Jun 152015
 

I recently found myself in a relatively unusual situation, in which, in my alter ego’s (N’) existence, I was in the presence of not one but two beautiful, interesting, intelligent women. The three of us struck up a bond, and did not a little socializing. One of them, in particular – call her Adriana – I found myself dying – dying – to put to use. (The other, I should say, I very much also would enjoy putting to use, but I’m not dying to do so.)

Adriana is visibly submissive (her very way of carrying herself communicates this effectively), stunningly pretty, super-smart, and self-consciously looking to rack up some sexual experience after a two-year dry spell.

In a normal universe, the author of this blog would simply make a bold proposition: you’re looking for some sexual experience, you’re hungry for that experience to be with people you know and like, and you know and like me. I know and like you, and find you eminently sexy. We should totally get it on.

But this isn’t a normal universe for me.

All of the sex – I think, literally, all of it – that I’ve had outside of my marriage since I started this blog has begun online, with people who know me primarily as N, not as N’. As N, I don’t worry about rejection, about shame. N is shameless, proud, even, about his sexuality But N’? That’s a more complicated story.

The blog, my various dating profiles, all serve as a sort of filter. Women interested in me know precisely what they’re getting. If they reject me, it’s because there’s no chemistry, not because there’s some essential aspect of me, of who I am, of what I want, that is problematic for them. But this woman doesn’t know what I want. She knows me. And I worry. If I come on to her, what will she say? What will she do?

Will she humiliate me? Grab a screenshot of a text and show someone? Tell someone? What if N’ is outed as a dog?

Mostly, this fear is irrational. She knows, if not about N, at least that N’ has sex with people other than his wife. In a worst-case (realistic) scenario, she’d be flattered, and would turn me down. But that’s not what I fear.

What I fear is abject humiliation and shame.

  One Response to “Fear of rejection, and shame”

  1. I feel for you, as the contrast between those who know you versus your online self can be rather slight. Yet, the risk you take by putting yourself out there seems so much more significant.

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