From February 2013… He found me on an on line dating site and recognized me from a group of mutual friends. His first message made me blush because he wrote that he had been mildly distracted by me and wanted to explore a relationship, if I was interested. I had noticed him in our circle as well, and was very attracted to his classic punk rock style, head full of thick gray hair framing his deep blue eyes that were lined by so many eyelashes he appeared to be wearing black mascara. His on line profile was mostly about his sexual preferences and specific appetite for domination. At the time, I didn’t really want a boyfriend but was really into the idea of having a dom- someone to take care of many of my needs without having to get caught up in the other demands of a relationship. I let him know, directly, that I was interested in negotiating this kind of relationship, and we set a date.
The 36 hours leading up to our date, we were in almost constant contact via text and email, mostly he was describing to me in explicit and colorful ways all of the things he wanted to do to me, assessing my boundaries, lighting up the places that kept me confined in limited sexual expression, places I was outgrowing by the second. I liked that he told me what to do; I loved how badly he wanted me. I spent those hours in such a heightened state of arousal that it was impossible to concentrate on anything other than this power he was asserting over me. Domination is a skill; submission begins as a subtle state. Under strict instructions not to touch myself, my dom would do things like call me and ask ‘how do you feel about a choke collar with a taut chain leading down the back to a butt plug?’ and disallowed one word responses- he wanted to know how I felt about it sexually and what came up emotionally. By the time I set out to meet him, I was completely under his spell, and I was terrified/more turned on than ever before by what this relationship might bring.
Bundled in winters coat and scarf, I bound down the block toward seventh avenue, snowflakes catching in my eyelashes, clouds of breath suspending then evaporating in front of my face; heart beating louder as I moved closer to the corner, searching to find him. He came into view, caught and held my eyes, moving with the surety of a gladiator toward me. I lifted my hand in a limp and fearful wave as he closed in on me. Choreographed like a dancer, in a sequence of moves synchronized and lasting no more than 3 seconds, he removed one of his earbuds, placed it in my ear and with the same hand grabbed my face and pulled my mouth to his, his other arm wrapping and folding me against him, a mash of tongues and lips and sex points pressing under the snow, the Rolling Stones performing “Under My Thumb” in our ears.
no i do not love you 