My First Taste

I married young, rebelling for the first time, and moved away from all that I knew. My marriage was not successful. He was chameleon-like, always with a different face for each new situation. I was unsettled, and turned to other men.

After my divorce, I spent many years alone, with no desire for male companionship. I was content with my books. Eventually, though, my urges drove me back into a more social life.

Then I met a man. A boy, rather, as he was younger even than my own young age. He was gentle and soft, almost womanly. I needed that as a reintroduction.

But he came with a surprise. A kink I'd never experienced. What did I know of kink then? I said yes, whatever you like (I should have known then) as he feathered my wrists into cuffs, and alright, if you must as he whispered my ankles into restraints.

He stroked me calmly and promised that there would be no pain, then proceeded to flog me.

He was right. I felt no pain. Only this glorious disentanglement from the responsibility of the experience. This is the closest I've come to transcendance. I misinterpreted that meditative mood as sleepiness, my body felt so full and soft and heavy with contentment.

Twelve years later, I remember clearly that moment, and the freedom it afforded.

Conflicted

While what I want most is to submit, I find myself struggling against it. They seem unworthy, these demi-Doms who require respect from someone they do not know. Yet I remember reading the first chapter of Gordon, and feeling that lassitude of spirit that comes on so easily in the presence of someone who conveys that quiet control. That rush of feeling...or perhaps better termed a lack of feeling...that I continue to crave and not find. To stop fighting it, to let go, is what I need. But all around me are misogyny, ego, and weakness. I watch them come and go, and the names change or the collars change hands, and it seems so ridiculously pointless. I'm not sure why I persist, and not sure that I will for much longer.