My life in BDSM began at the age of 19 with a man of 29. For him my role was set in concrete; women were the dominant species, it was inherent and should not be questioned. I had a lot of questions and this--along with several other personal issues--proved to be an insurmountable wedge between us. He had his perfect Goddess--I had a lot of questions.
We split up after 3 ½ years together. I was left with an extensive wardrobe, a divided share of our equipment, and no answers. I believe that my first hint at resolution came from a used book store, a well-worn paperback copy of The Story of O. The root of my concerns lay within its yellowed pages. I eventually added 9 ½ Weeks, The Pearl, Venus in Furs, and Justine to my library. I was beginning to see a method to the madness.
After the split I built a career as a professional Dominitrix. As my financial life prospered, my personal life suffered. Clients were not friends, confidants or lovers. They were beginning to crowd in on me with their demands. I felt I was suffocating, drowning in other people's fantasies.
Fortunately for my sanity, I met Albert, or Bertie, as I was later to call him. His interest in me proved to be genuine and non-judgmental. I liked him a lot although I had never seen where he lived, nor a picture of his wife; I don't believe his wife even knew I existed, and I never pried. We were peripheral friends. Our personal space, though endlessly discussed, dissected and analyzed, remained distinctly separate. It was like we were dissidents, coming together from diverse worlds to conspire against reality.
It was Bertie who pointed out the obvious, why I was so dissatisfied. He smiled at me across the table, but his eyes were deadly serious.
"The problem is, you have no understanding of the submissive. Oh, you know what to do and how to do it to get the desired result, but not what they think, fell, desire. And that's why you are so miserable. You are jealous. You have never been given the opportunity to explore your own wants and needs--denying them, in fact--and you are jealous. You are no longer a little girl being led around by the nose by an older man; don't you think it's time you stopped bitching and start doing something?"
I was incredibly angry--until
I finally realized he was right. Something in his words, or the way he said
them; or the truth. Knowledge and skill did not necessarily equal understanding.
Regardless, I couldn't get his challenge out of my mind. How we came to the
point of turning talk into action, I don't know. It wasn't sex, I didn't want
to sleep with him. It never occurred to me. He was married. I wanted the
experience, the release of responsibility. I spent many days examining the
issue from all possible angles, deciding, deciding, deciding. Yes, I trusted
him. But I would have to train him. And what did I want? After all, it was
my turn to write the script. I reread The Story of O.