AAkasha
Posts: 4429
Joined: 11/27/2004
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I could not believe the situation I was in - I had never felt that uncomfortable about my domination since high school. Yet, here I was, a grown woman who was totally accepting and (usually) open about her desires to dominate men, and I was necking in the car with a guy and terrified what he might think of me if he found out.
The drive to do it always feels the same. Like an ache. Not entirely between my legs, if at all, but more in my gut. It's like a nagging hunger. Things tend to make it more intense --
The smell of hair. Hearing his breathing. Subtle movements, especially of the hips.
I had not been in this kind of situation in a long, long time. Where I am with a man, and my mouth goes dry, and my heart pounds really hard. And I look at him, and all I want to do is possess him. Dominate him. Torment him, to see him whimper and beg.
And he has no idea, and looks at me funny when I stare with this strange, lost look on my face.
And the whole irony of the situation is that he probably thinks I have this lost look in my eyes because I am typically starry eyed, feminine and sweet, coy a little, shy. Waiting for him to make the first move.
How many women probably looked at him that way, with big, expectant eyes, and as a man he read that as a desire to be held, to cuddle, to be kissed, to perhaps let him into her blouse a little. Or just desire, happiness. That maybe he was the man I would marry, or someone I could date for a long time.
In his eyes I could see it, sort of a sweet appreciation of me, and my innocent look I was giving him.
I swallowed hard, thinking, Oh my god, if you could only see into my head right now.
*****
Terror.
Strong wrists against unfamiliar bonds.
That breathing, but more rapid. Desperate. Body reacting natural, animal, to fear.
My hand under his chin. A smile finally on my lips; a smile that meant salvation for me. Admiring what I would soon have. Watching all that harnessed power in him. Those eyes -- strong, defiant, brave -- yet, honest. Fearful. Not afraid to be afraid.
Words like, "What is *that*?" and "I've never been like this before. I've never been helpless before a woman."
Opened mouth in silent scream. Replaced with my tongue. A deep kiss, one that let me feel whimpers when I tightened my grip.
Words like, "That's *hurts*...."
Shhhh, I know. You are beautiful. I can't believe you are mine.
"I am yours."
"I want you to suffer for me. Really suffer. Would you ever do that for me?"
"I'd do it," eyes sparkling. Or maybe held back tears. "I'd do it right now."
And finally, the uncovering of an unthinkable device that brought a look from him I had never seen.
Pleading.
****
"What are you thinking about?" he smiled in the car. Stroking my cheek a little.
I was sitting there with my hands, rigid, in my lap. Rigid, he probably thought, because I was scared to make the first move and wanted to be a lady. But scared, I was, of grabbing him by the wrists and wrestling him under the seatbelt, shoving a knee suggestively and painfully into his groin, then hissing to him that he was going to be my tortured little pet.
Words didn't quite come out -- just a squeak, then I swallowed and looked away.
He laughed and draped his arm over my shoulder, leaned over, and placed a very gentle kiss on my lips. Hesitated before pulling back, and I could feel his breath on my mouth.
I wanted to see how long he could hold that breath.
It started to come out, "Trey," I said.
"Yes.." he smiled, he was looking at my mouth. A finger tracing down my face a little.
"I was thinking about what I want to do to you." I said. It felt like some of the weight had been lifted. This was it, the conversation that would open it all up.
"Oh really?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "And what might that be?"
I swallowed, clasping my hands together again, and looked at him. I took a breath. I looked at him quite intently. "I...I would like to.."
The words were right on the tip of my tongue. I could hear them in my head, hear how they would sound. *I WANT TO TIE YOU UP, I WANT TO TORTURE YOU*. It was like that scene in the first Batman movie when Michael Keaton kept mouthing the words he found so impossible to say. :IM BATMAN:.
I almost said it. That I was batman, that is.
He laughed. "You are extremely sweet," he said. "And I'm sure whatever it is, it's just as sweet. But you look troubled and uncomfortable, so I won't rush you. I told you, I don't want to rush things. I like you a lot. Let's go slow."
He was smiling at me, looking at me like I was the most innocent creature he had ever seen. Maybe my look of desperation didn't help, because I truly felt desperate.
Desperate to wrap my hand around his throat and drag him to me, dig my teeth into his flesh, and bite down just to feel his entire body tense under my grip.
Yet all I could do is accept his good night kiss, thinking about how that kiss would have felt with him tied down after just being released from a too-big gag that made his precious mouth sore.
"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8," he said.
In my mind, and barely on my lips, I thought, "I'll bring the whip."
It had always been so easy to say. And now here I was, almost 30 and going on my 5th date with a guy who had no idea half of my apartment was a dungeon.
*****
I guess I should give a little background on this, but I will be brief. Basically, I was one of those few "born to dominate men" types, starting up with it as early as about age 8 or so, but not really doing it in a way that made sense until I started dating.
My teens were precarious. I knew what I liked to do, but I was always careful about how I brought it up. It didn't matter anyway, usually, because my desires ran more toward simple bondage and roleplaying.
As my desires expanded to full bondage gear, fetish wear, pain and humiliation, I also learned to communicate the desires and find men more open to it. So, I had relatively few bad experiences showing my dark, dominant side. And because I liked typically normal relationships with just the kink on the side, my boyfriends tended to be very well rounded, typically vanilla types who were open to letting me express my animal side every couple of weeks or so, then we would go back to normal.
In college, my small circle of friends knew of my desires, and my steady boyfriends of course. I was not much into playing the field, and kept content with a few long term relationships. Everything was fine -- my dominant desires were met, and I had plenty of people to talk to about it.
My first job out of college was with an extremely conservative company so of course I did not tell anyone about my whips and chains. I had an outlet with my boyfriend anyway, and a growing number of people in my social circles to be open with about it. It was no strain.
But as the kink became a bigger part of my life, the desire to keep it quiet became less important.
And around about my third year with that company, everyone pretty much knew, and from that point forward, I never was in a situation where someone *didn't* know -- those I interacted with regularly, that is.
I guess that's what they call "out". Which meant I could act dominant, flirt in my own way, and do whatever I wanted to men I was pursuing in my own social circles, because they knew full well I was a dominant-behind-doors, even though I came across as professional, feminine, and quite typical of a woman my age.
I guess I took it for granted that I could be myself around anyone, and never had to worry about being in a situation where intimacy escalated and the other person had no idea how truly cruel, evil and sadistic I could be.
And *had* to be. Because, by now, I knew it was a part of me that would not go away.
*****
There is some comfort in having everyone around you at your job, even though it is a very conservative, corporate job, know that you are, on your off time, often clad in latex and torturing men who are kneeling, begging, and adoring you for it.
I was always reluctant about coming "out" at my office because I didn't want people to think I was weird, or to take me less seriously because I had a kinky habit.
But, since I didn't really let people know about it until I had been there three years, I already had credibility, a ton of respect and a strong position in the company.
And what made it work so well for me, I found, was that I didn't try to hide it once people found out. I figured it would turn into more of a scandal if I tried to hide it, so I approached it nonchalantly. After all, it was a sexual preference, just like being gay was for those that lived that lifestyle.
When enough people mentioned it casually to me to look for a reaction and I shrugged it off and said, "And your point is?", it was soon not enough of a scandal to matter. It didn't affect my job, and I showed no blatant signs of it at the office, so there was no scandal.
After that time period, it moved into an even more comfortable stage, where my closer co-workers would often tease me about it, but tease me so comfortably that it was a gesture of acceptance.
Even one of the vice presidents said to me once, nudging my arm, "Your sales numbers are down. Can't you beat those guys a little and get them to produce?"
I laughed and said, "Sorry, didn't bring the equipment."
Sitting in a large product meeting once, one of my product engineers picked up a long strip of special plastic that would be used in one of our new models and looked at me, tapping his palm with it a little and saying, "That kind of smarts. You want this?"
The best part of it, though, was not worrying about keeping my voice down on the phone if someone walked by. If I was talking about my weekend, just like anyone else, I didn't worry about someone over hearing a nonchalant comment to a friend about losing the keys to the handcuffs.
More than two years passed with that sort of acceptance, and I got used to it. Maybe too used to it.
*****
I also worked with a consulting firm for some time, a very small company of less than ten people. But entering into that job, everyone already even *knew* I was into female domination because I had been recruited there by someone who told them, since he had known it all along.
So again, I entered into a situation without any hidden dark side, and after the initial skeptical curiosity (I don't blame them for wondering if I would look or act any different, and once they knew I didn't, I fit right in), it was barely even mentioned.
And when it was, it was in jest or good humor.
I got used to being able to express it lightly whenever I wanted to. In a small staff meeting, when a vice president mentioned casually that he was tied up over the weekend with a project, an unplanned and unpreventable "Oooh?" from me didn't get looks of shock, but a round of giggles and some good teasing. It was natural for me to respond that way.
Some of my closer co-workers would grin at me if I came in tired one morning, and instead of the usual, "Wild night of sex last night?" comments one typically gets, I received the, "So, tied up and beat someone last night?" questions.
Which I answered, shrugging. I had nothing to hide.
And the best part of it, I think, was when some of the women would come to me in confidence, at both jobs, and ask for advice. Usually about how to spice up their love relationship, about sexy outfits, or about light bondage. They saw me as some sort of authority on the topic, and I enjoyed going out to lunch with them and filling their heads with lots of nasty things they could do to their significant others when they got home.
I'm surprised I never got any thank you notes from those husbands and boyfriends.
I think I was at my peak of acceptance and comfort with my kink when one day I was going through my in-box, mostly filled with newsclippings I needed to read. Part of our responsibilities within the consulting firm were to clip articles for each other that might be of interest to our individual clients or areas of expertise. So we wouldn't all have to read the same publications, we split them up, and clipped articles of interest to our colleagues.
When I pulled a newspaper clipping from the pile with a scribbled note on it, "Thought you'd like this one," I unfolded it to find a picture of a magician hanging upside down in a straightjacket.
I turned it upside down, smiling.
And then I pinned it up on my wall. And no one even said a thing.
*****
So, after about 7 years of never having to hide my kink, and never, ever dating a guy that didn't know before going out with me that I was into female domination, I found myself back at square one.
A new job. A new company. Everyone was a total stranger to me.
Because I was new, I could not afford to just walk in and advertise my kink. At least not until I had proven myself.
This did not seem to be a problem to me going into it. I had plenty of outlets in my social life, and it wasn't like I was a walking, talking kink machine.
But I had to keep myself tightlipped, because I had not realized how casually sometimes I would start to mention things, or how many silly jokes I found myself almost making about someone kneeling by my desk or someone making an accidental bondage reference.
So I kept my mouth shut, stuck to my work, and was mortified when a man in the office started flirting with me.
And I realized I really liked him. But there was no way he could know.
Not this soon.
******
The flirtations went on for about a month and a half. They were light, and not consistent, but I knew he was interested in me. And I admired him a lot, felt myself looking forward to seeing what he would wear each day, smiling at him from across the way in meetings.
But I had gone over the scenario in my head a hundred times. There was no way I could date him, because dating would mean intimacy, and intimacy would mean bondage, and he would then know, and no one at my new job could know for at least a year or two.
This, I knew, was the way it had to be. No matter what.
And when he asked me out, I looked up and him and the answer was clear.
"Sure, I'd like that."
****
Then, I went through a whole different set of arguments in my head.
Ok, I will date him, maybe a few times, but never get intimate. No kissing, no touching, nothing. I would just get to know him on a mental level, and enjoy his company.
But then he took my reservations as shyness, and he basically seduced me like he probably seduced many women. And this was even more misleading, because I was behaving in a way totally unlike my character.
I *never* had a man initiate first moves on me. It was always the other way around. I had always been the aggressor.
So as we dated a few more times, he started to see me as this incredibly bright, pretty woman who was a bit shy about her intimacy, maybe reserved.
Oh god, little did he know.
*****
It all started to snowball. One night, saying goodbye on my porch, we got to kissing pretty heavily, and I found my fingers in his hair, and all the desires came flooding over me.
Thoughts of bringing him inside. Tying him up. Pulling his hair, god I wanted to pull his hair so bad. Just enough to make him wince.
Oh god, I thought, what do his eyes look like when he winces?
It was animal -- the desire was purely animal. I was breathing hard. I felt his hands on my body but the sexual desires, while distracting, were totally dwarfed by the more primal desires to control him.
Nervously, pushing him away, I said, "I...I gotta go. I need to go, I'm sorry."
"Hey," he smiled, squeezing my hands reassuringly as he backed up a little. "It's ok, Akasha. No rush, ok? Don't worry about it."
And I almost growled in frustration. Growled because here he was, thinking I was just uneasy about getting laid, and in reality I was just thinking about tying him down and torturing him.
I just wanted to say, "Would you like to come in and get chained to my ceiling and be tortured?
But instead, I slipped inside, and realized he was just totally in the dark about who I was. And I wondered if, based on that, it was fair for me even to go out with him again.
Through the corner of the blinds I saw him lingering there, on my porch, my porchlight burnt out so he was standing in darkness and all I could see were a few shadows. Then he took out his keys, turned, and walked to his car.
****
Sometimes I would sit there in the office, looking at him. I could see him from where I was sitting, and most of the time he was so busy on the phone closing deals that he did not even know I was looking.
I would watch how he leaned back in the chair, locking his hands behind his head. How his chest looked under the shirt, under the tie. How his fingers made little bits in his hair stick up in the back.
I would imagine long, luxurious leather straps around that chair, holding him in place. I would imagine that he was leaning back to get away from me, and I was crawling on top of the chair, on top of him. Catlike. In latex, from the neck down.
"Please," he would say, looking at me, both wrists clenched tightly.
And I would slide up close to him, mouth right in front of his, then my hand in his hair, fist clenched tightly, holding his face just out of reach as I taunted him with a near-kiss.
"Beg me to kiss you," I would hiss.
"Please.." the beg would come, his eyes on my mouth. God, how I loved it when he looked at my mouth. So hungry, wanting to taste me so bad.
"Beg to kiss me as if your life depended on it," I said, serious.
A look in his eyes I had never seen before. True desperation. Lips barely parted, looking at my mouth, then my eyes, then my mouth again. Words, not coming quickly for him. Unable to formulate them.
Phones ringing.
And ringing.
"Akasha?"
I blinked and turned to the secretary.
"You have two calls on hold. Didn't you hear your phone?"
Blushing. I could feel the heat in my cheeks. I was already falling apart on the job. This was not good.
I forced myself to look away from him.
I turned my chair entirely the other way.
I turned my thoughts to work. Computers. Hard drives. Media.
Picking up my first call, I cleared my throat, and closed my eyes, and knew this all had to stop.
*****
When I hung up after the last call I spun my chair around to find him on his knees.
Gripping the arms of my chair, startled, as if snapped into -- not out of -- a dream state -- I just looked at him.
He looked up at me, noticed I was shocked to see him.
"Sorry, I needed to get some folders. They were left here. I'll only be a sec."
He was going into a file cabinet next to my desk, the bottom drawer.
On his knees.
I cleared my throat and purposely, quickly, turned my chair the other way and faced my computer. Yes, let's do some memos, I thought.
I opened the memo template.
I had no one to send a memo to.
I heard him going through files behind me, and I wanted so bad to turn around and stare. I wanted to see how he held his posture on his knees. I wanted to call his name, see him look up, then just hold his gaze.
Shutting my eyes, cursing, I realized I had a problem. A serious problem.
Maybe it was worth losing my job over. Maybe it didn't matter how good the job was, because it was more important to be who I was. To be true to him, to be honest, before we were dating 3 months and suddenly I bring out a ballgag and say, "Let's try this on for size."
I thought about swinging my chair around then, right then, and saying, "Trey, you know what, you look REALLY good down on your knees. And I can say that, because I'm into S&M. And I like to see a man on his knees. And I have been scared about telling you this, but I can't hide it any longer. This is who I am. If you don't want to see me any more, I understand."
Yes, that's it. At work, so he wouldn't freak out and make a huge scene.
I took a breath. I spun my chair around.
And he was gone.
Already back at his desk, on the phone again.
Closing a sales deal, I am sure.
I looked over at him, his back was too me again, and once again, his hands were clasped behind his head. As if he did it just to tease me.
Watching him, I realized what it was about him that made me want to dominate him more than ever. More than any casual flirtation I had before.
It was his persistence. His determination. His devotion, and resourcefulness. All of the things that made me admire him in his job. Admire how he could close a half million dollar sale -- over the phone -- just because he knew just what to say and when to say it.
I knew he could bring those same talents to me --- to submission.
That he would know what to say. When to say it.
That he would want to be the best ever. Better than any submissive I had ever had.
That he would want to exceed my expectations.
Because that's just the kind of person he was.
And right then, I swallowed, and I decided I would tell him. I would tell him by the end of the week. No matter what.
Because it would put an end to it all -- all the frustration. It would open the doors to me being "out" at work, it would make or break our budding relationship.
And if it meant getting me fired, so be it. I knew I could find work elsewhere, and in a matter of days.
It was not worth agonizing any more.
And I would not continue to have him believe my reasons for being shy, reserved were because I was a very conservative "nice" girl.
He had to know the real me.
But what was scariest of all was how far I had let it go. It was one thing to make or break a potential fling in the first few hours of meeting someone. That's the reason you do it up front; there is less to lose.
But with Trey -- I had fallen for him. Hard. To lose him now because of my kink would be devastating.
Still, I knew from hearing others' horror stories, it was better to do it now than 3 more months down the road.
My own internal dialogue was interrupted with more ringing phones.
And a smile from him. Across the room, but to me. And a slow blink, slight nod.
I'm sure he had just closed another deal.
It was time for me to close my own.
*******
That night, Trey took me to a local play.
Another thing different about our interactions were that they were completely driven by him. It was the most traditional dating evolution -- my own mother would be proud. A few lunches, followed by a dinner or two, some late night pleasant phone calls.
All initiated by him (the reverse for me).
Then some more serious dates, more intimacy. But he never came into my apartment; I never went into his.
He never pushed it. The perfect gentleman.
So we were on another date, and it was the end of the evening; he was dropping me off.
I had a lump in my throat for the entire second half of the night. Partially because I was worried about what his reaction was going to be. Partially because I was so pent up, I needed to get it out of my system.
He had turned off the engine of his car as we were parked out in front of my apartment. I sat in the passenger seat, staring forward. Staring through the windsheild.
I heard the creak of the carseat as he leaned over, gently placing his hands on me, beginning to place very soft kisses on my cheek, then down my neck. Everything so delicate. So careful.
How many times had I been in that situation, but in reverse. Placing my mouth on my victim as he sat in the passenger seat of my car, knowing I was seducing him. Taking him to a place he wanted to go, but was terrified of.
I swallowed. Determined. I knew what I had to do.
"Trey," I said, still staring forward, body still, as his mouth continued moving down my neck, then back up to my chin, tilting his head a little to place a soft kiss on my lips, unobtrusive.
"Mmm?" he responded.
"I want you to come inside." I said. It was firm, quiet. Very cool, very confident. A tone he had not heard before.
"Mmmm.." he said. "I'd like that."
I turned to accept his kiss, and I kissed him freely now, putting my hands behind his head to hold him. It was aggressive, assertive, and I felt his body edge a little closer to me, his breathing pick up pace.
Between kisses, his breath was hot against my cheek, his eyes closed when he said it, "Are you sure you're ready for this..." he said. Delicate. Sweet. As if not to push me into what he honestly felt was going to be our first night in bed.
"Yes," I said.
But what I really wanted to say was, "Are you sure *you're* ready?"
Entering my dark apartment, I felt many things.
Lust. Desire. Distracting thoughts of the need to dominate. To own. To see him on his knees.
To not have to hide it anymore.
To be myself.
And yet, I was terrified.
*****
He looked around my apartment a little and made no comments about the two pieces of hanging art that had subtle -- but definite -- power hints in them. Both had men in subservient positions to women, but both were still tasteful art.
Seeing them both in the same room, and having the only thing common in them being the position of the male (they are very different styles), could be a pretty obvious clue.
But I think his mind was elsewhere, distracted by the prospect of achieving a new level of intimacy with me that night.
Meanwhile, my thoughts were elsewhere too, distracted by the prospect of having him on his knees, totally helpless and begging for mercy.
We ended up staring at each other from across the room. His hands in his pockets. My fingers clenched together in front of me, twisting my ring around nervously.
"Do you want something to drink?" I asked him.
"No, thank you." he said.
"Why don't we sit down and talk a little."
"Sure, Akasha." he said. Again, so polite, as if not to startle me. Once again I felt in that awkward position, that he saw me as something so different from what I was, and that by not reacting the opposite I was contributing to the deceit.
It all made my head spin.
We sat down on the couch together, and like all young lovers, before we could start talking, we ended up embracing in a deep kiss.
*****
Eyes closed, images rolled through my head. Again, his breathing distracted me. I had never wanted it so bad. Funny, I analyzed, how the natural, biological ache in my crotch and wetness in my panties did not even compare to the total pounding of blood in my head, the desires that really filled my entire body, not just my sex, to feel the passion in possessing him.
It was obvious which the more powerful drives was.
Fingers again in his hair, this time I did not hold back, and when my fists tightened enough to be painful I felt the tension in his mouth, and I went to pull back to look at his eyes, to see his expression, to start to unfold for him what I was.
But he took the clenching of my fists in his hair to mean I was desiring a faster pace toward sex, and instead of looking at me, started reaching for my blouse.
All the wrong signals, all the wrong timing. Things were once again spiraling downward into a messy case of miscommunication.
I pushed his hands away, slowly, carefully.
I heard his voice, in my ear, kissing my neck in between words. "What's wrong?"
Shutting my eyes again, it was obvious. It would never work non verbally. The more aggressive I was, the more he would take it as an indication I wanted sex. The more passive I was, the more he would see me as the sweet young maiden.
"Trey," I said softly, my voice now sounding low, confident. "I want to tie you up."
And suddenly, it was if the voice was not even my own. Everything stopped. I swear, I could even feel his breathing stop.
He froze, and I was still in his arms. I expected a chuckle, or a sweet look as he took my chin in my hands.
But there was nothing.
Just nothing.
*****
At first, he wouldn't look at me. He was laughing a little, easing back and running a hand through his hair. "Did you just say what I think you said?"
"I have to explain a few things."
"Are you into S&M or something?"
The way he said it -- the tone of his voice -- completely threw me. The words were tainted with almost a curious contempt.
I wondered for a second if he was just kidding, and would soon laugh and fall into the more typical male response of oohing and assuming a vulnerable position and egging me on.
But by the look in his eyes, I could tell he was not kidding. He was curious, but a little taken aback. Suspicious.
I realized that bondage games were not something he had any experience with, and possibly had no desire to experience.
"I...I'm into it, yeah. But before you start making assumptions, you should understand just what I am into, and not into."
Before I could explain, the questions came. One after another.
"Do you have whips?"
"Yes, I do. But --- "
"And all that gear -- leather, outfits?"
"Yes, I do..."
"Like -- a gimp outfit you make people wear?" he asked, half chuckling, half looking at me with shock, running a hand through his hair. That damned Pulp Fiction reference coming back to haunt me, as it often did with the vanillas.
"It's not like that. That's why I wanted to explain to you before you start imagining things. What I am into is very different from what you might have read or seen."
He looked away, took a breath. "I never would have known. You don't look the type. Are you just playing a joke on me?"
"No."
"That portrait makes sense now. I kind of wondered about it."
"Did you have a ...bad experience with S&M?" I asked cautiously. I was now more racked with fear and discomfort to even recognize the desires as they were shoved back into a hole inside of me and shunned like a bad child.
Trey turned to me, leaning over now with an elbow on his knee, his head propped in his hand. "No...I just...you know, Akasha, I'm a basic kind of guy. I'm a traditional kind of guy." He stopped, gesturing to himself. "What you see is what you get with me. I'm just not into --- whips, or wild sex, or swinging, or men dressed up like women and going on Jerry Springer.."
"Trey," I urged, taking his hand. "It's NOT like that. That's what I mean, you have seen things that don't represent what I am."
"Akasha, *THIS* is what I am. This is all I am. I'm boring to you. I could never feel comfortable playing those kinds of weird games."
His tone and choice of words was telling. I had gone about it all wrong. I bit my lip, I cursed myself. I should have just introduced him to it slowly. Now he thought I was a latex clad bitch with a whip, barking orders at men in dog collars.
Which, I was, I realized, but that's not the point. The way he was *visualizing* it wasn't how it really was to me.
He stood up. I was mortified.
"You aren't leaving, are you? Just like that?" I asked. This had never happened to me. I felt horrible beyond words.
He shrugged slowly, a sort of entire-body-cringing gesture, holding his shoulders hunched up a little. "This is just...this is bad timing. I need to think about all of this."
"Don't you even want to hear what I have to say, Trey? About what it really is I am into?"
"I just think it wouldn't be productive in the mindframe I am in. I am really in shock right now."
I looked at him. I realized he had thought I was a nice girl, and he was the type to avoid women that took drugs, abused their bodies, were mean to people, had trashed family backgrounds, slept around. He wanted a nice girl.
What killed me was that I am a *nice girl*. He assumed that because I was into S&M, that meant I was somehow not traditional, conservative, healthy, and balanced.
He thought everything had been a total act.
"I really want to have a chance to talk to you," I said earnestly. "I think you are getting the wrong impression about me. I am the same person, Trey. I just have some unusual tastes..but they aren't like what you think..."
"Sex, to me, Akasha, is about love. It's about pleasing my partner. It's about togetherness, and -- and a bond, a bond unlike anything. I guess I'm kind of fucked up, because I still see it as something sacred. I'm like-- *I'M* a freak in the 90s because I still view sex as something so fucking amazing on its own."
I realized he really was disgusted. He would never be into something like S&M, purely based on his views. Yet what he found so sacred about sex, I found sacred about the games I played. I have always felt that SM enhanced those feelings. But he was imagining his own version of bondage games, which included anger, disgust, animosity, and sadism. Not love.
I had really gone about it entirely the wrong way. And in the process, screwed up a potentially amazing relationship.
I felt sick inside. Very sick. I was holding my stomach, rocking a little, looking at the table. How could I screw it up so bad in one conversation.
He was near the door, stalling, uneasy. "Look, Akasha. I am not saying anything right now, nothing has changed. I just need to think about some stuff, ok."
"I just feel like.." I hesitated, trying not to get emotional. "Like you are going to pass judgement on this entire situation without even knowing what I really mean when I say I am into this. Because you don't know, you haven't heard me explain it or experience it."
He sat on the edge of the couch, looking at me. "Ok then. Explain it to me. Explain to me how hurting someone can make love better. How getting all dressed up and-- and beating someone can be a loving thing. Explain to me how that is better than slow, gentle, passionate lovemaking between two people who care about and respect each other."
With that setup, under that pressure, I was at a loss for words. I stared at him, my mouth kind of hanging open. How many words had I written that clearly explained the answer to this very question.
Yet, I could not come up with a sentence to sum it up, or even open it for discussion. The way he had phrased it made it impossible.
He looked at me, and I was silent. He smiled -- it was a nice smile, a reassuring one. He said, softly, "I gotta go. I'll call you."
And he was gone.
And he didn't call.
All I did, for the rest of the weekend, was cry.
*****
So there it was. The total destruction of my first good potential relationship. I had to ponder where it went wrong, and it was hard for me to even sort out all the different areas where it went wrong.
From the start it was all wrong. I should have stuck to my first rule.
And what was even worse about it was that, still, in the back of my head were the desires I had for him. The desires not only for sex and sweet intimacy, but the desires to share the passion of power exchange with him.
But even the fantasies were ruined by then, because thinking about him kneeling for me, begging for me, brought back the words he had said, and that put a dramatic end to the passionate flair.
Monday morning, when I went back to work, I dreaded even having to look him in the eyes.
****
That didn't become much of a problem, I found, because Trey avoided me pretty skillfully. He kept his chair turned back toward me, he walked the long way around the aisle to go to the coffee room.
I felt disgusted and sick beyond words, full of self dread. I wondered if he was going to out me to everyone in our group, tell them what a sick pervert I was.
I sat with my head in my hands pondering how I could screw things up so badly in one night.
The week progressed slowly. I considered sending him a long letter trying to explain the passion in what I did, and how it did equate to love, and how it was a beautiful thing.
I started that letter four or five times, but always stopped because I knew it was futile.
Finally, Friday came, and I had already scouted out the want ads as I was ready to look for a new job. I had determined I would be miserable, and had learned my lesson, and had to break clean and start over.
Having to come over to my desk to fetch something from the file cabinet, Trey looked at me, awkwardly, and said simply, "Hi."
I smiled, trying to be warm. "Hello."
As he went through the files with his fingers, he did not look at me, but said quietly, "I've been thinking about what happened."
I just listened. I knew he wanted me to just listen, because people were around, and we could not get into an intense discussion.
"I miss you a lot, Akasha. I felt we had something special. I won't deny that I was shocked, and a little freaked out."
He sighed, pulling out a file. Closing his eyes, just for a second. "A lot freaked out."
I swallowed. I wondered, god, what did he have in his head that he considered "SM" to be?
He turned to me, slowly, blinked, and looked right at me. "But I don't want to just give it all up for that."
I felt something inside of me. Something doing summersaults. Like a schoolgirl. My palms started getting sweaty. I wanted to stand up and scream, "Yes! He is giving me a chance!"
Trey glanced around to see that no one was within earshot. He lowered his voice more, just in case. "I can't say I like what you are into. I don't think I ever will. But I'm willing to listen, and give it a try, if it's important to you."
The summersaults inside of me were replaced with something far more intense. Not only was he giving it another chance, he was admitting he would consider trying submission. My dominant side was already burning with desire, just looking at him, half kneeling as he was on one knee, resting the file folder against my lap as he whispered.
"So let's just start over. As if the other night didn't happen. I'd like to take you to a Laker game tomorrow if you're up for it."
The words came at once, without even thinking, just as he stood up slowly. "Sure, I'd like that."
He gave my knee a light tap with the file folder as he backed up to leave my work area. "Just leave the whips at home for now," he said, making his way back to his desk.
"No problem," I responded, smiling, and he looked over his shoulder to nod at me, then was gone.
And I was happy. Happier than I had been in a long time, even though I knew the actual submission part of the equation was a long time off, if ever.
I was happy just to have him back in my life.
And I wondered, for the first time, if there was a person out there that made me feel like I could just give it all up.
It was an interesting though to mull over for awhile, but just a few hours later I found myself looking at him as he leaned back in his chair, and watching as if in slow motion his hands raise up, falling behind his head, his fingers intertwining in his own hair.
My pulse quickened. My mouth went dry.
Images.
I shook my head, forced myself to look at my own computer.
And realized giving it up wasn't an option.
But at least I had a chance to show him what it really was to me.
(c) Copyright 1998. All rights reserved. [email protected]
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