My girlfriends wish to be regaled with a story. We've just been talking about Northbound Leather's upcoming fetish fashion show. On a patio in the fall air, I offer an S&M tale for their amusement.
I'm travelling around Europe. Beautiful and interesting men are falling all over themselves to meet me. Then I encounter the Sadist. (I don't think I ever knew his name.) He had a confidence, a moxy that seduced me from the moment we locked eyes.
We're at a café. He's sitting with two or three other men and makes no move to cross the patio to talk to me.
Finally, I can't stall any more and I signal for the cheque, but the waiter says the bill is paid. He says in halting English that the gentleman over there has taken care of it for me. Imagine a man doing that in Toronto.
I walk over to thank him. I start in English, but he looks bewildered so I switch to French. He's trying German on me but I'm shaking my head. He switches to Italian, but it's no use. Four languages between the two of us, and no go. We're laughing about it; it doesn't really matter.
He takes me by the wrist, says goodbye to his friends and leads me to a taxi. I don't know why I don't stop him. I just kind of surrender.
In the cab, he holds my hand as if we're boyfriend and girlfriend. He's so familiar with me. It's comforting and strange. We pull up in front of an office building.
He leads me downstairs. He takes a massive ring of keys from his coat pocket and opens an office door. I step inside this beautiful room, with high ceilings, low lights, lots of huge, soft, nicely worn leather furniture - overstuffed chairs and an enormous sofa with beautiful hand-hammered tacks on the arms. It's the colour of pecans. I run my hand over the arm and realize it's hip height. I'm in heels, so it's gigantic. I feel a little like a kid.
My host, perhaps the owner of this place - he has the air of the boss about him - is sitting behind his desk now. He's distant, once again a stranger. His hands are steepled in front of him, and he's smiling. I turn to him and he motions for me to undress.
The unveiling. I figure I'll go along. I'll more than go along. I'll give him my best strip tease and make the most of this fantasy come true. But I get something I hadn't bargained for. He gets up from his chair, comes around his desk and throws me over the arm of the sofa - forces me over it. He's stopped me before I can take off my stay-ups and boots. So he leans me over it, undoes his pants and just shoves it in.
I'm completely taken aback. I'm so disappointed that this beautiful man is so inconsiderate. That this "mysterious and hot European sex moment" is turning into a typical "guy being a selfish pig." He starts spanking me then, and I'm in a rage.
How dare he? Who does he think he is? And what's in this for me? My nylons are ripping on the sofa tacks, and before I can get him to stop, he comes. Then he just pulls out. He's done. I'm so surprised, I just lie there over this sofa arm and think, "How the hell am I going to deal with this? I can't even talk to him! What a prick!"
Then he does something really weird. He turns me over and starts kissing me so tenderly. Just kissing me. Really deep, passionate kisses, like he knows me. He knows how to kiss. Whatever I wasn't feeling sexually with his little premature show is now yanking me along by the, well, the balls. Ovaries. He could do anything to me at this point and I wouldn't care. I'm completely at his mercy. I think mostly it's his nerve, his complete control and tenderness that get to me.
He helps me get dressed. He's pointing to my stocking. Before I know it, we're off in a cab again headed for a boutique in the expensive part of town, where my guy buys me, like, 50 pairs, and then we're in another taxi.
He gently removes my ripped stockings and puts them in his pocket. We stop in front of a very medieval-looking building and go up to his apartment. It's not furnished, except for the bedroom, which isn't exactly furnished. It's, well, how should I put this? It's equipped.
Hey, I'm 22 and have never seen this stuff, but I've heard stories about the Marquis de Sade and I'm freaking at this point. He proceeds to strap me down on this horse-type thing and alternates between whipping and caressing me. Strangely, it feels good.
He takes me down from there and puts me upside down above the bed, hanging by my ankles, with my wrists bound and my arms stretched out wide. I am completely helpless.
Then he binds me in a very long rope, with my knees tucked up to my chest and my arms behind my back. He leaves my head and my ass exposed and I'm lying on my side. He fucks me a little, then moves up to my mouth, then back down again, and so on. This goes on for an age, and I'm dizzy with a lust I've never known.
I'm bounced from one apparatus to another for hours, release for him and me all the while put off again and again just as things near the point of no return. He seems instinctively to know where the brink is for me. Looking back now, it baffles me that he was such an artist. How many lovers have I had since who are still searching for my clitoris!
I begin to tire of being bound up, tied down, blindfolded, poked, probed and prodded. I don't even really feel the need to come, I'm so tired. My mind is wiped clean. My body is limp. But he's not done yet. He lays me down on the bed, ever so gently, and begins kissing me, stroking my hair. And for the first time since we began this game, he's talking. He's calling me his "baby."He's looking into my eyes and is startlingly gentle. We make love, with no hint of S&M, nothing like before.
By the time I come, I'm under him in ordinary missionary style, with him shifted slightly to the side and holding my face in his beautiful hands while he thrusts into me, gently and deeply.
He's looking at me. I have nowhere to hide. For the first time in my life, I feel completely connected to another human while I have a mind-blowing orgasm. I feel spiritually exposed, not embarrassed exactly, just "naked" and "seen." I feel innocent, too, like this is the first man I've ever had. I'm shaking and crying. I am drained in every sense of the word. Then he allows himself a long and deep orgasm and lets out a moan, very animal-like, like a growl really. It gives me goose bumps when I think of it. There is no uncomfortable silence, no hurry to leave each other's company. Finally, he dresses me and sends me off at dawn in a cab.
Once you've had someone read you like that and look at you that way while you're at your most vulnerable, you never recover. You're spoiled for life.
I find myself searching for that kind of moxy in a man. This country doesn't celebrate maleness. Men are not comfortable with all their desires, and women never let them forget it here. I felt loved and taken, enjoyed and spoiled. I tell you, if I ever find a man like that again, I will never let go.