I’d broken up with my boyfriend. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I’m sober and I couldn’t share him with drugs anymore. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to.
I blocked him on messenger, Facebook, sent his emails to spam, etc. And I waited – and hoped – for him to wake up and come knocking on my door.
That jw perfect match shook me. I had thought he might have been pining for me. Hitting his bottom. Instead, he was out having the time of his life.
I instantly signed up on Tinder, Bumble and OK Cupid (I don’t do anything by halves). By the following night, I had a date.
The following week, I had two more (a second date and a new guy). The first date was lovely. But we ran out of things to say on the second.
What’s Your Number?
It wasn’t until my therapist asked me, “What is it about him that you really missed?”, that it hit me: I missed the sex.
The way our bodies responding to each other, how we communicated. It was passionate, sensual, and f**king hot. We’d done things I’d never tried – new positions, anal play, toys. I was opening up with him in ways I never had before.
The conclusion I jumped to: I didn’t want to date. I wanted more sex: This guy had uncorked a sexual genie that I didn’t want to put back in the bottle.
Pop Up: The Perfect Jeans. You’re Welcome
Here I was single, living alone, no strings. What better time to explore my long-held secret sexual fantasies without having to deal with a messy relationship?
I’ve always had this fantasy of being dominated. I spend so much of my life having to manage and control everything – people, places, things, work, timetables, emotions…
The idea of handing over my body to someone else – giving them complete control of my pleasure – was real appealing: Being tied down, gently teased to the brink, only to have them stop, then repeat it all again. Restraints. Orgasm denial. Making me beg. Making me ask for things I was too ashamed to… It all seemed sexy AF.
But how was I going to find someone who would do that to me? Not Bumble, that’s for sure. A bit of subtle prodding of some more open-minded friends led me to Fetlife.
Thanks to the guy, I had some sexy photos I’d taken while I was on a work trip to keep him titillated. I created my profile and then I posted:
I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was instantly flooded with messages and requests. So much so, that I had to take my post down in a matter of hours. It was like drinking out of a firehose.
I was working from home and my projects were not very mentally engaging. I was a little restless and very horny.
I started getting some random requests from anonymous names: Write “SLUT” on your chest in lipstick then send a photo; straddle and writhe on your bed railing while crying, “Yes my master”. I was a little naive – so I did it. I gotta admit, in the moment, it turned me on. The cold of the metal against my clit, sliding up and back along it.
But afterwards, this sense of shame washed over me. What if that got out somewhere? Who was this video actually going to? And after they refused to even send me a photo of themselves, I blocked them.
