Love is a Battlefield...part 27 or so

       (The subtitle of this one should be, "Never get involved with someone who's about to become a devout member of Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous"...but I never listen to me anyway.)

       So, once upon a time, I met a girl.

       (Editor's note:  All stories that begin this way end tragically, but I recount them time to time all the same.)

       Right off - I mean, within the space of a 15 or 20 second elevator conversation - I clicked on the fact that she was a submissive (actually, it turned out she was kind of a switch...but not with me - sorry, I don't get topped).  It took a couple of more conversations before I picked up on the fact that she was also in the death throes of sexual addiction, having reached the point where she exercised virtually no discretion in her choice of partners.  Still, there was something about her.  "Special" always seems to scream at me.  For one thing, she had a wickedly good sense of humor.  Plus, I enjoyed the fact that I had her pegged from the get go, whereas she had a bit of trouble figuring me out (I may have mischievously had something to do with that).  I got a kick out of an incident, very, very early on in our relationship (second conversation, in fact), where she defiantly pouted, "You don't know me!  You just met me!"  I smiled and drily replied, "I know you need somebody to slap the cute out of you."

       I threw her a curve by, rather than simply accepting her unspoken, but nonetheless obvious, invitation to bed her, I romanced her for a couple of weeks.  We did eventually end up in bed ( go figure, huh?) one Friday evening.  On the following Monday, I called her and asked if she wanted to get together after work.  Well, she absolutely exploded, with something to the effect of, "You don't own me!"  It struck me that, "The lady doth protest too much...".  When she called me later that evening, I not-so-politely declined her invitation to come over to her place.  I didn't know what was going on, but I knew something was going on.

       The mystery was solved when she sent me an email the next day that read (this isn't exact - my memory's not that good - but it's close enough), "I'm so sorry.  Last night, I had an appointment to meet an old girlfriend of mine, and do a scene with her and her new boyfriend.  It turned out that I wasn't attracted to him at all, and all that happened was he got to slap my bottom a few times - then I left and called you.  Please help me.  I'm so messed up, I'm doing things I don't really want to all the time.  But I think that maybe I could stop if you would help me.  Maybe as long as you were loving me, I could stop.  Do you think so?  Is that possible? Please call me."

       This is, necessarily, a very abridged version of this whole thing (this is a column, not a book) - let's just skip ahead to the part where we're lying in bed together later that night, and, with tears streaming down her pretty cheeks, she took my face in her hands and kissed me, saying, "I surrender...I surrender...to you, I surrender."

       Of course, girls say stuff like that sometimes when they're freshly spanked and fucked.  You shouldn't jump to the conclusion that it's got any substantial carryover effect unless you see some actual evidence of that outside of the bedroom.

       Oh, the tragic ending?  Well, it kind of turned out that latching onto me was her way of "detoxing" herself from the sexual addiction stuff.  Once she'd regained her psychological balance a bit, she decided to join SLAA (Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous) - in the end, that meant kissing me goodbye as well (apparently, SLAA sort of frowns on D/s relationships).  It was all right though, really - just another one of those relationships that I could probably easily put down the baggage from with a mere ten years or so of intensive psychotherapy.  :)