We met online, and our chats were fun and friendly, but he identified immediately as a Dom, and I have never been that into BDSM. I figured, however, that even fun friendship was worth my time, so I kept talking to him. Even if we never had sex, it never hurts to have more friends in the community at large. Networking is important; he might know someone who knows someone else who is a perfect match for me. You just never know.
After a few months of chatting, we discovered that, although he lives a little far away, he works a few blocks from me. The convenience of this allowed us to plan on meeting very quickly. I was nervous, given his declaration that he was a “freak” and a “pervert”, but again I decided that friendship was certainly worth my time.
I am not a shrinking violet. I am quiet and shy, but certainly never a pushover, nor particularly submissive. I’ve had a few scenes with my husband topping me, but they were not my usual preference. I also did not particularly like being dominant, the few times I tried it. We have met a few people who were fun to watch being very kinky, but other than a rare flogging at a convention I have never trusted anyone other than my husband to help me explore kink.
When I got into his car and he smiled at me, though, I relaxed. Certainly on a first meeting nothing was going to happen. There probably would be no time, and neither of us had a convenient play-space, anyway. He asked me about my husband and our relationship status, and I told him that we are non-monogamous but not sure about polyamory after previous less-than-ideal experiences. He told me about his relationship with his ex, who tried to be poly for him but was never quite able to manage her jealousy.
OK, yes, there were red flags. Of course there were. There are plenty of red flags for someone trying to get involved with me, too. But he is also one of the most charming and goofy people I’ve ever met, and I am a sucker for goofiness. He kept me laughing and intrigued all evening, and when he put his hand on my knee my brain short-circuited for a moment. I think I said, “oh,” out loud, and my mind split to have a quick conversation with itself:
Logical part: Hold on, are we sure about this?
Impulsive part: Hell yes, let’s do this.
Logical part: Is there anything I can say to slow it down?
Impulsive part: I’m not even sure why we’re still discussing it.
Logical part: So that’s how it’s going to be, then.
Impulsive part: Did you say something?
By the time he drove me home, we’d been holding hands for hours, even through dinner. He described things he wanted to experiment with even while we sat at a busy restaurant with a very attentive waiter who kept showing up just as my date was saying kinky phrases, and things I normally would not have been up for suddenly seemed like great ideas. We stopped in a vacant lot for a few moments to talk before I had to go all the way home, and he said we should probably at least kiss to see how it went. I smiled and agreed, and we did.
One kiss turned into several minutes of making out and groping desperately at each other, but finally we pulled apart to catch our breath.
“Well,” he said, “That turned intense.”
“Yeah, I think it’s what they call ‘chemistry,’” I replied.
I’ll admit, I didn’t want to go home. I very much wanted to find a reasonably clean hotel room and promptly mess it up, but real life called. He took me the rest of the way home, and I went to bed hooked on the idea of dating him. I was still apprehensive about the kink aspect, but he made me feel secure about it.
Over the next few weeks, we stole moments from real life on a regular basis. A lunch hour in a parking lot with a picnic lunch, an evening of him driving me to the train station, and finally one amazing overnight date at a hotel for his birthday. We clicked. I met his other girlfriend and he met my husband, and all four of us clicked. After my husband declared that he was “a good guy,” I completely let go of reality and entered the NRE zone.
When he texts me, it’s a fantastic feeling for about two seconds. Then I have to think of a reply. I can’t send something stupid, and as soon as I send it everything sounds stupid. Then I have to wait for another reply, which is agonizing. If I don’t hear from him right away, I think I never will.
Our dates are amazing, but always far too short. The kinky stuff so far is thrilling, and I am honestly enjoying it in the moment, but it hasn’t gone far yet at all. He’s taking it easy on the new kid, I am sure, which makes me want to challenge myself more but also makes me want to apologize for not already being everything he needs.
Because here’s the scary thing. It’s all possible. I could have arrived at my age never knowing that I liked BDSM this much. I liked it a little, once in a while, but it is conceivable that I never clicked with a Dom before. My dynamic with my husband is very much a partnership of shared, equal exploration. I don’t think I could be submissive to my husband in public, or in front of our lovely, independent, teenage daughters. The real, everyday me exists as a strong, quiet woman. But everyone has different facets to their personality, and one of mine could be this breathless, kinky masochist who gladly bends over when this one man gets a gleam in his intense green eyes. She could have been inside me all along, waiting for just the right playmate.
It could be crazy, dangerous impulses from my roller-coaster, hormone-driven NRE. I’m honestly just not sure. He could almost, in the midst of my sex-addled brain-space, convince me of anything. The sky is purple? Yes, of course it is, Sir. The Pythagorean theorem makes no sense? No, of course it doesn’t, Sir. Let’s bend my legs in new and exciting ways that won’t hurt a bit in the morning? Anything you say, Sir.
I am concerned, to say the least, that once the newness fades I will be utterly boring for him. At some point I will likely hit my limit, physically and perhaps mentally as the newness fades for me, too, and while I will probably be proud of whatever accomplishments I’ve made, I am not sure pride will be enough to soothe the ache of not being, literally, enough.
Conversely, I could grow tired of pushing myself to new limits. I am naturally low-key and almost lazy. His inclination to tell me what to do could become annoying eventually for all I know. I am cautiously optimistic about our future due to our shared interests, but also wary of getting my heart broken or of hurting his. Not knowing if my feelings are a real foundation or fleeting hormonal responses is scary.
He sees it differently, though.
On our very first meeting, he was open and honest about his kinkiness. He has no shame where the truth is concerned, and he sees his experiences as a journey. Every friend, every meeting, every lover and enemy and scene, all are simply data and stepping stones for his life experience.
If I fuck up, there may be extra floggings. But he will remember that I tried. I am humbly grateful for that.
So I guess the point of this blog is a promise. I’ll keep trying for as long as the journey allows us, Sir, but not-knowing is hard for a quietly self-controlled nerd like me. If that’s ok with you, I suppose it’s ok with me, too.