Mimsy: When I met you, I had just ended a six-year vanilla relationship a few months before and had been on what one of my friends jokingly called the “fuck tour.” After some tantalizing experiences with kinky guys, the tour came to a screeching halt because I contracted genital HSV-1 and experienced an absolutely horrendous outbreak that left me gun-shy and nervous.
By the time I felt ready to get back out there, I knew I was looking exclusively for someone kinky to have a good time with. I hadn’t had any real luck with Bumble and was about to delete the app when I saw your profile. You described yourself as “fun, smiley, curious, kinky, and creative.” I was excited when we matched and got right to the point in my opening message to you: “Kinky caught my eye.”
From there, we lost no time getting into specifics. You’re in yellow; I’m in gray.
Vagabond: This was long after my obligatory post-divorce “slut rampage” period, and I was a little apprehensive about dating someone who was only looking for something casual. That said, I was very curious about you, so I proposed a date—at 9 p.m., on a Monday night, after my sweaty dance lesson. I’m so glad you agreed despite my ridiculous schedule.
From the minute I met you, I was sizing you up, looking for clues about what specific type of submissive you were, and what you would like. Though perhaps it was obvious from your body language, I asked if I could kiss you halfway through the date as we walked down the street. You melted into me during our long kinky makeout sessions. It felt like you were guiding me to grasp your neck, push your back against a wall, and pin your hands. Our chemistry was off the charts and undeniable, and I was very excited to see you again.
Mimsy: Our first date was amazing, and I love reminiscing about it even now. We made out a lot—in a bar, on the street, on the subway platform. I loved it when you had me pinned up against that brick wall. I didn’t go home with you that night, but I was eager to see you again, which I made apparent as soon as I got back to my apartment:
Vagabond: We flirted via text nonstop leading up to our second date, four nights later. I was very excited, and canceled other dates to make sure I had time and energy for you. I messaged a friend right before our second date and said, “I want this woman I’m seeing tonight to be my fuck buddy so badly. And by fuck buddy I mean I will almost certainly fall in love with her within 3 weeks.”
Mimsy: I was super excited as well, but also very nervous because of my HSV status. I disclosed it to you over text before our second date, and much to my relief, you couldn’t have cared less. With that out of the way, I couldn’t wait to see you. It was pretty apparent we would be having sex.
Vagabond: I couldn’t stop scheming about what I was going to do to you. I spoke at length about my excitement to a fellow dominant friend. I told him I was getting a “rope bunny vibe” from you and detailed my negotiation plans. “I feel bad for guys who don’t get boners from establishing affirmative consent,” I told him.
After an amazing dinner at a trendy Brooklyn Mexican restaurant, we went back to my place for a make-out session and negotiation. It turned out to be a very fun, experimental evening which included an over-the-knee spanking and cautiously rough sex. I noticed again that you particularly liked when I pinned you down.
Mimsy: Afterward, when we were lying on your bed, I remember you said, “Well, I think it’s safe to say you’re a rope bunny!” To be honest, I don’t even think I knew exactly what a rope bunny was at that point, but I figured it had something to do with bondage, and I was definitely interested in that. I was also very intrigued by the fact that you had somehow been able to intuit this about me even though we hadn’t done anything bondage related yet.
Vagabond: I wanted to see you again as soon as possible, so we set up our third date for the following day, Sunday. In the interim,I dug out some old rope that I’d never used, and any roughly cylindrical household object to substitute for limbs. I spent hours practicing the basic knots that every Boy Scout dropout knows; unfortunately none were particularly practical for sex. I contacted a close rigger friend and asked him, “Do you know how to work a rope bunny?” He offered some good advice, but there was no time for a shibari masterpiece. I settled on a simple sling, anchored to a loose pipe in my room.
Mimsy: If I’d known how much effort you were putting into blowing my mind, I would’ve upped my game! I think the extent of my preparation involved figuring out what to wear and googling BDSM jargon so I could keep up with you in conversation.
Vagabond: You didn’t disappoint!
I practiced my embarrassingly simple ties until I left to meet you at the subway station near my place and walk you back. You looked beautiful, and I was so happy to see you. I tied you up based roughly on my plan. By some miracle, I didn’t do any lasting damage to the apartment, and you were completely at my mercy. I went down on you multiple times over the course of at least 45 minutes (or for four “Jesus Christs!” as I later told a friend), which in my opinion is the quintessential dominant fantasy. I stayed fully clothed the whole time, and my legs were scrunched up against the wall, leaving blue streaks from my jeans that remained there until the day I moved out almost two years later.
We went out for sushi and a drink afterward and then went back to your place where we fucked each other’s brains out in a variety of ways until I left.
Mimsy: I told a friend a few days later that you tied me up with “legit ropes” and went down on me forever. Her jaw basically dropped, and she said, “You do realize that no one does that, right? You’re so lucky!”
I had no clue that you had practiced for hours before that date. I was convinced you had experience tying women up, and I was super impressed. It was the first time I had been restrained with rope, and just as you had predicted, I fell in love with it—and fell in love with you in the weeks that followed.