been successful, too. Richard had only made me cry once, before.
This is what I want, | reminded myself as Richard wound his hand in my hair and pulled my head back. His teeth bruising my shoulder felt familiar and wrong. A kiss on my neck sent me rigid. Sobs nearly choked me. Why now, my heart cried, why not when you were who I dreamed of, Richard?
I couldn't fault his empathy -- he pulled away. "No," I said unwillingly, "I'm fine,” but he wouldn't continue. Uneasily, he pointed out that I'd never reacted like that. I said he'd never kissed me like that, and he asked, "Really?" as if it were a surprise.
Yes, I thought, forcing my tears away. / was desperate for it. I know.
To get him to keep hurting me, I had to convince him that I was fine. This is what I want, I coached myself. I was nearly composed when Richard mentioned Andrew, and I felt grief rip me open.
He watched me cry, got me a glass of water. Shades of two years ago, I might have thought, but I never did. I apologized; he said only, "I thought this might happen." On some level, I knew that I had, too -- for all my self-reassurances that I would be fine. What was I thinking? | asked myself, and the answer came instantly. / had to know.
When Richard asked if I wanted to sleep over, I said I didn't. "Then don't go yet," he said softly, putting his arms around me where I lay. I rested my head on his chest. / won't tell Andrew about this, | decided, wondering if he and I would be together again. Even if I've learned that I don't want Richard anymore.
te OK ok
In retrospect, it seems surreal that I reacted so badly to my BDSM orientation. The agonizing memories of my adjustment have lost their emotional flavor. I've learned a lot about how to practice BDSM safely -- physically and emotionally. I've had multiple BDSM partners, and I've had positive experiences in the welcoming BDSM subculture. In recent times, I've even begun to switch: occasionally I'll be the dominant partner, though I feel submissive masochism far closer to my core.
Still, I remember the unease I felt at first -- and I recognize stronger unease in others. I certainly wouldn't describe this orientation to, say, an employer. I believe BDSM needs a liberation movement, just like homosexuality, but I'm not (yet?) ready to be a public spokeswoman. And I definitely wouldn't consider dragging others out of the closet. I write about BDSM under a pseudonym, and I have changed the names of Richard and Andrew.
I fear that others will read this narrative as describing an assault, a near-rape -- and a woman who tried to rationalize her experience by embracing it. That's not what happened. When Richard first pulled my head back and hurt me at that drunken outdoor party, I could have said no. The word was echoing in my mind, waiting on my lips, and I didn't say it because I didn't want him to stop. I was certainly intoxicated, but I wasn't helpless. I was threatened, but I was not afraid. I may have fought self-actualization like a caged animal, but I could not deny it. I have always been this way.
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