What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 8)

by Sabrina York

  He had represented himself as single, which was great because I wasn’t sure at the time I wanted to engage in any poly relationships. They can get messy, and I didn’t know if my emotional landscape would admit a poly relationship. Luckily for me—or so I thought—our second meeting, a four-hour discussion, found the two of us cautiously inching toward a deep, lasting, loving connection.

  Imagine my surprise when I opened his Fetlife page a mere two days later to see his status had changed to indicate he was in a relationship with Gerri, his roommate.

  Given that Ethan demanded a deep spiritual connection with all his partners, apparently their relationship had been going on for awhile—but he’d never told me. I had gathered that, because he was new to the area, he was meeting a number of new prospective partners, and that was okay by me. What was not okay was that he had already formed this supposed deep connection but had failed to inform me of something so potentially important to me.

  Even more damning was the information that Gerri had come to the east bay with Ethan from Fairfield, their previous hometown. Thus, I reasoned, their relationship had been developing on one level or another for quite some time.

  I promptly fired off a note to him cutting off any relationship. I am usually more forgiving, but dishonesty on a crucial issue so early was not a good sign. Also part of my decision was the nature of his online writing both on FL and on Facebook—he struck me as manipulative and narcissistic.

  His response was to change his relationship status again, to being friends with benefits with Gerri. That did not wash with me and I told him so. He continued arguing with me that he was still single (?!). The online dispute went on for days, with me finally wishing him the best of luck in the future, and that I couldn’t live in his bizarre Orwellian universe where having a consistent sex partner with whom one lived equaled being single.

  Unfortunately, despite everyone’s best efforts to obtain clarity, these issues persist. Sub space and primary (in the context of a primary partner) are another couple of terms that seem to defy common definition. I tend to use some terms interchangeably, which doesn’t help. A Master will expect more from a slave than a Dominant will from a submissive. A top and a bottom most often have a casual relationship, sometimes labeling themselves “play partners.” These distinctions are fairly important, and I often have to remind myself to avoid blurring those lines.

  There’s a cute little joke circulating that explains the differences in roles: A slave will clean her Master’s boots exactly the way he wants them cleaned. A submissive will clean her Dominant’s boots the way s/he thinks best. If asked to clean her top’s boots, a bottom will say, “Clean your own damn boots. Now get your ass over here and spank me.”

  Chapter Four

  My Goth Gentleman: the Plusses and Pitfalls of Polyamory

  One day, I was poking around the Fetlife site and came upon the profile of someone who called himself “Master Karl.” I thought that was pretty ballsy, so I shot him a message. We corresponded for awhile, then graduated to long phone calls. I was wary until I researched him on Google, discovering that he called himself Master Karl because he considered himself a master artist, and to distinguish himself from the many other people out there who share the same first and last names.

  Karl was a most unusual man. He seemed to be part vampire, even though he was really a zombie freak. He maintained a nocturnal lifestyle, owned virtually every Mystery Science Theater episode and most classic monster movies. He may have owned more of them than Netflix. He’s Goth and gentlemanly.

  At the time, he suited me to T. Saved my emotional life, really, when I was still suffering over the death of my marriage.

  I wouldn’t ordinarily go to a man’s home for sex—or for any other reason—at the first meeting, but for one thing, Karl and I had talked so much that I felt very comfortable with him. Secondly, I’d researched the guy and knew exactly who he was. Third, I knew an acquaintance of Karl’s who spoke positively about him; in this sort of situation a personal reference can be very helpful.

  And I had developed friends who would watch my back. I set up “safe calls,” phone calls to a kinkster friend I would make at specific times. If I did not call as arranged, my friend would call 9-1-1 and send help. This is a standard procedure for a first meeting in a private setting, or even a second or third. I don’t set up safe calls if I’m playing in public, such as in a dungeon. It’s not necessary.

  So early one November I attired myself in a French maid’s outfit, garb which I had learned that not only Karl liked but is a fetish with many. I thought it was silly but what the hell—why not?

  He’d asked me to simply enter his home and go to the kitchen, which he referred to as “the scullery,” and fix breakfast. As our meeting was planned for an afternoon, I was startled by the quirkiness, but as matters developed, I found that quirky and Karl are synonymous.

  He’s intelligent, charming and entertaining. And did I mention that he’s extremely hot?

  I’ve already alluded to the playful nature of many kinksters. I think that the rest of the world sees the BDSM community as being full of Domly Doms, black leather and sadists. The reverse is true. Many kinksters are into SCA—the Society for Creative Anachronism. Many are into cosplay or animal play. And many are Goths, people who dress scary but are accepting and kind.

  It happens that some in the community get off on giving pain while others get off on receiving it, but many relationships exclude sadism/masochism. However, S and M gets all the press because, I think, most people don’t grasp or can’t understand how pain and pleasure can mingle. For me, a modicum of pain helps me focus, shutting down the chatter in my head, which I call my “monkey mind.” And it’s arousing, adding an edge to my enjoyment of sex. The combined stimuli can take me straight to heaven—orgasm or sub space.

  Karl and I evolved a lovely relationship that was characterized by frequent booty calls, occasional bondage and spanking, as well as work together on creative projects. When I hit a wall with my writing, he sent me links to sites with tips for getting around writer’s block. In turn, I posted zombie jokes on his Facebook page.

  I wasn’t in love with him, nor was he with me, and we both tend toward polyamory. Our relationship was shaped by the basic animal need to give and receive affection. He wasn’t a particularly gifted Dom, but we liked and respected each other. In many ways he kept me sane, since I go a little nutty when I don’t get cuddles and sex.

  We got along very well for about three months before I sensed Karl withdrawing from me. Although I asked “what’s up?” I didn’t get answers, but noted that the Facebook jokes and posts became scantier, and the sex more routine than playful. I realized I needed more than an introvert who kept Dracula’s timetable to fulfill me socially and emotionally.

  Push came to shove over our creative collaboration, a book of Karl’s stories I conceived, published and edited as his Christmas gift. I gave it to him in early December, hoping we’d finish the edits in time for his Christmas sales season—I figured he could sell it along with his horror art. He generally set up a table with art at local Goth events.

  That didn’t pan out, but he did have it in time for Valentine’s Day. Then came the “Dead Hooker’s Ball,” a local event which he had asked me to pass by, stating that he worked better when I wasn’t around. I wasn’t happy about that, but as he sketched between sales, I could understand that I was a distraction.

  Imagine my shock and surprise when I opened his Facebook page to discover that Karl billed his part in the event as a “book release party,” giving a reading with a beautiful dancer on the stage with him. They later became lovers.

  I felt very strongly as the person who’d conceived of the book, created it, published it and edited it, that I should have been there. Though I was deeply hurt and enraged, I wrote him a civilized email and discussed the situation with a couple of confidantes. One suggested that polyamory was not for me. Others said flat out, “Dump him.”


  But I was reluctant to dump him given that he’d misstepped only once. I had developed a policy of giving a guy two chances, on the theory of “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, I’m done with you.”

  After receiving a response to my email heavy on excuses and short on understanding or apologies, I set out to Karl’s house with a dubious heart.

  He broke up within thirty seconds of me stepping through the door.

  He said that he hadn’t been feeling a physical connection with me for some time but hadn’t wanted to break up because he found me such an “excellent” person and liked having me around. He’d been agonizing over the issue for days, just as I had. I believed him—his eyes were sunk in dark pits, a sign of his sleeplessness. I told him that I felt the same way, and we had a very civilized, loving evening with lots of talking, cuddling and kissing.

  About the incident at the Dead Hooker’s Ball, he admitted he’d been selfish and had no excuses.

  When we talked about our future, I expressed that I planned to take classes Monday through Wednesday nights. He asked anxiously, “What about next Monday?” referring to my birthday, for which we’d already made plans. I said, “Oh, for sure we’re getting together then.”

  He seemed relieved and said, “Good, because I already bought your birthday presents!”

  Looking back on the events, it’s clear that Karl had separated emotionally from me about a month before he let me in on that fact, but had kept me around anyhow while he was wooing another woman. I didn’t appreciate that—especially since I had asked to discuss the situation like grown-ups—but didn’t bother arguing about it. I live my life on the belief that friendliness is better than animosity.

  And so it goes. I feel that I learned and grew so much through this relationship and am delighted that Karl and I are still friendly.

  His approach to polyamory, however, wasn’t what I felt it should be based on what others had told me about the practice. Multiple partner relationships, like solid D/s relationships, are generally characterized by a high level of openness and honesty. What Karl had done—court another while failing to inform me—is considered uncool and deceptive.

  While I was initially seeing Karl I also was maintaining two other relationships that included sex. One was vanilla and the other was kinky, with a Dom. Karl knew, of course, as they all did. I took care to avoid hurt feelings by communicating with each frequently—I rarely allowed even a few hours go by before responding to a phone call, a text, or an email. And I took the initiative—a simple “good morning, darling” text is an easy way to tell a lover you’re thinking of him. And I never make love or even have sex with anyone I don’t value. Life’s too short, plus my time and heart are too important. So telling one of my men that I care isn’t a chore—it’s a pleasure.

  Some poly relationships find everyone living in the same house, which I imagine would make communication and caring easy. And it’s not uncommon to see a personal ad stating that a ménage-minded couple is looking for another to include in their sex lives. Those relationships are generally shorter than the “leather family” that may evolve when a poly group is living together.

  So polyamory can take many shapes and forms, and my belief is that it’s all okay as long as no one gets hurt.

  Chapter Five

  Tops, Bottoms, Switches and the Gender Fluid

  Karl was a very mellow Master, which really didn’t suit me. For me, the most thrilling word in the English language is “Kneel.” But I also have a naturally dominating personality, which can get a little confusing.

  Then I discovered people who call themselves “switches.” As you might imagine, a switch is a person who may take either the Dom or sub role, or, more realistically, top or bottom. It’s unusual for people who style themselves “Master” or “Mistress” to ever call themselves “slave” or to assume that role. Same with Dominants and submissives. As for me, how I feel depends upon the relationship. With Karl, though I showed him considerable deference, I was more a bottom than a slave, and neither outside of sex. I would have happily enslaved myself to Trapper forever (and if he’d been smarter, he would have taken advantage of that).

  But I doubt that Trapper would have wanted that based on his revealing himself as a switch. One afternoon, I walked into the condo bathroom to find Trapper in the bathtub. I joined him and discovered one of the black behemoth dildos was up his butt—astonishing since it was about a foot long. After I got over the shock—how had he done it? Why?—I found myself experimenting with this new form of play. Eventually I tied Trapper to his bed with a robe sash and started to fool around with him.

  I was worse than incompetent, and realized that I needed a lot of education and practice to become a skilled Dominatrix.

  After I changed my designation on Fetlife from “submissive” to “hedonist” and then to “switch,” I was deluged by messages from lovely young men who wanted nothing more than to be spanked, paddled, whipped or flogged. So I read Jay Wiseman’s SM 101, put together a toy bag and made my first set of floggers.

  I used meetings I found through Fetlife to explore my Dominatrix side. At one, I bumped into a man I’ll call Lorenzo. I’d met him briefly on another occasion when I was helping an acquaintance move, and Lorenzo was, at the time, her sub. He’d also advertised his services as a massage therapist, and we got together one Sunday for a massage.

  The massage was very nice, and he seemed especially gifted at rubbing my feet. At the end of the massage, I asked him if he’d be willing to be my service sub. A service sub is exactly that—a person who performs services for his Dominant. And because he was a very experienced bottom, and I was an inexperienced top, he was willing to both submit and teach at the same time.

  Even before I put out a request for training by an experienced bottom, I’d received requests from subs to serve me. (Bless their kinky little hearts). One sweet young man wanted to be my first sub. As he was also inexperienced, I said no—politely of course. I felt that an inexperienced Domme plus an inexperienced sub equaled disaster.

  Another delightful fellow contacted me asking to worship my feet. My initial reaction was “Huh?” until I realized that I could be the recipient of free foot massages or even pedicures.

  Delilah, a cross-dresser who was very experienced, responded to my call for help, shyly admitting that s/he’d been eyeing me from afar. Also, s/he’d indicated that s/he delights in bringing out the FemmeDomme in the inexperienced.

  All those relationships fizzled out because at the time, I wasn’t really a top. I had wanted to gain the experience so I could occasionally top if a switch wanted me to; I wanted to be competent. But topping wasn’t a fetish of mine, and I simply wasn’t motivated to explore it.

  But I had started friendships with FemmeDommes and found them wonderful. They tend to be very intelligent, personable and accomplished women. Though I was mostly a bottom they seemed happy to accept me, allowing me to attend their meetings and social events, for which I was grateful.

  That mindset continued until one day I attended a hands-on demo, a situation that enabled me to practice my new-found topping skills in a supportive, female-oriented environment. Using pretty purple cord, I tied up the naughty bits of a very kind, cooperative gentleman, then secured him to a chair and had my wicked way with him, testing my new home-made floggers, scourges and a cute pair of purple flip-flops. I learned that the flip-flops hurt more than the other implements and, more importantly, that I am a bit of a sadist. This was definitely new news, but I although I found the experience fun, I wasn’t aroused sexually, the way most tops are by the experience.

  Still, I enjoyed it and continued exploring this aspect of myself. I’ve discovered that my style as a Dominatrix is playful, affectionate, and communicative, though I do not hesitate to punish when necessary. I love to taunt, tease and flirt, though I don’t have sex with a bottom unless we’re already lovers. I enjoy mild CBT—cock and ball torture—and of course, sensation play, bondage and discipli
ne.

  I don’t top often, so topping is a special event. And I am aware through my experiences as a submissive that this activity can have a profound emotional impact. So I dress for the occasion, often in a corset, tights, a cute short skirt and a pair of way cool boots that I call my Dominatrix boots—they have spiked rhinestone heels, pointy toes and rhinestone clasps up the sides. I’m made up, hair curled. The care I take with my appearance matches the submissive’s gift to me—he’s giving himself to me so I can do what I please with him. I like to honor that trust.

  Beforehand, I have also devoted some time to planning an effective, creative, mutually satisfying scene within the boundaries my subject has set. I ensure that my equipment is clean, in good repair and complete. “Complete” usually means checking to see if I have enough condoms and lube.

  After we begin, I usually will start by securing the sub. I’ll do his wrists first, then blindfold him and perhaps gag him. I don’t always want to gag my subject—as I said, I’m playful and communicative, and I like to chat with my sub. I also enjoy listening to his reactions.

  Sensory deprivation most commonly is blindfolding, though some enjoy giving or receiving total sensory deprivation. One man I dated said he found it peaceful and restful. I think it’s boring, but hey—if someone else likes it, I’ll wrap him in Ace bandages like a mummy then read a book until he’s ready for release. No problem, but I prefer to orchestrate scenes that are more imaginative, even elegant.