She answered the ad.
"Gentle, patient and caring Dom seeking interesting party for temporary positions. Entry level. Will train to suit."
Every so often I will run an ad. It's not that I go through subs fast or anything -- just the opposite, it's that I travel and move with my job. It's hard to find someone who will be able to meet my "special needs" in each new area without working with them for awhile. By that I mean, taking the time to date and discover and letting them know gradually what I really like.
Basically, if I walk into a bar and start telling people "I want to whip your ass and make you suffer until you can't recognize yourself anymore," I'll get just a very few types of responses: the run and scream response. Maybe not physically or literally, but certainly a shuttering response that becomes a vile gossip. The interested but naïve response. Maybe she thinks it's just a game or something and she wants it until it's real. Then she's bizarrely incapacitated. The do anything you want to me response. She doesn't really get it, just thinks that any attention is preferable to her miserable existence.
Besides, the type I want aren't hanging around in bars anyway. I want smart, capable, complete and whole women with a predilection of submission. Normally, they would tell you that there is no way that they are submissive - until me. This is a journey of the heart and a gift to the soul.
She answered. Stated that she was interested in the lifestyle and in learning about herself. That she wasn't sure about it, but that she feels a stirring when she reads stories or hears others talking.
I wrote her back a fairly bland bit. Asked her experience and what she was looking for. I wasn't hopeful.
Her response was careful and coy. She doesn't know. She's not sure about any of it. Hmmm. Maybe. I thought.
A couple more back and forth emails later and I knew that she had only thoughts about bondage and discipline, never experience. That she was afraid of being beaten, abused, stabbed, raped, etc. The usual belief that BDSM meant profligate violence. We exchanged easier ways to reach each other, chat, emails and numbers and we talked about what BDSM really means. That it's a lifestyle and a way of love and passion. That it has little to do with violence, other than that many people connect the two in their minds.
She was intriguing to me. Not quite my usual type, but something of interest and a certain nagging something. I thought she might be one to train and set loose upon the world (good luck world). There was certainly something more to her. I agreed to set up a meet.
She was nervous and fidgety through supper. A private affair in a private restaurant, but there was an anxiety there out of place with the situation. She kept glancing over her shoulder and twitching her hands. I finally asked if she were married or otherwise set up with someone. I reassured her that I had no compunctions one way or the other about it except that I would refuse to be a tool or weapon. That this was a journey for her and the only way through it was by way of openness and honesty.
She broke down and admitted to a wedding. She began to ply silent tears upon me as she told me about her husband and her love for him. She told me about a raw need she has had since teen years that has been eating a hole inside her. She stated he is more than willing to try different things, but that he, hubby, was virtually more submissive than she wanted for herself.
That, in fact, they had bought a flail together. She described going to a store. Browsing arm in arm. They had ended at the whips. She became subdued at this point and her voice husked as she told me how they both felt the excitement of the other. It was a simple and benign faux designer cat o' nines. Purple in color and harmless, really.
They couldn't stop pulling it out of the sack and looking at it on the way home. They kept touching it and treasuring it. Each of them and both together. Her sex laden voice told me how she had been thinking of it on her skin all the way home. She got there wetter than she had ever been. He had a tenting at his crotch she hadn't seen from him for years.
They attacked each other at the bedroom door. Clothing flew. Excitement raged and the touches were electric. And then it went wrong.
His use of the whip on her felt little more than a dance of fingers. A fluttering. She tried to show him what she wanted and watched his cock leap. The tears flowed freely now. It was the realization even as she told me about it that he was worse than she. That they wanted the same thing and would never be able to give it to each other. She told how she was simply repulsed trying to use it on him.
Were I unable to acknowledge or to articulate the difference between so called normal human sexuality and my own, I would still know that it was there. It may actually produce angst and heartache lifelong in another. A dichotomy and anxiety that could well be a foundation for psychosis or at least a loss of social functioning (there's only so many times you can watch the run and scream and bear the snide and vile ensuing gossip before you crack). I, however, am honest with myself and capable of managing my needs.
I was certainly touched by her plight and reassured her that her situation - where not truly normal, per se -- was at any rate not unreasonable. Discovery is not wrong and self discovery is one of the greatest pleasures in life. We talked long into the night. At one point, she laughed and teased, even flirted, but this faded with uncertainty at my response.
I arranged, with her, to attempt to teach her husband what she needed. At one point, she asked how I knew what she needed. I told her that we would find out together. She was tough at work and more my usual by her capable and independent demeanor. Probably one of the attractions for her husband.
