that out but I'm not gonna lie. Is there a
convenient time? Steve."

    "HA HA. I flushed out the fox" I told Aaron the next day. And now, it
was HIS turn to wait. I made him wait for a week. I wrote back "How's it
feel, straight man? Someone's making you uncomfortable, pretty much the
way you made that woman uncomfortable in the pharmacy. So, two things.
First, knock off the bullshit with your name being Steve, Mr. Stevens.
Second, meet me in front of your building on Sunday, 3pm. If you have
plans, change them. You're having a drink with me, and we'll take it from
there."  His answer couldn't have pleased me more.

    "OK, Sir. My name is Robert."   I think I licked my chops in
anticipation at least 100 times. I began to think about how I wanted to
reel this fish in. And I got to work.

    The way the neighborhood is laid out, most of the traffic on 12th
street comes in one direction. I figured he'd be watching that direction
and I was right. I came from the other direction, so his back was turned
to me. "NICE." I thought when I saw him: a tight pair of corduroys, a
business casual shirt with a subtle checked pattern, that hair: his
unruly hair, which kind of charmed me. He had his hands thrust in his
pockets and that, of course, made his pants even tighter and showed a
part of him I hadn't seen yet: his ass. It looked, well, inviting. I
clasped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

    "We finally meet, Robert." I said in a big voice. I could feel a
shudder go through him, but I did something that usually calms nervous
guys down: I gave his shoulder a squeeze. He turned and he was smiling.
    "Nice to meet you, Sir. I hope I don't disappoint you."

    He didn't that day, and he hasn't since then. And now, I'm thinking:
is my "the one" a converted straight guy? I'll tell you more, next time
around. Now, though, I can tell from his moaning that Robbie is getting
really horny. See, I left a favorite porno of mine on the computer where
he could see it. Time to go in and give my boy a little fresh meat.