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It was the winter of 1966-1967,
in a world that looked much like this one, except in BDSM terms,
where it was in another galaxy. To say there was no internet does
not do the situation justice. Computers were huge multimillion
dollar constructions, requiring dedicated rooms with special cooling
and wiring. (Just for comparison's sake, a calculator which would
add, subtract, multiply and divide, and maybe print out on a paper
tape, cost about $600, equivalent of about $1,500 today, the price
of a computer that will run rings around those of the mid '60s.)
If anyone had the idea of tens of millions of homes having one,
and that all of these would be able to communicate with each other,
it was too laughable an idea to be bruited about, though a few
visionaries may have toyed with the idea. Sources of information
on esoteric subjects like BDSM, if available at all, were extremely
hard to find, especially if one had no idea that they existed
I would have just turned 31, married for 8 years, with one child
and trying for a second. I made a decent living, we lived in a
comfortable apartment and were on the verge of buying a house.
Everyone including us thought we had an excellent marriage and
a pretty good life. I had told no one about the fantasies to which
I had been masturbating since puberty thrust its enticing head
into my crotch. No one could be told they were too crazy, too
demented, too obscene, and much, much too cruel. Sex with my wife,
by most people's standards, was good to excellent. Frequency was
fine, it was passionate and mutually orgasmic. That it left me
deeply unsatisfied was another 'burn before reading' classified
secret.
In this semi-contented
state, one cold winter's day, I was calling on a client. I had
been there three or four times before, and each time he had kept
me waiting a while. Hardly unusual. I always made it a practice
to strike up a conversation with the secretaries. It not only
made the wait less boring, but it also sometimes led to a fifth
column promoting my interests in the office. This time it was
a woman in her 40's, long dark hair, pleasingly plump. No beauty,
nothing unusual about her, just an attractive human being of the
desirable gender, from my point of view. She was apologizing for
the wait and I jokingly said another few minutes and I will have
to break through the door. (This exchange is not verbatim, it
has been decades, but it is close.)
"I would have to stop you." she said.
"You might get hurt. I'd have to beat you out of my way."
A look came over her face
that I can only describe as longing. "Would you?" There was a
catch in her voice that made it something else than light banter.
"Never know."
"It might be interesting."
"It would be very interesting." I took a deep breath, that I remember
clearly, "Talking about it is easy, doing it would be more difficult
and more exciting." She was blushing brightly. "Do you want to
talk about it more?" I think she just nodded. "Want to have dinner
with me and talk some more?"
That was the first clue I had that there were submissive/masochistic
women in the real universe. I was not about to let this pass:
we met for dinner, we talked over a few drinks around the subject
enough to get the idea that we were both interested, and when
I asked her if she would come with me to a hotel room she agreed.
We scurried to a hotel
a few blocks away as fast as our feet would carry us. I registered,
very aware of the strange looks I was getting from the clerk.
(This was a Holiday Inn, not a hot bed flea trap.)
Once in the room I had no idea of how to begin. In this day and
age it may seem strange, but the only woman I had ever screwed
to that point was my wife, and after the wedding at that. So we
stood there looking at each other for a while, or perhaps I was
gaping at her and she was staring at the floor, waiting for me.
Finally, the damn broke and I grabbed for her.
I am not going to detail
what happened then, partly because it has faded with the years
and partly because it was immediately lost in a red fog of passion.
I know I stripped her clothes off, surprising not damaging them
enough to prevent her wearing them home. I know I beat her, with
the only implements I had, my hands/fists. I know I screwed her,
in two of the three available orifices. I know I bit and twisted
and crushed almost every place possible. I remember stuffing my
handkerchief into her mouth when she made enough noise to concern
me about outside interference. I know I tied her hands for part
of this two hour long assault, using her stocking, the only ligature
I had with me.
When I was sated, depleted, exhausted, drained, I got out of there
as fast as I could. All the way home I remembered not the pleasures
but the marks I had left, blooming bruises and bite marks on breasts,
ribs, arms, thighs, buttocks. At the end of the trip, about 40
minutes, I expected to find cops camped out in front of my door.
I hardly slept all night, waiting for the nightstick to be hammering
on the door.
By morning I realized that
she did not know where I lived, but knew where my office was.
I looked for the cops outside the office door. I was so nervous
I had to scoot into the bathroom the moment I got there.
It went on like that for
two more days, and then she called me. I consider it one of the
major acts of courage in my life to pick up that phone when the
receptionist told me who was on the line. We exchanged small talk
briefly, my nervousness making me uncharacteristically inarticulate,
until she asked in a whisper _When can we do it again?
I have had all these decades
to contemplate this initial experience, and most of what has stayed
with me is how lucky I am that none of the dozens of mistakes,
omissions, lapses of judgment I made came around to bite me in
the ass. Shall I list a few?
1. Inadequate prior discussion
2. No safeword or
agreement on limits
3. No condom (pre AIDS, but not pre gonorrhea or syphilis, etc.)
4. Handkerchief as gag
5. Alcohol before playing
6. No aftercare
Since I am, so many years afterward, still here to write about
it, you can guess I learned a lot in a hurry. In fact, the whole
story has a happy ending. Providence apparently takes good care
of nuts and idiots. The lady and I continued to meet for a couple
of years at frequent if irregular intervals, with rapidly increasing
sophistication in the safety and sophistication of our play. We
parted only when she got a proposal from a long-term, very vanilla
boyfriend who was being transferred across the continent. Since
I, with then two young children to deal with, could provide her
nothing equivalent, it was an offer she could not refuse. We kept
in touch for a while, but soon realized that all that we had was
the physical pleasure we gave each other, and drifted apart.
I managed to find some other women willing to accommodate my desires
and to whom I managed to find ways to give the gratification they
desired, few and far between until the internet, and literally
a dozen since. I think, and I hope, that in the intervening years
I have not made as many mistakes as I made that night. But it
was a glorious, thrilling, spontaneous beginning.
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