Foreword

in

A friend asked me recently to tell her about my first D/s relationship.

I couldn't formulate the words to adequately convey the character of any of my earliest relationships, so I punted, and told her that I would tell her another time.

The problem, you see, is that there was a pattern. Or, at least, it seems that way to me. We'll get to that in a bit.

If you don't know me very well, there's something I will state here as a means of providing context for these stories. It's really not here as a point to debate, or as a thing my inner child needs hugging for (though I do like hugs), but simply as a statement that should pretty much be taken at face value. We're not talking here about how events actually took place, but rather how I perceived them, so if I believed them to be true at the time, that means they are true within my perceptions, which are the context inside which we are working. Make sense? Good.

I am, shall we say, completely oblivious.

There was a time in my life (I'm getting better at this stuff) where you could be the most attractive person in the world, physically, emotionally and intellectually, and you could show me a set of keys to a 1963 Stingray and a set of keys to a room at the Ritz, and tell me flat out that you would like me to drive you to the hotel, and then spend the next 24 hours fucking your brains out in all of the most wonderful, dirty, kinky ways that I would enjoy the most, and I would ask you what color the car was.

I would look at that tree and miss the forest, the stream, the beaver, the dam, and field containing the entirety of the Armed Forces Marching Band screaming to me in unison "You are a fucking idiot!"

You may be thinking to yourself that that was an extreme example, and maybe in a situation like that I get a little tongue tied or something. Okay, I'll give you an example based on reality.

Somebody that I've known for a while finally gets me to recognize the fact that she's been trying to get in my pants for weeks. She does this by physically dropping my pants.

That specific sequence of events has happened to me five times. With different people. It's a surprise every time. Even after they tell me to stand up, and they kneel down to start unbuttoning.

It's a little unsettling to think that every relationship I've ever had has started out in a similar fashion: a complete surprise to me, and a room full of facepalms for everyone else.

There were, of course, times when it happened and I said no, times when it happened and I should've said no, and times when it happened and I wanted to say no and didn't. That's not the pattern, nor is it a source of a huge amount of angst on my part, so stand down all ye consent debaters - that's not what I'm here to talk about.

What I am talking about is something that has caused me a lot of angst, something that has caused me to question my own sanity at times, and yet, something quite normal in our culture - pedestrian, even. It's the "b" word.

Betrayal.

If I was oblivious at the beginning of every relationship, I was just as much so at the end of most of them. I'm sure you can see how that would be a problem for me, especially when talking about my early forays into BDSM relationships.

Thinking about these early forays again though has given me an interesting perspective on possible sources of some of my stronger opinions. So, with that in mind (silver lining, anyone?), that's how I'm actually going to present each of these stories.