The Secret Life of a Submissive. Sarah K

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СКАЧАТЬ editing and adding to it until I’d almost lost sight of what I was trying to say, and was sitting with my finger hovering above the ‘post’ button for the fifth or sixth night in a row, trying to work up the courage to press it. I was about to have another go at editing my latest attempt when Henry rang and said he was sorry for whatever it was he’d done, and that he’d got tickets for an open-air concert at the weekend. Maybe I’d like to go with him?

      And I almost said yes, except that he hadn’t quite finished.

      ‘I’d really like us to be friends, Sarah,’ he said. ‘The sex thing gets in the way a bit, don’t you think? The tickets are thirty pounds each. I’m happy to take a cheque. I thought perhaps you could come over and pick me up.’

      I didn’t want a relationship with anyone who thought that sex got in the way. He was still talking when I pressed ‘post’.

      As I did, a little message popped up on the computer screen:

      ‘Thank you for posting on our website. Your profile will appear on our system within twenty-four hours, although it is currently available for you to view and may still be edited. You may remove your profile or make it invisible at any time.’

      My heart lurched. What the hell had I done?

      ‘So what do you think?’ said Henry.

      ‘I think that I’m busy on Sunday,’ I said, and hung up, still staring at the message on the screen.

      Bloody hell! What if I attracted an axe-wielding psychopath? What if the website accidentally posted my real email address? Or my real name? Worse still, what if after all this whittling and worrying I didn’t get a single reply?

      A new message popped up alongside the first. ‘Members with photos on their profiles attract more replies.’

      I wasn’t at all sure that I wanted to post a photo. What if someone recognized me? I flicked through the ones that had caught my eye – some had photos, but not all; some were full-faced, others pixellated, some were naked, some dressed. There didn’t seem to be a norm: you posted what you were happy with.

      I clicked through to my profile to read it one more time. I could always take it down.‘Forty-something female novice submissive, with lots of imagination but no real-time experience, seeks a man to show her the ropes.’

      There was a lot more but that was the gist of it. In the end I also posted a current photograph of myself on holiday in a sundress on a beach sipping a cocktail, with the face pixellated out.

      Then I waited – and worried.

      Maybe I’d made a mistake; maybe this was best kept as a fantasy. Maybe I’d just take my profile down before any harm was done. Maybe I’d give up on men and get some cats.

      I was on tenterhooks all day, refusing to look at the site, wanting to peek at the website inbox but resisting the temptation.

      That evening, when I’d finished my day’s work, I opened up my account on the website. There were forty replies. I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

      Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, I opened the first one: ‘Hi, I saw your profile. Nice picture. My name is Craig and I’m a taxi driver and live just outside Cambridge. I’m into …’ It took about ten seconds for my anxiety to fade. These were real people, looking for the same thing as I was. There were some great emails among that first batch, including one from a woman, who emailed to offer advice.

      The profiles were no longer nameless, faceless weirdos; they were people like me, and yes, they all had what other people might think of as unusual sexual tastes, but they were also looking for the same things as the rest of us – love, affection, sex, physical connections, understanding, companionship, someone to share things with, somewhere to belong.

      I’d read dozens of other profiles before posting mine and I had composed an email to send to anyone who caught my eye. It didn’t take me long to weed out the one-liners, the men who replied with a photo of their wedding tackle, and those who came across as illiterate, barking mad, wannabes or just plain weird. Though, oddly enough, in all the time when I met men from BDSM websites I met only one genuinely scary man – far fewer than on the straight sites I’d signed up to.

      Over the next few days as the replies arrived I went through them all, reading every single one. I made a list of possible Doms to contact and ended up whittling those down to around a dozen before replying:

      Thank you for replying to my recent ad.

      I am a complete novice in this kind of lifestyle and I wondered whether it would be possible to make contact and/or talk?

      I am deeply attracted to the idea of submission. I’ve written erotic fiction for several years and realized almost immediately that the thing that aroused me most was the idea of being submissive.

      The trouble is I’m not sure how much of this is pure fantasy and how much I would, in real life, be able to cope with.

      I am not a time-waster but I am naturally cautious while at the same time looking for a sane and safe and intelligent way to explore my sexuality. I wonder if you would be happy to talk to me?

      Thank you for your time.

      I look forward to hearing from you.

      Over the next couple of months I spoke to almost all of the ones on my list and I met several. I was looking for someone whose kinks matched my own and who felt right. It was tricky – after all, mine were still all imaginary, untried kinks.

      It’s very odd meeting someone whose main shared interest isn’t something like gardening or films but what you like sexually. Before my first meeting I was a bag of nerves and sat in the car wondering if I should just text him and say I’d chickened out.

      We had arranged to meet for coffee. Heading for the café, I half expected somebody in black leather and studs. Instead, I met a lovely man who was very keen to spank me and lock me in a large dog cage overnight. He was quietly spoken with charming manners, taught at a university and advised me not to rush and to enjoy the journey. While it was obvious from the second we met there was not a molecule of chemistry between us, he offered me a trial run, and to be a listening ear if I ever felt the need.

      Later I met a pilot who liked to write obscenities on his partner in felt tip and then flog them; a fireman, who I really thought might be it, until he spent the whole time we were having coffee talking about anal sex; and a librarian, who was an absolute sweetie and with whom I’ve remained friends, and who was into pony girls and showed me pictures of his ex-wife dressed up in a harness, saddle, bells and buckles – she looked fabulous, although to be fair she was more Shetland pony than Arab filly. But none of them felt right, and I needed it to feel right for me to even consider taking the next step.

      ‘How do you feel about handcuffs?’ asked my lunch date as he reached across the table to top up my glass.

      ‘In what way?’ I asked, trying hard to sound nonchalant. The pub I’d chosen to meet at was busy; there were other people within earshot. This was the third Dom I’d met in the last couple of weeks.

      ‘Well,’ he said, moving his chair in closer and leaning towards me across the table. ‘I’ve got quite a collection of restraints – everything from vintage shackles right through to some lovely little stainless-steel cuffs that I bought in the Far East while СКАЧАТЬ