Last month, I wrote about the joys of discovering BDSM with Nick, my latest sex partner. Relinquishing control actually freed me — it pulled me out of my head and released me into my body.
Still. I had limits.
Soon after Nick and I met, we had talked about our fantasies. One of his was that someday, I’d wear a collar and a leash for him.
Hell no, I said. I wasn’t a dog. The idea felt like a grim little diorama of patriarchy. But…. I was also reminded of the movie Babygirl, and how much Nicole Kidman’s character, Romy, enjoyed getting on all fours, eating a treat out of Samuel’s hands, and drinking milk out of a dish.
Weeks went by, and Nick and I continued to explore variations of BDSM. I found it fun to role play — to free myself from cultural and social rules and explore new identities and situations. It was like trying on costumes in a secret room inside myself.
So, after a while, I reconsidered the leash and collar. Maybe, with the right preparation and context, I could do it. Maybe I could even have fun. If it was clearly play-acting, and not us being us, I might be able to relax into it. Because I realized that what made me bristle was the idea of submitting and being degraded by him, as myself. If I wasn’t me and he wasn’t him, I wouldn’t disappear or relinquish, but instead become someone else on purpose.
OK, I said. I’d try it.
I met Nick on a Friday afternoon and we got lunch. We walked to the hotel he had booked and started talking about the role play. He wanted to be — yes, it’s a terrible cliché — “Bad Boy Nick.” I didn’t pick a name for my character. He acknowledged that this was new for both of us — he’d never done this kind of thing before either — and that it might be especially challenging for me. Yes, I said, I wasn’t sure how it would go. He assured me that if anything felt off at any point, we would stop.
We chose a safe word — “pineapple” — and he suggested that I could also “break the fourth wall” and communicate with him using a color scheme. “Green” meant I wanted more; “yellow” meant things were just right; “red” meant it was too much.
He pulled a crop out of his bag, saying he’d bought it at the same time as the collar and the leash. He asked if he could use it. Yes please, I said. Then he asked if I would consider drinking milk out of a dish, just like in Babygirl. I said no to milk, but countered with champagne. His eyes lit up and he ran off to buy some while I stayed in the hotel room wondering what the hell I had just gotten myself into.
He returned with prosecco and a plant saucer. (Yes, apparently this was my life now; and hey, at least it was clean.) We talked logistics again. We would slip into our roles as soon as he put the collar on. The moment it was taken off, we’d be back to ourselves.
I took all my clothes off. He put on the collar and leash. He instructed me to stand in front of the room’s full-length mirror and admire my body. He placed the plant saucer in the middle of the floor and poured prosecco into it.
He told me to get on all fours. I started crawling towards the dish, and then stopped, realizing I should wait for his next command.
I checked in with myself. I wasn’t feeling humiliated or debased. It felt new and fun, like I was embodying someone new in some kind of salacious, ridiculous, strangely liberating little performance piece. When I looked at Nick, I saw a sparkle in his eye. He was telling me what to do, but he wasn’t scary. Underneath it all, we were both amused. And rather turned on.
Nick told me to crawl over to the dish and drink from it. I put my face down and started lapping the liquid, getting it all over myself. Suddenly, my nose, dripping with prosecco, started itching. It began to twitch. I wanted to scratch it, but I felt it prudent to wait for permission. He figured out what was happening and was delighted.
“I love that this is what’s causing you the most discomfort — your nose itching,” he said. I started playfully trying to scratch it without using my hand — by rubbing it against my arm, then the floor. He loved all of it.
Next, Nick told me to lie on my back on the floor, and he handed me my vibrator. He told me to use it but to be quiet, to remain still, and not to orgasm. He rested the dish on my stomach and poured more prosecco into it. If I moved, it would spill all over me.
I used the vibrator intermittently, not allowing myself to come. He crawled over with the crop and began gently slapping it on my thighs, my torso, my arms. I was surprised that I loved it. It felt so different from a slap — instead of distracting me, it intensified my pleasure. He could tell, and that turned him on even more.
Eventually, he told me I could orgasm — and when I did, I spilled prosecco all over myself and the floor. I shrieked from the cold. He sat down in a chair and told me to crawl over to him. I did, and he poured prosecco into my mouth, then all over my body. He poured it on his naked body, too, and told me to lick it off. I obliged.
After that, Nick told me to lie down on the bed. That’s when we finally started having sex — but he kept teasing me. He would enter me, just barely, without thrusting. I started going crazy, wanting more. Eventually, I couldn’t help but speak up. “Green?” I said, pleadingly. He started laughing. I started laughing. The whole thing was filthy and theatrical but also surprisingly tender. The fact that we could drop the act, find each other underneath it, and giggle together felt like a new kind of intimacy.
Then, he took the collar off.
This was one of the hardest parts, actually. It was tough to snap back into myself for good, and he had trouble switching back too. We kept crossing back into our roles; I would get annoyed at myself when I was being submissive, and I would get annoyed at him when he acted as if he was still in charge. I felt anger bubbling up, and I suddenly wondered whether I even liked Nick anymore.
Then I realized what was happening. I felt just like this the first time we tried BDSM: I was emotionally processing the act of relinquishing control. My choice to submit to a man was bringing shit up. Just like last time, I felt angry and wanted to flee — a kind of subdued fight or flight reaction. I loved, though, that I could recognize it for what it was. I could feel my feelings, but also notice and distance myself from them. We stopped having sex, and he held me. I told him what I was feeling.
This time, the black cloud passed quickly. I told him that I’d actually had a lot of fun in the role play — it was like I’d participated in some kind of experimental theatre, that I’d tried out a new character. He said he loved it, too. I told him I didn’t like that it took us a few minutes to snap back into ourselves, but that I hoped that was something we could get better at with practice.
Don’t get me wrong: There was, and still is, a part of me that questions all of it. Is this okay? Am I being duped by a sexist monster? Am I a bad feminist? But…. In the moment, it really felt okay. More than okay. I am actually looking forward to doing it again. So I’m holding onto that for now and trusting my gut.
Nick then started massaging my feet, then moved up to the rest of my body. It wasn’t sexual — it felt more devotional. It felt like a balancing of the scales: not a “thank you,” but an acknowledgement that I’d done something new and challenging to fulfill his fantasy. He wanted to reciprocate, to give back to me, through a long and sensual massage. I welcomed it.
As I lay there, I was reminded, once again, of the movie Babygirl. Romy felt so conflicted about being submissive. She craved it and enjoyed it in the moment, but she also felt a deep discomfort relinquishing her power. I understood that ambivalence — but I also felt like I’d found a safer way to explore. Through role play, I wasn’t being objectified or ordered around. My alter ego was. I could try new, uncomfortable things without having to sacrifice parts of myself. As long as we could both maintain a clear line between reality and fantasy — and that really would be key — I could wander into those places that scared me. Then I could find my way back, perhaps even more myself than before.
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