Prologue

My mother grew up on a farm and was molested, if not out right raped, by an itinerant farm hand when she was a young girl. It happened in her families barn and I can only guess there were rats around, as there often are in hay barns, because she had a life-long fear of mice and rats.

I, of course, didn’t know this as a child, but it was obvious to me at an early age that my father wanted physical affection (and sex) much more than my mother. My parents where both devout, born-again Christians, so whether it was her religious beliefs, or it came as a result of her childhood trauma, my mother was, in fact, clinically frigid.

If my father tried to pull her close and hug or kiss her, she’d often push him away. “Not in front of the children!” was her frequent excuse to decline his advances. I once found a book of sex positions in a drawer next to my fathers’ bed, the images were posed with wooden clay modelling figurines. I somehow knew it was my dad’s desperate attempt to find a position that would ‘work’ for my mother and perhaps lead to greater intimacy, but by and large, my mother kept my father at bay. The message I learned was women say ‘no’. And men have to abide by their choice.

(Most of this awareness came later in life, but the human mind has a way of back-filling memories, those ah-ha moments when something you didn’t quite grasp from the past becomes clear, and the thoughts and memories merge into one as if you always had them, so I count these as my earliest sex memories.)

Lesson One – The unpunished cruelty of Women

My next real ‘girl/boy’ memory, I’m not sure it even rates as a ‘sex’ memory, comes from 3rd grade. I had begun realizing girls were somehow different and attractive and in a 3rd graders way of expressing desire and love, I had been teasing a girl named Christine Longo. I think it stands as strong evidence of how powerful these experiences/memories were in my life, that here I am 50 years later and I clearly recall her name! She responded with the typical ‘ewww’ that a 3rd grade girl reserves just for little boys, worms, and other really gross things and my attentions obviously angered her enough that I found myself knocked to the ground and she, along with a few of her girl friends began to kick me. It was early spring and I clearly recall them wearing boots over their tight blue jeans and skirts.

A female teacher caught sight of the activity, and pulled them away of me. They were admonished by the teacher at the time but as far as I know, never punished for their brutality in any way. The message was girls can be cruel and other girls will let them get away with it.

And let’s add to this experience the fact that society had been teaching me all along that ‘men don’t hit women’. Apparently women weren’t bound by the same rules.

Lesson Two – Women are in control

On that same playground, I accidentally bit through my tongue when I came down particularly hard on a see-saw. Again, it was a woman teacher who came to my rescue. While I was a bit panicked, because blood was gushing from my mouth and my tongue hurt terribly, she was calm, collected and in control. She took me to the (female) nurse who was also nonplussed by my condition and who cared for my wound and cleaned me up. The lesson learned, women are more in control emotionally then men.

Lesson Three – Women have the power to humiliate

My first crush came not soon after. Linda Josephson was her name and she was achingly beautiful to me. As summer vacation was approaching and I was about to lose my chance of seeing her at school each day, I wanted her to know how much I adored her and hopefully we could become pen pals over summer vacation and stay in touch. I rounded up every penny I had… literally… a bag full of loose change, hand made a card and on the final day of school, my heart pounding with fear, I handed it to her. She smiled and laughed, and instantly I knew it wasn’t enough for such a beautiful creature such as her. She ran away and I think I recall later on her parents contacting my parents to say you should know your son did this weird thing… and I received a talking too about it. My first experience of humiliation at the hands of a girl I adored.

Lesson Four – Women control the act of sex

Sexual thoughts really started to blossom in junior high. At 12 or 13, I knew what a penis was for and knew all about erections and things. It was the early 70’s and my math teacher was a young woman who wore lots of tight blouses and sweaters along with short skirts and boots or heels. A teenagers wet dream come true! Ooooh how I fantasized about her. Of course given that she was a teacher and I a lowly pimply faced boy/student, I knew nothing would ever come of it. Tease & denial started for me here. After all she was the older person and teacher. Master of the classroom and certainly of any decision regarding possible sexual contact between us. It would just be an embarrassment for me to even hint at such a thing with such a mature, beautiful, and powerful woman.

At this age I started having girl friends (not girlfriends), who would come over to my house sometimes. I had gotten as far as petting, my hands inside their bras and panties, maybe theirs inside mine, but each one never permitted it go any further. I was left horny as all get out with a rock hard erection each time. None of this came as a surprise to me having watched how my own mother turned away my fathers’ advances over the years… The message was clear. Women decided the when, who and how of sex.

Lesson Five – Women can take what they want

Kink finally appeared on my mental horizon when I discovered a bondage magazine in my older brothers room. ‘Hogtied’ by Harmony publications, feature a naked woman (my first!) bound outdoors to a wagon wheel . Her panties tied deep into her mouth and a panicked look as if she was looking at her captor – who was about to do unspeakable things to her. A true damsel in distress!

Like a ball dropping through a pachinko machine, at that moment things could have bounced one of two ways.

1. I could have come to the realization that everything in my life up to that moment that had taught me women were the ones in control, women were the ones who can say yes or no to my male desires, was wrong or at least incomplete and men can ‘force’ women to have sex, like what was happening to this bound and gagged woman on the magazine cover or,
2. I could see all my frustrated desires, being at the mercy of women at every turn so far in my life – in that woman… and become the victim just like her. Women could be cruel. Women could tease and deny. Why wouldn’t some of them even tie you up, revel in your helplessness before them and use you as THEY pleased?

And that was how the ball dropped. In my horny teen-aged mind I realized, I would finally get sex only when a strong woman came along who wanted sex from me and took it. Maybe even desiring me enough to kidnap and keep me tied up to use how and when she wanted. I identified with that bound and gagged woman. I was helpless to get anything I wanted sexually unless someone chose to use me for it. And the irony would be that I desperately wanted to give it! I could be sexually controlled by a woman, but moreover, by my own desires!

Lesson Six – Men are inferior animals to be play toys for sadistic women

I began to play self bondage games now and the attic of our house was one of the few places I could have some privacy from prying eyes. With some old neckties I tied my ankles together and hoisted myself inverted over a rafter. and swung helplessly back and forth. In the summer the temperature in the attic would soar and within a minute of being up there, sweat would be pouring off me. As luck would have it, I had been pressing my erection back between my thighs as I hung in my makeshift suspension and the sweat would make it pop back between my clenched thighs. It was enough. My first orgasm. I almost passed out from the glorious sensation and the blood rushing to my head due to the inverted bondage. My thought as I grey out was I will pass out and my mother will discover my naked and bound body and know I am a helpless male play toy…

The other private spot, hiding spot for my sex exploration games was a crawl space between two walls in the basement. It was there to give access to a waste pipe which ran the length of the void. One wall was the cement block foundation and to a mind already disposed to bondage, it made a perfect prison wall. Tied to the waste pipe (Oh, and how fitting it was a waste pipe! More humiliation about how unimportant my imaginary sexual captor viewed me!) I spent a lot of time a prisoner waiting for my imaginary sextress. And having seen pictures in those magazines of women with nipple clamps and other tortures, Clothespins on my nipples soon became part of my fantasy games. Soon, spiky plastic stems from discarded artificial flowers I found in a basement closet found their way into my ass. My captor was very cruel to me. I had moments of utter panic – one time I had shoved a pool ball up my ass and t seemed I wasn’t going to be able to expel it.

My last and favorite secret place to play out my fantasies was the barn on my grandmothers’ farm. The very same barn no doubt, that my mothers rape took place in. It smelled like animals and was full of musty old hay which scratched and itched like hell when pushed down into my underwear by my imaginary Torturess. The link between my torture fantasies and it being a barn for animals was not lost on me. Collars, leashes, being treated like an animal, one driven by his inferior male lust, being objectified, all became a part of my blossoming fantasy life.

Lesson Seven – They’ve got it, they can flaunt it

Other magazines began to appear under my brothers bed and hidden under a loose floor board in his closet. It was pretty clear given my hard-core Christian parents and the lengths my brother went too to hide his pornography, that sex was dirty, sinful, evil stuff. Even though my parents obviously cared and loved each other a lot, but not having sex, then sex certainly didn’t appear to be about love. They were completely separate things. The bondage, all the lessons I’d learned up til thensaid sex was about power. Specifically, a woman’s power.

The new magazines where more mainstream.. Playboys and Penthouses with beautiful naked women. Of course they were only 2D pictures on a printed page but the take-away for my adolescent mind was “You can look, but you will never be allowed to touch!”

And Penthouse of course included the famous ‘Penthouse Forums’ where for the first time, I read ‘ real life’ stories about women tying up men and using them for sex! And of course they ran Ron Embelton’s comic strip ‘Wicked Wanda’, a female supremacist and sadist. I wasn’t alone! Real, grown up men had the same thoughts and feelings about women and sex as I did! Identifying with another human beings’ experience is a powerful, powerful thing. We all to one degree or another feel alone and isolated in this world, so when a connection is made, a common want, desire, thought is shared, our private little world shifts and rocks.

Aftermath

By this point in my tale, I was well into my mid to late teens. By nineteen or twenty I had begun dating somewhat seriously and treated the women in my life like Goddesses. Flowers, gifts, movie tickets, expensive dinners… whatever she even hinted at became my command. A problem with her car, I fixed it. A mess in her apartment, cleaned.

I lost my virginity fairly late, had my first intercourse, with a girl who was so overwhelmed by my treatment of her, my gentle, ‘not pushy to get in her pants’ like other men had been, that she basically took matters into her own hands and in essence, raped me. I certainly did not object! She loved the fact that sex, for me, involved A LOT of oral sex for her and I gave it until she dragged me up to finally fuck her. And fuck her I did!

While a virgin and living on my fantasy world of women, I knew the worst thing that could happen to a man and his partner during sex was premature ejaculation. So I practiced edging myself over and over until I could sustain and erection and not cum for easily an hour or more. Imagine my chagrin later in life when it turned out some women don’t actually WANT to be fucked for an hour! Something about friction.. lol!

Suffice it to say the thought patterns where fairly set by now. I saw myself as sexually subordinate to women and I had grown to love it!

Years later, the first experience I had dating a sadistic, dominant woman, she told me boys like me where made for women like her. To fulfill her need to torture men. Made, taught, I don’t know. But it doesn’t really matter when the clamps go on and the voltage is turned up! 🙂