When I was in college, I dated a girl named
Lacey. We had an emotionally twisted
relationship, where she was in love with me (or
believed she was) and I was afraid of being
lonely. It was classic codependency.
Nevertheless, we had great sex.
Once, late in our relationship, beneath the sheets
of my off-campus apartment, she asked me to tie
her up. This was the height of my concern about
political correctness with respect to women. I was
shocked and confused. In my loss of words, I
probably appeared to have not heard her or to be
ignoring her. She became embarrassed and the
mood was destroyed.
In hindsight, I understand that my disgust was
not related to the idea of the act, but rather the
idea that the act seemed to be a cartoon-ization,
an exaggeration, of our already dysfunctional
relationship. “For Christ sake”, I thought, “I am
already torturing this girl emotionally and we both
know it. How could she take pleasure out of its
Later in life, I was dating a girl named Grace.
Grace was particularly naughty, and I don’t mean
in the fun way. She was prone to throwing
tantrums in public, being nasty to my friends,
starting fights with sales clerks, hating people she
just met, and cheating on me. She was
completely dependent on attention and had the
temperament of an underfed dragon. Once again,
however, great sex.
Grace and I could only get along when we were
living in different cities. Once when she was
attending law school in Boston, I went to visit
her. We had engaged in some pretty erotic phone
talk before I arrived and she had also requested a
bit of the silk tie action. This time, I planned to
But I wondered how much fun this would be if
there was no fear or anger. I assumed (I had
never done this before) that it was the mingling of
the different and extreme emotions that made the
idea so sweet.
Our routine was to debrief when we visited each
other. That meant going to a public place,
drinking coffee or having dinner, talking, looking,
and smelling. Touching was all but forbidden. It
was a good practice. Reunited lovers are too
quick to focus on the body and they leave the
person for later. It’s better the other way around.
Afterwards, we returned to her studio. I remember
she was wearing a sheer skirt with a full opaque
slip, an ivory top, a brown suede baseball jacket,
and Coco Chanel. Actually, in my mind she was
always wearing that, so my recollection of the
event is probably inaccurate. Nevertheless, I took
off her clothes one piece at a time, touching and
kissing as I went. I made it clear that all of my
clothes, even my shoes, were to stay on.
When she was fully naked, I lead her to the bed
and took out my ties. Still kissing, I gently but
very securely tied her to the posts of the large
wooden bed. When I was sure she could not
escape, I blindfolded her. Then leaning over her,
close but not touching, I picked up my phone.
I had a friend, Dave that was also in town that
night. I called him up and asked him what he was
doing. He was going out later but had a small
window of time open. “Great,” I said, “I’m at
Grace’s. Swing by and pick me up and we’ll go
get a beer.” As I expected, this call turned Grace’s
arousal to anger. I grabbed her keys and a coat
and headed out the door. As the elevator closed
behind me, I could still hear her screaming.
The bar was close by. In the space of about 45
minutes, I had two beers and talked about the
usual, girls, cars, and work. Dave had a date later
that night and was in a bit of a hurry to get back
and get ready. “Don’t worry about it”, I explained.
“I’m also in a bit of a hurry. I have something in
the oven and I’m afraid it will burn up if I leave it
too long.” He expressed concern that I would put
anything in the oven and then leave the building.
He was right. It was probably dangerous.
Five minutes later, I unlocked the door and
entered the unnatural calm of Grace’s studio. She
was lying, unmoving on the now crumpled bed,
my improvised shackles still in place. My friendly
greeting went unanswered. I leaned over her face
and whispered, “hello.” I’m sure she could smell
the beer on my breath and she responded by
spitting violently in my face. I wiped it off and
then kissed her. Although her anger was not
subdued, she responded. I untied her, and for the
next three hours, we had sex. With decreasing
frequency, the rage would snap back and she
would punch me with all her might or bite
through my skin. I would respond by kissing her
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