How we met isn't especially interesting or important. Neither is our first date.
Her eyes were what first caught me and continue to captivate me to this day. Deep brown with a world of experience for her 20 years, a phenomenon perhaps too common among inner city youth that betrays the horrifying reality of urban centers today. When she looks at you, she sees beyond your immediate thoughts and into your driving motivations, the inner machinations that dictate your behavior and act as a subconscious road map to how you exist in the world.
Considering this, when she first looked at me she must have known what would happen. I remember still being a bit surprised that she took the time to speak with me, in a setting where it would have been appropriate and understandable for us not to interact at all. I certainly wasn't going to intrude into her day, what with the other preoccupations that held my attention at the time. Yet here we are, and my life is certainly more bizarre and complex for that fact.
We were in my tent after a day of hiking through the redwoods, splashing in waterfalls, and racing each other down steep ravines. Perhaps on some level we both wanted to connect through innocent play before our game took a turn toward depravity.
I'm far from the most perceptive guy around, but even to me it was obvious at this point that we wanted each other. Yet I had no clue what our physical connection would entail. She had that lithe athletic build that said she didn't really have to work to keep her figure, but had some sort of constant physical activity in her life that kept her a notch above sexy. Without sounding too trite, she moved like a dancer and looking back at what I later learned about her flexibility, it's possible she is one.
We sat there, miles from anyone else, and I thought about the level of trust that she must have had to come out here with me for our second date. Sitting in the dim light of my headlamp strung from the high point of the tent, I looked at her, appearing equally lost in her thoughts, and smiled. Fuck it, I thought to myself. I'm so glad I did. "So, Sylvia, what sort of kinky sex turns you on?"
I've never seen a lady smile so brightly at such a forward question. "Well now, what makes you think I'm into kinky sex in the first place?" I laugh and shake my head, a bit embarrassed but still certain that I'm on the right track. "You looked too excited when I asked for anything else to be the case." I hoped that my bluff wouldn't be called, as I certainly did not have the confidence I was projecting. "Well, I do have a dream I've never been able to enjoy, where I'm helpless, restrained, and then used in every way by a dude or even a few. Really it's about being at their mercy, but them still choosing to pleasure me in the course of their torments."
I'm taken aback, but instantly hard. "Torments? Are we talking play-whipping while I fuck you or clamps on your nipples and thumbtacks in your flesh kind of torments?" She leans forward and grabs my arm, an intense look on her face.
"Whatever you can think of that doesn't leave marks beyond a week (and please, none in visible places), I can take it."
"Well then Sylvia, I ask your permission for the play to begin. Say stop if you want to stop, but otherwise I will take anything you say as part of the game." She nods. "I need you to say yes."
She rolls her eyes. "Yes. Please. Just fucking kiss me."
I grab her by the throat and shove her to the floor.
"No more commands, lovely lady." I unbutton my shirt and discard it, rip off my pants and lunge forward on top of her clad in boxers and a t-shirt. Her body writhes under the impact and she clutches my sides, pulling me in closer. For a few moments our bodies meld in a mutual squirm of horny grinding, my hand on her neck keeping her face from meeting mine. I finally relent and kiss her forcefully.
