Sadie was insatiable and was always conjuring up new sexual games for us to play.
I never knew what to expect, but each one filled me with exquisite pleasure. And with every experience we shared, we discovered more intimate details about one another.
But we were also night and day; Sadie was rarely satisfied with what she considered to be mundane or ordinary acts of lovemaking. To her, each new experience had to reveal some aspect of our true selves so that it drew us closer.
This aspect of her personality was one of the many reasons I felt captive inside her presence. She had about her a mentor-like quality, but that was mostly for outward appearances. Her vulnerability could be revealed, but almost only after she'd entrusted her feelings to someone well deserving of her complex emotional barriers.
I was one so lucky.
When she suggested an erotic encounter inside an elevator, I felt my pulse quicken. Sadie knew that, despite my willingness to explore my sexuality privately with her, I was painfully shy about others knowing about us. I was also terrified at the idea of being physically exposed in public. Knowing this about me only seemed to excite her more and she pressed on with a convincing case for why we should try it.
Pleasing her in ways no one else could was my one true desire.
Yet no matter how I protested, all she need do was touch me -- the slightest touch of her fingers against my skin -- while those penetrating, sinful eyes of hers took control, and I'd submit.
My only wish was for her to want me.
To own me.
Our power dynamic was a constant driving force in both of us.
Her plan was to wear short skirts with nothing underneath, get on the elevator at the top floor of her building, and discretely fondle one another until one of us surrendered to orgasm or the elevator reached the lobby: whichever came first.
The one rule was that no stranger inside the elevator could notice the sexual submission of whichever one of us surrendered.
The winner would of course retain bragging rights and have first say over the pick of the next new game; Sadie was a master at winning her own games.
After she'd spelled out in explicit detail how she envisioned the game taking place, despite all my reservations, I was immediately aroused.
We dashed into her mammoth closet and chose matching black slit skirts. Sadie picked a very low-cut top and thigh-high heeled boots, while I chose to play it more school-girl conservative, accenting mine with a tight cardigan and flats. Something about the soft feel of a tight sweater wrapped around me gave me an added level of courage.
It was Sadie who insisted I remove my bra. And it was she who stepped up behind me and unhooked it from my back as we stood watching ourselves in the full-length mirror inside her closet.
I watched my reflection, and hers hovering over me, as she ran her fingernails slowly down the straps, and carefully made a point to lightly brush the sides of my breasts with her hands as the thin material fell away from my chest.
I felt like the prize of her collection as she slowly took the sweater from my hands, rolled my arms up into the sleeves, and fastened the buttons -- all from her dominant position behind me.
The many ways in which she found to entice me before I even knew the latest game had begun were often so powerful that I would sometimes excuse myself, whenever possible, just to find the strength to continue.
Her control over me was the only drug I needed to survive the withdrawals I felt when she wasn't around, and I fought desperately to keep her from knowing that; but while we were together, I inhaled her with abandon.
We were two peas in a pod, and it was nearly impossible to keep from laughing as we bound out of the apartment, hand-in-hand, scampering upward toward the thirty-ninth floor.
Sadie's parents had gifted her with the loft space for her 21st birthday and we'd been making full use of the extravagant amenities for more than a year. In spite of her father's prominent public occupation, the apartment was often the epicenter for wild parties and sexual exploration, both hers and mine.
Boys made occasional overnight visits, often leaving with much more than they'd arrived with -- and always chasing what they could never take from her -- but it was Sadie and me who discovered a true connection after the thrill of the latest carnal adventure had long faded with the dawn of another morning.
There were times when she tested my loyalty -- when some shiny new toy would take hold of her curiosity -- but I knew, sometimes only through a passing glance, that I was the one who knew the path to her secret doors.
Before Sadie, I was lost in the sea of confusing sexuality. I'd let the occasional male charmer take advantage of me in naïve and unimaginative ways while I attempted to learn my inner cravings. But with each brief, and slightly aggressive, sexual encounter -- mostly ending with a cum-streaked stomach and frequent tinges of embarrassment (theirs and mine) -- I never got much pleasure from it.
By the time I finally met her, I was nearly convinced there was either something seriously wrong with me or that I was simply the worst lay on campus.
As my list of sexual partners increased, I often suspected that my reputation among the avarice males frequenting my room was improving merely out of convenience.
They wanted a quick, meaningless fuck and I was content to oblige.
The more I allowed myself to be used -- in the best possible sense, I imagine -- the more I fought with myself to understand my lack of enjoyment from those brief encounters.
Questions began to plague me mercilessly. Wasn't I in my sexual peak? Wasn't this the time to explore my body? I was so inexperienced that I hadn't even begun to realize the true nature of the possibilities open to me.
It felt that I was alone in this strange sexual predicament, because each time another boy left my room, he did so with an outward look of satisfaction.
I'd ask the occasional question; things like: 'Was it good for you', or, 'Did you enjoy that?' But the answers were always as brief as the encounter.
Feeling as though I needed a better sense of direction, I began to open myself up to outside influences; I even enrolled in a Sexual Awareness class.
But the road signs leading toward my enlightenment weren't yet visible; like many weary adventurers, I'd pointed my compass at the wrong landmarks.
If it hadn't been for an exceptionally bad attempt at anal sex -- one resulting in one young man's hasty exit from my darkened room, and my subsequent rummaging through his belongs to discover his name, address, and general whereabouts -- I'd never have found my way to Sadie at all.
