In “My First BDSM Experience,” I shared how I stumbled into BDSM via the Internet in 1996. Here, I introduce Gerald and how our meeting unfolded.
I got off the plane and was terribly nervous no one would be there for me. I had zero money, knew no one in San Francisco and would have been absolutely stranded if Gerald was a no-show.
But there he was. The compulsion to kneel in front of him was overwhelming. Instead, I lowered my eyes and gave him a warm hug. He was fucking gorgeous. Filipino. Much taller than my 5’2″. I was not disappointed in the real person.
He never did tell me how he felt about seeing me the first time, but I can only imagine seeing how fat I was was a disappointment. I was determined to make him forget my appearance with my subservience.
I was driven to a lovely hotel and Gerald took me right up to my room. It was great! Overlooking San Francisco, it was a beautiful room. On the desk was a computer. I was stunned… and thrilled. It looked a lot like this:
Hotels didn’t have Internet connections back in the olden days, so he also brought along a modem. If you’ve never heard what connecting to a Dial-up modem sounds like, CLICK HERE. I called it the Orgasm Sound. (Yeah, Net Addiction is a real thing.)
Once I was shown how to log in, Gerald sat in the big desk chair and I knelt for him. It was the most natural thing in the world. He petted my cheek and I am sure I coo’d softly.
He had to go back to work, but would leave early to come back to see me, told me to be prepared to Scene with him. “Yes, Master,” was my answer.
While I was in Orlando, doing cyberBDSM with Gerald, he decided he wanted to mark me in some way. I mentioned I had about 12 ear piercings and he said that was perfect. He wanted me to get my labia pierced. Shockingly, I didn’t hesitate to say, “Yes, Master.” He sent me the money, I found a piercing studio, then laid on the medical table, legs in stirrups waiting. I called Gerald on their phone, collect, so he could hear me be pierced. I got 6 inner labial piercings, graduated gold rings, and every one of them hurt like fuck. I don’t remember if I screamed or not, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I did. Gerald was surely masturbating to my pain; quite the Sadist he was. Blessedly, the vulva heals quickly, but walking out of there… sheesh.
Right before I left for San Francisco, I got waxed for the first time. Did not get waxed again for 20 years. Good LORD does that shit hurt. The waxer was my hairdresser so I felt comfortable letting her in my nether regions. Waxing was pretty rare for the masses back then… no spas to do it. So, in her back room, I laid there, legs splayed like a frog, and she applied the wax, then the strip, then pulled that strip off, taking the hair with it. Pardon. She ripped the motherfuckin’ strip off. And not only did my hair end up on it, but a goodly amount of flesh did as well. Getting waxed was 100 times more painful than the genital piercings. I left bloody, but naked as a young girl. Holy crap does the clit get stimulated when the hair is gone! I was walking sex.
Waiting for Gerald to return, I gave myself two enemas (a must for anal play) then took a long shower to make sure I was clean and smelled yummy for him. I then laid out the collar he’d gotten me (waiting for him to put it on for the first time) and impact toys we were going to be using. And the ropes, whipped and wound beautifully; I couldn’t wait to show him my handiwork.
Mostly, though, I couldn’t wait to show him my submission with my mouth, giving him oral sex… something we had anticipated for many months. We both did get an HIV test and share the results with each other. A condom was never even considered.
I heard the key in the door so knelt near the entrance. He came in and the Scene began. He petted my cheek again and told me what a good girl I was. I am sure I blushed. He reached for the collar on the bed, then came back to where I was kneeling, asking me if I was willing to be his slave, with my own free-will. “Yes, Master.” My head swirled and tears flowed as he wrapped the collar around my neck, buckled, then locked it closed.
Being collared is an experience difficult to translate into mere words. It’s more visceral, a flood of emotions coursing through the body. It is an intimate acknowledgement of a powerful relationship dynamic, although many collarings occur at wedding-type gatherings. Wearing a collar is an outward expression that, among other things, says: Someone loves me enough to claim me for their own. I could not believe I was so blessed as to be collared by Gerald. I wept with gratitude and the immensity of love I felt for him.
I would wear it the entire week I was there.