by Sabrina York
Trapper isn’t as extreme a shark as some. He never drew blood and left no permanent marks, which were two of my hard boundaries, limits I specified before we began. He didn’t force me to pull a train or introduce another partner against my will—again, hard boundaries. I’m not averse to ménages—in fact, a M-F-M ménage was one of my fave fantasies, something I’d longed for but hadn’t experienced. But I have learned to be very picky when it comes to partners, however casual the relationship might be.
But some Doms would have violated my boundaries. Others will ignore safe words. Trapper didn’t do that but hooded and gagged me so that if I were in distress, I had no way of expressing that—we didn’t have a safe gesture or any substitute. However, he was highly attentive to my physical needs throughout a play session. Despite the sexual sadism—or partly because of it—I had a great time.
But not always. I later learned that Trapper had, essentially, stalked me. He’d apparently noticed me at school, found out who I was and many things about me, then decided that he wanted me. Then he’d taken what he wanted without much concern for my well-being.
And with time and BDSM education, I discovered that the first scenes that Trapper subjected me to were extreme considering I was a newbie. My first experience as a submissive should not have been with me gagged, hooded, and hogtied. Nor should it have included forcible penetration with a foreign object. The usual first experience for an inexperienced sub is far more measured, introducing new stimuli gradually with a view toward finding and pushing the sub’s limits but not destroying them.
Trapper destroyed me.
I couldn’t handle the emotional sadism, a particularly vicious part of his routine, but I broke up with him due to the numerous misunderstandings and miscommunications that had flawed our relationship. I hadn’t understood the difference between a boyfriend and a play partner—which I believe is the arrangement he intended—and he never explained. So I interpreted much of his behavior as simple rudeness. Indeed, much of it was.
Some of our issues stemmed from neglect that no good Dom allows. Conscientious, well-trained Doms are aware of sub drop, and check in with their subs after a scene, at least once every day for about three days if that’s what the sub needs. And vice versa—“top drop” is a real phenomenon as well. After one scene, in fact, Trapper became quite nauseated and ill. At the time I had never heard of top drop, but I have good caretaking instincts and stayed by his side, cuddling, bringing him water and tending to his needs until he felt better.
But the most important reason for breaking up was that I loathed the person I had become since we’d been together. Though I’d been happy and excited when we met, that quickly transmuted. When I was with him I was agitated and worried I’d say or do something wrong, and when we were apart I was afraid I’d never again be with the man I craved.
I stumbled around for months feeling as though I had a knife buried in my heart. I turned into a bitchy, neurotic mess, miserable beyond belief, and therefore, others around me became miserable also. What truly annoyed me was that I continued wanting him.
Chapter Two
Natural Doms, Dumb-inants, and Other Curious Creatures
Despite my difficulties with Trapper, I’d loved the sex and was determined to find a new partner…or partners. I’d learned a lot from him. He had several sex partners and seemed happy, so I reasoned it would be smarter for me to stop putting all my emotional eggs in one basket. However, I had noted in several statements he’d made that he seemed to be mixing me up with his other women, so I resolved to treat all my lovers with kindness, to avoid overextending myself, and never to select overextended men. Vetting them more thoroughly—also a good idea. Trapper had failed me, yes, but I had failed myself.
But I had law school to complete, the Bar exam to pass and a career to build. I resumed a vanilla lifestyle. Time passed. Unfulfilling relationships drove me to investigate my options regarding the sex I really wanted. The internet had developed in a variety of unexpected ways, and many opportunities presented themselves.
I found a site online called “CollarMe” and joined it. Though I hadn’t posted any scantily clad photos, within minutes of uploading my profile I received a gratifying number of hits. I went out with several men, all of whom seemed nice, but didn’t click with anyone until I met Ben.
Ben was about my age, a well-built blond with silvering hair. He worked in construction, and explained that he’d been with Sara for a number of years. Lately Sara hadn’t wanted to engage in D/s play, and Ben still did.
Ben and I met at a local eatery, a floating restaurant on the bay, where we enjoyed a nice meal while watching the sun set. Of course we talked about BDSM play, especially our fetishes and hard boundaries. I mentioned how much I loved sub space and wanted to return. When I asked him about his experiences and training, he said he had a lot of experience but no training.
Hmm. Would I want a mechanic with experience and no training? An electrician? A surgeon? Probably not. And like a surgeon, a Dom holds his sub’s life in his hands. I lowered my expectations but resolved to see what would happen.
Later he walked me to my car, and we sat inside, talked, and kissed. He took control very nicely, using a fist wrapped in my hair to direct me as he pleased, firmly but not pushing my limits too hard on a first meeting.
We met again at a restaurant for lunch. I was inclined to think that I’d play with Ben, but had been advised to be very cautious. Upon my request, Ben and I copied pertinent information from each other’s driver’s licenses. Of course I used the info to check him out, finding almost nothing online at all, and certainly nothing to indicate that Ben was anything other than who he seemed to be: a normal, nice, kinky guy.
So our next meeting was at his home, at a time when Sara would be out for several hours. The play was standard—a bare-bottomed spanking followed by solidly good sex. Our next meetings were similar, but I found myself troubled by a feeling of incompletion. Though I was aware that my lack of true affection for Ben would affect my experience, more was missing.
I was having orgasms but not entering sub space.
Researching sub space yields differing definitions and opinions. It is not orgasm, but it’s orgasmic in the sense it’s intensely pleasurable—the words rapture and ecstasy capture the feeling for me. Most describe it as a sensation of flying or floating. And while Trapper may have behaved badly in numerous ways, he knew how to get me there.
I was learning that not all Doms are so gifted or well-trained. On the other hand, I reasoned, he wasn’t the only guy out there who knew what he was doing. After all, someone had taught him. I had to find someone with his skills as a Dom who was more communicative and affectionate. However, I’ve found that this is not an easy task.
Ben knew nothing about sub space. On one occasion, he blindfolded me and said, “Now you can be in your little sub space.”
I didn’t say anything, but I bristled. Not only was the statement patronizing, but it was ignorant. I realized that my relationship with Ben would end soon.
The weather had turned wintry and Christmas approached. My habit is to give friends small but personal gifts. That year, I chose Christmas ornaments, and checked several stores for ornaments that would, in some way, match their interests. For example, I got my critique partner, who regularly saves my writing life, feathery angel wings for her tree. I bought a mask for the friend who’d traveled with me to Venice, and was delighted to see it decorating her tree on Christmas Day. And I found a truck for pickup-driving Ben, then wrapped it in spangled tissue paper before nestling it carefully in a green and white gift bag.
When I visited his home again a couple weeks before Christmas, he did not open the gift but instead set it right in the center of his kitchen table. I found that odd until he mentioned that me being in his life had resulted in his partner, Sara, picking up her game. He’d sought out another play partner because she hadn’t wanted to indulge, but since I’d come along she’d been willing—he charac
terized her as competitive, and she must have seen me as a threat. (Ha). So I think he put my gift in the middle of his table specifically to get her goat. I didn’t like being the tool he used to manipulate his girlfriend, so…sayonara.
I didn’t say anything—I hate drama—but instead gave noncommittal responses to his texts, and he got the message. Weeks later, I visited CollarMe.com, the site through which we’d met, and noticed that his profile was active and he’d visited the day before. That was okay. I was done with him.
Shortly thereafter I visited the same shop where I’d found Ben’s gift, and showed the friend I was with what I’d bought. She gasped, “A dump truck! Oh, Sue!”
Oops. I hadn’t noticed that. But it seemed prescient.
I hid my CollarMe profile and joined a site called “Fetlife,” finding the community I needed. Not a dating site—its emphasis is on social networking—though I’ve met lovely men through FL. More importantly, through Fetlife, various kink-oriented groups form, meet and present classes. I attend as many as I can, and candidly, have utter contempt for those who don’t bother.
I’m with John Locke in believing that we’re born a blank slate, a tabula rasa upon which life inscribes its teachings. We also have the power to get information we need. A person isn’t born with knowledge about anything at all, and certainly not with the expertise needed to be a competent Dominant. A Dom needs a number of skills. A good working knowledge about physiology, for example, and a high level of concern regarding a sub’s physical state. Thoughtfulness in crafting scenes that will satisfy both Dom and sub. Ability to communicate honestly and clearly.
Unfortunately, not everyone bothers to learn. Trapper, a highly skilled Dom, was nevertheless a poor communicator. Ben, the “natural Dom,” was another good example of someone who needed training and information to reach his potential. Another was a guy I’ll call Eli.
Eli sent me a message through Fetlife as an icebreaker, and we corresponded for awhile. We gravitated to emails and then to texting. As a first date, we met at a Chinese restaurant in a nearby town. He’s older, and I found myself uninterested even though by that time I was no spring chicken either. However, plenty of younger men are interested in me, and I’m interested in them. My preferred age for a man is between thirty-five and fifty, which has been consistent since I was age seventeen. (My first serious relationship was with a thirty-seven year-old man. At the time I wrote this chapter, my relationship was with a forty-one year-old while I was fifty-seven). Older men present problems. I currently live with and care for my aging mother and don’t want to nursemaid my man.
And Eli and I simply didn’t click—at least, that was my assessment. He felt differently.
His most distinguishing characteristic was that he’s into horses. Unfortunately, he seemed to think that people are like horses. After that dinner, which was nice but lacked fireworks, he contacted me here and there until one afternoon, when the following texts were exchanged:
Eli: So how does a ‘scene’ work?
Me: With all respect, sir, if you are asking that question, why are you calling yourself a Dom? (Thinking, there’s a BDSM glossary on Fetlife. Why is he asking me this? Why doesn’t he already know this? And: glad I decided not to give him a test drive. He probably doesn’t know squat, including how to take care of me if something goes wrong in a scene… After all, he doesn’t even know what a scene is!)
Eli: So u r saying that if someone has never been to a scene, they can’t be turned on by dominating someone or submitting to someone?
Me: No, I am saying that one should not present oneself as a dominant without being properly educated and trained. In my humble opinion, sir, you need to find a mentor to teach you how to do what submissives expect you to be able to do.
Eli: No offense, but there are literally millions of relationships with a dominant person, and a submissive person (i have been in several) that wouldn’t know the first thing about a scene.
It the connection that counts. Not your interpretation of what that’s supposed to be.
Me: I am looking for a dominant who can take me to subspace. If you are unable to do that, I am not interested. Sorry.
Eli: So you r saying if someone doesn’t know the name of every part on a boat, they can’t sail?
Me: An interesting analogy. However, I am not saying that. But if you are going to call yourself a dominant, know how to dominate.
Eli: You drive every day, do u know how the engine in your car turns the axle?
Me: (Thinking, yes, actually, I do.) Subs have certain expectations, and they don’t include having to educate their dominants.
I call myself a driver, yet I do not know every part of my car. But I do know how to drive my car. That’s all I need to know. If you are going to call yourself a dominant, know how to dominate.
Eli: I am a horse whisperer. I know more about dominant and submissive relationships than most of the people I meet on fetlife.
Me: (blood starting to heat) I am not a horse.
I have some things I need to do now, so I’m signing off for a while. Hope you have a great day!
Eli: No, but you live in a herd.
You have a nice day too. Feel free to call me if you decide to actually submit to a real dominant, and I will teach u.
Me: (blood now boiling) A real dominant does not ask a prospective submissive how a scene works. He already knows. Have a nice life. Good luck.
Eli: Sue, many of us prefer a relationship. A connection between just 2 people. So what do you call a dominant who has never been to a Dom/sub party?
Me: Of course I want a connection, and whether or not a Dom has been to a party is irrelevant. Look, I have stuff to do. Later, ok?
Eli: I thought a ‘scene’ was a party with multiple people there. We are talking about 2 different things. You r referring to a scene with just 2 people right. And yes, I do know how that works. I’m truly interested in your viewpoint, but you don’t like being challenged unless it’s on your terms do u?
Me: Goodbye. Do not force me to block your number.
Eli: When a young stallion misbehaves, the mares will often times push him out of the herd, and ‘block his number.’ Practicing law must have been a good outlet for your anger, but I bet you were miserable, weren’t u?
Me: GO AWAY.
That exchange prompted me to write and post the following on Fetlife:
A Rant about Ignorant Doms
IMO there are a lot of posers here in fetland who call themselves Dominants or Masters but who don’t know much of anything. A so-called Dom recently asked me what a scene was. Others have never even heard of subspace, and if they haven’t heard of subspace, it’s a good bet they haven’t heard of aftercare, either, and for some of us, aftercare is a necessity.
And please don’t get me started on those who call themselves “natural Doms.” Guys, just because you like to tie up a woman and slap her ass before fucking, doesn’t mean you’re a Dom, natural or otherwise. There are classes out there, books out there, mentors out there eager to provide you the knowledge you need to be a true Dom.
Submission is a gift. Be worthy of it.
And one other thing: don’t, please, accuse me of being “angry.” I notice that reaction from males who can’t handle a woman with brains and a strong opinion. All you’re doing is exposing your weakness.
The post got a lot of positive responses, mostly from subs and switches, I imagine—a switch being a person who, like me, may top or bottom. Someone observed that many males on Fetlife were bored husbands looking for online titillation. Most importantly, folks correctly urged me to keep my sense of humor, stating that many of the characters on Fetlife were free entertainment. So I relaxed and decided not to take everything so seriously.
While I practiced law, I largely eschewed the BDSM lifestyle, though at one point I did fall in with a group of swingers. Over time, my life changed. I went to working part-time for a firm, but mainly, I write erotic romance.
Because
I’m an erotic romance novelist, people expect me to be kinky, so I have very little reason to hide my desires. However, many aren’t in such an enviable position. Many could lose their jobs or custody of their children. Some members of the BDSM community believe that BDSM activity is illegal, and they could be prosecuted for spanking or flogging. That may be true, but if encounters are consensual and friendly, no crime report would be made or prosecution filed. Who would testify? Busy, overworked prosecutors don’t have time to waste.
Thus, the excessive secrecy that some Doms maintain seems a little silly. I’ve talked with many and, with the exception of my first Dom, reject relationships with them. I don’t believe in deception in my life and don’t know how I can have an honest relationship with someone who’s engaging in deception.
Even on secure sites like Fetlife and CollarMe, some folks won’t put up a profile picture, but expect me to send them nude shots. Some won’t give me a true name, but want me to meet them and maybe even have bondage sex with them. As though I’m foolish enough to let myself be rendered helpless by someone I don’t know, don’t know his full name (or maybe even his correct first name), and don’t know anything about him.
Not happening.
And then there are the husbands, who appear to think I’ll swallow the fiction that they’re in a sexless marriage and truly need me. My attitude is that if the marriage is so bad, change it, or at least have the balls to talk with the wife and work something out that would allow the husband to openly pursue sexual satisfaction outside of the home. I have no intention of limiting my play to daytime, and I don’t sneak around.
Puzzling is the younger aspiring Dom who has the opportunity to shape his life so he doesn’t have to hide. I’m referring to the young man who has not yet selected a career, and who therefore can choose a way of life which will accommodate his sexual preferences. I’ve met several, and though I’ve asked, I’ve never heard a good reason for maintaining secrecy.
