Incoming Rant and Ramble about being a BDSM Mentor

Grey sky leaking the bedroom windows, a soft rain on the roof over my head – laying naked in bed this winterly morning, I’ve been reflecting on my time acting as a mentor, of sorts, to those that have wanted or needed a recurring figure and friend to help them in their own journey, be they new and learning or savvy to the ways but finding new wrinkles in their mind.

When I first learned that such a thing as a BDSM Mentor existed, I didn’t really know what to make of it – was it key for some special sexual dynamic? Another riff on addressing one as ‘Sir’? It wasn’t until I read up on it, and read thoughts from the community on this here internet, that I realised what it was. And it spoke to me.

A mentor needs no ceremony, no bells and whistles, no special speech assigned to them – they merely are a friend on standby, someone to offer resources and guidance, someone who stands by the individual for as long as the individual needs their help.

A mentor is a preference though – one does not require a mentor. I didn’t have one, I stumbled through knowledge and here I am – and if someone like myself can do it, anyone can. No, a mentor is purely for those who feel they need the guidance. Someone to drop in and chat.

So in late 2016 / early 2017, I started to give it some thought. Could I be a mentor, I thought? Do I know enough? Can I help others? Am I worthy of their time? I doubted myself but my desire to help others where I struggled won over. I ran it by my kitten, clearing misconceptions, making sure that – if I were to chat with anyone about these things, man or woman, that she would be comfortable with that notion.

So I began to offer it more openly to readers here, being sure not to push the concept or make any shy person feel obligated, as I sometimes have been known to feel. I just wanted people to know someone could chat with them.

It became a thing of growth for me. I learned to be careful of influencing others with my own thoughts on kink, instead creating a space for them to feel at ease in their own skin. I listened and didn’t speak unless they asked. It’s not my place to interfere, I didn’t want to put thoughts in their head. If they needed a push, Well I would do that gently and only if I felt it was safe to do so. I didn’t want to rewrite their thought process.

Since 2017 I have been blessed to have had the opportunity to help people work through some of their own thoughts – and seeing these people go on to happy D/s relationships has been a beautiful and fulfilling thing for me, knowing in some tiny way that I helped them. It brings a tear to my eye.

It’s strange to me, when someone approaches me and apologises for their scattered email of thoughts or for wasting my time – because I’ve never had a problem with any of that. I’ve never felt out by an email, never minded wandering thoughts – as I’m the same – and I make the time to check my emails and blog. More than that, perhaps I think it’s strange because I can see myself in that person – scared and doubting, unsure about what they’re doing.

I don’t offer mentoring as much as I used to. A flare up in my anxiety caused me to doubt myself, leaving scars that remind me of those troubling thoughts – Who are you to offer that help? No one wants a stranger interfering. Just stop what you are doing.

But I try to relent and push through and still offer help where I can, because once in a while someone will write and say they’ve been trying to write for months but couldn’t overcome their own anxiety.

Being a mentor and mentoring fulfils my soul in many ways, but it has taught me growth. I’ve learned about who I am, about being a teacher, about the sides within me that someone I’m helping helps me see in the first place, thus teaching me.

It’s just a wholesome, lovely thing. And the fact that this person trusts me enough to let me in and help? That’s an honour.

Hellfire

Beatrice, O heavenly guide!

Lead me to my damnation,

I’ll happily follow you through the woods if it meant one last chance to sink my teeth into your flesh, to coat your nipple with my saliva,

To hear the fabric tear and cut you loose.

O Beatrice, what I would give

to baptise you come the morning,

To be rid of the agony of want,

To drown you in the waves of my ignorance.

Beatrice, O heavenly guide!

I am lost without your light

Join me in darkness

Please forgive me.

On My Religion, Sexuality and Love

If you’re a long time reader, chances are you’ve read me touch on my catholic upbringing as a child and into my teens and how that affected my sexuality. Talking or writing about it at length, though, is something I haven’t done here – and for no real reason, I just haven’t felt it was an interesting topic to anyone but me.

I want to address that. However I will ask you to bear with me, it might get messy.

My father and mother were devout Catholics and raised me as such. I did the whole nine yards – reconciliation, monthly confessions, communion, Ash Wednesday, Palm Sunday’s, Stations of the cross, Sunday Mass – the whole shebang.

We were a conservative Catholic household and lived a conservative Catholic life. Even the sheer sight of me shirtless around the house would cause outcry. Playful or not, I cannot say, but I just wanted to raise this point.

When I was 12, I started to catch on about sex. My dad, when confronted with the notion, told me flatly ‘Yeah, we did!’. As an adult, my mum would tell me it was my dad’s job to address it as she did to my sisters. As an adult, my dad would tell me he never did enough for me. I wonder if he remembers that conversation.

As a 12 year old though, I was weird sexually. I’m taking masturbation in the weirdest places, I’m talking being excited that I’d have the house myself so I can be naked, I’m talking the primal masturbating in the mud in a frenzy – weird.

Thing was, I was making sense of myself. I found the pulse within myself that reacted against my catholic teachings to be naked, to be primal, to fight back against the feelings of shame – which I very well have now writing this, even though I understand how implausible those feelings are.

This reactionary behaviour paved the way for me to explore myself sexually as a teenager, which led to writing erotica and eventually to the wide world of BDSM and kink.

Looking back as I write this, sex – for me – is a battle between two minds. There’s the part of me who is relaxed and in control and vibrant and flourishing and then —- there’s the insecure part of me, questioning – constantly questioning, telling me that what I want, what I’ve always wanted, won’t be accepted. Somehow I know this to be a product of what I was taught, teaching me that to be naked, to want degradation, humiliation, is all wrong. Disgusting.

These days I have good control over the other part of my brain, though it does exist during my most intimate moments. However, during my twenties, that wasn’t the case.

I can distinctly remember feeling the rush of being in the moment, sexually and as a dominant, and then coming down from that high terrifies, not knowing what that meant, guilty because of my actions – my need to command, to dress, to be sadistic.

I thought I was in the wrong for years, with every kinky discovery bringing with it a wave of shame and a terrifying feeling that, after so long of living my life, I would have to reboot EVERYTHING I knew. This feeling, this scary realisation, led me to suppress it, at this point strengthened by the fact that I was in a relationship with a woman I loved but had zero interest in kink, D/s or BDSM.

Hell, I don’t even know now, years later, if my depression and anxiety is merely hereditary or a manifestation of my upbringing as a conservative Catholic. I can only guess and say it’s hereditary plus the upbringing PLUS my social experiences as a teenager. I didn’t have a lot of friends. I was shy. I was quiet. I still am.

What helped me, what still does – is trying to remember that my own development is important, that my happiness is important and that people like you, my dear readers, or kitten will accept me and my kinks and that it doesn’t mean I’m insane or sick or mentally ill.

These days, I’m not a practicing religious person – but I am spiritual. I live by a set of rules – to be kind to people, to love openly and accept everyone. I pray for my loves and my life and my animals but I consider my relationship between myself and God something entirely different to what’s prescribed in the bible. If that makes me agnostic or something, so be it, but I’d like to think that love is all you need and that if God exists, He – or she – would want me to be happy to my fullest extent. Outside of that, I try to be as kinky as I want 24/7. True to myself, in other words.

So was religion / being religious the catalyst for my feelings during sex? My anxiety? My development as a man? I’m not sure. I cannot say. I’m only a writer, half naked, musing to himself on a cool Monday morning.

12 Days of Kinkmas – Day #8 – “The Gift”

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Thomas Jackson heard the crash of the collective shopping items, he heard the shriek of his wife Theodora, and turned from locking his Toyota to where his wife was standing in the doorway, unmoving.
The two had just come back from braving the unnervingly slow crowds to squeeze in their Christmas shopping and had found everything they needed to with relative ease.
“Tom…”
“What is it?”
Yet Tom saw as soon as he peered over the top of her, something their height difference allowed for.
Standing just a few metres from their front door, insidetheir own house was a completely nude woman; back straight, eyes blank forward, hands behind her back.
“The fuck?” Was all Tom could say.
“Who are you?” Theo was raising her voice, her dark brown eyes now seemingly black, filled with fury or confusion or both.
“How’d you get in here, huh?”
“She could be mentally ill, Theo.” Was all Tom could say.
Theo couldn’t hear him; she was talking over him, right in the face of this woman.
“Is this a prank? Whom do you work for?”
“Theo..”
Tom had moved from the open doorway, and then thought of any spectators from outside that might hear – and shuffled the shopping in and gently closed the door.
“Do you not speak, huh?”
Theo’s Italian heritage was starting to show. She had that way about her, Tom thought, where she could speak like her father, the most intimidating man Tom had ever met.

The nude woman did not flinch despite the ferocity of Theo’s tone. She simply stood, unblinking, eyes forward, posture perfect, hands behind her back.
Her eyes were grey..or blue…or green, Tom couldn’t tell, they seemed to shift as he moved slowly towards her.
She was slender, the slightest trace of her rib cage poking through her skin. Her skin itself was pale, with the ghost of colour, a light honeyed colour, ever so faint.
Against her pale skin, the dark patch of pubic hair that marked her landing strip was striking, drawing Tom’s eyes down to it. He instantly looked away, this time to Theo, who was nearing the silent woman.
“Honey…”
“Hold on…”
Theo was reaching out with her hand, towards the collar that was around the woman’s neck. The woman never looked down at Theo, her eyes didn’t register a single thought.
“What in the fuck…?” Was all Tom could say.
Attached to the thick leathery collar was a silver metal circle pendant, with writing etched into it – unreadable from where Tom was standing.
Theo slowly reached her hand out towards the metal pendant, her mind ready for a potential violent outburst in which it would have to react.
Yet she grabbed a hold of it and was able to lean in to read the writing, all the while the nude woman kept her eyes forward and her breathing relaxed.
“My name is Snow. I am a gift to you both. Please take good care of me.”
Theo read the words aloud slowly, confused, bewildered.
A pause, then:

“This is a fucking joke, right? It’s gotta be. Who would give us this..this…woman as a gift.”
Theo released her grip from the pendant, letting it fall back against the nude woman’s neck.
“We need to get her to the police, Theo.”
A pause.
Theo was looking into the eyes of the woman so named Snow. The woman was looking away from Theo. BeyondTheo.
“Can you talk?”
Keeping her eyes focused on a point beyond Theo, the woman spoke in a voice barely audible. It was soft and graceful to the ear.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
Theo’s anger went into overdrive again, prompting Thomas to touch her gently on the arm. She shot him a glance with a flash of anger but deep down she knew what he was saying – lower your voice, this woman needs our help.
“Snow doesn’t speak unless directly spoken to, as instructed.”
“Instructed by whom?” Thomas beat Theo to this one. “Somebody sent you then?”
“He sent Snow. He instructed Snow. He said that you needed help, more now than ever.”
If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theo was looking at Thomas now. “He? Do you have any idea-“
“He is the watcher of all. He sees all truths.”
The woman named snow had her eyes forward, focused and calm. There was no wide-eyed wonder there, no cult-like fanaticism, and just blank eyes telling facts.
“Maybe you ought to go to the police after all…” Theodora said. “I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine and have a bath.”
Thomas nodded, looked to the woman and sighed.
He went to grab his overcoat.

The woman named Snow stood in the reception area of the downtown precinct, wrapped up in Thomas’s overcoat. Her eyes were glassy, focusing on a distant point, somewhere behind the officer at the desk in front of them.
“And where did you say you found her?” Said the middle-aged officer with a five o’ clock shadow, his eyes blue and tired and sinking into his skull.
“My wife and I found her nude in our house and-“
“Any sign of forced entry?”
“I’m not sure…I came right here when she started mentioning a watcher of truths or something…”
The tired officer regarded the woman with his weary eyes then looked back to Thomas and let out a sigh.
“Alright, well we can take her in, call up the local hospitals, and see if we can find anything. You get home to your wife. It’s cold outside.”
The man was coming out from behind the desk and into the open area. He gently took the woman named Snow by the arm and escorted her down the corridor to the left and out of view.
The woman didn’t look back.

 

If you don’t want to go, don’t fucking go but you better start packing while I’m gone.
Theodora laid back in her bath, listening to the sound of rain falling from her phone resting on its charger on the bathroom sink.
The argument she had with Thomas on the drive home from shopping played over and over again in her mind.
It all started when Thomas brought up that he didn’t want to go to Theo’s family Christmas, for he felt uncomfortable at how her brothers spoke to him, and sometimes lack thereof.
She didn’t know why she had gotten so mad and yelled so fiercely. They certainly had been arguing more so than usual, the product of a looming Christmas perhaps, but was that really an excuse?
Sighing, Theo emptied her wine glass and stepped out of the bath.
“A towel, ma’am?”
Theo jumped, her instinctive reaction kicking in to cover her exposed body, and stumbled back to rest against the wall behind her.
The woman named Snow stood with her arms outstretched holding a towel, still completely nude.
Theo regarded her a moment with shock, then realisation kicked in.
“Ugh, Tom hasn’t left yet? Really? All this time and he hasn’t…?”
Theo grabbed the towel, wrapped it around her and went to open the door and exude all her fury on the man that, for some reason, had been loafing around.
Theo stopped, a thought emerging ahead of all the others – what if the woman had done something to Tom and all this time was luring her into a false sense of –
The woman named Snow rushed Theo, slamming her against the wall, holding her tightly in place. Theo struggled against the sharp pain squeezing against her wrists, her eyes darting around for something anything, to fight off the woman.
Theo tried leaning across to reach the empty wine bottle resting on the edges around the bath but the woman grabbed her by the arm, spinning her around so that Theo was facing the wall, her ass exposed now, and held her there.
“I have an idea what you want, Ma’am.”
“Who are you? What have you done with Tom?”
Theo looked to her side to try and catch a glimpse of the woman, just in time to see her reach to the bathroom railing and slide off Tom’s black belt that had been sitting there for months since the last party they went to in June.
Theo heard the leather slink off the railing and braced herself, bowing her head against the wall.
She didn’t realise she was panting until the first strike against her ass, the force of the act causing her body to jolt against the wall.
Her head throbbed with pain, her ass feeling like it was stung by a wasp – childhood memories came washing over, absurd and forgotten, of being bitten by a wasp as a six year old.

“Confess how you feel..”
“Wha…?”
“Confess.”
“You don’t know shit about ho-“
Another crack, another outburst of blinding pain. Her skin felt like it was on fire.
Theo went to move back, to knock the woman off guard but the woman held her in place, her force bizarre and disquieting.
Theo went to scream, it came wailing out of her lungs.
The woman struck her again; the scream warbled and fizzled to a low strangled whimper.
“Confess how you feel.”
“Listen, you little psycho bitch, you don’t know the first-“
The woman struck her again, this time across her cunt. Excruciating pain shot through her lips, zigzagging across her ribcage and to her skull.
Theo tried to catch her breath, to load another insult ready to fire.
The woman struck her again – and again – and again, each time repeating the same words to her – confess.
Each times the same words, each time the biting pain, all consuming, unyielding.
“Stop!” Theo screamed in an outburst, throwing her arms out with all her might to throw the woman off. The woman kept coming, raising the belt to strike upwards across Theo’s body – her back, left to right then right to left, down across her legs, each side of her ass, then back under to her cunt.
“Stop…” came Theo’s wavering voice.
“Confess!”
Another stab of searing pain hit Theo right across her lips, this time knocking her off balance and face first into the wall. Hitting her head felt like someone had taken a concrete slab to her temples.
Every inch of her body was searing with red-hot intensity, biting and pinching and on fire.
I’m not happy!”

Theo turned her head upwards to look at the woman, who held her hand in the air mid swing.
With that admission, everything began to crumple.
Theo fell to her knees, embracing the stiff coldness of the bathroom tiles and sinking into the pain coursing across her entire body.
The tears came fast then, building in her eyes, blinking away down her cheeks.
I haven’t been for a while I don’t really know why there just doesn’t seem to be any…any…”
Words ran freely from her lips but one caught in her throat, one she couldn’t get out.
The woman named Snow dropped the belt. It clattered to the floor.
She knelt down besides Theo, eventually sitting down on her folded legs.
The woman named Snow stretched out her arms and Theo crumbled into them, sobbing fiercely, her entire body heaving with every mighty sob.
In that moment, Theo felt guilty. It swirled in her gut at full steam.
Yet she felt child like, clinging to this stranger, her torturer, and their breasts brushing up against one another.
n that moment, her body still taking its relief from her latest choking sob, Theo looked into the eyes of this stranger. What met her was calming green eyes, relaxed, warm, understanding – accepting.
Something within Theo drove her to this woman’s lips.
It was an aggressive kiss – forceful and hungry – yet the woman met it with full force, finding a tuft of hair behind Theo’s hair and pulling sharply.
Theo panted, a tangled moan escaping, and allowed her to be led gently down to the cool bathroom tiles.
The woman fed upon every inch of Theo’s body.

***

Thomas stepped through the door and kicked off his shoes.
Now that the weirdness was sorted, it was time to get back to the regular weirdness that was dealing with Christmas – first step – wrapping presents.
When he rounded the corner into the living room, what he saw froze him still.
Theo was curled up, on her back, on their couch, completely naked. Her eyes were fixed above, her expression calm.
Such a sight wasn’t normally this strange – Theo was very upfront about her nudity, as was her family, but it was her calm expression that made him pause. It was something about this image, now, after everything, after their fight.
Theo regarded him coolly. “There you are. Where did you go? And why did you tell me you weren’t sending Snow to the police yet after all?”
The words slashed at his gut. He swallowed loudly.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb, silly. I’m not mad. She’s upstairs having a nap. I…we….look, I have an idea.”
Thomas couldn’t find the words, he suddenly felt cold, very cold.
“Theo, are you alright?”
“Better than ever. Snow is a gift, Tom..”
Something didn’t feel right.
And I finally figured out what we need to do to solve everything”Snow is a gift, Tom.”
Theo’s face lit up in a smile.
“We need to fuck.”

 

 

 

 

Just Write

So. I just got an email from a reader of my blog and it struck me as sad and it’s for these reasons that I want to write this piece.

If you’re going to write in to me, if you want to write in to me, there’s a couple things I, personally, want you to know and understand.

I’m not as busy as you think. I’m not running around like a headless chook, know that while I may work, I also definitely check my email daily and respond in full as soon as I can.

I don’t respond to emails to be polite to you, to what a reader described as ‘a self proclaimed fangirl’ – I respond because I want to. You must understand, I started this blog not just to share my fantasies and satisfy a part of me, I did it in case it could inspire someone as awkward as I was when I started off.

So I love hearing from people – young, old, male, female, Australian, American, Norwegian – the more the merrier. Language barriers be damned! I love conversing with people and I love talking BDSM and it’s lifestyles.

Whether you’re a fan or seeking answers or even if you a bone to pick with me about something I wrote. Grill me. I welcome all of it, criticism, friendly chatter, the like.

You’re not bothering me. At all. In all my years of blogging, in responding to the kind people that write in, I can honestly say not one email has bugged me, not one. Even if one person has a laundry list of questions, I’ll sit down and work it out with them until they’re more spent then I am. Seriously. So never ever think that YOU are the person that will be too much for me, because that just won’t be the case. Try me, I dare you!

Do you want to write but don’t know what to say? Do you feel stupid because I can talk so openly and you find it rough to? I’ve had years to process how I feel, to work to rise above my own shyness. I was the same as you in the beginning. We all start somewhere and blossom on our own time.

I will say this though – just write. Don’t worry about grammar or context or anything, just write. I honestly care not for long novel-length texts, I read every word and respond. I’ll even write a long novel-length email of my own.

Start at the beginning. Write how you feel. Find a place to start at, to get the ball rolling, and then just let it go – just write and let it loose. If it feels good, write it. If it doesn’t, write it anyway and send it.

Too many times have I read that someone wanted to write in sooner or deleted several iterations of the email they just sent – and it breaks my heart.

I know I can’t TELL people what to do. I know I can’t get people to talk as frankly as I do, but I’m writing this because I want you to know, anything you have to say, in any way, is perfectly A-OK by me and that you should not feel shame or delete what you write, because I mostly certainly want to read it. Don’t even press that delete button or I’ll slap a crop against your knuckles!

Be yourself. That’s all I ask of you. Everything else, please don’t worry. I’m not as scary as your mind makes me out to be!

TD&D

30 Days of Kink – Day #27: I’m a Day Dreamer!

Do your non-kink interests ever find their way into your kinky activities? If so, how?

I’ve been do slack putting these up the past few days – my deepest apologies to the person following this daily.

To answer the question, my non-kink interests always find their way to kinky activities. Where you there when I wrote about Ariel submitting to Ursula as a Slave in exchange for human legs? I’m a huge Disney fan! I set a path to Disneyland and World when I visited the states.

Did you ever read HERA? It was a story for a competition I created last year or the year before. In it, a group of spacefarers investigate a dormant spaceship floating quietly in space, only for them to fall victim to a erratic AI becoming conscious and developing the mindset of a mistress.

It incorporated another favourite genre of mine – science fiction – and has ties to Greek mythology as well, both things I am an avid fan of.

When it comes to writing erotica, I like moving against the grain. I find to do so makes for a challenge to me as someone creating the world in ways it will pay off at the end of the tale – but I also like to challenge the reader. It’s always nice to get an email saying ‘I’m not normally a science fiction fan, or like anime, or I don’t like rape fantasies – but this really took my breath away” – to me that’s a job successfully done.

I can’t help it either, you know? Being inspired by the world around me, or incorporating other things I like into genre. For me, it just comes naturally that I want to experiment with ideas – and there’s freedom to here because I trust readers will definitely tell me what works and what doesn’t. It’s a good place to experiment.

The long-running VALHALLA is another example. I love Norse mythology and fantasy and put both into the story around the more kinky aspects like the M/s dynamic. I actually borrow a lot from old Norse texts, lifting Valkyrie names from the Prose Edda and putting them into the story. Kára is one Valkyrie from the Prose Edda, envisioned here as a fiery soul, like a feisty middle child with problems of her own.

I know what you’re thinking though – yes, yes – enough about what you like to write about, what about your sex life? Well does psychology count as a non kink activity? I mean it IS kinky too to a degree but it doesn’t quite fit into the spectrum.

I’m interested in how minds operate and why. I’m interested in encouraging minds to break free of whatever aspect that is blocking them from that liberation. I’m interested in chipping away at armour in someone piece by piece to see what’s underneath and how we can play with that together.

There’s something really REALLY sexy about finding an aspect in someone that they never knew existed. Maybe it’s an interest, maybe it’s heightened pleasure. To break them when they say they can’t be broken.

Then it’s something as simple as walking out the door right? I walk out the door, ready to grab a coffee for the day (praise and glory be to the coffee) and all of a sudden I’m thinking how I can push kitten against this wall and making her whimper.

I’m constantly thinking about the world and the people around me and turning them into stories I can write about.

I’m a day dreamer.

How Can You Tell If You’re Dominant Or Submissive?

Ladies and gents, I’m kinda stumped.

Early in the week, I was talking to a lady about how to implement kink into her marriage with her husband, when she ran a question by me – How do you know if you’re Dominant?

I answered that question best I could in the moment, running my own experiences with identifying the feeling by her, hoping it would connect somehow. But now, days later, I’m still thinking it over. I don’t really know HOW. It all seems so organic looking back.

I have also recently had someone ask me If they’re still fully submissive if they enjoy being bratty – there’s a lot of misunderstanding about the persona and how it applies to the individual.

Unfortunately, there’s a lot of confused and alone people out there with a laundry list of questions and no one to ask. I’m more than happy to answer anything anyone has to ask, be you male, female, teenager, adult, new to the lifestyle or in the middle of a transformation or even someone with an inkling of kinkling.

Anyway, I thought I would try to the answer the question at length, hoping newcomers to BDSM might relate and it can help them in their own journey.

In the beginning, I had these feelings that I had understanding of. I didn’t know I could file my name calling under ‘Degradation and Humiliation’ nor did I understand why I was so interested in control – in exercising authority over my girlfriend. In these stages, there was no real sense of D/s and aftercare because I was immature and these feelings were immature and coarse and unrefined.

Before I continue, let me just write that there’s no absolute way for one person. Everyone is different and works differently.

I should say that my own development has come with a certain degree of blind luck. I met certain people at the right time in my life, people like me, through Fetlife or the semi-sketchy anonymous confessional app Whisper. I was a lucky bastard. I had the blessing of shaping who I was through encounters along my twenties.

Fetlife was a big player in my path, I would say. By signing up and looking around, I could see I wasn’t alone. I could even put a name to my kinks and thus have some semblance of understanding.

Google helped too, in a way, acting as a gateway to all sorts of media – books, images, blogs, people, Kink. Suddenly I knew of words like ‘Dominance’ and ‘submission’ and ‘dynamic’. Combine this with Fetlife and I had opportunities to feel the gravitational force to someone who was submissive. I’m talking, heart racing, cock hardening, breath quickening gravitational forces that helped me realise something was within me.

I know what you’re wondering. ‘Okay, but how does someone know if they’re dominant? Or even submissive?’

The best advice I can give is that it starts with an idea. Have a google of key concepts that come to mind when you think of BDSM – blindfolding, handcuffs, dirty talk. Start small. See if something strikes up your fancy.

If you want to reach deeper, have a look at concepts within a D/s relationship, such as setting tasks and rules and maintaining order. See if any of these concepts appeal to you on a base level. Try not to feel overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information – there can be a lot to learn but you can easily break it up into easily digestible parts.

Start small. Start light. A bit of spanking, a bit of issuing commands – talk to your partner about what they would like to try and see if it strikes a chord with you on any level.

The last advice I can give is to be open to yourself and to your partner. That goes for likes and dislikes and even if you’re uninterested. But always be open to trying at least. You never know what you’ll find on the road less travelled.