How I "Bumbled" into My Dream Dom
I found the love of my life through a dating app. No big deal, right? It happens every day. Well, maybe. But not like this.
I had gone through my making up time for the last fifteen sex-starved years of my marriage. The eighteen-month relationship with the bucket-list guy from high school that ended with a fist-bump and a "good run." The hottie less than half my age who found me sexy as hell. The dude who waited on me at a store then left me feeling used. I still wonder how he didn't get fired after his long lunch bootie calls.
I tried OK Cupid. Date one was disastrous. The man made three trips to the restroom over the course of my one glass of wine. He had gone to school with my sister and her boyfriend. Even though they didn't speak, he had kept up with them.
"Don't tell them you're out with me. I don't want them to know I'm on a dating app."
Despite my repeated protestations, he insisted on walking me to my car. For the price of a chardonnay, he expected a kiss and made a pass I couldn't dodge. Yuck. His bristly mustache didn't protect me from his lips. As soon as I closed the door to my car, I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth.
New rule: I would pay my own way on first dates. I would owe a man nothing, not even a kiss.
Then there was the guy I met who, in hindsight, was probably married. Lots of lunch sessions, nothing at night. A man can only "fall asleep" to stand you up so many times. Thank you read receipts.
I met a Dom at a local BDSM club, who was super-fun to play with and grew to be a supportive, if temporary, fixture in my
It took a little while, but I eventually ditched all of them.
There's a website that's sort of like a Facebook for those of us who are into BDSM and other "fetishes," activities not considered mainstream. I'm talking folks into rope, like myself. Men who like to wear women's nylons because they like the feel of them on their skin. Bikers who are gender fluid. The leather community, which comes with its own set of rules. There are a whole range of kinks out there that have nothing to do with sex.
I'm so into rope that I'm thrilled to be tied to a chair, fully clothed. I was researching shibari, a decorative rope art, for a novella when my vision blurred in less than thirty seconds from the feel of the ridges on my skin. This "subspace" is best compared to a runner's high without the running. It's sheer bliss and actually requires aftercare during the sobering up period, which in my case includes hydrating and a protein bar. Kink can be a beautiful, if complicated, experience.
I met some local men on there, most of whom I politely thanked for their interest then turned down. One remained persistent. He liked to "play" with and without his wife. They were both Dominant and were seeking a submissive. The two of them believed in discipline and training first. Sex would come later. One problem: I'm not into women. I met them in a public setting. We meshed well. He was very much into rope, one of my basic requirements. There were many expectations of checking in by phone with referring to him as "Sir." It was demanding and heavenly, as was my new post-COVID job following a five-month furlough. I couldn't do both. The job won out.
I was lonely and better understood myself. I tried a different dating app, one recommended by a girlfriend. It was Bumble. That's where I met Woody. Granted, we lived over an hour apart from each other, but we agreed to give it a shot.
Just conversations that crept into the late night hours. We discussed music, our families, our emotional histories. Even though we're both nearing fifty, we reverted to teenage behaviors as midnight approached.
"You hang up."
"No, you hang up."
"You didn't hang up."
As we dragged through our days, consumed by exhaustion, there was no discussion of sex prior to our meeting. No dick pics. No shots of my tits. It was a conscious decision that led to a deep friendship prior to any exploration of our sexual chemistry. He now says that he loved me before he even met me.
He checked off all of my boyfriend boxes and then some. A guy to cuddle up and watch football with: check. Someone to just hang out and watch movies with: check. Someone who would go to church with me: bonus check. The "checks" I didn't expect were: he loves sexy, romantic, and slutty lingerie. He isn't afraid of sex toys. He is a fisherman, a master of knots, and rope is my kryptonite. I'm a submissive who stumbled into my dream guy on Bumble.
I had given up on finding any Dominant male who was local and met my deeper needs. One who would make a commitment. One who would love me completely and totally as I am.
Woody carefully buckles my "PRINCESS" collar around my neck. "Which cock ring and nipple clamps would you like tonight, my love?"
My dream guy isn't into labels and wouldn't like me calling him a Dom. Yet that's precisely what he is. I sneak in a "Sir" from time to time for fun, wondering if he'll catch on. He asked me to move into what has become our own little love nest.
"If you don't clean your dressing room, you're not getting a spanking tonight." I sufficiently pleased him that after a cursory examination of the space that he simply asked, "Would you like your spanking with your panties on or off?"