Losing my BDSM virginity on a casual Tuesday of the first week of January
Back in the summer, my friend Amelia told me of the new dating app she downloaded, Feeld. If you’re not familiar with it, think of it as horny(er) tinder: people use pseudonyms, post pictures in bondage gear, and instead of gardening and cinema will list fisting, feet and pegging as their interests.
We were in a Shoreditch beer garden, gin tonics at hand, laughing over her one night stand stories and the unhinged messages she occasionally received. Alternating sips from a soggy compostable straw to bites of halloumi, I realised that I had no fun stories of my own to share. Despite being a very sexual person, I can count on the fingers of (two) hands the men I slept with. I’ve never been one for hookups - I never thought it was for me. I’m too sentimental, too prone to heartbreak.
I had left my passionless long term relationship just a few months before, mid pandemic, and since then I only slept with a British guy who professed his lust for me via text but was mild and unreliable in person. I ended up breaking it off in Autumn, exasperated, after he swerved my attempt to booty call him for what felt like the hundredth time.
On that summer night and in the months that followed, I found myself increasingly aware of my unsatisfying sex life. Most of all, I grew some serious frustration towards that type of man — which by the way, turns out is every man — who swears to have a high sex drive during the talking stage, but can never give me a round two or come over when I’m horny.
Eventually, in December I gave in and downloaded Feeld. I hadn’t had sex in months, and the downsides of using a hookup app seemed to get less scary by the day. I reasoned that anyway, I was home for Christmas and wasn’t going to meet anyone until I flew back to London. I was just curious to see the kind of people who’d be on the app. So I picked a pseudonym, selected a handful of good pictures and wrote a bio, crafting a profile that I hoped would convey a cute-and-funny-and-maybe-down-to-fuck vibe. Snoopy was born.
Then, of course, once I started looking at the profiles I inevitably started getting matches. And again, I reasoned that there wouldn’t be anything wrong with chatting with a few people, out of curiosity. As research, if you will. Between the conversations, one stood up: Sam was funny and looked very cute, despite having uploaded just two pictures. He kept me hooked to the phone for a whole afternoon, chatting and lightly flirting in that way that teases your interest without being too annoying or forward.
When you’re talking through a hookup app the walls come down quickly, and soon he started telling me stories of his experiences at fetish parties. I’ve always been drawn to kink but had virtually no experience, so the topic caught my full attention. When I asked for more details, he made a proposal: why don’t we chat about it tonight, in front of a bottle of wine?
I thought about it for a second.
Should I? One of my new year's resolutions was to be more spontaneous.
Fuck it, why not. Yes.
We met up by a park, trying to spot each other through the winter’s night darkness. At first, when I saw him I thought fuck, I’m not attracted to him. But then it grew on me: he was funny, smart, he asked questions and seemed to listen with genuine interest while I answered. We had a nice dinner at a local pub and talked about everything from our jobs and plans for the future, to life stories and the above-mentioned fetish parties. Despite the first impression, seeing his face warmed by large smiles and tungsten light, I found him very cute. So halfway through the dinner, I decided: okay, I’ll fuck him. As a treat to myself.
He paid the bill, which wasn’t necessary but very sweet, and walked me home. As we got closer to my place, I was trying to think of something to say to invite him upstairs. I was isolating (*) at my late grandpa’s house and had no wine to offer, stamp collection to show him or even a tv to watch a movie on. So I hesitated, playing with my keys, as he seemed to stall too while laughing at the names on the intercom. Then I said, maybe not confidently enough, I’d invite you up but have nothing to offer you. I meant that I had no good excuses but I still wanted him to come up, but he said no worries, I’m tired anyway. He waved bye and left, and feeling mildly rejected, I walked upstairs with my tail between my legs.
Despite the failed first attempt to sleep with him, in the following days we kept in touch. And since we had met and felt comfortable with each other, the conversations started heating. We talked about our sex lives and desires, with little to no filter. I told him of my tragic predicament: being a girl with a crazy high sex drive cursed to only date men with no libido. And him, he told me that he was a dom.
When he confirmed what he had only previously alluded to, a light flashed in me. Fantasies I’ve had over the years rushed through my mind, this time with a face attached to them. The idea of having the chance to experience them in person made my head spin and my legs weak.
I told him I had no experience, but lots of curiosity and eagerness to learn. I can be good, and I aim to please. He double-tapped little hearts in the corner of my messages and told me that he liked the idea of being a teacher. The texting escalated into late night conversations, with him detailing all the nasty, disrespectful ways he wanted to fuck me. Tingles travelled down my body as I read his messages.
Now though, I need to open a parenthesis: if you only interacted with men via text, you’d think that they’re all sex gods. They always tell you everything they want to do to you, exaggerating to the maximum extent, saying that they’ll fuck you all night until you can’t take it anymore. But in person, it’s never true. The lions turn to kittens, and it’s always so much milder than they promised. So when he described how he was going to dominate me and make me lose control, a voice in the back of my head was thinking sure, Christian Gray. Whatever you say.
I thought, he’ll probably pull my hair and spank me a bit, and that’s it. But nonetheless, the late night texting was fun. I never talked with someone so openly dominant, who’d tell me how he was going to use me for his own pleasure. I was hooked. I wanted him to take me, slam me to a wall, and do whatever the fuck he wanted to me. So we decided to meet the next day, to “watch a film” at his place.
For the whole day, I was buzzing with nervousness and excitement. I had a dentist appointment in the morning followed by an afternoon of remote work, and couldn’t stop thinking of the conversation from the night before. I could feel myself getting wet on the dentist chair while getting my teeth poked, thinking of how he said he wanted to taste me, punish me, use me, make me scream. I was hungry for it.
When the unproductive afternoon of work came to an end, I closed my laptop and jumped in the shower. As much as I wanted it, I couldn’t help but be nervous at the prospect of meeting a semi-stranger for sex. Listening to music I put some makeup on, shoved a stick up my nose to do a rapid covid test, and picked between the two possible outfits I had available in my isolation cave. He offered to come pick me up, but I knew that I needed the alone time to walk to his place to calm my nerves.
He met me by his place, and together we walked through the entrance gate and up the apartment’s main staircase. I got a buzz from the twinge of excitement in his eyes, and how we casually talked about our day while being fully aware that we were going to fuck within the hour. When we entered his apartment he showed me around, then offered me a glass of water. We stood for a few minutes in his kitchen, talking, stretching the thread of sexual tension.
So you’ve been thinking about me all day? He asked eventually.
I have, yes.
He kissed me, and the switch clicked in him. He pushed me to the wall, hungrily, his knee spreading my legs apart. He started touching my body immediately like I was his to take and he needed no permission. He turned me around, pushing my face against the wall, and then holding it against him, kissing my neck and pinching my nipples. He moved me around confidently, with no hesitation.
Then he pulled away for a second. He said, without smiling, I’ll wash my hands before I put them in your mouth. I leaned on the wall, breathing hard, already overwhelmed by the intensity in which he took me. His demeanour and facial expressions had completely changed the moment he kissed me. His raw, unapologetic, dominant desire was already driving me crazy.
As promised he stuck his fingers in my mouth, maintaining eye contact, still pinching my nipples, still pushing me against the wall. Then he grabbed me and dragged me to his room onto the bed. He ripped my clothes off, except for my underwear, which he said would only come off when they were soaked. Which to be honest, they were. But I could barely breathe, let alone respond.
What followed was the most intense sexual experience I had to date. He manipulated my body in any position he wanted it to be in, grabbed and touched me how and where he wanted, and talked to me as dirtily as I’ve ever been talked to. He grabbed my hair, wrists, ass, waist. He ordered me what to do, and submissively I complied. As he talked to me, I could barely respond. My brain turned off, and I could barely process what was happening.
After what could have been ten or forty minutes he pulled a rope out of a drawer and tied my hands behind my back. He kept fucking me while I laid down over my arms, legs held up, not even able to move my hair away from my face. I could only lay there and take him, breathing hard between the moans. Then he turned me around, my knees on the bed, ass up, pushing my face down.
And then he grabbed my hair, bending my neck backwards as I rose on my knees. Unable to support myself, with my arms still tied behind my back, the only thing holding me up was his grip on my hair, pulling me against him as he kept thrusting in me. I never felt so degraded during sex, and I fucking loved it. It felt filthy.
When he finished, after what felt like two hours, it took me a few minutes to collect myself. I was laying down, shaking, speechless, with a streak of cum still dripping from my chin. My brain felt like it had just been rebooted. I felt good, but in serious need of comfort and aftercare. Which he didn’t provide — he wasn’t a really good dom after all.
But regardless, the experience turned a switch in me. I never knew that giving up control could feel so good. When I told the story to my friends, I said that it felt like I lost my virginity again. And in a way I did: a new world opened in front of my eyes. Excitedly, I jumped straight in.
(*) I was isolating away from my brother, who had had a contact. I wasn’t isolating myself, which is why I was able to go out. Stay covid safe!
Thank you for reading the first entry of my horny diary! In the next episodes:
- Going dominant
- My first experience at a sex club: Tears for Beers at Klub Verboten
- On aftercare, sub drop and good apologies
