Love In Unexpected Places
Love In Unexpected Places

Love In Unexpected Places

I Didn’t Intend For This To Happen

I wasn’t intending to fall in love. I wasn’t actually looking to fall in love. I didn’t think it was actually possible. I was fairly certain, at the very least, that it was highly unlikely. 

I need love and emotion as a pre-requisite to sexual attraction. While I might be sexually excited in the abstract (mostly in the incredible porn library of my brain) it only happens in person with someone I already have an emotional connection to.

In the context of a kinky relationship, that feels very, very complicated. I am a fifty-something, cis white bear. Tall, broad, confident looking and for all the world looking like I’m in control of my life and my destiny. Outside in the real world, I arguably am. I do not pass for anything that looks like a bear that craves to be submissive, obedient, devoted and taken firmly (oh-so-firmly) in hand by a caring but gleefully sadistic woman, to have her joyful, hurty, intimately lewd and shamelessly humiliating way with me. 

And yet, here we are. And yes, I am. And oh yes, I most assuredly and certainly do.

Urges Are As Urges Do

As I’ve noted before, I have suppressed any real expression of my kink for a very long time. I had in particular suppressed the more depraved and deviant sides of that kink, quite literally my entire life. There are things I simply would not talk about in intimate private company, let alone in public. I feared—and in many cases, sadly, knew—how they would be received. I simply didn’t need that pain and humiliation (so not the good kind).

The thing I have come to appreciate is that when hidden parts of you want out, however, they find a way to express themselves. I know this, of course. I’ve studied enough psychology along the way to understand how the unconscious and unexpressed dimensions of ourselves work to find outlets. I simply assumed I was different. That I was on top of things. With decades of active suppression under my belt, what could possibly go wrong?

I Am Not So Very Different

There is, in fact, so much that can go so very wrong. The more that my aberrant and perverted fantasies got locked away and buried (not as hot as it sounds) the more that they not only wanted out, but found ways to express themselves. I found my fantasies going to much darker places much more readily. My more dissolute impulses were pushing themselves to the fore.

Being honest, that’s how I wound up on Twitter. It was an outlet for me to honestly explore a side of me that I had been repressing and shutting away for far too long, in a way that felt safe and contained. Connecting with a community felt like a good way to explore and be exposed to the parts of me I had shut down. To understand them more, and explore where they were coming from and what they meant to me, and figure out how to make a constructive and meaningful place for them in my life.

Finding Common Ground

I joined Twitter in mid-2021, and visited semi-regularly through the coming months. For a great many weeks, I lurked. Finding accounts of people with similar interests, that posted content that aligned with my kinks. I adore words, and sought out story authors that fed into my cravings. I found an outlet where—even if I wasn’t expressing outwardly—I could indulge my desires. 

Over time, I started to interact more. A comment here, a like there. As you do. I was biased more to following real people engaging in real activities over accounts streaming content, or content providers marketing clips and videos. That also meant slowly engaging with real people with aligned kinks. Comments continued, evolved into the odd brief exchange, morphed into the odd conversation.

Come for the Community, Stay for the Friendship

Those interactions were sporadic to begin with. Isolated. Mostly when I found something particularly funny, or particularly resonant, or someone was having a day or an experience that resonated strongly. A few accounts stood out, that I would interact with more regularly. One person in particular, I begin interacting with more and more. 

All of this was out in the open, the public face of NSFW Twitter (because yes, that’s a thing; I marvel that there is this sea of depraved tweets amongst the flotsam and jetsam of business Twitter and celebrity Twitter and all-things-cats Twitter). There was no sliding into DMs. Dick pics were not offered or randomly sent. It was just being a real person, engaging in real life challenges, in a universe of kinky lewdness.

Real challenges begat real connection, though. We started checking in on each other fairly regularly. We would pretty reliably exchange thoughts and feelings with each other whenever we were both online, and often as not would also leave messages and missives for the other when we weren’t. DMs did happen. The casual connection of people who liked each other and found enough in common that we looked forward to hanging out with each other. Helping and supporting and commiserating and making each other laugh and hugging each other when someone cried.

So THAT Happened

One conversation changed everything. I expressed my desire for someone to gleefully and playfully hurt me; to find an outlet for my submissiveness that I didn’t feel was available. An offhand aside, in the face of our joint relative frustrations with self-identity and expression. Not expectant or hopeful at all, just a lamentation shared with a (admittedly kinky) friend. “Seriously, I just want someone to take over me, tie me up firmly, torment my nipples, deny me for days on end, and use me for their pleasure.”

A rueful expression in reply—offered almost as an aside—of wishing there wasn’t such a distance between us. “Our geography is so unfortunate 🙁 I would LOVE to hurt you in fun ways. (If that was copacetic of course).” An acknowledgement of wistful delight. Deflected quickly back into discussions of such depraved activities as building Excel spreadsheets and being bad-ass enough to be writing directly into the back-end of the CMS. As you do.

But we kept on circling back to the idea. Apologizing if we had overstepped. Reassuring each other that we hadn’t. Engaging in not-so-subtle innuendo. And then deflecting once more. Like lovestruck teenagers, not quite certain if the other person “likes me, likes me.”

Spoiler: She Likes Me, Likes Me

Within a couple of hours, however, that transitioned into actively negotiating what this might look like. What she was looking for. What I was looking for. How to proceed in a way that was comfortable for both of us. We agreed that we should test the waters first. “Perhaps we could play a bit, just dip a toe, traipse a fingertip through the possibility, test for chemistry?” 

At least that was the theory. In practical reality, this immediately began an intense and intensive daily engagement with each other, and sparked an awesome relationship of epic proportions that continues to this day. We have gone from passing acquaintances to occasional correspondents to active friends to earnest loves, in a very short but incredibly wonderful space of time. Not only did my submissive desires dovetail well with her dominant expectations (we have come to appreciate that this is vast understatement), but I have also found a wonderful friend and partner and love.

I had thought that I was starting my journey looking for an outlet to allow me to simply understand and explore my kinks. What I found instead was a loving partner to indulge and embrace and celebrate them.

And me.

And Us.

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