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No, You Don’t Have to Hurt Me

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Confession: I did a really kinky thing a few years ago.

I went on a date with a vanilla man, more than one (date) to be exact. I know that doesn’t sound kinky, but since I’ve spent my whole adult life in this lifestyle, it certainly felt that way to me. See, I had this idea. I can usually suss out a man with naturally dominant tendencies. And a naturally dominant man would likely fit with a naturally submissive woman. It’s possible, isn’t it? It doesn’t sound too crazy, does it?

We went on some wonderful dates. I suppose I was serving him without him even knowing it. Sneaky, I know. I took careful mental notes. He always ordered the same drink when we were out. He liked a particular type of rum for his before dinner drink. He had a favorite wine.

He told me about a vineyard he’d visited in California- noted.

His favorite color was blue- noted.

He really liked me in that dress- noted.

So, we go along pretty well. While he’s off handing our coats into coat check, I order his before dinner drink at the bar. He’s pleasantly surprised. I make sure to select things to wear in his favorite cut, style, color-whenever I can. He touched my hair one night and said, I like it long like this. We never went on a date again where I pinned it up.

Then…I get brave and I ask him to come in for a drink. I’ve got a bottle of Riesling that he’s mentioned in the past. From a vineyard he visited. I’m excited to serve this to him.

Yes, serve. Yes, Sir.

This is what I’m doing all of the time with him, after all.

He thinks this is the biggest coincidence, the wine, the vineyard. We sit on my couch and I explain to him it’s no coincidence. I start to tell him a little bit about my natural leanings. He looks disturbed and he asks me: what do you get out of it?

I try to explain, that what I get out of it is pleasing him, going outside of myself…an absolute joy of bringing him any kind of delight. The rewards are intrinsic. They are part and parcel of me being allowed to be who I am and our natures clicking into symbiosis.

He says to me: Is this a fifty shades of gray kind of thing?

I try to contain what I am sure is an audible sigh. That damn book. No, I patiently explain. This is not about that. And I’ve been this way as long as I can remember, I was born this way.

He says to me: Does this mean I have to hurt you?

I answer and try to lighten the mood: No, but do you want to?

He is not amused. I’m bungling this in about a thousand ways when all I really wanted to do was make him happy. Perhaps I could have gone along and never said anything. Why did I feel the need to unburden myself to him?

He says: You should know I am a feminist. My mother raised me to be a feminist.

I understand that about him. It hasn’t caused a problem so far. We’ve both read Wollstonecraft. We’ve had interesting discussions about it. I can’t see how that makes a difference, at all.

In the end, he left. And I received a shaky phone call the next day saying that he just couldn’t wrap his head around any of what I told him. It’s a shame. But, I’m not a beggar in that sense. I let it go. Very sadly. I let it go.

No, you don’t have to hurt me.

No, you don’t owe me a thing. Just let me love you and please you and forge a deep, intimate relationship with you. Just let me be me. You be you and let’s find a way to be ‘us’.

It’s a hard thing to wrap your head around, I know.