As I sit down to write this, I’m in a state of worry—will I
ever know how to see a relationship with a man through any lens other than
abandonment? Why does my brain equate “I like him.” with “He is going to go
away and never come back.” and also “I am not good enough.” Mister Hazel Eyes
might have been a doofus on our date, but that doesn’t change the fears that I
have to learn my way out of. Are my abandonment issues and distrust things I
can overcome, or will they keep me from ever realizing a true and lasting
connection with a man? I guess all I can do to find out is go forward.
After rope class, we sat off to the side on the padded
benches where people usually congregate and talk. Sweetie spanked me in the
same place just a few months ago, in our first public scene. There were a few
couples over there, but MHE and I were in our own little bubble of
conversation. He felt so good there next to me but I still felt uneasy. I told
him I was having trouble believing that he didn’t actually belong to someone
else. I know that sounds weird coming from someone who is married and dating,
but I just kept suspecting that he was being unscrupulous, especially after he
said not to leave bite marks—he said he was worried his mom might see them, he
said. I said that sounded like bullshit, and he pointed to Nice Girl as
well—“Well she should know about me because I AM A PERSON.” I said and he said
he’d told her about me. I didn’t believe that either. “You seem really…married.
Are you worried that Betty Draper will see?”
We wrestled away the tension of it—I pushed and pulled
against his arms, and he said “You can start trying any time.” He was
delightfully strong. I shoved him against the wall and kissed him and he held
me and I struggled—perfect. We got up to look at some of the other scenes going
on—some neat suspension work—and he took that opportunity to wrestle me up
against the bar and bite my ass. There’s a glee that comes up in me when a
guy’s trying to hold me down, a thrill of recognition, a fruition. In those
moments, I am so excited and grateful to be alive.
Then it was—hooray!—time to go over his knee. This was what
I’d been waiting for, there’s nothing so comforting as being sprawled across
his lap, elbows on the bench, cute shoes in the air like a pinup. His hands
wove into my hair and pulled—that’s where the real magic started. He pulled up
my pajama bottoms so that my butt cheeks were exposed. I was conscious of the
couples nearby, and I liked knowing they could see my ass, see me being so
vulnerable to him.
“You’re such a fucking good girl, do you know that? I
fucking adore you.”
After a few more spankings and affirmations of my
adorableness, he pulled me up to his face and kissed me. I asked if he wanted
to take my top off and held up my arms. After he pulled my shirt off sweetly, I
leaned back so that he could take a look at me, Hello Kitty nipple tape and
all. He looked happy. He buried his head in my chest and I held him there,
right where I’d been wanting him.
We took a break to go get drinks, and he went a little bit
back to douchetown—he told me red wine’s for pussies, even said it in a lispy
voice, which I promptly called out as homophobic, with a “HMPH! Straight guys,
I swear.”
“Okay,” he said, “Okay.” Kinda like he was choking back an
argument.
I liked the feeling of walking to the bar near-naked with
him—I felt like a whore to him, like something he’d just purchased. It was a
dark, sad feeling, connecting me to all of the ways that women have been owned
in both good and terrible ways. I felt empowered, anonymous, and chosen. It was
a strange kinship with the ladies of the world, a darkly feminine moment, and I
feel a little ashamed of it.
Next: Tied to a kneeler with very helpful ropes.