Title image by Face It. CC BY-NC 2.0
The thing was, she was young. Very young. Certainly legal, but still, I really should have been ashamed of myself. I was a thirty-two year old man! It started out so simply though. She sent me a picture because I wrote something silly like, if a picture is worth a thousand words than a thousand words must be worth a picture.
I was listening to the Masocast (which I recommend highly), and Axe was interviewing Troy Orleans. I met Troy once and she beat me viciously in the most painful way possible–at Scrabble.
Troy mentioned something on the podcast called a tag party and it got me thinking. I looked for more information on them online and didn’t find anything. (If anyone knows of resources or writeups about tag parties please comment or email)
The idea of a tag party, as I understand it from Troy Orleans’s description, is a party in which everyone who attends is willing to play. Each partygoer wears a tag in which they write three acts that they are willing to participate in and the role they wish to play in said act. i.e. Spanking/Top, Rope Bondage/Top, Flogging/Bottom.
A woman returns to the apartment of a lover who uses all of her emotions against her. Even the ones that will hurt him.
She seemed like a little mouse. That’s how I thought of her, what I called her in my head. My little mouse. Oh, how I was wrong.
That’s the way it is being a man sometimes. You see a woman and she can’t look you in the eyes. She is sweet and pretty and her cheeks go red when you joke with her and you think you know her. You imagine her small and innocent and you are tall and strong and can show her the world. In a way it is comforting. It makes you powerful. All the secrets of desire are yours to show her.
Real life is far more complex, and far more interesting.