I Finally Understood What Fuels My Sexual Desires

It took a young woman dominating me in her SUV

Wandering into the mall’s bookstore was my guilty pleasure that started in sixth grade. I’d scan the shelves, find the naughty novels and thumb through them until it was time to meet my mom and go home. I took a chance when I swiped a copy of the paperback version of the landmark 1970s porn flick The Devil in Miss Jones.

Yes, there was a paperback that included several still photos from the movie. And it fit perfectly in my jacket’s pocket. I zipped up the pocket and engaged in small talk on the thirty minute ride back to our house.

I won’t say I was hooked, but I was fascinated with this thing called sex. Not even sex itself but the ambiance surrounding it and the way people interacted. I skimmed through the story while my vision practically burnt holes in the images. My imagination brought the still pics to life before I did the smart thing and hid the book in the outside trash can.

Fascinating.

I remained a virgin through high school and college, although I had many opportunities to have sex. My moral code was stronger than my sexual desires.

During the years that followed, I discovered an attribute about sex that intrigued me. Sexual intercourse wasn’t the end game for me. Immersing myself in the experience was.

Why? And what did that mean?

A sexual encounter wasn’t just about the physical aspects of kissing, fondling, undressing and fucking. I viewed the moment as dramatic theater — being with another person that was all-encompassing as a sensational experience that truly involved each of my senses.

Kissing wasn’t just meeting the lips but an opening into a kaleidoscope of feeling that overtook my mind. I entered a blissful state and went deeper the more physically involved I became.

The physiological change is easy to explain with endorphins and dopamine, and that would give clues on my forays into various casual sex encounters.

But on-the-edge sex drew me, too. Some call it kink. That term doesn’t do me justice. I explored in various bondage “dungeons” where sexual intercourse wasn’t allowed.

Yet, spankings and floggings that I gave as a dominant or received when a submissive left me satisfied. Something else was occurring at a deeper level and looking back, I see that my desire has always been for an emotional exploration.

Tying a submissive to a rack while running my hands over her body and cooing to her was a highly charged time. Kneeling for a dominant woman and feeling the sting of her flogger was better than hard fucking. It caused me to scream on my insides.

Casual sex was fun on occasion, but in my late forties and fifties it became like slowly pulling a bandage off a wound. I invested my emotions in the time that was spent and not hearing from someone after the fact, believe it or not, hurt. Yes, I am a man.

My need has become emotionally driven sex.

This was evident during a highly unusual three-month foray with a woman who was twenty-nine and I was in my early fifties. We met online, exchanged fun messages over a couple of weeks and learned about each other.

There was nothing that was highly sexual in our writing and we weren’t sexting. She did hint that she was sexually dominant, a domme. Her name was Rose and she was a teacher who was witty and enjoyed my humor and writing.

During our first encounter, we met in a park when she was off school. I offered to bring coffee and scones. She drove up in a nice SUV with long hair swishing over her shoulders. She was shapely and had a beautiful smile.

Life was good.

We walked to a picnic table and settled on the same side. I was smart enough and experienced enough to not even think about touching any part of her, even her fingers. We chatted. I shared about my life, writing and I discovered she had a girlfriend whom she shared with her boyfriend.

Life was interesting.

After almost two hours of simply enjoying each other’s company, she kissed me and we said good-bye. She told me to write and that we’d get together soon. Which we did.

The next time was meeting at a park near her school on her lunch hour. It was early fall and the air was warm with a gentle breeze stirring the trees. Looking at her was awesome and I felt like the luckiest man alive. She was genuinely interested in me and this second time we straddled the picnic bench seat and she leaned close with her mouth ready.

Our kiss was deep and involved. She didn’t hesitate running her fingers over my face. Her smile was infectious and she had a sexy, slow erotic way of kissing and biting on my lower lip. I was hooked.

When we parted and I wrote her, I was surprised how my thoughts turned far more philosophical than erotic and sexual. I’d type out messages referencing a museum exhibit from the French and Indian War where soldiers were struggling with an oxen cart over tree roots and rocks. It inspired me to write her paragraphs on persistence and determination.

We continued meeting once a week in the park where we’d lean against each other, resting and talking quietly. She’d hint that she was a rose with thorns and her sexuality had a bite to it.

I wondered. I certainly didn’t press her as to when we might ever have sex and, funny to me, I enjoyed sitting under the trees in the park. We’d kiss, fondle and once she let me run my fingers in the waistband of her slacks.

The reason I didn’t ask if we were going to have sex was that I have finally learned something as I’ve grown older. When a woman wants you to know, she will let you know — especially one who says she is a domme.

After thinking it through and mulling over where we might go and how it might play out, I realized something odd: what if I can’t get the raging hard-on that I once got at the snap of a finger?

Hmm. How was I going to let her know? Embarrassing, yes, but essential.

I broke the sensitive news on the next get together. Awkwardly, I explained to her that I can still get hard but it takes me longer than it once did. She smiled and told me not to worry. She once had dated a man who was forty years older than her, she said before we kissed and kissed beneath the trees in the warmth.

Occasionally I’d get out the blanket I kept in my trunk and we’d lie on that. She wore Uggs and even let me slowly pull one-off and kiss and pleasure her feet. She wrote me later how much she enjoyed the moment of seeing me sprawling on the ground in front of her, kissing her feet delicately.

But she never mentioned having full-blown, full-on sex. But it actually didn’t matter to me. I truly, sincerely enjoyed our time in the part. Thinking about her was a mind-blowing experience.

The time became more emotional for me than physical and I was loving the depths that we explored.

She’d have me get in the back seat of her SUV with her, kiss and undid her blouse. Her breasts were near perfect and she let me lick and nibble on them. Her moans revealed that she soaked in the pleasure.

“Do you know how many men would love to be in your position?” she cooed.

“Yes, I’m very lucky.”

“Remember this time. Carry it deep in your mind because there will come a time when you’ll want to taste me again but won’t be able to.”

How beautifully stated. I was lost in her poetic words and figured I wouldn’t ask to explore the meaning.

And then she had me do something else: unzip my jeans and stroke rapidly. No one was around and I stroked and stroked until I yelled and had an orgasm that shot on to the seats. Her eyes snapped in the direction that it flew and then snapped back to me.

She pressed her foot against my face and pushed me back against the SUV’s window. “I’m going to walk all over you.”

This was wild. She never touched me, but I was loving it. She did drop hints about emotional pain but did it in such a clever way that I could never tell what she was thinking.

She had made a comment which I found quite truthful. “People like us need each other.”

I agreed.

Finally, she sent me her Twitter handle and I saw a posting about giving her tributes, money. She was into financial domination. It shook me, but we discussed it as a power exchange. A guy had given her a MacBook and another a large screen TV. Both had plenty of money, anyway, she mentioned.

I bought her a $100 gift card and had sent her another $25 one from Victoria Secret. That alone was a rush.

Then one Sunday via the Kik app she showed me in pics and a brief video the panties and bra I bought her from Victoria’s Secret. Wow. She told me to edge — stroking my cock but stopping short of orgasm. I did it again and again. that day. The feelings were incredibly deep.

Finally, we met for coffee. I had bought her more underwear at Victoria’s Secret like she had asked. We chatted about movies and Star Wars, her favorite. She smiled and made one hint about emotional dips and I joked if she was going to kick me off the edge.

We continued our conversation and went into detail about Star Wars and the various characters. Then I walked her to the SUV, gave her the bag and she kissed me sweetly.

I was floating, not even walking on the ground. I really enjoyed her company and I was inspired to buy her something nice. A store selling vintage handbags was next door and I stepped in, scanning the prices and dreaming about what I might surprise her with.

Then there was a shoe store and it made me think.

I snapped a picture and sent it to her via Kik. And then I sent another. It was okay that she didn’t respond that afternoon since I figured she was busy.

Two days later I sent her a picture of the mountains behind my house bathed in sunshine and I wrote her an inspiring email. I expressed some of my deepest and most poetic emotions.

But there was no reply.

My heart skipped a beat. I wrote again.

Silence.

I wrote another email. And then it hit me. She was gone. Shit. Ghosted. This was her form of domination and the thorns in her rose. This is why she told me to remember the time spent nibbling her breasts.

I wrote again, a quick message saying I wasn’t going to hear back from her but I had to write anyway. Messages to her Kik app simply said that her phone was off.

Shit. It was like my face was slapped or I was kicked in the stomach. The emotional bite lasted for a couple of weeks and then it wore off. Fortunately, I wasn’t younger and hadn’t fallen more deeply for her. And she had made it clear that she was quite attached to her boyfriend and girlfriend. That eased the pain and made it easier to move on.

But it was a deeply emotional ride. And, honestly, I should say that it ended up badly but not really. I knew from her hints and looking back on the conversations that something was going to happen and I was curious to find out what it was. I willingly went along for the ride.

It way deeper than fucking and she reached into my soul for a period of a few months. I wrote and expressed what was important and revealed my heart. And I discovered an inner world that I wouldn’t have discovered if not for Rose.