CARNAL NATION

He stood there naked in my living room as commanded, feet apart, hands cuffed behind his back, eyes respectfully lowered, awaiting my next direction. I explored his body with gentle caresses first, readying him for my hand and heart-shaped crop to paint his buttocks with pink and red impressions. When he arrived at my door looking tense but eager, we went into my dining room to discuss what was going to happen, just as we had online, clarifying safety issues and reaching a comfort level of sorts. He was 39 and had never been with a dominant woman before, but had fantasized about it for years. I was 62 and about to play domme to my first sub, flushed with excitement and fueled by a mixture of 75 parts bravado, 10 parts disbelief and 15 parts pure glee. I had displayed some of my newly purchased toys—a red suede flogger, that heart-shaped crop, lube, gloves, and a large butt plug—on my dining room table like a bizarre eclectic centerpiece. He glanced at my array of tools and paled but smiled. I realized he had no idea that only my sofa pillows had ever felt the flogger’s lashes and everything else was equally untested. Including me.

Born in 1945, I grew up in a household where sex was never openly discussed except when couched in warnings that “boys only want one thing.” In high school I put up with the clumsy grappling of boyfriends and hoped for sparks that never came. When an eager college date tried to kiss me passionately, I nearly choked because I had never been French kissed. In my mid-twenties and thirties I was married to a man who thought missionaries and their positions were pretty racy. So did I. Then, a few years ago, an insightful daughter with whom I had shared my feelings about sex gave me a copy of Jay Wiseman’s book SM 101 and what I read resonated deep within me. I was about to embark on an adventure and journey that I will be forever glad I took. After years of faking orgasms with men instead of actively seeking my own pleasure, I began to learn to love my sexual self and relish the male body and all its tantalizing and erotically torturable parts. I am free and sensual and can ask for what I want, even as I fully understand and appreciate that BDSM involves an intricate partnership between trusting partners in an journey of sensations and roles.

It was a turning point for me. The more I read about spanking and flogging and restraints, about power exchanges and the mingling of pain and pleasure in erotic ways, the more I celebrated my decision to unleash the feelings I think I’ve always harbored, yet never dared admit, and start reveling in my emergence as a lady fully ready to relish her sensual sixties. I was ready to take the plunge.

The first pool I dove into was a website, Alt.com. I filled out a profile and was besieged by prospective submissives. There are far more submissive men out there than dominant women. Many are in their fifties and sixties seeking their own fantasies of relinquishing power to a dominant woman. Some are merely trolling the web for quickie sex. You might feel swamped by the sea of profiles featuring pictures not of friendly faces but of erect penises waving, hanging, attempting in their stiffened poses to beckon. You will also find some responses from men with thoughtful profiles. Ignore the close-ups of body parts and the colorful language—unless those things turn you on—and then send a few messages to the men whose stories appeal to you. I have met more than a score of highly intelligent, creative and sensitive men, many in positions of authority. With each of them I have corresponded extensively before meeting in person. I’ve played prison warden to a British pilot whose fantasies let my imagination soar and kept me intrigued for weeks before his visit. I’ve smiled to myself on the way to work as I’ve planned exactly how as a strict wife I would best punish my cheating husband (a cock cage? An hour over a spanking bench administering cane strokes in precise lines?)

BDSM has enriched my existence, awakened within me an eagerness to explore and given me a sense of empowerment that permeates all areas of my life. I've evolved from a woman who never fully appreciated her sensual and sexual feelings, was never able to assert her needs, and who was uncomfortable with the male body, into a woman who sometimes walks down the street glancing at male butts wondering how they would look draped over her knees.

It's only been a year since my journey began, but I’d like to share with women of my generation some of the things I have learned and will continue to learn for as long as my journey continues. To those who have always heard but ignored those inner whispers about what it might be like to flog a back or butt, bring a man to his knees, invade him, restrain him, punish or reward him in any wonderful variety of ways from mild to extreme, take heart. Age doesn’t have to be a negative factor. It isn’t too late to explore your inner domme.

I’m glad to have this opportunity to share with women whose breasts may not be as perky as they once were, but whose imaginations and fantasies are still full and ripe, that it’s not to late to take the leap. You can still safely and sanely convert those whispered desires into reality if you wish.