The Very, Very Real Risk of Love at First Fuck: A Kinky Trilogy

This is a complicated one for me personally.

From my very earliest experiences of “getting” it with sex, I have experienced the panicked flight of lovely females who were terrified at how quickly and how powerfully their amorous emotions had kicked in.

When you fuck a woman properly, particularly if you are overwhelmingly dominant in your dirty talk, aggressive play, and of course provide her with multiple orgasms, something opens up in her that she will not be able to control. You will see it in the “after care” you will be drawn to post and during coitus, as her eyes water with barely controlled emotion and widen desperately with what she feels as an overwhelming sense of love for you, bordering on worship. If she could speak (and she dare not!), she would tell you she feels as if she is being held by a God. Her heart betrays her silence and beats hard, her body, her “energy” awake and alert, gazing at you with an affection she had long since given up hope she would ever experience. It is a divine and ecstatic feeling for her. But it is also terrifying.

I have had women flee *mid sex* when their emotions are so overwhelmed. And I have had more and more slam their hearts shut the next day as they desperately try to regain control of their previously painstakingly built perceptions of themselves as strong and independent.

And this is a real problem. Because these women, no matter how compatible, no matter how sexually compatible, will run and they will run fast.

For the most part, our culture works by women holding out sex as the goody bag that men get for “behaving” themselves, i.e. doing what she wants. This is a silly game that nonetheless occupies fully 90% of sex in our world, including a shockingly high percentage of “hot guy sex.” In previous eras, women giving up their sex was really the end of their leverage because that was the thing that men want, they had limited channels to attain it, and once they got it, the women lost all their power.

But modern women have gotten a little cleverer. Because despite “giving up their sex,” most of these women never really give up control (and they never give up their hearts). And that is key. For them, control of the sexual experience and the restraint of their surrender to it, is an even subtler and perhaps more powerful form of control over men. They use the intimacy against their conquests, using a tit for tat (heh) model which is completely anti-hedonic. Or they taunt and tease the man like strippers do, cementing him into the submissive position as she leads, guides, and controls the sexual journey. And most importantly, they withhold their natural submission and affection that are at the heart of what sustains the joy in sex and love for men and women alike. Note that in many cases women hide all of this from themselves as well. So conditioned have modern women become to be in control of the sex, that even in a 4-way plug-n-play they will still manage to be emotionally in control of the whole situation both by barking directions and withholding genuine warmth and affection.

The importance of this ploy really can not be overstated. But it is so subtle that barely anyone notices. Most men are still in the “get sex at any cost” mentality that they don’t realize the slippery slope they are sliding into her treacherous sheath. The wise man knows that there is a high cost to sex at all costs. Surrendering control, what my mentor used to call “Hand” (as in the upper hand) is the most dangerous thing he can do. It is the slow but sure road to cuckoldry, misery, and worse down the line as he willingly hands his leash over for the measly price of a few mediocre ejaculations.

But it works.

For women passionately seek what is bad for them.

They insist on retaining control at all times in an effort to protect their egos from the devastation their hearts can wreak on them when they are swung open by the force of a dominant man.

It is said that men dominate by commanding, women dominate by withholding. Withholding the free flowing love that is their nature and leveraging obedience for its limited dispensation: this is how women control the men in their lives and reliably immiserate themselves in the process.

But when they are faced with a dominant man, a man who will not surrender control in the bedroom, she will be taken aback and squirm every which way she can to regain her mastery of the situation (usually the next morning once the shock and awe have worn off). For she knows that if she surrenders both her heart AND her sex, she will be completely at his mercy and will have lost herself entirely. This is the thing she desires most in life, but it is also the thing that scares her beyond belief. It wasn’t the deal the sistren made with modern feminism to give them all the sex they wanted without the heartache (or the diapers). It is the sex of their ancestors that fated them to love for life whichever man first ripped open her heart.

And that is the fear that follows so closely on the heels of the desperate love you see in the eyes of your well fucked conquests.

If you hold your frame and she obeys, her fate is sealed and her heart will be yours almost immediately. I have seen this many times, even from girls I have known for less than 2 hours. They will argue, they will fight feebly to try and keep control in the face of your mastery, but when you make them fail, they will fall in love before their juice is even dry on the sheets.

What to do about this?

Because if you invest the time in bedding a girl and you enjoy the sex with her, you will want to keep enjoying it. You don’t want her to self-eject from a situation that is really just beginning to get good.

An early mentor of mine advised using hard play early on in the sex to show the girl you could do it and that you were a different breed of man. This made sense for him (since he came off as a super creeper and probably needed all the help he could get), and in a world of “secular” (vs over-loving) ghosting, making sure you give her sex she won’t forget may be the surest way to ever see her again. Or is it? Many girls will run just to “stick it to the guy” and show herself that she is not needy. It is her instant upper hand play, to ghost the man before (she fears) he ghosts her.

But when she falls in love on the spot, her ghosting isn’t vindictive, it is simple self-preservation.

I can think of one instance for this for me where the girl actively gave me the “I think I should go home now” before we went back to my place. This being in Los Angeles, I feared I would never see her again, and so I pressed a bit for a same night lay. This was a mistake, because this girl genuinely liked me, and she was most likely running a (now antiquated) anti-slut move so that we could go back for a bigger dip the next time.

But I brought her home nonetheless, saw the love fire up in her eyes, and never saw her again. (Note: I won’t entertain explanations of bad sex or other deal breakers that presaged her disappearance. If you were there you would know.)

So perhaps somewhere in between these poles lies our sweet spot. You can give her enough of a taste, some dirty talk, some clothes on demonstrations of your talent, and then send her home horny and wanting more. Maybe.

In my case, the experiences provoked a “quest” for girls who were in fact looking for just what I had to offer. These began as passionate love affairs, but ones in which I was stuck too early before fully ascertaining her craziness level.

As the title says, this is a real problem. Casual sex is rarely going to be good sex. But good sex is dangerous sex because it can close the emotional gap between two unsuspecting players before either of them knew what hit them.

The best answer to this of course, is what I used to call “slow dating,” old school dating where you don’t have sex until the 3rd or 4th date after you’ve gotten to know (at least superficially) how crazy the person really is.

This sort of thing can not hold much purchase in our modern culture. The Christians kinda sorta do it, but they never really deliver on the promise of great sex at the end of the rainbow, now do they?

But as in many things, we can take a note from the religious, mix it up with a little of our own medicine, and then sprinkle it liberally on our affairs to keep them hot but also rewarding.

If you can actually meet a girl and trust her to come back two or three times without bedding her, if you can let her know that you will fuck the shit out of her (and she genuinely believes you) once you have vetted her as a person, you may have hit the jackpot. Because the love that pours out of her when you finally give it to her properly will have been worth the wait for both of you - if you can sustain your hand the entire time of self-dangling the pussy and you don’t crush her attraction for you by making yourself seem like a chump in a world of grab ‘em now chads, which is what she expects of her dominant men anyway.

So here’s an important caveat, but it’s really more of an anti-caveat, that is, it is not something so much to be cautious about but more something to quietly celebrate:

But here’s the thing: I’m not saying the fear women have in these situations is unfounded. It is not. Deep in their DNA, they have memories of abandonment or worse of women who too easily gave their hearts to cruel and callous men. Yes.

But the counterpart to watching a woman open up like this before you - when you are a certain “caliber” of man - is that it actually awakens, sometimes surprisingly even to yourself, all of your best instincts as a man. It makes you WANT to be the kind of man who protects, cherishes, and yes, even commits to her. Because such a commitment is the voluntary desire to stoke and sustain the beauty unfolding before you for as long as you possibly can. It isn't an obligatory "shotgun" commitment or the diamond yoke of marriage. It is the complementary protector instinct to her love instinct, opening up dynamically, in tandem, and living in real time. No formalities necessary, no codification and enshrining. No, the long term rewards are built into the moment to moment experience of a nascent love unfolding. And it is beautiful.

Many self development types refer to a famous scene in what is now an old movie: when Indiana Jones takes a step into a cavern on a “leap of faith” but rather than falling to his death, a path magically forms below his feet.

It is the facing of the fears, the summoning of your faith that life will meet you if you give in to it in the right way. People who practice Acro Yoga feel this sensation as the countervailing support mechanism emerge from your partner in ways that seem to support you invisibly from without. And it is incredible.

The great irony is that if women are able to trust this opening - again with the right kind of man, then far from destroying her, he will cherish and embrace her. He will meet her at the intersection of male and female that is the very blueprint of the human design. And it is magical. It is the impetus of the back and forth flow of ying and yang, of love and power that makes the whole game of life tick along forever.

And when you feel it, you can’t help but feel like the meaning of life is showing itself to you and warmly smiling, like all of nature is humming along in a gospel chorus to your own personal love song. So primal yet so transcendent is this experience that it can move you to seek it, holy grail style, wherever the road may take you, with all else showing itself up as unsatisfying simulacra of the real treasure you have felt in your heart, even if it was just for a few hours before she fell into that cavern and disappeared forever.

It is the great quest of love unfolding before us, uniting body and soul in a way that even the best poets could not describe - because none of them have ever felt it. But if they had the gumption, their fantasies of love would be made whole in flesh, and most likely they would never need to write again because for the first time in their lives, earthly satisfaction provided all the spiritual nourishment their tired hearts could ever need.

Years ago, I had a woman in my life who was friendly. It’s a long story, but we were close while she was seeing someone and then I was seeing someone, and there was never really a time for us to connect sexually. She intimated that some day she wanted to have my baby (gulp), and despite everything we managed to keep a surprising amount of tension in the “situation” far longer than either of us should have tolerated.

Well, the situation broke the day I broke up with my girlfriend. The gal showed up hours later in my van, ready to fuck. When I asked about her current beau, she said “he lets me do what I want on the side.” Interesting, I thought. Well, let’s see where this goes.

She pulled off her top to reveal two stunning breasts that wildly exceeded the expectations I had had for the many years I had known her. Fantastic.

This girl was proudly bisexual, had been fucked in all manner of configurations from threesomes to orgies, and was as experienced a sexual partner as I had ever had. Sorta. Because within about 20 minutes, I took her hands behind her back and tied them off with a pillow case.

She froze. The fabulous GoGrrl I had known for years suddenly started stammering, whinging, and asking nervously if I would eventually untie her.

Wow. This got real very quickly.

I let the sail out a bit and started to untie her.

“I’ve been submissive before,” she assured me in a straining confident voice that didn’t quite hit its mark.

“Well that’s fine,” I replied and eventually went on to explain that this is what I want, this is what I like.

In the end, there was no more play. She went home and I started musing to myself (note: I also probably avoided a paternity suit some months later).

For the next week, she was hard to reach. There was some get together we were invited to, and when I called her for the details, she was uncharacteristically short and curt with me, at one point exasperatingly yelling at me to figure it out myself.

We met up at the event and I took her outside to debrief a bit.

She pre-empted:

“I’ve been extremely agitated the past week. I can’t seem to get control of myself.”

This was interesting.

I held her and looked at her closely. As I did, her face demurred for the briefest of moments into the “yes, Daddy” look I knew so well from my subs.

“There you are,” I said out loud as I saw her more deeply than any other man ever had. I smiled warmly, embracing the warmth in her wide open eyes.

And them poof, it was gone. She slammed the door on herself never to open it again in my presence.

Eventually I told her that being with me would mean owning up to a submissive side she didn’t realize she had. In fact it would mean repudiating all of the independent power girl lesbian identity she had cultivated over most of her life. Effectively, it would be coming out of the closet by going back into it. “And, frankly, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn't want to deconstruct an identity you’d spent your whole life building. Plus you never know if I’d even stay or not, so you might do the whole thing for nothing.”

And in the end, she told me that she would just instruct her current boyfriend that he would have to be more dominant with her.

“That should do it,” I thought, with a smirk I was incapable of concealing, and left it at that.

Eventually, she would introduce me to my next girlfriend, whose submission revealed itself to me on our first night together. After hours of teasing (and finally getting our unsuspecting yenta to leave), she had 2 squirting orgasms in less than 5 minutes. We fucked hard until the sun came up in a night she would brag about for years “He never gave me a chance to say no. . .” and which transformed her for life.

The contrast between the two women could not have been starker, and my new girl eventually informed me that the original boyfriend (whom I was about to literally cuckold in my van and who was now instructed to become an obedient "dom") had adopted all aspects of my look from facial hair, to clothing style to jewelry and had apparently been expertly playing the part.

But of course he wasn’t.

But it gave enough of a simulacrum that his mistress could tell herself she had given herself over to her submissive side without enduring a single tinge of emotion, risk, or fear in the process. For many people, this is good enough. But for me, having felt the warmth of unbridled love from my gorgeous conquests, nothing short of that could ever satisfy.

We all went our own ways eventually, but the stories stuck with me, instructing me on the depths of the heart and the endless twists we tie it in to keep it from destroying who we think we are. Our submission to our own selves is the final destination, accepting the needs and the wants and the pristine, primal emotions that they evoke in us. In reality so few will ever get to experience this in our hyper controlled world. But for those of us who sneak through the cracks to experience the love our bodies were built for are rewarded far beyond whatever constructed self-image we devise could ever, ever hope to give. And though the search may be hard and long, it is one worth taking and one worth winning.

Post Script: As I think this post over, I wonder how much of latter day feminism is the result of hearts slamming shut into super empowermentarianism as women encounter the feminine power of their love suddenly and for the first time during flings with hot, Dominant men. It must be terrifying to live in a culture that tells you you are strong, independent, astronaut material and yet feel the full force of your maternalism and "embarrassing" 50s house wife "regression" rise to the surface with such force just at the moment when you think you've seized your feminist independence in the throes of unguarded, guilt-free, casual sex.

One has to assume that some fratty or pre-fratty experience gave enough women whiplash that to still the metronome in their identities, they turned to the all-knowing shrews of feminism to steady their minds and point them in the safest direction: kill your love for men at all costs.

It's hard to say, and admittedly I haven't taken the time to flesh out the thought, but it seems like there MUST be a corollary between men and women who were not ready for the power of the emotionality of great sex and the suicidally harsh backlash women have had to opening their hearts at all. (To be continued. . .)

Post Post Script: About 20 minutes of Google and Unsplash image searching revealed exactly ZERO pictures of a woman with real love in her eyes. It may be that white women in particular are too ashamed of this emotion or too incapable of experiencing it that despite the billions of camera phones in current use, like Sasquatch, somehow it has evaded capture in pixelated form.

I have a few from my collection, but they are not for public consumption. Our best bet will be for black women (as in the picture I poached from Rollo Tomassi's excellent blog) who yet understand the value of men and are more than content to freely adore their Kings.

Post Post Post Script: In the end, I chose something more evocative than literal. Sometimes the perfection is in the imperfection. . .