In my second year of college, while away at school, I threw away a set of steel shackles, a spreader bar, two blindfolds, bondage mittens, nipple clamps and a whole stack of magazines devoted to female domination.
When I was sixteen years old, I threw away a perfectly good pair of handcuffs.
For that matter, I also threw away three black scarves and one leather belt – all of which were perfectly good. I remember it clearly – sneaking out to the back trash can behind my parents house, trying not to startle the sleeping dog next door. I had the goods in a plain brown bag.
I threw them away because I was ashamed. I thought I was getting into something a little too weird. My boyfriend at the time, Alex, had said to me the night before when we were necking, “Do you have to use that kinky shit again?”
He didn’t like it when I handcuffed him. The first time, sure, he tolerated it, but that’s when he thought I was going to have sex with him, or at least give him a blow job.
When he found out that I was planning to keep my virginity, and that a blow job was out of the question, he lost all interested in the handcuffs. Hell, he wouldn’t even wear the blindfold, even though our make out sessions were the hottest when I’d straddle his lap in the backseat of his car and sort of move my hips back and forth, feeling him get harder under me. I liked the way it felt in his pants, I just wasn’t that interested in touching it or seeing it up close.
But the handcuffs, oh I liked those. I had bought them at a magic shop. It had taken me four visits to get the nerve to buy them, and I know I turned bright red when the young guy rang them up at the register for me. Twelve dollars of my hard earned babysitting money.
Alex had said, “That kinky stuff isn’t normal, Tasha.”
So I threw it all away. I still remember the sound of the garbage truck when it came by the next morning.
Alex and I broke up shortly after. I didn’t date anyone else until I met Tim.
**
When I was almost eighteen, I threw away a perfectly good pair of handcuffs, a blindfold, and a set of custom made shackles.
I say custom made between I was too young to get into an adult shop (too nervous, anyway), but I wanted something leather, with buckles, to hold Tim down. I liked the idea of the way leather straps looked against skin. I remember walking into the shoe repair shop.
The guy didn’t speak very good English, but he was very helpful. “I need four leather straps with buckles on the ends of them,” I said. I was a little less timid than I had been in the magic shop years earlier. I was wearing make up, my body had filled out and I was much more confident.
“What for?” he asked me. “What you need for?”
I hesitated. “Ah, a costume,” I said. “It needs to go on a costume for school.”
The man reached under the counter and pulled out several long strips of leather – big, thick ones, all different kinds. Some treated, some not. Some black, some brown. I felt them all, touched them. The smell was fantastic.
“Which one you want?”
I picked the leather that I liked best. He then got out a ruler, and measured, and I picked out the buckles. When I asked him how much, he said “Ten dollars.” When I asked him when I could have them, he said “Tomorrow ok.”
I said to him, “Twenty five dollars if you can give them to me in two hours.”
After all, I was working in retail then. I had money. So two hours later, I had my leather shackles, and three hours later, Tim was in them. First his wrists together, then his ankles. Then the blindfold, and I used a scarf to gag him. I molested him – well, as much as I could with his clothes on. He whimpered, and moaned, and I pressed my wet panties to his pants (the skirt was short). I was so turned on, and excited. I remember that was the first orgasm I had ever experienced. Just from rubbing up against him, because I was so excited to see him so helpless.
Tim was a football player, a Senior in high school, one of the most popular kids. Even though his wrist were strapped together, he still tried to feel me up. And he was sweet, but we had dated for four months, and he was pressuring me to have sex with him.
I was still a virgin, and I told him I wanted to wait, that I wanted to be in love.
“I love you,” he lied, once he was no longer gagged. I knew he didn’t love me, and he just wanted to have sex. I wasn’t ready for sex.
He dumped me the next day, then told the entire football team I was into some “fucked up kinky shit.”
I decided that it wasn’t worth the humiliation. Even though it was a turn on. So I stuck to vanilla stuff, lots of kissing, lots of necking, a semi-serious boyfriend, nice guy named George, who I actually got to second base with – we did oral on each other, and I actually liked giving a guy head after that. But I never tied up George, and eventually the relationship fizzled and we both lost interest.
**
In my second year of college, while away at school, I threw away a set of steel shackles, a spreader bar, two blindfolds, bondage mittens, nipple clamps and a whole stack of magazines devoted to female domination.
I remember the night very well. I had gone away to school, and I had a very conservative roommate named Doreen. I didn’t pick Doreen for my roommate in the dorms, they just put her with me, and she always thought I was a little strange. Mostly because I was a little more outgoing, liked to wear a lot of leather, went out dancing a lot, and was hanging out with the party crowd.
I would have to keep my bondage games very private and do them only when I knew Doreen was at the library. The guy I was dating at the time, Chad, was over at the dorm one night and I had him fully spread out on the bed naked. I was just getting into spanking and paddling, but didn’t have any paddles, so I was using a hairbrush on his fine ass. I was also more into verbal stuff, like calling him a little whore and a slut, and making him beg for more.
He was wailing, and almost crying, but he admitted that he loved all the games, and he always wanted more. That’s mostly what we did, Chad and I, we played S&M games and gave each other orgasms, we never even went to the movies or out to eat. He’d just sneak up to my room when Doreen was gone, and we’d spend an hour or two playing kink games.
Chad was the first guy I made eat his own cum, too. I mentioned to him, during the spanking, more to just humiliate him. I said, “I bet you’d love to drink your own spew, you pig!” and he got so turned on, his hips start bucking and he actually came while rubbing up against my leg. He came all over me! So I scooped it up and started shoving my fingers in his mouth, and made him lick it all up. I was in heaven. I was almost masturbating while I did it, and he was still bucking his hips, still actually squirting cum as he licked it up.
Then Doreen walked in.
And she threatened to have me kicked out of the dorms, and humiliated me for being a “sick pervert,” and also showed me some verses in the bible.
I realized then that my chances of having a “normal” relationship were slim to none. After all, Chad was nothing more than a sex buddy, and I was still a virgin at 20, and I needed to be looking for a nice guy.
“Nice guys don’t play sick games,” Doreen had told me. I figured she was right.
So it was out with the bondage gear and magazines, and in with Gary. Gary the nice guy.
**
Gary and I dated almost two years, and I bought and threw away several things while we actually dated. First the flogger (he was mortified), then a paddle (he used to let me spank him playfully during sex – after all, he was my first time, and our sex was always good, and he had a pretty open mind). Then a ball gag. He wouldn’t even let me try that on him, he said it was something he saw in a bad porno once and would make him feel too stupid to enjoy it.
Gary was ok at roleplaying. He’d let me tie him up a little bit, and he’d pretend to be scared and stuff, but it was never enough. I always wanted more, and it was the only thing we fought about. He kept talking about getting married after college, and he was such a great guy, and I loved his family and his parents thought the world of me. Not to mention, my parents were ready for me to marry him already – they wanted the ring on my finger. He was every parents dream.
But he started to let me tie him up less and less, and then he stopped even playing make believe with me. We’d fight about my toys then I would throw them away, then I’d buy more and end up throwing those away too. Sometimes he’d find stuff that I had bought, and accuse me of using it with other people, when in reality I had bought it just hoping he would change his mind. So I had to throw that stuff away too, even though I never even used it.
Gary and I lasted a couple of years. The sex was tender and good, and our relationship, except for the fights about being kinky, was solid. I almost married him.
I’m glad I didn’t.
**
When I was 27, I dumped an arsenal of toys. A true arsenal. In my mid-twenties, after Gary, I had decided to put my efforts into finding a man willing to play as hard as I did and with a truly open mind. I had everything from straitjackets to inflatables, frilly stuff to dress men in, plugs and dildos, vibrators, paddles and whips, bondage helmets and some amazing fetish clothes. I lost my first strap on harness during that dumpage.
I can’t believe I threw it all away for Michael.
Michael was like the boy next door, and I met him when I was dating the biggest sex, kink fiend in the world – my bondage buddy, Alan. Alan and I were not really dating, but we were having the best scenes. I learned how to use my strap on with Alan, and I was soon addicted to the pleasure of taking a man from behind.
But Michael was a guy I met at work, and I fell for him hard. I thought for sure we would get married. In fact we were engaged. But when the chips fell, he said he would have nothing to do with the kinky stuff, so I got rid of it for him.
Then six months into the engagement, I got rid of Michael.
And I was pissed off that I couldn’t get the gear back.
**
I swore it off for good that time. Not because I didn’t like it anymore, but because it was too damned expensive, and it always was getting me messed up in my relationships. After Michael I had spent a short period of time bouncing between kinky guys who were drips and had nothing to say if they weren’t moaning, and vanilla guys who thought a kinky girl was a girl that liked to be on top. I had sworn there was nothing, ever, ever in between.
I met Cameron when I was almost 30. Cameron was from Boston, and I fell for him first because of his accent. He had the ultimate Boston accent, and that was all it took for me to start flirting with him in a bar one night. We started dating at once, and while he seemed like a buttoned-down kind of guy (he was in law school), he never flinched when I started getting into pulling his hair, or holding him down in bed, or masturbating him to the edge then saying, “You can’t cum until tomorrow.”
He used to laugh and say to me, “You’re a terror, you know that, don’t you?” – and the way he said it, with the accent, it sounded like “Tara.” In fact, we had a joke fight that first time, because it was during sex, and I said, “Who the fuck is this Tara girl you are talking about.”
“Terror!” he laughed, and I proceeded to punish him for the mention of this mysterious “Tara” woman. He took the punishment bravely – fifteen swats to his ass with a hair brush, and he bruised up nice and wore it proudly for a few days. He’d be changing out of his shorts a few days later and look in the mirror at the bruise and shake his head at me and say, “Tara, you’re a tara.”
He used to do it just to MAKE me punish him. He liked the cat and mouse game, and every time I made a threat, to just test him, he’d egg me on.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to strap you down and sit on your face,” I’d say. He raised his eyebrows and said, “Promise?”
“If you keep that up, I’m going to hogtie you and make you watch me masturbate, then make you suck my vibrator!” His response? “Should I go get it for you?”
“If you keep that up, I’m going to stick my finger up your ass and make you feel really violated.” He frowned at me. Ah, finally, I thought, this is where it all ends. He responded with, “A blindfold might be in order, Tara.”
He started calling me terror-girl, or Tara for short. It was our code of sorts. He’d say, “How’s Tara tonight?” and I’d say “Tara has been thinking about things like…strap on dildo sex, have you heard of that.”
“Good lord,” he said. “Now you are getting majorly kinky on me.”
But he never said no, and he never judged me. In fact, our normal relationship actually continued to grow, with Tara safely in the background. Tara would come out to play once a week or so, and he’d even buy me the toys sometimes. About two years into our relationship, I had re-accumulated almost everything I had thrown out the last time.
One night, we were in bed, and we’d just had a pretty insane, messy session of some intense bondage, humiliation, face sitting and then strap on play. He was dutifully sore, and I had been indulged with several orgasms. I got scared. It all hit me. I was terrified.
I was terrified that he’d say, “No more of this.” Because he looked worn out, and not all that happy, and maybe I had pushed him a little too far.
“I’m sorry,” I said, out of the blue.
He looked at me, sleepily, moving gingerly, and said, “Sorry for what, Tara?”
“For being so kinky. I think I am pushing you too far. I feel bad. I feel guilty. Every guy I have ever gone out with has led me along, saying they like it, then eventually they either dump me for it, or once I fall in love, they say they don’t want it anymore and I have to make a choice.”
“That’s not fair of them,” he said, matter-of-factly. “To love someone is to love them for who they are. I don’t like everything you do to me, but I like making you happy. Relationships aren’t about one side getting everything they want, all the time. I love you for who you are, kinky as hell or not.”
He was actually smiling at me, and for the first time, I felt like a guy was being honest with me about it. I had way too many guys say “I love it all, bring it on,” only to find out they lied about most of it, or other ones say they wanted it only because they really wanted to have sex with me. Cameron was being honest with me. He didn’t like it all, but he liked making me happy. Compromise.
“I guess none of the guys I dated ever accepted what I was into, or who I am,” I confessed to him, trying to sort it out as I formulated the words. It was all starting to make sense, sort of. “Somehow they couldn’t come to terms with it.”
Cameron placed his head on my belly, like he usually did when he needed some affection after being abused, and I responded by running my fingers through his hair in back. “Maybe it was also you. You were the one that threw the stuff away, Tasha,” he pointed out.
I had to think about it for a minute. He was right.
Before he dozed off, he said to me, “You just needed to come to terms with Tara.”
And I did. That night.
And I have never thrown anything away again.
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