SEX – The Man Behind the Blindfold (Kink)
The blog’s kinkiest Experimental Dater is back with a no holds barred glance back at her love and sex life.
I know she was pretty nervous about going live with this one – so please show your appreciation for Kink’s turn to get vulnerable on the blog.
Miss Twenty-Nine xxx
So, you don’t have to be Sherlock to notice that I’m not really dating!
I’m officially the worst Experimental Dater on the books!
There have been a lot of posts on here recently about vulnerability and many a brave word has been shared, so I thought it was my turn to share a little about why I’m reticent to date.
Plus as we head into a new year, I’ve been doing some reflection on my first year as a singleton!
I’ve concluded I’m bloody rubbish at it!
I’ve been on 3 dates and kissed 2 men, one of whom I went on to have an intense, distracting and destructive affair with.
After it ended I contemplated my wounds and thought about regretting it, but actually I think it was an experience I had to go through to help me shape what’s next.
Some background – I met him online, somewhere kinky, and I built him up in my head to be the man of my dreams – husband material, the signed, sealed and delivered genuine article. I told him I wouldn’t date him until I’d been single for six months (having just come out of a seven-year relationship). So instead of doing the sensible thing and dating the real him, I spent months building him up in my head, planning the ‘perfect’ first date – expecting that our eyes would meet and we’d be together forever.
I wanted the perfect fairytale.
Instead of learning about him, I shared my innermost thoughts and wildest desires with him, and he listened and agreed, and moulded himself into my perfect man.
I was innocent and naive, and ultimately pretty stupid about the whole thing.
When he turned out to be a different man entirely, one shrouded in deceit, madness and ultimately danger, I thought my heart was broken and may never recover.
After a few months of reflection I now realise that luckily it wasn’t my heart that was damaged at all.
The man I thought I loved was never real. It is only really my pride, and on occasion my body, that was wounded by the whole affair. I never had my heart broken in my teens or early twenties, having been protected by my long term relationship, so perhaps this was the lesson in love that I needed – I only hope that it hasn’t damaged my ability to trust and hope and love again in the future.
Anyway enough background – let’s skip to the good bit!
I first had sex with him on a Sunday in July – the day Andy Murray won Wimbledon – about 30 minutes after that in fact 😉
He arrived at my door wearing a blindfold at my request. I wasn’t supposed to be in charge – it had taken some persuasion beforehand. I can still remember peering at him through my keyhole – watching him as he put it on in my hallway.
I couldn’t believe after so many months of build up he was finally there.
He knocked, I answered. He held out his hand to be guided in and I led him inside my flat. I can still remember my first impression being negative – I didn’t really like his stance, walk, presence and I really hated his outfit. But he kissed me and I didn’t really have time to contemplate it further.
He kissed like he went on to have sex – fiercely, violently and with a hint of madness. It was insanely exciting and arousing and different to anything I had previously known. It was easy to get swept away by him to forget myself and my insecurities and to let him have control.
That afternoon he went on to blindfold me, spank me, place me on my hands and knees and claim me as his own – and so began four months of lust.
There were lies, there was kink, there was more violence than I should have accepted, but ultimately there was sex; hot, sweaty, primal, filthy sex in all sorts of places, with all sorts of instructions and direction and illicit complicity.
There was also fear and anger and hatred and pain – a lot of which I’m still reconciling with myself.
He was my first foray into the world of kink, and much to the amusement of some of my fellow Experimental Daters – he is actually only the second man I’ve had sex with (I was busy with my ex!).
He taught me many things – some I’d like to find again and some I certainly wouldn’t. Ultimately he was too dark for me – I knew it from the start and I actively avoided the warning signs, repeatedly going back for more. I loved the danger and the drama and the intensity, but I’m glad I walked away when I did and I wish that I’d done so sooner.
I can now look at the experience for exactly what it was. Repeated sex with a stranger.
There was no fairytale.
I never knew the real him. I only saw the mask he chose to show me. He was the ultimate psychopath – presenting to me the man I wanted him to be, yet unable to avoid showing glimpses of manic insanity; unable to control his madness under stress. Too angry; too violent; too much.
So that’s why I haven’t been dating.
I’ve had a few months to lick my wounds and restore the dents in my pride.
The good news is I’m no longer sad, or in pain, or unable to contemplate moving on.
I’m feeling positive and hopeful and excited about getting out there any meeting someone new.
We all have experiences that go on to shape us – this was mine and I’ve lived and learned and am ready to move on. Who knows – I might even go on a date soon!
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