Perhaps I could just submit to myself? It was a wondered I had born of frustration and fear of the unknown.

Yes, I know. All the hardcore BDSM folks are likely rolling their eyes or ready to jump up and down while yelling, “No, no, no! That’s not how it works!” Why not though?

I can tease and deny myself. I know my body better than anyone else. I can slap my own thighs. I tried with an old ruler and heard the delicious clap of wood against my bare skin and felt the satisfying tingling sting of the impact.

If I want to feel hot wax on my breasts, it’s simple for me to light a candle in honor of my curiosity and let it drip like hot honey on to my skin. I can watch the wax congeal and harden on my flesh. I can also use suction cups on my nipples. I wonder what it will feel like? What will my nipples look like after I remove them? Will they be so sensitive that ever sensation as I pinch and pull them, rub and knead them would be felt like an electric shock running straight to my clit? I think I could use a suction cup on my clit as well. What would that feel like? Would I cum immediately if I pressed a Hitachi against the plastic vacuum on my clit?

I could self-scourge myself with a flogger like a medieval nun. I could roll the Wartenberg wheel across my mid-drift and mons pubis. If I crave a leather belt, I can buy one and pull it tight around my own throat. I could train myself to take a cock in my ass, and, if the right cock never presents itself to complete my training, I can gift myself with a cock of any size I choose — even a double-ended one so I can feel a cock in my ass as well as my pussy while I rub my clit. I can fuck myself for hours on end, until my overstimulated cunt is numb and dripping. Then, after a bit of a break, I can go for round two until I make myself tremble and writhe again and again.

I think this could work. I can call it my Little Red Hen approach to BDSM — if I cannot discover the right partner, if I cannot discover the right person to help me, then I’ll do it myself. I’ll turn myself on, I’ll play with myself in every feasible way, and when I cum I’ll be the only one allowed to own and enjoy it.

What this approach does not provide is the skin to skin contact I’m starving for. It doesn’t provide me with filthy desires urgently whispered in my ear or an appreciative “Good girl” for a job well done. It doesn’t give me the joy of pleasing someone else. It doesn’t safely allow me to be tied up or restrained. I cannot properly spank my own bottom. It doesn’t give me the thrill of surprise or scary hopeful vulnerability of putting my pleasure in someone else’s control. It doesn’t give me aftercare — the cuddling and caressing, the affectionate laughter, the kissing.

I really miss kissing. I really miss passion… Did I ever really have that though? I’ve had chance, occasionally odd, sometimes wild one-night stands in my lifetime, but very little ever came from them. I certainly never came from them! Former acquaintances or friends used to shake their heads at my random sordid sexual misadventures.

There was the time that I met a man at Webster Hall. He saw me dancing by myself and began grinding on my ass. I could feel his erection growing and pushing against me. It was so fucking hard I wondered it my bruise me. We exchanged names but neither one of us heard or remembered the names given. He kissed my neck, lifted the moist spiraled curls and licked at my sweat while holding me and pressing his cock even harder against me. He asked me to come home with him, but once in his car, we both realized that roommates would make our tacit plans difficult.

“I know of a place.” He. said suddenly. “You want to go?”

“Sure!” I said not thinking, enjoying the rare attention.

We drove through the meatpacking district and to a boxy motel near the West Side Highway. I’m not even sure if it had a name. I don’t think it even exists anymore. I had never been to a place like this. It was pay by the hour. When the surly man at the front desk asked for a credit card, both he and my dancing partner looked at me. I shrugged internally and handed over my card. After all, I was already there.

After I paid, he confidently walked me to the room. In retrospect, it was not his first time there. The room was small and had little more than a bed in it. The walls and ceiling were covered in cheap warped mirrors.

He sat on the bed, pulled me down to sit next to him and began kissing me again. I was barely starting to enjoy the kissing when he was already stripping off his clothes. His cock looked less impressive once it was unmasked. Yet, it was still a cock, I wondered right before he shoved his hand down my pants to touch my clit.

“You’re so fucking wet!” he breathed in my ear as rubbed at my clit excitedly.

It was no lie. For whatever reason, once I’m even slightly turned on, I get ridiculously wet. I never wondered to be embarrassed about it until now. I think I assumed it was that way for every woman. A man puts his tongue in my mouth — waterfall. If he whispers in my ear — I’m damned near whitewater rafting in my panties. I guess I should be glad I’m not a man. If I were I’d likely having a raging non-stop erection.

My friend by the hour pulled down my pants, hurriedly pushed a condom on his cock, and was entering me as if time was running out. I guess, technically it was. He was done in less time than it takes to use a toaster. We laid there for a bit. He slept a bit. Then, woke up briefly to rub a semi hard cock against my clit for a bit before falling asleep on me. Then, I was saved by the ringing of the 6am wake up call.

We washed up quickly in the bathroom, collected the hotel bill, and I was dropped off at the dorms with a quick mumbled goodbye from him all before 6:30am.

Let’s call my next example Mr. Green. We met at a different dance club. This time I had been with friends. Mr. Green came up to me and asked me my name. I seriously doubt he heard me. We danced together for several songs, he kept moving closer and closer until he was suddenly kissing me.

He asked me to come home with him and I agreed. He was a very good kisser. He hailed a cab and once inside, we continued to make out. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his hard cock. I caressed it through his dress pants. It was very thick and I loved the soft moans he was making into my mouth as he kissed me.

He asked the cab driver to stop outside a grocery store.

“You hungry?” he asked me as the cab drove away.

I shrugged. I had had quite a lot to drink so I figured a snack would probably do me some good. “Sure, I could eat.” I said.

He led me into the grocery store, to the produce section. He was looking at the fruits and vegetables when he asked, “What do you think? Cucumber or banana?”

I was a bit surprised by the question. I didn’t think a cucumber alone would soak up any alcohol at all. I didn’t really think a banana would do the trick either, but I wondered it had way more of a chance than a cucumber. Plus, I didn’t want to press my luck and ask for too much. Maybe all he could afford after a night of clubbing was one or the other. So, I decided on a banana and he led me back to his apartment.

Once we were in his bedroom naked and groping each other, he abruptly leaned back and asked, “Would you like your banana now?”

I wondered his timing was odd but my midwestern childhood had taught me to all the time be a good houseguest so I said, “Okay,” naively.

He pulled the banana out of the grocery bag, pulled out a condom, put it on the banana, and before I could ask what exactly he was doing, he was kissing me and putting a banana in my vagina. Yes, in my fucking vagina! I was sort of mad. I wasn’t super excited about drunkenly eating a banana but I did want to eat it. However, it was in my vagina and he seemed super excited about it. He was kissing me and stroking himself while pushing the banana in and out of me, so I went with it. Thankfully, he came pretty quickly.

When he extracted the banana from me, it was completely smushed. No longer appetizing in the least even if I could have gotten past the fact that it had been inside me. He threw it away and then sat on the edge of his bed looking at me strangely.

“You okay?” I asked.

He sighed and couldn’t look at me when he admitted, “I’m engaged. We’re getting married in a few weeks.”

I don’t really remember what else was said. I was pretty quick about getting dressed and getting the fuck out of there. See ya! Hope you and the future Mrs. Green have a great life. By the way, next time you want to fuck someone with a banana, maybe be clear about your intentions! I suppose I also could have said something and told him he was out of his damned gourd. (Ha ha!)

My final example was my first tangible gateway to being curious about BDSM. I met some random guy at a gay bar. I really wasn’t expecting to hook up with anyone that night. I had my period, hadn’t shaved my legs in several days, and, again, was at a gay bar. However, this guy and I spent a good hour talking about random things before he asked me if I wanted to hang out at his place. Once we were there, he surprised me by kissing me and grabbing my boobs.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he said while gripping a handful of my hair and nibbling on my lower lip.

I awkwardly stopped him, “Um… sorry. I have my period. I didn’t know you were interested or a would have said something earlier.”

He wondered for a moment, then said, “It’s okay. Come on.” He led me to his bedroom, grabbing a bath towel along the way.

He laid the towel across the bed. Then, he embraced me and began kissing me again. We stood there next to the bed just kissing for quite a while, his hands wandering — squeezing hard at my breasts and ass, gripping fistfuls of my now wild curls. I could tell that he was excited but I couldn’t feel an erection pressing against my body.

He began to undress and directed me to the bathroom so I could do whatever I needed to before getting undressed for him. Once we stood before each other naked — him calmly, me nervous and awkward — he guided me to the bed and requested, “Lay on your stomach for me.”

I did so, wondering what he had planned. He caressed my naked ass, kneading it gently before asking, “Would it be okay if I spanked your ass a little?”

“Um…” I hesitated for a moment then surprised myself by saying, “Okay.”

He gently smacked me in the center of my ass, right across the crack, but I felt it directly in my clit when he did so and an involuntary moan escaped my lips. His own moan echoed mine right before he spanked my ass slightly harder. He was delighted at my reaction and I was intrigued by the sensation. He smacked my ass a few more times, answering my moans with his own and saying, “Yeah, you like that don’t you?”

He abruptly said, “Turn over.”

When I did, I noticed he was fully erect and already putting on a condom. He kissed me hard while squeezing one of my tits while entering me a fucking me urgently. After he came, he put his arms around me and fell asleep a few moments later. In the morning though, there was an unpleasant surprise.

I hadn’t known that sex during one’s period could make the menstruation heavier. Unfortunately, the reds had seeped through the towel and his bedsheets, likely permanently staining his mattress. I was mortified. I left pretty quickly after the discovery, knowing that I’d never hear from him again, and was very disappointed because of it.

His parting words to me were, “I can’t believe you let me spank you,” he shrugged slightly and seemed to say almost to himself, “you went with it, though.”

He waved goodbye, turned and walked away. No goodbye kiss. Once I got home, I cried. I didn’t even remember his name, but I was sad that I would never see him again, sad that my own body ruined my chances of ever having a repeat encounter.

These are just a handful of random experiences I had in my mid-twenties. Had I known the drought that waited for me in my thirties and forties, I would have tried to fuck more often. Maybe then I would be further along by now. I might have a lot of fantasies now, but I seriously lack in practical experience. Sometimes I feel like a filthy-minded virgin, completely naïve to what is and isn’t feasible sexually but full of ideas.

It occurred to me the other day that my past partner loved how tight I was. Is it feasible that I was intentionally neglected so that he could enjoy an extra tight pussy? It’s feasible, I guess. It’s also just as feasible that maybe I’m just a bad lay. He only licked my pussy once in the eight years we were together. This realization led me to taste myself and find what I think is probably what all pussies taste like. I never got the courage to ask him if I tasted alright. He seemed to enjoy it the one time he did it.

Perhaps, I wasn’t passionate enough for him? I’ve never cum while with another person before — not really — and I discover it difficult to relax and let go in front of another person. I enjoy being with other people but showing that level of vulnerability is even harder and more intimidating than being naked in front of someone for me. Still, I hope one day I’ll be able to be both as physically and sexually naked with someone as I can be (emotionally) when I’m writing. Until then, and until I work up the gumption to see a Domme and attend my first orgy, I plan to be my own surrogate top (as much as that’s feasible).