Now that Axel is finally free of his pain-ridden body and I am free of my position, there are a few possibilities as to the course of my life going forward.
Axel never wanted me to go back to Venezuela as part of the process of claiming what is mine. It is too dangerous and I might not ever return—not an indictment of my feelings for him but rather a realistic assessment of the very real physical dangers involved and risk of failure besides. However, toward the end he realized that without him, I had very little reason to care for my own person except to a) get back what is mine; b) keep the banks from getting it instead. He therefore released me as my Dominant in terms of directing my own future outcome.
Axel would have preferred, had circumstances differed, to merely hand me off to a worthy Dominant who would look after me and otherwise impede me from getting into too much trouble. However, I am not so optimistic that there will ever be anyone again with Axel’s powers over me. I can hope but it is not as if at my age and with my baggage that I am prime stuff. Moreover, my highly eccentric value system limits as to what sort of candidate would even get past that gauntlet. For example, I must insist that such a man be a tobacco enthusiast. Not just for me but for him. If he doesn’t smoke any tobacco-based product, chances are we won’t have all that much in common and it will be a dreadful exercise in futility for us both. Consider it “tobacco culture” or sort of the tip of the iceberg of my own “sacred” and relationship to God.
As for other attributes? What sort of man would even be interested in a woman who, barely “widowed”, goes right out and publishes cheesecake photos? It is not as if anyone can truly understand what it is like to have cared for a sick and dying man who effectively “left the building” as far as him being the man I knew and loved for four years. He had a series of strokes at which point he was no longer that man. He was my patient and responsibility, and out of love and honor for the man he once was I did my utmost to preserve what I could of his dignity while keeping him as comfortable as Nazi nurse allowed me. While there are some things I could have done differently, in the final analysis, I did my best.
A financial planner however might have some strong criticism for me for how I have conducted my affairs the last six months (or the last four years). Meanwhile, my “boss” was way too under the weather to be the one in charge in the end but I was loathe to take any official action in that regard. My “boss” was Axel. I knew going in that I would have to move fast, in whatever direction that was going to be, upon the moment of Axel’s death. In my view, my trip to Venezuela has the highest probability of positive outcome. Second place would be finding myself another Dominant who wants a house frau with no driving careerist ambitions.
In Axel’s honor, I shall herewith go through the motions of finding someone to “look after me,” particularly given it is quite possible that I will never raise sufficient funds to complete the Venezuela enterprise anyway. However, in this day and age, it would seem that having some sort of dowry would help more than hurt me. What do you think, dear reader? Will a man be happy to have eccentric, past my sell-date me as his mere kitchen and household slut/travel companion? Or will he expect my significant financial contribution? The way I see it, going to Venezuela is worth the risk given that without the love of Axel what is the point of mere survival? Settling? Feigning regrets at my childlessness? Getting a dose of other peoples’ religion?
(I fully intend to get as far as the Venezuelan Consulate in Washington D.C. no matter whether I receive sufficient contributions or not even if I have to sleep in my car. I will depart just as soon as I settle the estate—such as it is—or after Axel’s memorial service/scattering of ashes, whichever comes first.)
Axel wrote me a couple of beautiful letters of reference—vanilla and D/s versions—which are available in the course of serious inquires, if any. He also—inexplicably at the time, in the middle of the night—took me out for a photo session in our retirement community in Florida. I recently came upon the pictures on his computer and determined that they were intended to be used in service of soliciting a new protector for me who would distract me well enough to keep me in this country. OK, Axel, I shall post a few of them. Doing so won’t keep me in this country but it could at least offer some choice diversions.
Perhaps it will even make my trip to Washington D.C. a bit less grim.
Yes, I realize it is an unseemly for a woman of my age to wear such a short dress; however, I was wearing shorts underneath, which doubtless add to my…hip breadth. But what do you want that I should have gone to the gym instead of looking after the love of my life? And it was late at night. I am normally far more decorously composed, when outdoors, and there’s a possibility some Vanilla might see me. Naturally, I am also quite capable of letting my freak flag fly. I am also capable of getting back to the gym. However, realistically, I’m always going to be a better cook than a model, in my advanced years.
In that vein, I think that this older shot that Axel took of me captures my better attributes:
So there you have it. Perhaps this post shall inspire women in my demographic to contribute to the fund to get me at least temporarily removed from the domestic dating pool.
Then I’ll get my money upon which I’ll either have a better field to pick from (perhaps in a different country!) or I’ll be preyed on by the next international con artist. Will I ever learn?
If I fail and make it out alive there’s the matter of that small estate which, in theory, I can keep up with a part time job. Perhaps I’ll apply at one of my favorite cigar lounges. There are some nice ones around here.