I’m lying in bed, and I can’t sleep. Our time together is still fresh in my mind. Having had to drop you off at the airport was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. I roll to your side of the bed and still smell you. I’m sad because I need to change and wash my bed sheets. Soon, they’ll lose your smell altogether. I inhale deeply as I think about the time we spent together. I stretched farther and grabbed my phone from the bedside table.
When I unlock the screen there’s a message from you. Your morning messages are always innocent, and this one simply says, “Good Morning, Beautiful.”
I receive this message daily, though it’s often worded differently. The essence of the message is always the same. In its many forms, the statement says clearly and plainly, ‘It’s a new day, and I am thinking of you.’
Our contact had always conversational with friendly banter during our work conversations. We had never met in person, but we’d developed a great rapport via Zoom meetings.
We started to private message each other, and eventually, we shared our phone numbers because some topics were unsafe for work. Our friendship developed over several months. We spoke about how I’m not currently in a relationship, and while you say you are single, who knows? I guess that’s the anonymity we all enjoy online.
I hope for my sake you are telling the truth.
We developed a friendship that was full of laughs. Laughing at ourselves and at each other. Sitting through our Zoom meetings, messaging each other, and usually snidely critiquing the meetings is the highlight of our working days.
Outside of work, we talk daily about all sorts of topics, and funnily enough, no theme is off-limits. We are often left marvelling about how similar our ideas are. We find ourselves left shaking our heads at the insane synchronicity of our thoughts. Usually, we find ourselves saying the same things at the same time or you saying things moments before me, and me scolding you and telling you to get out of my head and to stop reading my mind.
Eventually, our chat topics changed. We started talking about different subjects, including likes and dislikes of a sexual nature. We found ourselves discussing our hard noes and our excited yeses.
Again, we were comfortable openly discussing such matters as if we’d been friends our whole lives or longer. There are sometimes embarrassing moments, but essentially, we laugh it off jokingly and start conversing about a new hilarious topic to see if we are similar in any other ways (we usually are).
We sent each other pictures, and our photographs became playful over time. Our messages, along with the pictures, became flirty. Our photographs and messages eventually turned into calls and FaceTimes, which became provocative and seductive. While the sexual components of our relationship were prevalent, they weren't centre stage, making what we had even more rare and just as thrilling.
We would find ourselves battling wills and messaging each other well after meetings and after you’ve finished your working day. I was sometimes still working because we were in opposite time zones, and when I looked at the clock, it was nearly four in the afternoon; I know it’s nearing midnight for you. It’s a challenge we find ourselves in every day. Me encouraging you to head to bed, or you telling my sleepy ass to go to sleep. Always one of us enticing the other to rest. It’s a battle of the stubborn.
Ok, I’ll admit it. I’m the challenge in our whole relationship. You telling me I should sleep turns me into a stubborn, defiant creature, and I end up saying, “Nope, not ready”, and you, the big softie, allow me to stay up a bit longer because you don’t want to say no to me. I’m on to you, Mr.
I also like to make sure you get to sleep, though, because I don’t want you to wake up tired, and I don’t like to hear that you’re sleepy throughout the day. I know. We have a weird dynamic. I see you looking tired in meetings, and I’ll message you saying so. You’ll message me back saying that some pretty girl kept you up late chatting, and I’ll get all embarrassed. I’ll see you laugh on camera. I will send you an embarrassed emoji and see you laugh again. Such is life working on the same team and different sides of the globe.
I still remember one exchange when it was hitting that dreaded hour.
“Well, it’s that time of the night for you”, I’d affectionately messaged you.
“I know. I don’t want to, but I do need to go to bed”, you replied, and I immediately wished I hadn’t reminded you of the time.
“Goodnight, kind Sir,” I tell you anyway.
I watched those three dots bounce and flash back and forth in that little bubble and await your reply. They do this and stop a few times. I’m expecting some long story or even some change of topic, which we sometimes do because this distracts us from the task of one of us going to bed. The message that popped up next wasn’t what I expected.
“Good Night, Baby Girl.”
I looked at it somewhat disappointed because you were going to bed and somehow excited because you called me your ‘Baby Girl.’ I hit a thumbs up on your comment and put down my phone, unsure how to respond.
Our company brought us together to coordinate a project, and I am grateful it kept us connected long enough for us to see much more than a colleague in each other. I took extra time looking in the mirror before meetings. We would start pre-banter messaging before the meeting and carry on throughout the meeting. It was wild how reliant on your presence I was becoming. I’d never had these feelings before.
I finished my pre-meeting inspection for a meeting one day, ensuring I was presentable, knowing you would be there. I messaged you to start our pre-meeting messages, but you didn’t respond. It’s unusual for you not to reply. I wondered if you would be attending the Zoom meeting.
You were there when I joined the meeting.
“Hey, Pretty Girl”, you texted me on my phone.
“Hey yourself!” I immediately replied.
“I won’t be online for our meeting next Thursday.” You replied. I looked at you on screen, and you looked everywhere except the screen.
“What do you mean? Where will you be?”
My heart sank as I watched the three little message dots cycling through my screen. The dots stopped and started again; I impatiently waited for your response.
The whole meeting passed, and I was waiting for you to tell me why you wouldn’t attend our next meeting. Our meeting ended, and finally, your text box appeared.
“Gotta go. See ya, Pretty Girl.”
What the hell was that? Why did you tell me you weren’t coming to the Zoom meeting but not why? I was curious, and I couldn’t determine what you were playing at.
I waited throughout the afternoon, hoping for any message, but nothing. I sat my phone down, resigned to the fact that you would not be messaging me, sad that I would have to wait until bedtime for you to wake up and possibly explain what you meant. My bedtime is your waking up time, so we’d developed a schedule around timezones, sleep, and work. We make the most of whatever time we can spare.
Sadly, I didn’t see you that night before going to bed. I sent you a message, but nothing came in reply. After days of radio silence, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d been ghosted. My mind was in overdrive the whole time, thinking of whatever scenario my brain could think of. You had a new girlfriend; you already had one, or the worst…you were married, and your wife found out.
Workplace romances are dicey business, let alone catching feelings for a fellow work colleague. I selfishly needed some closure. I messaged you on our work platform, asking a question I knew the answer to and trying to solicit some communication from you. You didn’t respond. I’d fallen for you hard, and I was devastated.
I was such a fool.
I arrived at the office on the fifth day with no contact, and on my desk was a vase of flowers—lilies, roses, daisies—what the hell was this?
“Did you see where these came from?” I asked my co-worker as he got up from his desk beside me.
“No, sorry. The flowers were sitting there when I came in.” I watched him walk away and stare back at the flowers, trying to guess where they came from.
“Hey there, Baby Girl,” you say quietly, walking behind me. “Someone sent you flowers, huh?”
I stood there half puzzled, half pissed. I was angry that you hadn’t replied to my messages but happy that you were standing so close to me that I could smell you. God, you smelled terrific.
“Where did you come from?” I finally asked you, grasping for a hold on the moment. I looked up at you, taking in your handsome face in front of me in real life. Fuck you were a big dude.
“I didn’t want to miss our Thursday meeting,” you replied, looking down at me. “Hmm, you are a bit of a shorty, hey? I am a beast of a man, but you're really short.”
I scoffed at the shorty remark, exaggerated an eye roll, and looked from the flowers on my desk to your face, which had a huge smile.
“I still don’t understand,” I say, confused.
“I’m so angry at you,” I said, overcome by emotion. Your smile faltered, and you tried to grab my hand, but I pulled mine away. “You haven’t replied to any of my messages.”
“You know I would never have been able to keep a secret like my coming here from you. I wanted it to be a surprise. Not messaging you was the only way. I stopped myself several times from telling you as soon as I found out last Thursday before the meeting. The last few days have been tough.”
I looked at you and saw the truth on your face. As mad as I was at you for not replying to my messages, I loved the forethought of the flowers you knew I would adore and that you were standing in my office.
“Thanks for the flowers.”
“You're quite welcome, Pretty Girl.”
Our first meeting is called, and I sit next to you, where my supervisor properly introduced us. She had no idea just how well acquainted we had become in our time working on this project and all of our after-hours chats, calls and photos.
“I’m sorry for not getting back to you sooner, Baby Girl,” you messaged me during the meeting as our shoulders were nearly touching.
“Sorry…it appears I keep developing pet names for you. The latest one is ‘Baby Girl’. I’ve called you that a few times now. If you don’t like it, just let me know.”
I read the message and felt my cheeks flush. “I don’t mind; I like being called your baby girl.”
“That’s good,” you replied, “I like thinking of you as my baby girl.”
Our meeting continued for what seemed like days. We chatted via message, catching up on the last few days as you told me of your twenty-plus-hour plane trip to get to me. I understand why you haven’t been reachable now.
“By the way…” I saw your message appear on my screen. “I just wanted you to know that when you called me Sir the other night, it made me feel special things. I think of myself more as a Daddy than a Sir, but you can decide what you want to call me.”
I stared at the message and read it a few times. Daddy, as in Daddy Dom? I was intrigued to know more, though. What the hell? I was forever learning new things anyway.
“I've never had any experience with a Daddy Dom. I’ve read a lot of stories about BDSM. What’s the difference?”
I sighed as I sent the message and glanced at you, my cheeks hot as your foot touched mine under the table.
It’s here that you explained why you liked being a Daddy. You talked about how you wanted to show care, love, and support towards your person. Because of your big size, you wished to envelop your person in your arms and protect them. We’d already spoken about our size differences when it came to height. You were a lot taller than I was, and we’d laughed about this and what we would look like together if we ever met in person. Yes, I am short.
Trying to turn the tables and make you blush in front of everyone, I asked you what it looked like for you sexually.
You didn’t miss a beat; you told me it was about following directions. You liked it when your little girl did what she was told, and she'd get a lot of praise and reward when she did so. You also said that you enjoyed a firm grip when you took what was yours. You liked to hold on tight to your baby girl, so there was no mistake about who her Daddy was.
I blushed even more and started squirming in my seat. Ok, I think I’ve officially embarrassed myself more than you. I took my hands off my laptop keyboard and placed them in my lap, looking down at my fidgeting fingers. Your foot tapped mine, and I peeked at your face, but you looked at my screen. My eyes go to the message waiting for me.
“Does my Baby Girl think she’ll like to follow directions like a good girl? Does that excite her?”
My heartbeat feels like it's doubled in time as it clashes with my flashing cursor. The cursor prompts me repeatedly, encouraging me to type a reply.
My hands move back to my keyboard, and I slowly type my response,
“…yes.”
“Yes, what?” The question appears quickly
.