In many ways, Patricia was your typical Connecticut housewife. Two kids, two dogs, and a husband who was addicted to both golf and porn.
At 51, Patricia had definitely hit something of a rut in life. And this fact was true more in the bedroom than anywhere else.
Truth be told, she and her husband barely touched one another these days. And this sad fact has been true for over five years. Greg got by on porn and some very stressful "scheduled sex" that their sex therapist prescribed.
The scheduled sex was supposed to encourage them to rekindle their passion, but it ended up being such a chore for both of them. Each week on "Sex Day," Trisha would virtually pray for a genuine headache or a cold. Nothing could beat a clear case of the sniffles, in fact. Anything to get out of Sex Day with Greg.
And when she couldn't get out of it, she tried to get it done with as fast as possible. She'd grab his hard cock and jerk it as quickly as her hand could go, thinking to herself "Please, just come already. Get it over with. You don't care about me. You only want to get off. Let's just get on with it so I can read my book already!" After Greg would come, he would make some noises to the effect that he loved her. Sure, whatever. Now she could breathe for another week until "Sex Day" showed up again ... Sex Day had, in Trisha's mind, morphed fully into a total joke in her life.
By this point, she'd come to find Greg somewhere between unattractive and all-out disgusting. It wasn't that he was bad looking. In fact, for a man of 55, he looked great—and many women seemed to think so. The problem, as she thought about it, was largely how he treated her. After more than two decades of marriage, he really seemed to take her for granted, paying little attention to the details of her world. And barely looking at her during the day.
How could he come to expect her to give herself to him sexually in this context when he showed no signs of caring about her whatsoever? It made no sense to her. She was, simply, utterly turned off by him at this point and was happy that he had his porn as an outlet. And happy that every now and then she truly got a headache on Sex Day.
...
To compound the problem, note this: When it came to their sexual world, Greg seemed to make the same erroneous attribution that so many middle-aged men in this situation made. He chalked the problem up 100% to his wife.
She'd older now. Post-menopausal. Women don't really like sex, especially at that age. Not much can be done ...
Trisha knew that Greg saw the situation this way based on their conversations with the sex therapist whom they'd seen for a few sessions some months back. Honestly, she was so not into him at this point that she made no attempt to correct this gross misperception.
And make no mistake: Greg's take on the problems in their bedroom was, unequivocally, a gross misperception. Below the surface, Trisha, in fact, yearned to be loved.
On the down low, when Greg and the kids were out, and the mood was right, Trisha would grab her Kindle and look up sexy stories on her favorite erotic site. With her vibrator plugged in and ready to go. Immediately, she'd click straight on the latest BDSM stories and would look for a story that had what she wanted so desperately in her own world.
The ingredients were as follows:
1. She wanted a man who was a true gentleman. And she wanted the whole package. Tall, muscular, handsome, intelligent, witty, powerful, successful, and kind. A girl can dream, right? Trisha gave extra points for a black man or a tall, handsome Brit.
2. She wanted the main woman in the story to be swept away by this hunky man. He would pay her extraordinary attention, caring about her inner world, commenting on her hair and her eyes, buying her sexy clothing and jewelry. In short, he would make her feel special and loved.
3. She wanted the man to be an all-out Dom, taking full control in the bedroom.
4. And the woman needed to be an all out Submissive—a slave to her master, willing to fully surrender to his every desire and wish.
5. She got so turned on by thinking about being tied up. And blindfolded. And violated in both her mouth and ass. And she wanted these themes to show up in spades in the stories that she chose.
While Greg was getting off to his lesbian porn videos, thinking that she was "over the hill," Trisha was, unbeknownst to him, basking just as passionately in the little fictional world found buried in her Kindle.
Her fire wasn't out. Not by any stretch. It's just that Greg wasn't even close to lighting it these days. He was clueless.
...
"Trisha, look it here," Greg said over breakfast one morning. He pointed to a story in the Times Magazine section.
"This guy in Toronto is a total gigolo! Check him out!"
Trisha looked over the article that Greg had found so amusing. There he was. His name was James Hamilton. He was a large, attractive, muscular black man who looked amazing in a suit. This news story was all about how Mr. Hamilton runs a highly lucrative business by providing "sexual guidance" to middle-aged women who have lost their paths.
Greg laughed. "That's a scream, right?! This guy is nothing more than a gigolo and everyone knows it!" Greg laughed again. Trisha smiled. And continued reading.
Was this actually legitimate, Trisha thought? Mr. Hamilton runs this business in Toronto, a place that Trisha visits for her work regularly. In fact, she was set to visit there for a conference next week.
Look at him, she thought. He is delicious. He's over six feet tall, eloquent, and he specializes in providing the kinds of sexual experiences that women like her yearn for so deeply. Apparently, BDSM is his specialty, in fact.
