Reality

I'd like to thank everyone for the awesome feedback! :-) I'm astounded there are so many people who have related to my thoughts and feelings. I am honored to be able to share a small part of your lives through the experiences you have described to me. I find writing about my experiences to be cathartic, but even more so, I appreciate the opportunities to understand others' perspectives. There is still much I don't understand about my own feelings, let alone those of the others whose stories intertwine with my own. I value the chance to learn some of life's lessons vicariously, as opposed to the more painful roads I've journeyed in a quest for knowledge.

Please feel free to write me and share your thoughts about chapter 2!

With sincere appreciation,

heartsong

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Early Explorations

Before I continue with my story of Ken and the conflicts this created in my marriage, I'd like to provide some background.

Growing up, my family was not what you'd call "touchy-feely". There were the occasional hugs, but all in all, they were quite few and far between. I can vividly remember scenes from very early childhood, when my parents were very affectionate, but by the time I reached puberty, they were treating me like any adult in the family was treated: cool and diplomatic relations. The main difference was that I was, in essence, their property. There were rules and regulations to be adhered to, and I was expected to always perform properly in public. Should I not wish to obey the rules, my father was always ready to reinforce his dominance with his hands. However, he was not considered a violent man. I've never known him to raise his hand to anyone else.

I was an only child, and I was raised to behave like a little princess. I was dressed in the finest clothing and paraded through country clubs and the homes of the powerful and influential. I could curtsy by the age of five, and I knew exactly how to charm any adult within moments of first acquaintance, simply by adjusting my demeanor to suit their particular whims. Without having the first clue that there was a world outside of my own, I had been perfectly primed to eagerly latch on to the opportunity to be a dominant man's submissive.

I won't go into the details of my first sexual encounters here, as I've found them to either horrify or titillate, depending upon the proclivity of the reader. Of these experiences, neither is an emotion I wish to trigger in anyone. Suffice it to say, my introduction to sex was brutal. A man outside of my family, who should have been trustworthy, took me places I don't believe most people will ever go, though I've since discovered that his actions fall into numerous fetish categories. My self esteem and every sort of virginity was stolen from me, and I was terrorized into submission until I became numb and repressed the memories. Those memories have slowly returned through the years, and have explained much of my later rebellion and "acting out".

My first consensual experiences with adult men in the adult world came in my late teens. By eighteen, and having repressed all memories of the earlier abuse, I was eager to end this annoying state of "virginity" and get on with my life. The summer after my senior year of high school, I started hanging out with a girl who knew her way around much better than I did.

Kerry introduced me to drinking to get drunk and partying through the night. She had a little tent in her backyard, and her parents would let us sleep there when it was very hot. No climbing out on the roof or shimmying down the tree or the creaking of a noisy window to fear... we were on our own!

One evening before her parents returned from work, we stashed a decent quantity of her father's beer and whiskey in the tent. Once her parents turned out their bedroom light for the night, we dared to open the illicit liquor and begin chugging as much as we could stomach.

We lived in a large university town, and this night was the night the summer students would openly indulge in a Mardi gras atmosphere. Non students who liked to party would come from all over the state to join in. This also provided a delicious opportunity for curious younger people to actively engage in the forbidden.

Extremely tipsy, but short of falling-down-drunk, Kerry and I giggled our way to the local hangouts. We stopped at McDonald's and Baskin Robbins, then moved on to a bar known for overlooking poorly constructed, out of state, fake id's. There we encountered two men, who claimed to be 23 years old and just out of college. (It turned out they were 27 and 28, respectively, but this information would certainly have made them all the more attractive to me.) John, soon to be my "date" for the evening, was attractive in a rugged sense. He had long dark hair and a beard and mustache. He was dressed in a tuxedo, explained as attire for a wedding earlier attended, which he had loosened at the neck, revealing a lush mass of chest hair, through which I very much wanted to run my fingers. His most striking feature was his eyes; a deep, ocean blue. When they offered to buy us drinks, we gratefully accepted.

We spent about an hour becoming further inebriated, then John suggested we go for a ride and smoke a little pot. Thoroughly enjoying our adventure, we again agreed. We sped out onto the highway, and John's friend, Kurt, lit the joint. Now, some people say the first time you get high, it doesn't have any effect, but I'm convinced those people are wrong! The effects were entirely different than alcohol, and I loved it! Soon we were relaxed and horny as hell.

We stopped at a local make-out spot, and Kurt and Kerry wandered off somewhere, leaving me alone with John. I must have been a dream come true for him! There I was, 5' 7", 36-25-36, auburn curls falling softly over my shoulders, and wanting desperately for him to rip my clothes off and pummel me with his cock. But, in this respect, he was a gentleman. He talked to me and seduced me with his charms, copping a few feels, but never going further. I tried to appear worldly and experienced, though, in retrospect, I must have seemed like the naive kid I was.

Eventually, Kerry and Kurt returned, and we all decided to call it a night. I gave John my phone number, and we had them drop us off down the block from her house. (We felt this made our encounter "safe", as they didn't really know where she lived. Ok, so this was naive. But living the sheltered existence I had, it seemed to be very wise and mature to our young minds.)

Throughout the next two weeks, John called me numerous times, and we finally met again for dinner. He took me to a very nice restaurant, where he ordered us a bottle of wine... something I found irresistibly "grown up"! Later, we went back to the make-out spot, and proceeded to use it for that purpose. Unlike the last time, his attentions turned demanding and urgent. I was frightened, but didn't want to let on just how inexperienced I was, so I bluffed bravado. He took my face in his hands and roughly kissed me, forcing his tongue deep into my mouth and laying claim to my body.

I melted under his touch and began to feel the curiosity and desire attempt to override my fear. His hands traveled down my body, slowly peeling my garments away one by one, taking a moment to appreciate the flesh beneath on his way down. Suddenly overwhelmed with panic, I blurted out that I was a virgin. He stopped cold. I'm still not sure what all I saw in his expression, but it appeared to me to be an unexpected internal struggle between "right" and "wrong". He asked me to repeat myself, so, blushing, I did. He very carefully questioned me about whether or not this was what I wanted, and I replied that it was. After a few minutes, he seemed satisfied, but began his attentions with more tenderness.

When I was completely naked, he murmured complimentary phrases and alternated nibbling on my ear with quickly divesting himself of his attire. I was turned on, but so terribly afraid that I can't say it was a great sexual experience, but he was as gentle as he knew to be, and it was really pleasant. Once the initial pain of entry subsided, I started to enjoy the full feeling of having him inside of me. And he continually praised me and soothed my fears with his words and touch. Finally, he again showed an urgency and greater depth to his strokes and slammed himself inside of me again and again in a rapid succession of thrusts. As he reached his climax, he cried out and grabbed my hips, driving his member deep inside one last time before collapsing over me and holding me close.

Once it was over, it seemed neither of us knew what to say. He drove me home in silence, and we briefly kissed before I got out of his truck. That was the last I heard from him until two years later, when I was engaged to my husband. John called me out of the blue to say hi and talk. He said he had called to apologize for the way he treated me back then, and that it had been eating at him ever since. It's entirely possible he only said this in hopes of getting back into my panties, then discovered I was engaged and that wasn't going to happen, but I choose to believe he was sincere. I excused the experience as belonging to two dumb kids who both had grown a lot since then and wished him well.

During the time that elapsed between dating John and meeting Pat, I had several flings with willing older men. It became somewhat a recurring pattern for me to choose men who would give me affection in exchange for sex. My teen years had left me so starved for affection, I was willing to whore myself to nearly any degree to get it.

My biggest problem became that I couldn't ask for this affection. I must have sent a lot of mixed messages to the men I dated. One minute, I'd be sexy, sweet and seductive, but then I'd receive a sexual advance and be repulsed. Eventually, I learned to dodge these advances unless the required tender moments were first doled out. Dating became a twisted game of tit for tat, no pun intended. He could have my body, but first he had to satisfy my mind and heart with meaningless sweet nothings. And one of the rules of this game was that he had to figure this out on his own.

Pat, however, was different. I don't think it ever occurred to him to be anything but sweet with me. After we'd been dating a short time, I broke up with him briefly, because he was being too nice to me. I made up all kinds of excuses, but it boiled down to the fact that he was treating me well, and I wasn't comfortable with that. A few of the men I'd dated for longer periods were either emotionally or physically abusive. This made me comfortable in a bizarre way. I knew how to work that system, where this new kindness Pat was showing me was unfamiliar and terrifying. I think I resented Pat for letting me get away with whatever I wanted and generally spoiling me rotten. I often used sarcasm to try to provoke him to physically attack me, but he refused to take the bait.

Looking back now, I can see that I was resentful a lot of the time, because I felt I'd been forced into a Dominant role in our marriage, and I hated that. I'm very strong and capable of accomplishing whatever I set my mind to, but I need to find my release in knowing another will look out for my best interests and push me to be my best. I lack self-discipline, but I have a strong need to please. I would never have been able to admit it back then, but more than anything, when Pat would put his foot down on an issue, I was wildly turned on. But he was painfully aware of my sexual history as well. My memories of abuse began returning around the time we met, and he saw me through flashbacks and nightmares and fits of rage, not to mention hours and hours in the offices of shrinks. Understandably, he was reluctant to push me sexually, and we ended up only making love at my initiation.

The strangest dichotomy I've found within myself is a burning desire to be controlled, alongside a paralyzing fear of giving up that control. I have to admit, I often feel a strong urge to behave like a petulant teenager and rebel. I crave breaking a rule and not being able to weasel out of a punishment for my actions by claiming a headache or fatigue. It's still very strange for me to try to put into words, as these words carry a heavy burden of shame in many ways, but I actually, passionately want Pat to finally have enough of my smart mouth and bad attitude, that he'll truly punish me so I feel it for days. I want to feel scourged and chastened, and I want to know that to behave inappropriately and disrespectfully has physical consequences. Perhaps this is unhealthy... the jury's still out on that one, but it's my honest feelings. Trying to hide these feelings cannot be any healthier.

I'll end this background, moving on to continue the story of Ken and I in part 3, and reveal my deepest, darkest, most frightening fantasy, which is probably rather tame to many. But, to me, this fantasy is a great thrill and an even greater terror.

Pat would come home from work to find the kids with gramma, me on the couch watching tv, and the house an ungodly mess. I would nag him about being late, and he would have had enough of my attitude. He'd toss me over his lap, pinning my wrists behind me with one hand, while mercilessly laying into my backside with the flogger. Once I was sobbing hysterically and truly repentant, he would let me calm before demanding my complete submission once and for all. He would insist that, if I really want to be His submissive, I agree to accept His punishment. I, of course, eager to please, would agree. Then, he'd tell me to lay on my back on the bed. Not speaking, he'd carefully inspect His property, indicating in gesture for me to be still. He'd tell me to raise my hips and slide several pillows beneath my bottom, spreading my legs wide. Exposed, vulnerable, I wouldn't be sure of what was to come. How angry was he, and how far could he carry this? Would he fulfill my fantasy, thereby also causing me a most intense pain? Could I handle living out this dream? And then he would calmly instruct me further. He would tell me to spread my labia for him, so I would. He would tell me to be prepared to feel extraordinarily exquisite pain, and that I mustn't close my legs or my lips, regardless of what he does. By now I would be trembling and likely begging him to reconsider. But he would listen to nothing I said. Instead he would again tell me I have a choice: this, or be free of any obligation to him. I would relent and agree reluctantly. Then, in a cruel twist, he would add that if I stayed in position, there would only be two strikes with the flogger, but if I broke position, even for a moment, it would be an extra strike for each time. Then he would make me pull back the hood of my clit and hold it back as well, and tell me to watch as he brings the flogger down hard between my legs, and directly onto my exposed clitoris....twice. I then imagine I would be sobbing again, and he'd cradle me in his arms, shushing me and praising me for taking my punishment well... telling me how hard it was for him to cause me so much pain, but that he loves me deeply and knows I need the correction. Then we'd make love, and he would tuck me into bed for the night, assuring me I will do better in the future, and he'll see to that!

Perhaps I'll never live out that particular fantasy, and, heck...I'm not really sure I want to live it out! But I know my needs include being dominated by Pat. The biggest obstacle to that became that I thought I simply needed to be dominated by any strong man, and Ken didn't put up with my nonsense, so I naturally desired to prove to him I was worthy, and that I could be a "good" subbie for him.

tbc...