My Christian Grey Confessions

Okay, I admit it, I read the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy and it turned me on. I was swept away by the story.

The play scenes in the movie were hot, yet pretty tame. And James Dornan is freaking sexy! Behold…

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Is it how a Dominant/submissive relationship actually works? Not at all. Was it the best written series ever? Hardly. Was Anastasia how I want to be seen as a submissive. No way!

The woman who introduced me to the lifestyle told me that it wasn’t a guidebook to a healthy, kinky relationship, and yet, it was still titillating. I have to agree.

When there’s dominance and bondage involved, it’s hard for me to be logical and behave myself. All my good judgment goes right out the window along with morality and ethics.

The truth is that the stories held my interest even though I wished some things were different.

I’m often asked by my vanilla friends where Fifty Shades missed the mark. This is the humble opinion of someone who is not only a submissive in a 24/7 relationship with a Dom, but also from someone who writes erotica. So here it is, a subs point of view of what’s wrong with Fifty Shades of Grey.

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Submissive women are rarely that overtly submissive.

Like, at all. Subs are badasses. We are tough cookies with a brave and adventurous streak. Our brains won’t shut up and we are more than capable of handling our lives and the lives of others when it’s called for. Most of us are intelligent, witty and thoughtful. How we express our submission is diverse and evolving.

The submissives I know are incredibly strong women with careers, degrees and brains. Some of them can even kick your ass. You have been warned.

In many cases, it takes us a long time to come to terms with our submission. In the lifestyle, you can see people discovering their submission in their forties and beyond. It isn’t something you take lightly.

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“I don’t make love. I fuck… hard.”

“I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don’t do romance.”

Christian Grey, Fifty Shades of Grey

Dominant men are not all about fucking hard.

Sorry, Christian Grey! The truth is that many Doms are proud to call themselves romantics. They are not one note lovers. They can be harsh, strict, loving, tender, mean, chivalrous and challenging; sometimes all at once.

Mind you, they do love to fuck hard, but they can also make slow, sweet love to you. That’s the true Fifty Shades of a real-life dominant.

Seems silly to state this, but I feel I must. Not all Doms are billionaires with shredded abs. They’re not all young and good-looking either. They’re just people and come from all walks of life and come in all shapes and sizes.

We need to understand that in fiction all the characters and their relationships are blown out of proportion for our entertainment. They are pure fantasy. Everyone is young and beautiful and their relationships are explosive and passionate all the time. Reality doesn’t work that way.

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Doms and subs all come from abusive childhoods.

This is misleading because so many of us have experienced abuse in childhood in one way or another. Take this statistic for sexual abuse: 1 in 4 women and 1 in 6 men were sexually abused before the age of 18 (Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, 2006). This means there are more than 42 million adult survivors of child sexual abuse in the U.S. alone. That’s staggering! And there are other forms of abuse on top of that: emotional abuse, neglect, endangerment and the list goes on. Because Doms and subs are human beings, many of them have come from tough childhoods just like many vanilla people. The difference is that we are usually more aware of what the abuse meant to us than the rest of the population.

Sometimes we use play to work out some of these issues and sometimes we don’t. I believe it’s crucial for those of us in the lifestyle to look at our childhood and do whatever we can to heal our wounds and understand ourselves. If we do this, we can make sure we are making healthy choices, especially since our play can sometimes have elements of danger.

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BDSM and Dominant submissive relationships are the same thing.

First, what does BDSM stand for?

  • B: Bondage
  • D: Dominance and/or Discipline
  • S: Submission or Sadism
  • M: Masochism

BDSM and a Dominant/submissive relationship can work together or independent of each other. It’s important to note that BDSM porn usually gets it incredibly wrong and focuses on the most extreme situations in the BDSM spectrum; often with no regard to safety, consent, reality or sanity.

D/s (a shortcut for a Dominant/submissive relationship) is about who you are, BDSM is about what you do during play. Some Dominant and submissives don’t play or they play in a limited way. And some people that engage in BDSM want no part of a D/s relationship.

If you want to explore the scene, the lifestyle, BDSM, etc., I suggest that you do a lot of reading, join fetlife.com and attend a local munch.

Please do not look for Doms online if you are just starting out. There are a lot of predators out there that will pitch themselves as Doms, but are just horrible sick people.

Even if they are real Doms, you aren’t ready to play yet and there are different Doms for different subs. Trust me, you need to slow down and pace yourself.

So how do you get started as a submissive or Dominant?

If you live in a medium to large city, get involved with the local community and attend events. Munches are lunch or dinner in a public place with your regular vanilla clothes were you can talk to all sorts of people who have been in the lifestyle for a while.

Christian Grey is the Best Dom Ever.

Lawd, no, he isn’t! He is manipulating, controlling and a terrible communicator.

Remember at the end of the first book (or the end of the first movie) when Ana asks Christian to show her his worst? And he does!

No responsible Dom is going to do that. Period.

He does have an awesome playroom, though. That’s what our dungeon wants to look like when it grows up. Hehehe.

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Final Thoughts on Fifty Shades of Grey.

Even though I just wrote 1,000 words on what is wrong with this series, I would be remiss not to give kudos to E.L. James for her marketing savvy, storytelling abilities and for tapping into the dark fantasies of women.

The trilogy may not be accurate or the best written series of erotica, but it was engaging, funny, sexy and sweet.

Yes, the relationship was dysfunctional, but so are most romantic and erotic relationships in fiction. They’re written to turn you on, they are not meant to be a blueprint on how to lead your life.

With all its flaws, I hope Fifty Shades of Grey lets people be more accepting of a lifestyle they don’t understand. That would be a good thing for everyone.

 

Your D/s Relationship: You’re Doing it Wrong

When you judge another,
you do not define them,
you define yourself.
~ Wayne Dyer

Call it naivete or wishful thinking, but I was really hoping that people in the lifestyle would be less judgmental. For the most part, I’m right. God knows I have met some extraordinary open-minded people from all walks of life that love kink. What bothers me is that in a world where kinksters are judged so harshly by the outside world, could we at least refrain in criticizing each other?

Very early on in my journey in this lifestyle, I joined a BDSM women’s group on Facebook. I was commenting on a blog post along with other people in a fun, jovial matter and used the word pussy. One woman, a submissive, totally shamed me for using the word. She pointed out that this was not a porn page. I had used the word quite tamely without any explicit comments or as an insult to anyone. I was shocked and confused.

I mean, I have a pussy I’m quite fond of. It’s a perfectly wonderful word. I also like cock, ass, tits… but I digress.

After watching that page for a couple of weeks it became obvious that the women in this group were a bunch of snobs who thought they were above everyone else. They only talked about the non-sexual aspects of living in D/s or M/s relationships and frowned upon naked pictures or naughty language.

nun holier than thou

They probably lifted their pinky fingers while giving hand jobs.

I left the group and joined another group that was comprised of mostly Dominant men. They posted explicit, but mostly tasteful erotic images depicting BDSM activities. Some of the men even engaged in harmless flirting with unattached group members. Still, nobody made me feel bad or ashamed or threatened like the BDSM Miss Manners group did.

I found this curious and filed it away.

This Spring I attended a workshop taught by a renowned Master and his slave. He talked about all the different ways there are to “be” in the lifestyle. How labels are meaningless and how we should all embrace having our own unique relationships, even if they break the mold of what people think those relationships should look like.

Works for me! After all I’m a dominant woman who loves to submit to one man. Outside of that relationship, I’m not very submissive at all and yet I’m 100% sub with him.

Okay, here’s the reason why I’m writing this. Something happened today that really burned my biscuits.

I posted a journal entry on Fet where I talked about how I had taken off my panties for a Dom on our second meeting. While most people loved the post and wrote lovely comments, a couple of other people–okay, one in particular–tried to shame me for doing what I did.

Really? 

Can’t we as people who have more exotic tastes than most give each other a break? Especially women. Shouldn’t we protect each other, support each other and lift each other up? Haven’t we been shamed, oppressed and silenced for long enough?

In a lifestyle where a sub can have a slave who is a Top to a Switch who plays with a Dom that likes to get flogged, you’d think we would get over ourselves!

You want to know why I took my panties off? Because I damn well wanted to! Because I was owning my erotic power and felt his dancing with mine and they both melted together in an absolutely beautiful moment of shared sensuality.

black bra panties and stockings

Not that it matters, because it doesn’t, but we had been talking on Fet for a few days before that night and during that meeting where I took off my panties for him we did not have sex or engage in any sexual activity.

So why the mean-spirited response: “I would never do THAT!” Meaning that my actions offended her sensibilities in some way.

I guess I just expected more from another woman in the lifestyle. I’m disappointed and I’m pissed.

Of course, I later found out that she had been turned down by the same Dom that took off my panties. So that’s what this is–plain old jealous, catty behavior. For crying out loud, grow up. Now I almost feel sorry for her because that’s just pathetic.

I don’t have time for that crap or for people that would judge me or anyone else for living their lives the way they want to live them.

I will not be hateful or cruel to any other sub because she gets more attention than I do or is prettier than I am or younger or more awesome in any way. I’m going to celebrate the beautiful unique creature that she is as long as she’s not hurting anyone in the process.

That’s how being an adult works. It’s really not that hard.

I reserve my judgment for predators who exploit minors, the mentally ill or animals. Those people deserve judgment and punishment, I do not.

I was just living in the moment and expressing myself.

Let’s pretend there are 100 different activities that fall under BDSM and I am probably only interested in 15. That doesn’t give me the right to shame another fellow kinkster for doing something that turns me off or even disgusts me. There’s an easy fix to that–I won’t watch it or engage in it.

*sigh* I don’t like getting this worked up. It’s time to let this go.

Now that I’ve purged my feelings, I must go answer her snarky comment.

Deep breath…

The Master Appears

“When the student is ready, the Master appears.”
~ Buddhist Proverb

It has been more than six months since I wrote a single word.

My life has taken yet another unexpected turn and it has me going through some exhilarating growing pains.

It all started in March, just a few days after my last blog post. My friend and fellow sub invited me to a social and then a munch. At the munch I met a nice man, an unattached Dom I will call David, though that is not his name.

He didn’t seem terribly interested in me. This didn’t surprise me since I was pretty sure I wasn’t a very interesting person.

Though I had been a sub in a long distance relationship for a year and a half, I had never attended munches, socials or parties. Meeting other people like me was a huge step and one that I’ll always be grateful I took.

Through my dear friend in the lifestyle, David asked if he could contact me. She assured me he wasn’t a serial killer and that he was well respected in the scene, so I said yes.

This was his very first message to me on FetLife:

So… I was thinking about trying to make the party tonight and was wondering if you thought there was a reason I should be there.

I told him I would be there and the butterflies started flying around in my stomach.

Here’s how I thought things would go at the party: we would meet, talk for a bit and then he would get bored or I would get bored and then we would have to figure out that awkward, “It’s not you, it’s me,” speech.

So much for assumptions.

He showed up in a polo shirt and jeans wearing a gun and a shit-eating grin. All 6’2″ of Domness.

He had a head of thick salt and pepper hair, a beard and blue eyes. His legs were long and gorgeous and his ass is the kind of ass you would expect a sub to have. Yummy.

I was wearing a little black dress with strappy heels. A tame, yet tasteful outfit, which probably made me look incredibly vanilla.

I had never been to a kinky party before and it was much more laid back than I thought it would be. Most people dressed just like anyone would at a friend’s party. The Dom/mes weren’t lurking in the shadows ready to eat the new subs for dinner. At least, I don’t think so…

What happened in the next few hours was surreal. David and I sat in the aftercare room of a dungeon in Buttfuck, TX (that wasn’t the city’s name, but you get the idea) talking, flirting and kissing as we heard the intermittent sounds of subs screaming and floggers whacking bare behinds in the rooms all around us.

He said he hardly ever kisses anyone, especially not someone he hardly knew. And there we were, making out like teenagers. 10 Points to the Heartbroken Sub!

His kisses melted my insides and I was soaking through my black lace panties, the ones with the heart-shaped opening in the back. Without much ceremony, he hooked his big fingers under the soft fabric and slipped them off me.

Uh-oh.

Turns out Mr. Big Bad Dom doesn’t care for panties, even if they’re the expensive Victoria Secret kind.

I thought I was still in control of myself until he grabbed a fistful of my blonde curls and pulled my head back, exposing my neck like a vampire about to feed. Sweet Jesus. Something inside me that had been asleep for a while woke up as I entered the point of no return.

Dom pulling sub's hair

But he didn’t escalate things. Even after the party was wrapping up, we were still sitting there on the velvet couch exploring our faces, mouths and fingers.

I said this on my last blog post, just days before I met David:

After the initial shock and devastation of my release, I’ve been haunted by a primal desire to be reborn. I fantasize about a powerful, sadistic Dom who can metaphorically kill the woman I once was and replace her with someone else; a new creation who no longer hurts like I’m hurting now.

I had no idea what a truly dangerous place that was. If David had wanted to, he could have destroyed me. I was that vulnerable at the time; that raw.

David asked me out the next morning for dinner. He picked me up in his truck, checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing the forbidden panties, handcuffed my wrists behind me and took me to a restaurant near downtown Austin. How awesome is that?

He was nice enough to uncuff me before we went in the restaurant and relished the view as I ungracefully got out of his truck with my short, flared skirt.

We went out again the next night and the next.

I wanted to have sex with him and he said… No!

Turns out he’s an old-fashioned guy. Imagine that.

We talked and got to know each other more in the coming days. It didn’t take long before we made love for the first time.

The sex was amazing, but more than that it was connected. It was physical and spiritual and intimate. He didn’t tie me to the bed and whip me into submission, he came at me gently, sweetly with complete control.

A sensual Dominant.

Dom kissing sub

In the next few installments of my blog I will tell you about our relationship and where we are now.

I know, I’m such a tease…

Now What?

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin

Only a few weeks ago, I thought James and I would be together forever. I just knew we would grow old together and our love and our bond would deepen with each passing year.

I was wrong.

Now, I’m a sub without a Dom; a lover without love. I feel lost.

I’m much too raw to look for another Dom, at least not now. I believe that love like that comes once, maybe twice, in a lifetime. Now that I’ve lost it, the odds are against me.

So what happens to me now? What does a sub do when she doesn’t want to pursue love, yet needs a teacher, a guide, someone to care for her? Who will calm her, let our her wildness and hold her tight when it gets to be too much?

I have a few options; options that both frighten and exhilarate me.

I took a BDSM test yesterday. Here are my highest scores:

  1. 100% Bondage Receiver
  2. 91% Submissive
  3. 88% Masochist
  4. 88% Slave
  5. 71% Experimentalist
  6. 71% Girl/Boy

My top result, Bondage Receiver, is no surprise. I love to be restrained and played with; to feel completely powerless. The second and third on the list are a given. It was the fourth score that gave me pause: 88% slave.

Truth is I’ve always been intrigued by the Master/slave relationship. But after my breakup, it’s almost all I can think of.

After the initial shock and devastation of my release, I’ve been haunted by a primal desire to be reborn. I fantasize about a powerful, sadistic Dom who can metaphorically kill the woman I once was and replace her with someone else; a new creation who no longer hurts like I’m hurting now.

A fellow sub said she had felt the same need after her last release. This fascinated me. I was not alone in this strange fantasy.

Why would a sub want a Dominant to destroy her, obliterate her and create her again from scratch?

I’m not sure I know the answer. What I do know is that I have some choices to make in my life.

  • Look for Him; my dream Dom, the man I want to spend the rest of my life pleasing
  • Get out of the lifestyle altogether and hope for the best
  • Try something different, a new life that allows me to have sexual and psychological release without worrying about love or “forever”

I’m not strong enough now to look for my dream Dom and there’s no way I’m going to a vanilla life again. That means I have to reinvent myself. But into what? A bottom? A slave? A playmate?

Does that mean I’ll have to have sex for the sake of pleasure alone without mixing it with love? Can I do that? Should I do that?

Ah, that is the question.

I’ve been approached by a few Doms the past few days. One in particular has me thinking. He is married in an open relationship with his sub. They both like to play outside of the marriage. They have asked me if I would consider being with them. I told them I wasn’t sure and that’s the truth.

There are other options too.

I could find a Dom friend that wants to remain a free agent. We could be friends with benefits. No strings attached.

Or maybe I’ll be a bottom and play with several different people.

Would this new direction harm my soul or set it free?

I guess I’ll never know unless I try.

My First Time

It didn’t take long for Carlos to deflower me.

On our first date, we went out to dinner and then he took me to the beach. He had brought a beach blanket with him and we sat there under the stars listening to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Carlos was quiet and told me had been painfully shy as a boy. He had this calm control of himself that I found alluring.

Carlos was Cuban, I was half Colombian. Our shared Latino culture bonded us. Though I have inherited most of my father’s German and Irish features, I did feel Latina down to my bones and was raised way more Latin than American. And, yes, I know that Latin Americans are technically Americans too, but that’s just how we say it.

Carlos was tall with dark skin, black hair, brown eyes. I was a petite, fair-skinned blonde with green eyes. He was the physical opposite of me and that aroused me tremendously. I’m still turned on by opposites to this day.

As we sat on the blanket, shoulder to shoulder, I mused at how light my skin was next to his; like a bowl of cream next to a bowl of chocolate.

Pensive, he looked at the stars and then at me. His kiss was the best kiss I had ever had; a complex sensual dance that made me throb in all the right places. I think maybe it was at that moment that I fell in love with him. There’s just something about uniting to a man with a kiss; something deeper than the physical.

Soon after we began kissing, he wriggled his hand under the front of my jeans and fingered me while he pinched my nipples. I swear I was so shocked that I couldn’t move. I let out a weak protest, followed by a guttural sound as the orgasm escaped my body. I had never had a boy touch me in any of those parts before. It was so forbidden, but my mouth forgot how to say no. Truth is, he never asked for permission.

My body was buzzing, electric. I could feel that this man was waking something up; something powerful and dangerous that I never dared disturb before.

He licked my juices off his fingers, which stunned me. “Do you touch yourself like I just touched you?” he asked, his face was a mix of curiosity and concern.

I blushed. “Sometimes.”

“Do you cum?”

I stared at the patterns of the blanket for a while. “Yes, but it feels better when you do it,” I whispered.

He smiled and nodded. “Good. We’ll make sure that happens a lot.”

He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his jeans. “You’ve made me very hard,” he said as he made me trace the outline of his cock behind his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” I said, innocently.

He tried not to laugh, he really did.

On the second date, we went to his house and watched Like Water for Chocolate–a movie he had selected for this occasion. I was wearing a short pink sun dress with spaghetti straps. We watched the movie, lying down next to each other on his couch, my back to his front, as he played with my nipples and kissed my neck. It was an appropriate movie since I was all water by the time the credits rolled.

He excused himself and was gone for what seemed like a long time. When he returned, he wrapped his large hand around mine and pulled me into his bedroom. The room was filled with the soft, warm glow of candles. It was incredibly romantic. My first time was going to be epic!

Slowly, he peeled off my clothes as I trembled. When he slid my panties off, he inhaled deeply and his features changed; his calm demeanor now replaced with primal hunger.

He lay me on his bed, face up. He undressed in front of me. God, he was beautiful. He was a firefighter and a part-time model. He had the most amazing chiseled abs, which he informed me helped him thrust even harder. I was enthralled by the “V” of his pelvic girdle.

male nude abs

When he took off his pants, I saw his erection. I had never seen one and it kind of scared me. He smiled that wicked smile of his and crawled on the bed, his face between my legs.

Oh my God!!

Let’s just say that when Carlos dies, his tongue should be bronzed. Not only did he truly enjoy skating his tongue along the flower of my sex, but he brought me to orgasm after orgasm until I thought I would faint from erotic exhaustion.

I knew what was going to happen next and I was ready. More than ready.

“Have you ever seen a man ejaculate?” he asked me.

I blinked. “No.” I can’t imagine where an innocent virgin like me would have seen such a thing.

That’s when he did something that surprised and confused me. He started masturbating in front of me. He came quietly, his essence shooting up into the air several feet.

I was speechless and throbbing.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, as if that explained anything to me.

Carlos cleaned himself up, crawled on top of me, his muscled arms pinning me to the bed. Then he kissed me over and over again, his cock sliding along the slit between my mounds, but he didn’t push himself inside me. I moaned in agony while I asked myself, why weren’t we having sex? Was something wrong with me?

He looked at me suddenly and said, “I’m not going to go all the way in. You’re not ready yet.”

I was sure there was no way I could be more ready, but he was the experienced one so I nodded in agreement.

He used his hand to guide his cock into that cavern of lust that no man had explored before. One tiny centimeter after another until I gasped. At some point an imaginary door appeared; a door that wouldn’t open. I clenched.

“Relax,” he whispered into my ear.

I tried to, I really did, but I couldn’t.

Carlos didn’t seem upset with me at all.

On our next date, I wore a white linen dress and white lace panties. No bra. I remember that night so well. We watched an action movie at the local movie theater. During the flick, he thumbed my nipples through the arm opening of my dress until they were as hard as little pebbles. I was so wet that I was afraid my excitement would bloom through the light linen fabric.

We left, got in his car and he looked at me with a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Before I could ask him what he was sorry about, he gave me an order. “Take off your panties.”

I was going to protest, we were in a packed parking lot, but his eyes turned intense. “Now.”

I quickly slipped them off and once I had, he grabbed me roughly and dragged me on top of him. He was in the driver’s seat and I was straddling him, my bare, wet pussy on top of the coarse fabric of his jeans. While I was still on top of him, he unzipped his fly and freed his cock.

Carlos looked like a feral animal. I was scared. How could this romantic, gentle man want to do this here, now? But there was no question that’s exactly what he wanted.

“This is going to hurt.” With that he shoved his cock inside me and I let out a small scream as my back arched. With one thrust, he had broken through the door.

His car windows were tinted, but I was sure all the moviegoers around us could see what was happening.

After the first few thrust, it didn’t hurt anymore. I felt filled with him. Though I didn’t understand why, I loved how he had taken me like that. It’s an amazing feeling to see a self-controlled man lose control because he wants you so much.

I also learned an interesting lesson: action movies turn men on. Note taken.

I looked down at his cock as it pistoned inside me. I stared at it, fascinated by this dark column of muscle disappearing into my body. In and out, in and out. Over and over again until I had an orgasm unlike any other I had before. The only way I can describe the difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one is that a vaginal orgasm is deeper and makes you feel whole while a clitoral one is more of a beautiful, electric release. They’re both wonderful, but when you have both at the same time, it is complete and absolute bliss.

The following day, Carlos took me every which way in his house. We had sex for hours. We did it on the bed, the couch, the floor, the bathtub. Even the kitchen sink. He was insatiable and I was surprised to find out that I was too.

couple-in-bed-008

As I watched him sleep in the nude next to me, the sheet barely covering his manhood, I thought to myself: I’m glad I waited because if I had let this beast out when I was in my teens, what would have become of me?

I had a religious friend ask me why I had let him take my virginity. I simply said,

“Because he deserved it.”

I had always been very religious and therefore, repressed, but this connection, this union between a man and a woman beat that hands down. Sex was the melding of the physical, spiritual, psychological and emotional worlds of two human beings. Powerful stuff indeed and created by God to be this amazing for a reason. No sermon had ever moved me like this. From then on, I knew that intimate sex with someone I loved was more meaningful to me that anything else. I wanted to concentrate on my lover and on him alone. Nothing made me happier than pleasing him. Let the rest of the world be damned. This was my calling.

For the next few weeks, Carlos showed me how to please him. He took me whenever and wherever he wanted. A crowded beach, at lunch at a restaurant, an alley behind a bookstore. He used me for his pleasure, grabbing my hair, pinning me down, slapping my ass and shoving himself inside me without preamble while also showing incredible tenderness at times. It was amazing, but it didn’t last.

Carlos was a fabulous and skilled lover, but he didn’t quite know how to navigate the hours between sex. After satiating himself, he would tune me out completely. I felt so alone, so discarded. I tried to break up with him because that upset me so much, but he would just seduce me again. It was obvious I was powerless under his spell. The night before I ended it, he said, “Next time, I’m going to tie you up and shave you. I’ll show you things…”

Those words, and the promise they held, have haunted me for years. How different would things be if I had not broken up with him, at least not before he tied me up and “showed me things”?

I didn’t know it then, but I’m pretty sure Carlos was a Dom. At the very least he was a very dominant man.

Though he couldn’t manage the  emotional side of a relationship, he set my sexual beast free.

And I’ve been wrestling with it ever since.