The First Lover was not in fact my first. I was 18 and by that age had chalked up a handful of fairly dull sexual experiences with two boyfriends. None of which are worth documenting here. What may be worth documenting for you are my early intimate experiences that either created or stoked the BDSM fire within me. I’m not sure which. Are you born a submissive or are you made? A question for another time …

Back to me. I masturbated from an early age. Before I knew what it was. I rubbed my budding clit until I felt at peace. I was about 8 when I remember showing a friend what I did. About 9 I showed a boy. Both were fascinated. And my imagination grew with my sexual awareness. I used to fantasise as I rubbed. Mostly about being naked in public. Often humiliated too. Whipped. Fucked. I watched enough films to know what sex was (and by 10 I’d found my Dad’s porn magazines hidden on his side of my parents’ bed) but I still hadn’t learnt society’s judgement that the natural feelings I had were ‘wrong’. When I was about 12 I showed a friend what I did and talked her through a fantasy where I was chained naked in a dungeon and whipped and flogged. She joined in the fantasy. And must have gone home and told her Mum because she never came round to my house again. I don’t remember being punished but if I was I wouldn’t have been told what it was for. My mother would not discuss anything vaguely sexual. I started my period at this age and bled into my pants. I put them in the wash not sure what was happening and the next day a bag of sanitary towels were on my bed. No discussion. No mother-daughter chat. Work it out for yourself.

Fast forward a little to 15 and I had large full breasts that didn’t suit my twig-like frame but fascinated 15 year old boys. Welcome to a world of male attention I was previously alien to. I picked up a very sweet boyfriend who I wrote love letters to in class and then I let his not so sweet friend play with my nipples on the bus home. We used to wait around outside school to catch a different bus to everyone else and sit at the back. He went 20 minutes at least out of his way to feel me up for longer. I loved the attention he lavished on my body. He moved on to thrusting his fingers into my cunt. I had to bite my lip to stop the moans escaping. He used to stare deep into my eyes while he touched me. The eye contact drove me wild.

Now move on to 18. I never fucked Bus Boy but I did have a very damp sexual encounter with Love Letter Boy and another with an Older Man. Then I met The First Lover and we explored. I watched my first porn film with him. Had my first orgasm. The night of my first orgasm we’d discussed how I wanted to be dominated by his desire and surrender mine to him. First Lover was a bouncer in a local nightclub and was incredibly strong. I wanted him to show me the strength of his desire for me by not holding back. I wanted to fight in protest (like a good girl should) and then be overpowered by him and surrender. He tied me up. He fucked my arse. He spat on me. God I still shiver a little now nearly two decades on. It was a night of awakening.

We fooled around a bit more but ultimately we were too young to maintain such an emotionally complex relationship. He cheated on me and the trust fell apart. He asked me to marry him, I accepted the engagement ring he could afford, and then we split up a month or so later. A few years later when I was leaving to work overseas, I gave the ring back – posting it through the door of his Mum’s house. At this point I met a man who taught me one of life’s very valuable lessons. That two individuals struggling with their own pain, who are drawn together by recognising that pain in each other, will not make a healthy relationship based on pain alone. 4 years of a very turbulent and often violent relationship saw me bury any thoughts of a BDSM relationship in the deepest darkest corners of my mind. I became conditioned that it was wrong. Its characteristics of punishment, control, and power exchange tainted by the fineness of the line between safe, sane, consensual and dangerous, damaging, abusive.

This is not a blog about abusive relationships. I don’t want it to be. So all I will say for the purposes of the story is that I eventually left this relationship and fell into the arms of the Kind Husband.

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