Is Bdsm For You Ladies

BDSM has changed my life, and I mean seriously. Changed. My. Life. I don't believe in Jesus, but I really do worship my Dom. I wish someone had presented me with a handy list to alert me to what I might be yearning for years ago. It would have spared me no end of awkwardness and laughs, which, fortunately I can use to good purpose here. Thus without further yammering, here I present to my readers a handy guide Understanding Your Hidden BDSM Self.

Ladies. You should probably look into BDSM pronto if:

1. All the sex you've had in your life up until this point blurs together in one long awkward scene.

My sex life, up until discovering my dark side, featured heavily on men that came fast, frequently, and apologized profusely afterwards. This was not, actually, their fault. They were fundamentally nice guys! Too nice, really. I was, on the other hand, a complete handful: I was raking my fingernails down their backs and telling them to fuck me harder, just please, fuck me, harder. Now.

So what were they supposed to do? Come fast and frequently, obviously. They were just nice guys who ended up in bed with an absolutely feral vixen. The only guys who could handle me ended up being the bonafide assholes, and outside the bedroom I legit hated their guts. But I still miss them to this day, all their narrowed eyes and ferocity and ruthlessness. I miss them a lot. I miss them most of all. And that's just another sign. Because...

2. You miss the assholes. Bad.

Right, so these are the guys that you either didn't introduce to your friends and family for very, very good reasons or, conversely, hid from your acquaintances like you didn't know them at all. I dated one in high school and I wrote him love notes in Sharpie fine-tip marker on the cinder blocks outside our school. I remember his name, and not just because it's the same name as one of the great Irish poets...because of-fucking-course. I fucking loved him. He tasted like cigarettes and drove a truck and gave me his pager number, but only called me back probably one-in-ten times. I thought we were going to get married when he gave me a hemp bracelet. The problem was that everybody in my universe was horrified that I knew him, let alone couldn't stop talking about him. He ran ice over my skin while we made out in the basement. In the back parking lot of the Dairy Queen, he told me I was bad, so fucking bad, and I came on his fingers. He was that guy. He also played drums. Badly. Don't you judge me.

My problem was, and remained for many years, that I wanted an asshole at night and a gentleman during the day. I think I knew this even when I was in high school, but couldn't have possibly said so, because I was super busy deciding if I should bring a silver purse to prom or a sequined red one, or whether or not I was going to get an A or A- in Ridiculously Lengthy Timespan of American History. Meanwhile, I didn't really want Bad Boyfriend to leer at me from down the fourth floor hallway, you know? That kind of cramped my high school vibe, Badboy Joyce down the hall giving me eyebrow raises and making me speechless. That kind of made me look like a Bad Girl, which I really was not. Not on the surface. Not during the day. At night though? Even in my dreams? Shiiiiiit. Except it was more complicated than all that too: Even then see, I've learned, all I've ever wanted is to be a really, really Good Girl. Capital Gs all around, preferably heard in a dark room, at midnight, with a collar around my throat.

So for a trueborn sub like me (I can show you my BDSMtest.org results! 99% Submissive! Represent!) the answer to this Bad Guy/Good Man quandary was to find a really, really good Dom. I recommend this in the strongest possible terms, but look out for the dickheads. I'll post a How To on that soon. If he's a good Dom to you, the man himself will be just as unique as you are. You'll fit together, two halves of the same split orange. He'll be a knight riding towards you in the sunlight, and a fucking depraved animal from the corner of your eye. All the best in the world. All the things in the universe. All the things I had always wanted and have now.

Alternatively, if you're a lady reading this and thinking all this sounds hot but really, you'd like to get me on my knees and make me eat your pussy, you might just be a Domme. I used to be think the proper name for you was Dominatrix, before my ass got properly pinked. If you're such a lady, this makes you a rare fish in a rarefied pond. You fascinate me. Utterly. Send me a PM.

3. You like pain. As in, a lot.

Now, before I first got my bikini line waxed, when I was 19, I thought, "Oh Christ. Why would anybody ever..." but then I took the plunge and I loved it. Except you know why I loved it? Not because I was silky smooth; I don't even really care about that and honestly, ladies, how long does it last? A week? Depending on your ethnicity and epilatory zeal, a day? So no. The feeling wasn't the thing I loved. And the look wasn't what I loved either... I mean, who really wants to look like a Barbie doll? Or a child? It's weird, it's infantilizing, and it's kind of strange, no matter what the manfolk may say. No, what I really, really liked, and why I've loved doing it ever since?

The pain. That yanking awful delicious pain, the thought of my hair being ripped from my flesh. That. Yes. Please, yes.

But even more wonderful than the pain? The preparation for the pain: The wax going on my skin before the pain even happens. That build up, with the tongue-depressor popsicle stick in the estheticians office that smells like Body Shop ocean breeze air freshener. The pain. Give me that fucking pain. More, more, more.

4. You just cannot imagine everybody has missionary sex until they die.

That's because they do not. I don't think they do. I choose to believe that no, they do not, and neither should you. I believe, with my fist in the air like any good revolutionary, that you should do all manner of kinky things to yourself and everybody else if that's what gets you rolling because God help me, how long are we on this earth? A long goddamned time, if you break it down into hours spent in bed. So we might as well make the most of it. But the catch is, you might not want to tell anybody about The Revolution...

5. Because secrecy gets you high.

It makes me both high and wet. Even writing under this damned pseudonym makes my panties sticky. I love it. I love that you're reading it too, not knowing who I really am or if you might really know me. I love when my phone buzzes in my purse with some dirty message and I have to keep the shit-eating grin off my face because I have a grown-up job in a grown-up life and I can't be walking around looking like a sex kitten all day. Or can I?

6. The idea of things like leather, feathers, rope, fur, and whatever-the-fuck else seriously turns you on.

So this is fetish territory, and if you're reading this and have never been over to the Lit forums, I really encourage you to go. People are super kinky. Super kinky! And they will tell you all about it, in depth, and maybe even ask you to participate which I find incredibly hot as well. Not that I'm into taking ice baths with fur-tailed butt plugs or whatever, but it really thrills me that there are people who are... and that somewhere in the universe, there are other people who are! And that they can go have ice baths together, with their fur tails, because fuck yes. That's what this life is all about. Get dark. Get dirty. Get messy. Do it. And be proud when you do.

Because 'Murica was founded by Puritans, sure. But now? There's no fucking limit to our inner filth.