My BDSM Experience

Sexual experience? Pretty much zero.

BDSM experience? Surprisingly more.

I think that makes me somewhat unusual. I’m pretty sure that there are a lot more people who have been having sex, and are now looking to get into BDSM than there are people who have been having BDSM, and are now looking to get into sex. That just doesn’t seem to be the standard progression of things. I mean, I haven’t done a study or anything, but it would really surprise me to discover that there are a lot of people in my position.

I’ve never had an orgasm that wasn’t self-inflicted, but I have had a naked woman handcuffed to my bedframe. The majority of my (far too infrequent and far too few) encounters with C.J. included some kind of standard BDSM component. Bondage. Spanking. The facial as display of dominance. Nipple torture. And so on.

When C.J. and I started the erotic correspondence that eventually let to said naked body being chained to my bed, we pretty much started out with an ongoing ‘what are you all into’ conversation. When she told me that she liked bondage and wanted to be tied up, I thought my heart was going to explode. (Another part of me did explode, with a little stimulation, as I reread her letters over and over again.)

Bondage has always been an interest. Even when I was a kid. I’d seen naked women in the pages of Penthouse at a friend’s house, and while I didn’t know exactly what sex entailed, I knew that I wanted to have it. (Actually, young expert that I was, I KNEW what ‘having sex’ was – it just turns out that I was just wrong about what I KNEW that I knew.) And I was pretty sure that it would be easier for the guy to have sex if the girl was tied up. Couldn’t get away, and couldn’t stop you.

Of course, looking back on it, the description sounds like rape. But questions of consent / nonconsent weren’t really part of the fantasy. Those fantasy ropes and chains might have actually been a means of bypassing those concepts altogether. I had a paper route, and during that time I had all of the standard fantasies about having sex with one of my female customers (usually as a tip, or in exchange for a month’s subscription to the paper). But the most-often dwelled-upon fantasy wasn’t the housewife offering herself to me, but rather the husband offering me his tied-up wife. The fantasy wife never struggled to get away, never protested my actions. Obviously she was into it.

Anyway, I can’t tie a knot to save my life. (I’m lucky my shoes stay on my feet.) So my first bondage experience with C.J. was centered around duct tape. Wrists taped together, ankles taped together. I think I may have even taped her big toes together.

It wasn’t long after that experience that I invested in a couple of sets of police-style handcuffs and a set leg-irons. Which resulted in her being handcuffed to my bed in a half-spread eagle position.

I eventually duct-taped some sort of thingamawhatzit found at the hardware store to each of her wrists and ankles, and used the attachment points to connect them to chains that I’d looped around my head- and foot-board. Sadly this resulted in bruises on her wrists (and ankles, presumably) that she didn’t want to ever have to explain to family, friends, and co-workers again, so that was the end of that specific bondage formula.

During the ongoing ‘what are you all into’ conversation, C.J. also said something to the effect of ‘abuse leaves me cold, but discipline gets me wet’. There was talk of me giving her orders to carry out (primarily via mail during the lengthy periods between flesh-to-flesh visits). Nothing ever came of that. Oh, I started the process several times, giving her orders to carry out, but it seemed that she liked the notion of being given orders more than she actually liked being given orders.

‘I like a little pain with my pleasure’ was another interesting piece of information she gave me. (Her liking a little bit of pain led me to discover that I really, really like abusing nipples.) She also had a fondness for the spanking.

There was a lot of stuff I’d propose in letters that she’d write back about saying, ‘yeah, I’ll let you do that to me,’ but then shied away from during the actual physical encounters.

The last time I saw C.J. was back in the year 2000. We had already moved from letters to emails, and we’ll still send the occasional email to one another. But she’s made it clear that the door has closed on any physical stuff between us.

From 2000 to 2008 my only BDSM exposure was porn and fantasies. But then, earlier this year, I went to KinkFest. And the final play party of the event saw me taking a wooden paddle to the bare back of a bottom who was flat on her stomach, attached to a long spanking bench with leather restraints.

The first play party of the event was a bust. All I did was watch. (Okay, I also had a minor seizure. But that was late into the thing, and I don’t think that potential partners were avoiding me because of that.) [HOLY CRAP, I just realized I haven’t mentioned the seizures yet. Okay, well, I’m going to hold off on that for a future post. But NEAR future.] When the party was done for the night, I started getting depressed over not having actually done anything with anyone.

But the next day when I was in the vendor’s room, one of the merchants had decided that I was going to buy one of her handmade wooden paddles. And for some reason, instead of just saying, ‘No thank you’ and walking away, I kept listening to her sales pitch. Every time I offered a reason why I didn’t need her product, she offered me a reason why I did. I finally told her that I’d probably buy her paddle if I had someone to play with, but since I had nobody to use it on, I had no reason to buy it. Her response to that was, “I’ll play with anybody, as long as it’s public. Are you going to the play party tonight?”

So, I bought the damn paddle.

After money (and carved wood) exchanged hands, I asked her just what she all did when playing in public, and her response was, ‘Pretty much everything.’ I was thrilled. I didn’t know that there was a long unspoken block of fine print that accompanied that declaration.

With ‘pretty much everything’ I was prepared – among other things – to lose my virginity. But when we met up in the dungeon, she started going over her ground rules. No sex. And while she’d be topless, she was keeping her panties on. (Panties, tights, and socks, as it turned out).

Okay. A little disappointing, but still – she liked being hit with a wooden stick, and I had a wooden stick, so . . . there was still stuff to do.

She also told me just shortly before we started that I wasn’t allowed to strike her legs. She had a nerve condition that caused intense cramps in her legs when impact play was directed there. Intense cramps to the point of needing to be hauled out of the dungeon in a wheelchair. Given all of my various medical nonsense, I had no problems with her having certain conditions that needed meeting. I only wish that she’d have been completely up front about all of this at the beginning. (Yes, I still would have bought the paddle from her. I just wouldn’t have let my fantasies about ‘later that evening’ run as far or as wild as they did in the intervening time.)

Before she submitted her body to my paddle, she let me watch her undergo a violet wand session. (I was familiar with the device, but had never seen it in practice.) After that was finished and she’d rested up enough for more play, I took my turn. And since I was (more or less) new at this whole thing, the guy who’d been making her jump and squeal with the violet wand stuck around to help guide me through administering my first in-public beating, as well as answering any questions I might have for a more experienced top.

The areas where I could and could not hit her were clearly outlined for me – they made sure I stayed away from her legs, and told me to limit the attention I paid to her ass (a little too much violet wand play focused there for her to be comfortable taking a paddling), along with the standard ‘don’t hit the spine, don’t hit the kidneys, etc.’

I started with fairly soft blows, and once she told me she could handle harder, I gave harder. When she finally called an end to it, the areas of her back I had been allowed to hit were bright red, and her pupils were dilated with endorphin high. And I felt like I’d accomplished something.

That was the end of my BDSM activities to date. Physical activities, anyway. I’m currently having an email relationship with this adorable little slut who’s very much into verbal abuse and humiliation. [She’s not really a slut, but with the abuse/humiliation fetish, ‘slut’ is pretty much the nicest and most respectful term that the rules of our correspondence allow me to use in describing her.] We’re currently not even a dozen back-and-forth volleys of email to each other, and she keeps telling me ‘more’. More insults, more degradation, and more intense scenarios. I do my best to accommodate her, and it’s gotten to where I sometimes can’t believe the text my fingers type up for her. (Yikes! I just said I wanted to do WHAT to her? How sick am I?)

Then I realize that since I’m mainly just telling her what she wants to hear, it’s not me that’s sick, it’s her. All I’m doing is typing. She’s the one soaking her panties while reading it. And despite how utterly worthless she is, I still waste some of my precious time bothering to sent her more emails filled with incredible perversity. But that’s okay. I’ll eventually recoup my time. I figure that I’ll take it out on her tender flesh when she finally gets off of her lazy ass and comes over here to be put in her place in person. Assuming, of course, that I can stand to be in the same room with a piece of human garbage like her for long enough to take whatever pleasure her probably already-all-used-up slut’s body has to offer me.

The above paragraph was written for her benefit. And was incredibly tame compared to the emails. Also, she lives three time zones away from me, so us meeting in person might not ever happen.

She’s also convinced me to start sending her dares to perform. We’re just at the beginning of that – as I write this she’s received one dare but not yet completed it. And I’ve got a growing list of dares she’ll be given once she starts completing them. There’s definitely a future blog post in that material.

I’m not quite at the point in the Quest to Lose My Virginity where my standards are simply, ‘Must have a pulse,’ but it’s getting there. Currently the ideal situation is finding not just a woman who’s hot for me, but also one that’s into BDSM (or curious about trying it), with strong submissive tendencies.

The big fantasy is playing around with people into this stuff for awhile, and then finding a submissive to form a relationship with. And while I want it for exactly what it is, there’s also the manner of bragging rights that would come with it. Can you imagine the BDSM cred I’d have? Sure, I’m starting out fairly late in life, but . . . ‘I lost my virginity to a woman in chains, and none of my sex has ever been strictly vanilla’ just sounds impressive, doesn’t it?