And if you want another kind of love I’ll wear a mask for you

It may come as a shock to y’all but I really had a hard time coming to terms with my dominant side. Senior year of high school I started dating a girl... we’ll call her Melissa. Like me she’d been held back a year at some point for whatever reason, so also like me she went into senior year at 18. Unlike me she’d been an emancipated minor and had been living on her own for two years when we got together. Things got hot and heavy pretty quickly and it was convenient to be able to go to her place to fuck.

I’m going to take off the kid gloves and get to the point here. She was what kids these days call a “freak”. A kinky bitch who got off on being choked and beaten. Unlike some of my exes through the years she wasn’t into self harm, but she loved pain like I love nicotine. And she taught me to enjoy inflicting it. We engaged in a lot of edge play, some minor blood play, even a little asphyxiation... she was beautiful when her face started to turn purple.

We’d been together for about two months, and had just fucked like rabbits for the third time that afternoon (I wish my body was 18 again... getting old sucks in more ways than one), and were lying on her bed cuddling when she propped herself up on an elbow and looked at me, her brown eyes still bloodshot from petechial hemorrhaging and her night-black hair plastered to her cheeks and neck with sweat and said “I trust you more than anyone I’ve ever known.”

Thinking that this was just pillow talk, I grinned and lent up to kiss her forehead, but she stopped me, a serious look on her face. “I want you to do something for me.”

I had no idea where this was going and decided to go along for the ride, right up until she reached into the nightstand drawer and pulled out a six inch double edged knife and said, “Fuck me with this.”

I never spoke to her again. She dropped out of school, and it was four months later that I read about her **** in the paper. She’d managed to get some idiot to do it for her. He may have gotten out on parole by now. I’m not sure. It took two years and a very caring partner before I was even able to think about my dominant side again. She taught me that being dominant didn’t necessarily mean inflicting pain, that I could inflict pleasure instead. I owe her a debt of gratitude that I’ll never be able to repay. But that’s a whole different story.

I’d never really exhibited my kinky side to my friends, which may have added a slightly more dramatic effect to the whole scene with Anna.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and walked out past the bouncer. Not sure how long I’d have to wait, I leaned up against the wall outside and pulled out a cig, but before I had a chance to light it there she was, wrapping me in an enthusiastic hug and whispering “Thank you!” over and over again.