Wine, cheese, and rimjobs: My first scene with a married Dom couple.

I pulled my old clunker up to a beautiful suburban condo overlooking the water.

“Welcome, welcome!” Rocket Man said cheerfully as he opened the heavy front door. “Come on in!”

Photographs of babies, pets, and vacation spots followed me up the staircase and into a crisp, rather mod living room. Placed tastefully around the room were what looked to the layman’s eye like Japanese art. In the center of the room stood a 7-foot-tall bamboo tripod structure, the top bound in rope and suspending a large metal ring. I had a feeling I knew who was going to be tied to that tripod. Continue reading

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Latex gloves and bourgie threesomes.

To clarify: no, it hasn’t happened yet. But I’m revving up for (finally!) a play date with Hawai’i (her) and Rocket Man (him), the Domme/switch couple I messaged with on ALT.com.

I got together with them over drinks and dinner a little while ago, and was blown away. First of all, their photo didn’t do them justice. Yes, they’re in their 40s no matter which way you swing it. But, shit, they’re aged like a fine ass wine. I was attracted. Box #1: checked.

Better every year, baby.

Better every year, baby.

Continue reading

Craigslist, OkCupid, and ALT.com have a threesome.

Craigslist is the dude who swears he and your cousin are best buds, who gives a fake I.D. to the bouncer (but you aren’t sure whether it’s because he’s underage or a wanted felon), and then takes his shirt off and hits on girls relentlessly all night.

OkCupid is the sorority chick who just sits at the bar on her iPhone, but is constantly glancing up in the hopes of catching someone checking her out.

Meanwhile, ALT.com, the older gentleman who orchestrated the whole party, spends the night sober and mingling politely, passing out name tags, swapping business cards, and telling both the men and the women about his sexual fetish for pony play. Continue reading

My first night with a Dom: Part II (how I got broken in)

(This post is a continuation of Part I)

I opened the hotel door with my right hand as I tried to keep the towel from slipping off my body with the left. A. entered with a couple small black bags and two wooden poles with hooks on each end — spreader bars. Damn, he just carried those right through the hotel lobby?

Nnnope, not that kind of spreader bar.

Nnnope, not that kind of spreader bar.

“Did you have a nice flight?” was what I apparently decided to open with. I’m not sure there were any better options, but still, I felt stupid saying it. Continue reading