After having written about three encounters in my career which were a bit out-of-the-ordinary, I feel I can commit to print the story of my initiation into what has become such a large part of my life and livelihood.
It was all quite unexpected and started out as a favor for a couple who at that time, some 25 years ago, were little more than old family friends. I was 20, and I had no idea where my simple friendly gesture would lead.
I make my living as a dominator of couples, meaning, that is how I make most of my income. The other side of me is a painter. I am moderately well-known regionally, having at least one gallery show per year and enough private sales to keep me out of the homeless shelter if art were my only source of money. My work as a dominator dwarfs my artistic income many times over.
Couple domination is an avocation that I have mostly enjoyed, but so much of it, as with any occupation, is routine. The males strike me as mostly pathetic (part of the cuckold role), and the women are rarely above average in looks or demeanor. I reject almost half of the offers that come my way either at once or by the close of the first interview. I have learned discretion the hard way. The older I get, the more selective I have become.
I have written about some of the more exceptional episodes in these pages, and I am sure my very first encounter qualifies. You will be the judge. I relate it exactly as I remember it.
I never went to art school. I left home at 17, with my parents' blessing and a small stipend, to make a home and name for myself. In three years I had become a good enough painter to catch the eye of a local gallery owner who offered me a one-man show. Her name is Alice, and she and her husband were old friends of my parents. Alice insisted that it was my talent, not the friendly connection, that caused her to make the offer. I suspect she was being generous, but I'll never know. The show, however, was a moderate success and led to good things.
Alice's husband, Boris, was in his 60s, at least 20 years older than Alice at the time. She was slim and she took care of herself. She
looked
like she owned an art gallery. Boris was a Russian, wealthy but unhealthy. He used a walker and was rarely seen at the gallery.
At a little gathering after the close of my exhibition, Alice finally introduced me to Boris, who had escorted Alice for the night. A rarity for him to be out and about. He was refined and soft-spoken. We got along very well. The three of us sat at the same table for most of the evening. When it was time to go, Alice and Boris had a request.
"You know that Boris is not healthy," Alice said.
"Yes," I said, looking over at Boris. "I remember even as a boy when you would come to our home."
"Your parents are wonderful people," Boris said. "They are well?"
"They are. Thanks for asking."
Alice, sitting between us, took my hand in hers. "We have a favor to ask."
I was willing to do anything short of murder for these people after my success in their gallery, but it wasn't just that. I liked them.
Alice looked down at her lap, looking for words. Then Boris spoke.
"John... I have trouble in bedroom." Just like that. I remember the words. "I cannot be the man I was with Alice. Would you come by and spend some time with us, and help me..."
I was confused. "Help you? Help you with what?"
"Help me to make love to Alice. Special night for her."
I looked at Alice. She was blushing. She forced herself to lift her head and look at me. Her eyes were pleading.
She whispered. "I think this is mainly for Boris, but I would like that. Very much, I think." But then added, "Don't feel pressured. Please."
I... I..." I was stammering. I swallowed and said, "I would be honored." And added, "And delighted."
Big smile from Boris and a hearty handshake. "I knew it!" he said. "You are young, but you are your own man."
We went back to their home in the woods outside of town, in separate cars in case I had to escape! It was a warm autumn night, a six-mile drive and my mind was spinning many strange thoughts. I needn't have worried.
We had drunk enough at the party. Neither of us wanted more. Alice was nervous but Boris had no such issues.
"Let's all go in bedroom," he suggested. And we followed our host (who had used a cane at the party but was glad to have his walker back) to a large room with a king-sized bed. They were minimalists in their dΓ©cor. The room reflected the kind of art that Alice liked. No surprise, I suppose. A comfortable chair and a nightstand on either side of the bed. There was a luxury bathroom and art, real art, on the walls. The lights were not too low.
Boris sat on one of the chairs and breathed a sigh of relief. "You understand this is for Alice, yes?" Boris clarified. "I have no interest in men. Not for sex. You understand this?"
"Oh yes!" I hastened to agree. "I am the same way. I love women."
"Good!" Boris smiled.
For a moment we three looked at one another, speechless but not really uncomfortable. I felt it was not up to me to make suggestions here.
Boris beckoned Alice to his chair. She gave him a small smile and stood next to him facing me.
"Let me show you my wife. She is beautiful. I am lucky man." And they kissed.
He took Alice by the waist and turned her to face me, reached up and started to unzip her long silky yellow dress. Alice just looked me in the eyes as he did this, her breathing became deeper.
He reached up to her shoulders and peeled the gown down off her shoulders till it dropped in a puddle in its own accord.
"Voht!" he said. I remember the word and still have no idea what it means.
Alice was a lovely vision and I reacted like I was the luckiest guy in town to witness such a sight. She was very flattered. She could tell there was no pretending on my part, and this thrilled her. She knew now, and needed to know, that I wasn't just doing this as a simple favor. She was thrilling me.
She sported a bra and panties set, yellow to match the dress. It set off her tan, not much faded from summer. She had honey-brown eyes and the same shade of hair, medium length. It was a very nice package, all of a piece. I could tell that Boris was fiddling with the bra clasp at her back, and when he disengaged it he brought the bra down with one smooth pull, with force enough to pull it free from her breasts, down her arms, then cast against the far wall of the room. She was shocked. She had no time to prepare herself for such an urgent unveiling.
Boris laughed.
"Come close, John. Feel her."