Some of you ladies know what I mean. When a strong, manly man takes control of me, I can just melt. He can make me do things - willingly - that I would never think of doing. But with him leading me, I not only do it, it turns me on so much that I love doing it.
I didn't notice this part of my personality in high school, probably because the boys were mostly unsure of themselves. They were inexperienced, cautious, interested in themselves, excitable - well, you know. But in college, the boys - men! - had more experience and knew what they wanted to do. And they knew what they wanted the women to do. And also were interested in experimenting with more than just regular sex, and that pleased me very much.
I am very attractive to men. I have been told that I give off the feeling of wanting sex, of being good at it, and even perhaps wanting to be dominated. I don't wish to sound conceited, but in truth my average height is the only thing average about me. Not beautiful but cute, a thin shapely figure and fairly large breasts, I seem to always attract attention from men, wanted or not.
During normal sex I can take the lead, but am much happier when the man does. I get even more excited if he becomes dominant, "forcing" me to do what he wants. Now this is important - I DO NOT mean pain. By forcing, I simply mean dominant, not making me do things I don't really want to do, but making me do the things I really want to, but may not admit it. I know - women can be quite complicated.
One One of my first good examples of this happened on a Saturday night at college when we were having a party at someone's apartment. Not an actual party, but like most in college simply a gathering of kids drinking and perhaps doing some light drugs. One guy in particular had been flirting with me, and soon we seemed to be a couple for the evening.
In the kitchen for another drink, we were talking and I ended up leaning back into "Bill." He had his arms around me, feeling my stomach, talking into and nibbling my ear, getting me excited.
"It's a great view from here," he said.
"What?" I asked. "What are you looking at?"
"Oh, I'm just looking - down," he said.
I tried looking at his eyes, but couldn't turn that far. I looked down, and assumed he was staring at my cleavage. He did have quite a view down my low-cut scoop neck peasant blouse. "Do you like that?" I asked, trying to sound flirty.
"I do. A lot," he answered. He must have felt encouraged by my reaction. At least I hoped so. His right hand moved up to cup my breast. A small shock shot through me at his touch. I gasped as he squeezed it with his hand while his thumb and finger pinched my nipple. I felt entirely in his control as he turned me on with just one hand. There is a reason that I don't wear a bra at parties.