Zero to Sixty.

Devastating Yet Inconsequential has a blog up discussing the larger issues of “What is Vanilla?,” which is really interesting, as always. I love reading about her and her boyfriend, because she and Eileen (and their partners) have some of the more approachable femdom blogs out there. (There are a ton more I read regularly, like Tom or Bitchy Jones, but I try to steer my wife clear of Tom’s, since those are ideas I don’t want her to get.)

But I was more interested in a statement she made:

Undertheboot has an interesting post asking “What is vanilla sex?” (The post is also hot. I’m enjoying his blog more and more now that I think he’s for real.*)

[SNIP]

(*It’s rude, I know, but at first I had a hard time taking his blog seriously, as hot as it was. Nobody tells their vanilla spouse they’d like to try bdsm and then, the next week or so, is up to their eyeballs in gags, whips, piss, etc. Do they?)

And the thing of it is, I’ve been browsing more and more blogs these days, and in the last couple weeks, I ran across a couple maledom blogs that were — I dunno, too good to be true, was the feeling I got. And, in all fairness, when I think about it after reading Dev’s post, I realized that those blogs did parallel my own experiences — guy gets wife into BDSM, wife goes apeshit hot for it, each post documents another milestone in their relationship, although usually the guy is the dominant and the woman has finally learned about her inner slut and how she aches for cock and humiliation.

And when I read Dev’s post, and started rummaging through my old posts… I realized: You know, it kinda does sound too good to be true. The same flags that went off for me about those maledom blogs and the wives who come on command are probably up in abundance here at Under The Boot.

So in the interest of disclosure and revealing that yes, Virginia, dreams really can come true, I want to reveal the ugly truth of my relationship: it took a while to get to pissing and strap-ons. But once the gate was open, we went from 0 to 60 in about five seconds.

The history goes like this: my wife and I have been married for 12 years, together for 13. We have great communication, and at least in the beginning of our relationship, electric sex. But years pass, things get tame, and our sex becomes pretty irregular but good. Three years ago, I have to go away for business, and while she and the baby lived with me for about six months, financially, it wasn’t working, so we had to live separately — she went back to her old job where she could make lots of money, and I stayed down here to finish out my time. We’d see each other anywhere from every month and a half, to four months. Absence making the heart grow fonder, we had great sex when we got back together, however infrequent it was.

A year or so ago in October of ‘06, an “internet friend” — who I’d never met in real life but who I chatted with constantly — opened up to me about being into BDSM, and specifically, wanting to be a domme, although she’d never actually done anything but go to a club once. I made some nervous jokes, because I’d buried my submissive side pretty deeply. But I figured, “Hey, I don’t really know this girl in real life, we’ll never meet, we’re both pleasantly anonymous…” and I came out to her a few days later about thinking I might, um, kinda, uh, be submissive. She told me about the BDSM blogging scene, specifically sites like A View From The Floor and Under His Hand (which inspired the title of this blog in a weird way.) Both blogs were really, really extreme for a newb like me, but it gave me something to think about.

In December of ‘06, while driving up the coast with my wife on vacation (our daughter safely in the hands of her grandparents,) I came out to her about being submissive. The separation had been rough on us and this drive in solitude was supposed to be a way for us to spend about twenty hours talking about our priorities, and I came out and said, “Sex is important to me, and I want it to be important to us. No more dry-spells. No more taking it for granted. Oh, by the way, I think I want to be dominated…”

My wife was surprisingly open, but for about seven months after that, nothing came of it. She was getting back into religion and struggling with balancing the fact that she actively enjoyed fucking and phone sex and the idea of maybe being kinky, with the fact that she felt like everybody at church could smell her dirty thoughts. In addition, we have a couple friends who were into BDSM, and she found them a bit creepy — they just gave off a weird vibe.

I was understanding. I mean, I wasn’t going to push, and I really don’t know what I expected of her if she did address my submissiveness. She was the last person I’d expect to be a domme, right? And besides, what happens when we open Pandora’s Box? Do I pop on a zipper mask and expect to live in a box under the bed? Where would even go with it? I was, honestly, scared as hell.

But then, last July, we took a drive up the coast, and I brought up submission again, and in response, she took a chance and topped me. It wasn’t real D/s play, she was scared to death about doing it wrong, and what it meant, but it was a step in the right direction. That entire two week visit with her, she topped me every time we had sex, awkwardly controlling everything. I was happy with it, but you could tell she didn’t like it as much as I did, and it was kind of embarrassing for me to hint that she could push harder or order me around while she’s embarrassed to begin with.

But on the next to the last day of the trip, I was trying to beg her to take a day off so we could fool around — “But I’m leaving! C’mon, please?” when she turned on me and said, “Listen: I told you NO. Now, get undressed, get in bed, and if you’re a good boy, tomorrow I’ll come home and give you what you’ve been asking for.” (I remember what was said because I wrote it all down afterwards in a journal, which sadly stopped getting maintained once the blog went up.)

And my reaction was immediate and visceral. I, to this day, have no idea what was going through her head — if she’d spent the last two weeks building up the courage to go past mere topping, if she had read online to get an idea of what to do, if she just wanted me to shut the hell up and this was the simplest means of doing it — but her tone of voice, her posture, the flash in her eyes, it was everything I’d dreamed of. I obediently went to bed and slept the best night’s sleep I’d ever had.

The next day, she called me from work. “When I get home, be naked. Have a bowl of warm water ready, and a washcloth.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked, a little scared.

“WHAT did I say? Just be ready.”

She got home, and what followed was our first scene. And it wasn’t awkward, and she hit all the right notes, and I washed her feet and she fucked my mouth with her big toe and we had some of the best sex of our lives. And she went back to work an hour late from lunch, and we didn’t get a chance to talk about it until a day later, when I was back down South. And this is what I said:

“Did you like it? Because I loved it. That was the best sex I ever had. Ohmigod, it was everything I hoped it would be. You were perfect. Did you like it? It’s okay if you didn’t…”

And she said, “It was great. Better than great. I can’t believe we waited so long to try it.”

“What about church? Do you feel guilty?”

“It’s none of their business. I felt so…powerful. I don’t think I’ve ever been so hot in my life. Why did we wait until the last day you were up?”

“Fly down.” I begged.

“We don’t have the money.” She said, sighing.

“I will find the fucking money. I will sell kidneys for the money. Make a plane reservation, I’ll get a hotel, we can buy toys…”

And we spent the next two weeks conspiring to do all sorts of nasty things in a haze of lust and newbie conversion excitement, and thinking of new ideas — (”Do you think you could spank me?” “Oh, yes…”) and when she got down here, we had the scene described as being two weeks earlier in my first blog post.

So, it really did happen overnight, if you don’t count the seven months spent in idle beforehand, paralyzed by fear and anxiety. And we really do exist.