Breakfast in Stilettos Read Online Free PDF Page B

was, I wasn’t sure exactly who the aliens were—them or me.
    I checked off my own mental list of requirements: he couldn’t be ugly, fat, broke, or drunk. Was that too much to ask? Granted, I’d overlook small doses of a couple of these traits for the right guy. But what was The Right Guy? He didn’t fit any of the AdultPalFinder categories.
    I needed better criteria and decided to make a few notes.
    First, he had to be smart. A big brain, but not Vulcan or Stephen Hawking-sized. He needed to possess that grounded, earthy intelligence coupled with a healthy dose of common sense. No long lectures on ion channels or Mandelbrot sets.
    Funny. Or better stated, witty. Galaxy Quest, not the Three Stooges .
    Good looking in that creative way. Hugh Jackman, not Tom Cruise.
    I typed in a search for “smart, funny, good-looking” and clicked the lucky button to inspect my result. There was a list of single men and, lo and behold, at the bottom of the page was an exact match with a link to “Danny Wilson ... smart, witty, good-looking ... and oh yes ... gay.”
    Oops. I guess I needed to add “heterosexual” to my search string.
     

 
     
Chapter 6: Mistress Em
     
    Eventually I found my way into a chat room so I could do my requisite lurking. The “room” was simply a browser window containing a fast-paced scrolling dialog. I scanned the participants listed in a small sidebar noting everyone’s screen names. There appeared to be eight men and two women (including myself), though I had no way of telling who these people really were. Sensitive Guy could really be a lesbian and The Bodice Goddess could be a transsexual with a penchant for romance novels. Look at me: Mistress Em, with a fetish-familiarity rating of exactly zero, posing as a porn pro. If only such obscurity worked on job interviews.
    I began reading the screen that zipped by rapidly as everyone added comments to the conversation. It took me only a few lines to realize that I had walked in on a room of people partaking in cybersex. The men were telling the woman what they were doing, while she disciplined them in ALL-CAPPED profanity. After a few more lines, I was able to pick out the characters and who was getting which response.
    SensitiveGuy had a let-me-lick-your-shoe fetish. “Goddess, I’m running my tongue over your divine black boots.” He was clearly an articulate gent with good typing skills.
    She responded with a speedy, “LICK ME SLUT.”
    FuzzyWes was apparently a furvert, who insisted on describing—in iffy prose rife with typos—the domina in a stuffed plushy cat outfit. I had to admit that the fur-thing would have stumped me, but the good goddess fired back with a quick, “COME DOGGIE. BEG.” That set the Fuzz into a frenzy of animalistic superlatives.
    Gr8NewSlave simply typed “SPANK ME” over and over again, to which the goddess deftly responded in kind. I tried to imagine how the guy jerked off while typing something that required both hands. Maybe he just pressed Control+V to paste it repeatedly.
    I was getting the sense that being an online mistress required no real dominant skills; just curiosity, good reading comprehension, tolerance of bad grammar and the ability to type in short rapid bursts. “Spank. Spank … Spank.”
    I got my first instant message from someone named Neal4U. “Mistress, how may I serve you?” I was stunned for a moment to be “instant messaged.” Thank God, or Goddess I quickly corrected, that I wasn’t face to face with this person. It was a little unnerving to have someone throw themselves at your feet, if only typographically.
    A true dominant might like this and think it appropriate or even mandatory, a proper show of submission. I had to learn to think in terms like “mandatory” and “submission.” Harsh words with no room for argument.
    I decided that the best response was just to ignore him. For now. A good servant knows to wait, right?
    I continued to watch the online conversation,