Last night I met up with someone for the first time after he contacted me on a dating site. When I learned that he is an accomplished writer and political pundit, I thought, "Aw, what the heck" and sent him a link to the article I'd written in the New York Press for feedback. Inevitably, it led him to this blog and for the rest of the evening, his messages were references to excerpts I'd written, generally lauding me for my talent (at writing, just to clarify, lest you think he was impressed by my blow job skills). Men, this is how you woo women; do not tell them that they are "pretty," "beautiful" or the dreaded "hot"; you compliment them on their intelligence. I would far rather be praised for something that isn't immediately visible, and something that I cannot help. My face? That's the result of my parents' coupling and genetics. My body? Ibid.
So here is a man who was not interested in me initially and specifically because I am a slut, even after reading this blog; he found me appealing because of my brain. I appreciated that.
We met up last night at his apartment, one that left me blurting, "Perhaps we should go back to my place" because it was in such disarray. And those of you who are regular readers know that I am not the neatest. It was that bad. But I stayed, accepting the vodka-based cocktail that he handed me in a mug. Jokingly, I asked, "Are you going to roofie me?" to which he responded, "What would be the purpose in that?" More points were accredited to him.
We sat on the couch, his arm slung casually over my shoulders, and we talked. He told me about his career, his life, all the while, a hyper little dog trying desperately to get our attention. As I don't have a canine of my own, I was eager to play with him, rubbing the belly he exposed to me.
"Elvis," my date barked, "get out of here."
"He's effectively cock-blocking you," I observed.
"No shit."
After the third or fourth refill of the mug, which we shared, he leaned over to kiss me, firmly planting his mouth over mine. We eventually retreated to his roommate's bedroom, tangled in a skein of limbs and clothing. Somehow, I found myself on my stomach, his hands pinning my wrists down, his body heavily pressed against mine. I could feel the tip of his cock poking at the exposed, shaved flesh of my cunt and proceeded to give him the signal: I arched my hips upward, allowing him access. And yet, at the same time, I said, "No, stop."
He didn't.
I pretended to struggle beneath his grasp, all the while moaning, "No, stop."
He didn't.
We fucked this way for ten minutes, me writhing, half-heartedly trying to buck him off of me, while actually pushing up against him, letting him penetrate me deeper and harder.
Please note that I do not, ever, condone rape. It is one of the worst crimes to commit against another human being, invading the only space that they completely own, violating their body and mind simultaneously. I have numerous friends who have been sexually assaulted, and have personally experienced a situation in high school that could be categorized as "a near miss" (a misnomer on the part of the airline industry).
And yet, there I was, playing rape victim. I'm still wondering why I did that. Part of it was thrilling - being overpowered, giving up control, two reasons I find bondage and domination so appealing, especially since I was in a safe situation. But there was a conflict - why was I getting off on an imaginary scenario that if, were actually real, would leave me horrified and disgusted?
"Rape fantasies" are common amongst some women (obviously those who have never been assaulted for actual victims would never want to relive their personal horrors). I do not wish that they ever actually have the authentic experience, but I believe it is certainly acceptable for them to role play to at least satisfy their curiosities. That is why mutual trust and respect must exist between the two partners engaging in such exploration. And while my date last night and I had not previously discussed our limits or parameters, simply because he had not expressed any interest in dominating me, there was just an implicit understanding.
Afterward, he told me it was "interesting," and when I asked if he would role play again, he replied in the positive. I would like to explore more with him, though truth be told, I would also be perfectly content to have regular old "fuck me harder, [guy who is not dominating me]" sex.
When he went to the kitchen to refresh the mug with more vodka, I leaned over to pet the dog, who was sprawled happily in my lap, lowering my face to his. The dog lunged forward and snapped, biting my face, lacerating my upper lip and nostril.
Ridiculous. I get play raped and wind up looking like an actual victim, thanks to a dog. My date brought me ice cubes wrapped in paper towels, which I quickly bled through, and as I write this, I can feel the skin of my upper lip stretched taut, threatening to split. I wonder if this is some sort of karmic retribution.
Edited to clarify: The sex was 100% consensual as we had actually been fucking before the rape/overpowering dynamic started, and we used condoms (admission: we fucked more than once). Due to the numerous responses, I felt I should address it lest you think I was actually never completely in control or safe.
