by Vi Keeland
My body was always my greatest obstacle when it came to truly enjoying sex. I was always a heavier-set woman; “full-figured” is the term that most people use though I always just feel fat. It doesn’t matter what fancy terminology or trendy wordage is currently appropriate, when I find myself in bed with a man I’m instantly on high alert, careful not to let him explore my body too much, fearful that I will turn him off…and turn him away. I wonder if other women of my size feel that way and then I think of the countless magazines, reality television shows and celebrities; all plus size, who claim that they love their curves and wonder if it’s really just me.
A vague thought runs through my head before surfacing as a concrete idea. I know there are dating sites for almost every type of persuasion; gay, Latino, Christian. There had to be BDSM dating sites. Would joining one, even out of curiosity, be such a bad thing? What did I really have to lose?
My cell phone interrupted my thoughts. I fumbled for the phone as the book slid to the floor. I glanced at the caller ID; it was my friend Leslie.
“Hey, Leslie. What’s up?”
“Abby! Where have you been? I’ve been texting you for over an hour. Have you got something going on with some guy that I don’t know about?” Her laughter floated out through the phone and I found myself growling at her timing.
“No such luck. I just finished the last of the 50 Shades books. I think I must have just zoned out there for couple hours.”
“Over a book? You? I doubt that. Were they really that good?”
“I don’t know if I’d say that they were the best books that I’ve ever read or anything, but they really make you think about things. Like why I keep going out with the same kinds of guys, the ones who like me fine until things get serious and then they bail. Or the ones who tell me I’m really nice, but not someone they want to date. Pretty face, but that’s it. Which translates into, I’m fat.”
“Abby, don’t start with the fat comments again. You’re not fat. There’s just more of you to love.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, if I had a nickel for every time I heard that I’d get liposuction.” I heard her sigh on her end of the line.
“Listen, Leslie, there’s some stuff I’ve got to do tonight. I’ll call you tomorrow, or better yet; do you want to do lunch? I’ve got only one client in the late afternoon.”
Leslie worked in the same marketing firm I did, in the Human Resources department. I handled clients out in the field. We try to grab lunch together a couple times a week, but my schedule sometimes made that hard.
“Yeah, okay. Sounds like a plan. I’ll call you and we can pick a spot.” We ended the call and I dropped the phone on the table. Spotting the book on the floor, I picked it up, running my fingers over the cover. You’re out there somewhere, my Mr. Grey. I just need to start looking.
Throwing off the afghan, I went to my office and turned on my laptop. A quick online search gave me several sites to pick from, one with what looked like many members in my area. I clicked the link to sign up. What do I have to lose?
My cat jumped up on my desk, probably attracted by my mumblings at the laptop.
“Hey, Big Guy. You want to help me set up this profile?” The cat didn’t answer; I was on my own. I’d done this on so many other sites, but this time my hands were trembling as I typed. Get a grip, girl. It’s not a life or death situation here. It’s just a dating site.
“Okay. So, first up: username. Um…Abby Phillips?” Not so original. The site, thankfully, had an autosuggest feature. One immediately caught my eye: Miss Venus.
I worked through the sign up page and the member profile page opened up. I scanned the choices. Some were pretty straightforward.
“Well, I’m female. I’m straight.”
But the rest made me stop. Orientation? Dominant? Submissive? Slave? Switch? What the hell?
I pick submissive. Not sure slave is in my nature. And I’m not even sure what a switch is.
Age, okay, I know that; 26. I cringe at the next couple boxes: height and weight. Okay. Five foot seven, no problem. The other box I look at for a long, long time. I finally enter a number, backspace the last two digits and then re-enter them, minus twenty pounds. Maybe it would look better if I entered it in kilograms. I sighed and hit enter.
After much thought I compose a profile that I hope sounds passable, not as unsure or insecure sounding as I feel inside. I searched through the picture file on my laptop and found the least embarrassing picture I could and uploaded it. After the profile is complete, I sit back, marveling at what I’ve just done.
“Well, Big Guy, it’s up to fate and the internet gods.” I absently scratched the cat under his chin, looking at the screen, not sure if I wanted a guy to contact me or not. What would I say? Was I really ready to go through dating hell again, to set myself up for all the trauma and heartache? As much as I didn’t want to go through all that, this time seemed different. There was something deeper, some other level I wanted to explore and I sincerely hoped this site would give me that.
The cat bumped against my hand, bringing me back to the present.
“Okay. Dinner for two coming up.” The cat followed me to the kitchen and we shared dinner; kibble for him and a salad for me, with a nice glass of Chardonnay. After cleaning up the kitchen, I ran a hot bath, shedding my sweats and sinking into a wealth of lavender scented bubbles.
I let my mind drift, the steam and hot water relaxing me. I didn’t want to think about my past dating experiments, but some of them rose up, unbidden. The guy who, after one date, took me to meet his parents and announced we were getting married, without having mentioned anything to me. Or the guy who spent our first date explaining the meaning of each and every tattoo on his body. It was the first date I ever walked out on, feeling like a failure for even going in the first place. He later told me my photo was outdated and I should use a different one; I didn’t ‘represent’ well in real life. I blocked his profile and then switched to a different dating site.
But there had been one or two guys with whom I’d hit it off, at least at first. The construction guy with the most beautiful blue eyes and huge biceps who I’d spent a weekend with in a cheap hotel, only to find out a few days later he was married.
I thought about Jack West, the guy with the blue eyes, and the weekend of unbridled sex we’d had. I’d felt sexy and confident; an equal partner in that encounter. I didn’t think it was true love, but I felt we had a serious connection, on more than just a sexual level. All an illusion, as it turned out, but the memory of the sex still sent a wave of heat through my body.
The warmth of the water and the memory of Jack lit a fire that spread slowly through my body. I let my hands drift lightly over my body, my skin silky smooth from the bath oils. I closed my eyes, my hands sliding over my breasts, skimming over my stomach, finally moving between my legs. They relaxed, falling open, my fingers finding my clit, already swollen and sensitive from the memories of Jack, of his hands and mouth and tongue on my body. With him, everything had felt so natural. He had been the first man I’d truly enjoyed having him watch me as we had sex. Normally the thought of the lights on during sex had sent me sinking deep under the covers for shelter, but with him I’d been unashamed of what I considered as my less than perfect body.
The image of him on the rumpled sheets, lying beneath me as I straddled his hips, his thick cock buried to the hilt in me came flooding back, sending ripples of pleasure through my body as my fingers teased my clit. I’d ridden him hard for a long time, circling my hips, grinding my body against his. He’d finally pulled me down so my breasts were in his face, sucking and licking each in turn, pulling hard with his mouth – and occasionally his teeth – on my sensitive nipples. The sensations were incredible. I came hard, crying out, my body shaking from the intensity as I fell onto his muscular chest, his arms wrapped around me, my orgasm drenching him and the sheets beneath.
He’d rolled me over then in one swift movement as the aftershocks still wracke
d my body, bracing his knees on the bed, thrusting into me hard and fast, his eyes locked with mine as he held himself above me, as I ran my hands over those wonderfully strong arms.
He came quickly and just as hard as I had, each thrust accompanied by ever-louder grunts. With his head tipped back and those startling blue eyes finally closed in ecstasy, he came, his orgasm sending an amazing flood of wet heat washing through my body. Instantly I came again, my hips rising to meet his final penetrating thrusts, as his cock pumped the last of his orgasm into me.
My hips were moving now as if Jack was there with me, the heat of the bath water splashing against me, mimicking the sensation of his hot load shooting into me. The water sloshed over the edge of the tub as I brought myself to an intense orgasm, my body jerking in diminishing spasms as my body gradually relaxed. My fingers finally slowing their frantic pace, still rubbing and stroking my clit, but now more slowly, languorously, lingering currents of pleasure still flowing through me.
The water had cooled and I climbed out of the bath, pulling the drain, drying myself slowly with a big fluffy towel. I went through my Sunday ritual of using my most expensive body lotion, rubbing the exotic smelling liquid over my skin, imagining a time when I might be going through all this not just for myself, but for someone else’s enjoyment. Closing the door on the bathroom cabinet, I took a moment to look at my face in the mirror.
Same old face; green eyes, shoulder length blonde hair. No wrinkles, yet. Pulling my hair up, away from my face, I toy once again with the idea of cutting it short. But I’d had a pixie hair cut in grade school and the memories of being mistaken for a boy still haunted me. I let it go, watching as it tumbled down around my shoulders. You’re safe from scissors once again.
Dressed in my nightgown and robe, I walked past my office. The desk light is on, the laptop dimmed but still powered up. I hit the touchpad and the screen brightened. The page for Collar Me is still open, right where I left it. And blinking in the upper left corner is a tiny red envelope icon; someone had sent me a message. I swallowed hard.
I pulled my office chair closer, hesitating just a moment before clicking the icon. The messages—there’s more than one—opened on my screen, and I held my breath as I read through them. The first one was so disgusting I deleted it before I even finished reading the first sentence.
The next message was pretty bland, but the photo enclosed was of a man wearing a wig, fishnet stockings and not much more. Um….not what I was looking for.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. I clicked on the last brief message, thankfully with no additional photo included.
To: Venus247
From: Dom Meyers
‘Hello Venus247,
I saw your profile tonight and it interested me a great deal. If you’d like to chat, please reply. I’m new to this site, and new to the BDSM world as well. I get the sense you are too.
“Oh, holy shit.” I clicked on the link to his profile. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but I wasn’t sure why; he wasn’t a client at least. His profile listed his height at 6’ 3”, with black hair and blue eyes. Oh, blue eyes and tall. So far, so good.
He had several photos available in his profile, all highlighting his chiseled face and those impossibly blue eyes. The first was of him in a tight black t-shirt and low-slung jeans, leaning against a wall. He looked lean and rangy, not skinny, but not all big muscles. As much as I like husky guys, his body was very appealing to me. And I certainly liked the way he looked in his jeans.
But the next photo I opened took my breath away. He was looking directly into the camera, blue eyes so piercing they seemed almost unreal. His dark hair was just messy enough to keep it from looking too perfect. The smile undid me though; boyish and charming, but with a hint of something dark lurking around the edges. No innocent boy here at all; that’s a real man behind those good looks.
At first glance, he was almost pin-up pretty, but there was an edge to all that prettiness that made me suspect being dominant would be quite enjoyable for him. I could imagine him shirtless, barefoot, wearing the tattered jeans Christian Grey had worn—and nothing else—wielding a whip, while I was restrained, naked, begging him to use it on me, again…and again.
I realized I was breathing heavy, my heart pounding, my palms damp. Holy shit, just from a photo?
And no fishnet stockings or no women’s wigs in evidence in any of the photos, thank God. And below his photo was a line of green text: Member Is Online Now.
“I’ll be damned.” I went back to his message, read it again. Nothing offensive, he seemed normal so far. It took a long time for me to decide what to say. Finally I just said I was interested in chatting. I hit send.
Almost instantly Mr. Meyers replied back.
To: Miss Venus
From: Dom Meyers
Hi Venus,
Thank you for replying back. I’m really glad you did. To be honest, I was beginning to think I’d made a mistake in joining this site. While I know BDSM is not the norm, some of the replies I’ve gotten had me a little spooked.
Tell me a little about yourself and let’s see if we have anything in common.
(And my name is Jake…)
For the first time in years, I was late to work. It had been well past two o’clock in the morning when Jake and I had finally said good-night. His final message had kept me awake for a long time after we went off line; he’d asked if I wanted to meet in person.
Leslie finally called to remind me of our lunch plans. I’d spent the morning in a daze, robotically working through my emails and other tasks, going over in my head the conversations with Jake. Leslie said to meet her in the lobby of the building; we could walk around the corner to the Italian deli for a roast beef sandwich.
“So, what’s up with you today, Abby? You’re a million miles away.” We were in line, waiting to place our order. Leslie was making eyes at the counterman, like she always did. I usually teased her, claiming she only flirted to get extra sautéed mushrooms on her sandwich for free. But not today.
“I did something last night.” I wasn’t sure how to explain this. “I signed up on a dating site.”
Leslie rolled her eyes. “You’re kidding. Again? Which one this time?” We were at the counter. I placed my order, paid up, grabbed my soda and moved out of the line to grab a table. I heard Leslie rattle off her order and then she was right behind me, practically stepping on my heels so she could pry the gory details out of me.
“Okay. Spill the story. What have you done?” She took a sip of her San Pellegrino.
“Promise you won’t say anything until I’m finished, okay?” Leslie nodded.
I took a deep breath. “I registered on a BDSM website. I met a man on the site and we chatted most of the night.” Leslie was watching me, her mouth open, totally shocked.
“He’s asked to meet me in person.” I hesitated. “And I think I’m going to agree to meet him.”
Leslie was silent for a long time, staring at me. “You are nuts. A BDSM site? Since when do you like pain?” She sat back suddenly. “It’s those damn books, isn’t it?”
“It’s hard to explain, I guess. There something there that intrigues me. Not so much the pain, or not only the pain. But the whole control thing, giving up control to someone else in return for pleasure. It’s confusing, but it’s something that I want to try.”
Leslie shook her head. Our sandwiches arrived and we were quiet for a minute, trying to divide and conquer the behemoth sandwiches. We chewed in silence for a while when she finally spoke.
“You know I love you, Abby, but I’ve got to say, I think you’re making a big mistake.” She looked at me, her brown eyes serious. “But I know you, when you get something stuck in your mind, there’s no talking you out of it.”
I laughed. Leslie knew me better than I knew myself sometimes.
“So, now who is this mystery bondage guy? What’s he look like? Does he have a name?” Leslie finally gave in and attacked her sandwich
with a fork, winding sticky globs of mozzarella cheese like spaghetti around the tines.
“Well, he’s over six feet, black hair, blue eyes….” Leslie grunted through a mouthful of sandwich. “…on the lean side. Not skinny, but wiry, maybe? Hard to tell in the picture, but not a really muscular guy. Nice looking. His name’s Jake.”
“Jake. Hmm, so you’re going to really do this?”
I nodded, wrapping up my sandwich in its paper. Suddenly I was nervous, my stomach fluttering. I took a deep breath.
“Yeah, I really am.”
When I got home, I immediately opened up my laptop, clicking on the website. There was a message from Jake waiting for me. I opened it gingerly, almost as if it were a ticking bomb. Somehow, safe in the darkness last night, lit only by the screen on my laptop, it had all seemed exciting and fun; in the harsh light of the fading afternoon Texas sun, it seemed silly and scary. What the hell am I doing?
It reminded me I hadn’t given him an answer to his question: if I’d like to meet in person. I took a deep breath, clicking the message icon.
To: Miss Venus
From: Dom Meyers
Hi Abby,
I enjoyed talking to you last night; I hope you did as well. I don’t want to rush you into meeting in person; I’m willing to let you make that decision. But I think we really have a connection. So, the ball is in your court (although I’m rushing the net).
Jake
I put the cursor in the reply box, watching it blink. Closing my eyes, I typed ‘Yes, I’d like to meet you too.’ I looked at the words on the screen and then, before I could change my mind, I clicked send.
My first reaction was to close the laptop and leave the room, but that was foolish. It was also foolish to watch the laptop screen, waiting for a reply. It brought back uncomfortable high school memories of sitting by the phone on a Saturday night, waiting for it to ring.