I’ve met 2 legitimate sadists while on this journey. At no time did I feel unsafe, or that I was no longer in control; these two men were not out to bring me pleasure from pain, but simply to hurt me and gain their own pleasure from doing so. They wanted the power. They wanted the control. Here’s the deal… I’m a glutton for punishment. I do not like to tap out. I do not like to follow demands. I do not like to take orders. I’m in charge, go fuck yourself. Spank me harder.
The first was a fairly attractive Hispanic guy we’ll call The Lion- I raced home to meet him after drinking at the bar. The sex was decent but over too quickly. I was not amused. He apologized and told me it was because I looked like a Librarian he wasn’t expecting me to be so wild (whatever you gotta say to save face, I suppose.) He promised to come back tomorrow to finish the job but those words are always lies. In the wrap-up of our short lived sexcapade we discover we’re both dominant. We didn’t really discuss any of this stuff before hand. I love this. Hurt me. Twist me up. Pin me. Choke me. Bite me. BRING ON THE PAIN! He’s Army so I expect nothing less than to be thoroughly abused. He brought me to tap out more than a few times, and bit me so ferociously it took 3 days for the bruises to fully develop into the black galaxies and colorful nebula all over my upper body. He did not respond well to STOP. He enjoyed hurting me beyond my pain threshold… and I was unrelenting in continuing on. There’s something to be told about rediscovering your limits. It was eye opening. It was thrilling. It was empowering. Yes, he completely overpowered me and made me his bitch. Yes, I begged for it to stop. And the next day… I never felt so alive. I woke up sore beyond belief, like I’d been hit with truck. But I was proud of my bruises. I was proud at how bad they looked, how painful they were, and how much it sucked. I endured a great deal to earn them.
The second is a Marine from Boston we’ll call Goodwill Hunting, because his stupid-hot accent when he’s drunk literally makes me giggle until I pee myself like a retahd. See what I did there? That’s making me crack up right now. It’s the simple things in life. Anyway, I’m head over feet in lust with this guy from the moment I talk to him on the phone and hear the accent come out. Yes, talk dirty to me Ted the Bear. I am sickly attracted to accents, so it should come as no surprise he’s already pushing several of my buttons- but the added bonus was his shit talking. The library was open and he came for me, hunty. He’d say something stupid and I’d demand he repeat it in the accent for my amusement, and he’d tell me to go feck myself. Hysterics. Please, please, please talk shit to me all night. I so rarely encounter men this fun who can take shit and give shit, without getting defensive and turning it into a pissing contest. He’s just fun. He tells me I’m fun, too. I tell him no matter what we end up doing, I want to maintain this thing where he calls me drunk and berates me in his silly accent while I giggle. He’s all for it. Huzzah! We still haven’t met in person yet. The night he talked to me the first time I convinced him to come to my house and crash with me, as I was drunk beyond belief and he probably needed a warm body to snuggle. He ended up ditching his car on the way over, and I didn’t get to meet him that night. Booooooo.
Fast forward, he asks me if I’m doing anything- the answer is no. We make plans for him to come over and spend the night; he mentions he wouldn’t say no to fucking me, but he’s really in need of a bed and a shower as he works and lives out of town so he doesn’t really have an Anchorage home. Oh, I feel so special! Whatever, he’s getting drunk and that’s all that matters, because I’ll listen to his stupid voice all night. When he walks in I’m very pleased with him- he’s attractive, tall, and a total asshole. My favorite! We go get booze together and come home, immediately start drinking. I keep demanding he drink faster because the Boston isn’t coming out quick enough for me. It amuses him. Things went sideways at one point when we were messing around- he tore open my shirt, which I do not approve of, and for whatever reason I called him a slur. He open-palmed my ear so hard it rang (and the next day my eardrum hurt.) That’s when I feel it. It’s coming. I’m going to have an episode. I have previous trauma that very infrequently comes up in the form of flash backs- I hadn’t dealt with one in years, so this was unexpected. I’m grateful he recognized it right away, as I’m positive he has PTSD as well from touring in the Middle East during war time- because he supported me through it, and by the end he was making me laugh. I really do appreciate that moment. He didn’t make me feel weird or awkward or bad about it. Thanks, jerk-face! (I later learned, at the doctor, that he ruptured my ear drum.) Other key moments in the night he was putting me into submissions by way of joint manipulation- a month later and that finger still hurts. I screamed. I cried. I twisted. I struggled. But I wouldn’t submit. I refuse to follow demands or take orders. He’s becoming increasingly frustrated with me. He says he doesn’t want to keep hurting me, if I would just behave and be a good girl. FUCK YOU. (In my head I’m singing ‘Never give up, Never surrender.’)
Look, I’m not a submissive. I’m not a slave. I’m not subservient. I’m dominant. I just also happen to like being dominated. So you better warm up those arm bars and choke holds, because I’m not going to tap out at the first inkling of pain. Hurt me. He’s yoked me up by my hair several times and dragged me around. I like it. He’s strong, he’s powerful, he’s a raging asshole. This is fun! He tells me he’s going to go down on me, regardless of the fact I’m on my period. I fight. You absolutely are not, sir. You know what I really liked though? I liked how he kissed me. Fuck I love aggressive kissing. I wish more hookups kissed. By this point in the night I’m completely drunk and very tired from all the wrassling and abuse. I start to fall asleep. He takes me to the bedroom, tucks me in, and tells me he’s leaving because I’m too drunk. I convince him to stay. He insists on watching me get myself off with my vibrator, which I happily oblige. Then after I came, he takes it and starts fucking me with it (not how I do myself, so I got off again.) We start kissing. This is it, we’re gonna have the best sex ever after all that tussling and warm up. He puts the brakes on. Apparently he will not oblige me in sex unless I go down on him. Remember my thing about being expected to give head, or demanded to? Instant turn off. I’m not doing it. He says fine, if I won’t suck his dick he’s just going to leave. I stare at him. He gets up out of bed, I roll over and prepare to sleep alone. I called his bluff, he gets back in bed and insists on cuddling me. We talk about it for a bit, and it was in that brief conversation I realized we were not going to be sexually compatible. There’s no way I’m going to go down on him as a rule. I have to want to. Maybe if I’d allowed him to go down on me when I fought against it, I would have had a different tune- but at that moment, I knew it’s just not going to happen because it has to happen every time. Nope, suck it yourself. We fell asleep together for the night having had no sex between us.
I woke him up and got him out of the house in the morning (he tells me he wants to see me again,) picked up a 22 year old Irish boy with an accent on Tinder a couple hours later and got laid. We met for coffee first, instant chemistry. The sex was OK, but the afterward was the best- he just laid in my bed and we held each other while talking for about an hour. Very sweet. Completely changed my attitude for the day. I woke up all kind of not feeling right after the episode I’d had the night before, like a dark cloud was hanging over me. The Irishman imparted some magic on my nether region with his mouth, and we called it a day.