Meeting C in person for the first time was at a café under his office building.
Unlike those online flings, we didn’t meet on any dating site. We met in a regular outdoor group during an offline event organized by the group.
Our acquaintance was so ordinary that I was quite surprised when I later learned about his strong BDSM inclinations.
Unfortunately, although I was aware of BDSM, my own preferences were very vanilla.
I don’t like collars, whips, or dressing up as a maid to call someone “Master.” I’ve read many novels and watched movies with diverse kinks, but my body doesn’t respond to them. I can only appreciate them as a way to broaden my horizons.
In other words, I’m an extremely vanilla person.
Sometimes I even envy people who find joy in unusual hobbies, which leads me to blame myself, “Ah, I’m so boring and uninteresting.”
This sense of inferiority played a part when I agreed to be with C—look, I finally wasn’t boring anymore. I had my own quirky and fashionable fetish to practice.
So, back to that meeting at his company’s café. If everyone resembles an animal to some extent, C left the impression of a bear—chubby, soft, and honest.
C candidly told me that he had just returned from studying abroad and his parents had given him a small, inactive company to manage, but he wasn’t interested. He wanted to find a girlfriend first, and that person was me.
He was honest, smart, and got straight to the point. I had guessed this before coming, but I couldn’t understand why he liked me.
So I asked him why he liked me. I was just a small white-collar worker making a few thousand a month, not beautiful, not high-minded—why me?
He suddenly got a bit nervous and just muttered something about me having a unique aura.
It wasn’t until months later, after we had been together for a while, that I learned the real reason. We were having dinner at a restaurant when he said he wanted to take our relationship to the next level.
During these months, everything progressed slowly, as I had intended. We were almost old-fashioned, only holding hands a few times, and always splitting the bill.
So, I thought, he passed the patience and character test and could be considered for a deeper relationship.
But then he solemnly held my hand and started talking, completely different from his usual self.
He said, “I think you’re a wonderful person, so before we officially start a relationship, I want to be honest about myself. I have many fetishes I’m not sure you can accept.”
Oh? A rich kid with secrets? I listened with curiosity.
“Foot fetish and spanking are just part of it. I also like being dominated and humiliated. When I was studying abroad, I’d find paid dominatrices because no one knew me there. But I don’t dare do that now in my home country; my parents would kill me if they found out. So, I hope to find a girlfriend with matching interests to… manage me. I remember clearly the first time I saw you at that camping event. Maybe you don’t remember, but I do. I was about to throw away a half-finished bottle of water, and you stopped me, told me to finish it and not waste it. Your tone was calm yet firm, and I felt an urge to submit to you.”
C looked at me expectantly. I remember being stunned, unsure how to respond.
His mention of BDSM made me think of “Fifty Shades of Grey.” Is this the kind of “game” described in the book? But in the book, Grey likes doing these things to others. How could C like having them done to him?
Can I really fulfill the role he’s talking about? Or can I pretend to, just to make him happy? But what do those terms he mentioned even mean?
Spanking, I guess I can do that. I was spanked by my dad when I was young; can’t it be the other way around?
Hundreds of questions crowded my mind. Our hands were still clasped, but they were drenched with sweat. I couldn’t tell if it was his or mine.
At that moment, it felt like a street, not a table, separated us. Crossing it wasn’t hard; it just depended on what would make me decide to do it.
Maybe because of his nervousness, he drank his glass of water in one gulp. Suddenly, I realized that in the months we’d known each other, he never threw away half-finished drinks anymore. Whether it was coffee or water, he always finished them.
In “Fifty Shades of Grey,” Grey coaxes and pressures Ana into BDSM, with dramatic push-and-pull throughout the book. For us, it might have been as simple as the detail of drinking water that moved me. Or maybe, as I mentioned, I envied people with quirky fetishes. These reasons combined made me agree to his request on the spot.
“It sounds interesting; we can try it,” I said.
So, we didn’t wait for another day. After dinner, I went to his place to see what those novel scenes looked like in real life.
We started with kissing, which felt nice. Then he wanted to kneel and kiss my feet.
He took off my shoes, becoming eager. But I started feeling awkward. Firstly, I hadn’t washed my feet since coming home, and they weren’t pretty—short, stubby toes, flat arches. I couldn’t even love them, so I couldn’t be sure if C’s adoration was real.
He put my toes in his mouth, and an unbearable tickle surged through me. I had to pinch myself to keep from screaming.
He said this worship was exactly what he had fantasized about and asked if I enjoyed it.
His familiar question made me scramble to weave my emotions together. Besides “Fifty Shades of Grey,” I remembered “Venus in Furs” describing the feeling of the dominant partner. It talked about how when someone worships you wholeheartedly, you feel a secret, controlling pleasure, like a relaxing and pleasant melody.
So, I convinced myself that I should feel relaxed and happy. I tried making sounds of enjoyment while being licked, to show him I was okay with it.
But seeing him diligently massaging my feet always made me think of nail salon technicians or massage parlor workers, making my contrived moans seem absurd.
It made me feel like a lunatic—trying to act seductive while shivering from inexperience. I wished I could unscrew my brain and squeeze out some dopamine and endorphins.
Then he excitedly opened a drawer in his wardrobe, revealing paddles, clamps, and chains. To be honest, I was a bit scared. His bedroom suddenly felt like a torture chamber.
In “Fifty Shades of Grey,” Ana was initially frightened by Grey’s toys but quickly immersed herself. So, I told myself I could too—just pick them up and swing them hard.
I have to admit, spanking is exhausting. My muscles were sore, and I had to grit my teeth to swing the paddle. I couldn’t find any motivation to love it besides treating it as exercise.
Maybe sensing my struggle, he asked afterward how I felt and if I enjoyed it.
Looking back, I lied that night, and it led to much suffering later on.
At the time, I was engrossed in the story of Grey and Ana. I didn’t want to admit I couldn’t play the role well, that Grey couldn’t make me happy. Ultimately, I didn’t want to admit I was so useless that I couldn’t even satisfy my new boyfriend’s fetish.
A voice in my head kept saying, he changed a bad habit of mine so easily, didn’t he? Why couldn’t I love BDSM for him?
So, I told him, “It felt great,” and decided to like BDSM.
It made sense in my head back then. It’s better to like what my boyfriend loves, especially since he doesn’t have such needs 24/7. When he wants it, I can pretend and satisfy him. It’s just a trivial matter.
But life never goes as planned. Conflicts arose two months into our official relationship.
One day, his father came to Beijing for a business trip and unexpectedly showed up at his place while I was there. We had planned to play that night, so I was dressed in provocative lace, black stockings, and high heels.
Though I quickly retreated to the bedroom, I caught a glimpse of his father’s displeased face.
He sat down, sternly questioning C about the company’s status, blaming him for not focusing on work and only thinking about “playing.” He emphasized the word “play,” seemingly directing it at me, implying I was just a plaything and shouldn’t expect anything serious from his son.
I felt an inexplicable anger, wanting to rush out and declare that I was C’s girlfriend, not a casual fling. But I was even angrier that C just sat there, not defending me or acknowledging our relationship.
After his father left, we had a huge fight. I was upset about being ignored.
He broke down, saying he had never dared to talk back to his parents. His life had always been arranged for him, any independent thought was dismissed, which made him weak.
His weakness made me explode. I asked him, “Wasn’t I raised by my parents too? I dressed like this to suit your preferences, only to be treated like a call girl. What would my parents think?”
He had never experienced such hysteria and begged for my forgiveness. I wanted to leave, but he grabbed my feet, crying and calling me “Master.” At that moment, the title only made me sadder.
I told him, “Now I understand why you need a ‘Master.’ Your parents controlled you all your life. Without them, you don’t know how to live. So when you went abroad or now live alone in Beijing, you need someone to command you to feel comfortable. You could’ve escaped this cycle, but you’re so used to it that you’ll always weakly jump from one whirlpool to another.”
In “The Little Prince,” it says that words are like swords; once spoken, they can’t be taken back. After I “stabbed” him with my words, he stopped talking, and we sat quietly by the door.
I realized that ordinary people, wealthy heirs, proud white-collar workers, or sand-eating farmers, everyone’s base color is the same.
Everyone’s base color is sadness. We spend our lives trying to cover those rough sketches with heavy paint.
After that, we grew distant and eventually broke up.
I kept reflecting on why our relationship fell apart.
In “Fifty Shades of Grey,” Ana initially dislikes BDSM but soon enjoys it after trying with Grey. This made me believe that preferences can change through practice.
But in reality, I found I wasn’t Ana. Without “satisfying my boyfriend’s kink” as motivation, I couldn’t derive any pleasure from BDSM activities alone.
That’s why, when I realized he wasn’t worth “pleasing,” my motivation to practice BDSM crumbled. So when he cried, calling me “Master” and begging me not to leave, I felt no compassion, only anger.
It turns out I never loved BDSM. I only loved him.
When I loved him, seeing him change for me made me feel important.
When he loved me, feeling his kink satisfied made his life happier.
But in truth, our needs didn’t match. I wasn’t as important as I imagined, nor did I truly like BDSM. Any accidental embrace would ultimately end in letting go.
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