Butterflies fluttered in my belly as I wiped my sweaty palms on my pant leg. My heart beat a hundred times a minute. My mind urged me to run. I was about to step outside my comfort zone. My safe, vanilla comfort zone. A comfort zone that, to date, had brought me nothing except heartache. I sat in my car contemplating changing my life for that very reason. Would it change for the better? I didn’t know, which made it even more nerve wracking. How it changed couldn’t be any worse than the stagnant life I currently led. I was floating through life without a paddle. I needed direction. The fact that I continued to sit here contemplating this made me question my sanity. This being showing up to a vanilla potluck attended by people in the BDSM community.

Vanilla meant a non-kink, family environment. A casual get-together to laugh and have fun. I’d spent weeks researching the kink community on the internet and had waffled back and forth so much about showing up today that my head ached from all the tension. My muscles tightened with anxiety. My emotions volleyed like a ping-pong ball between excitement and nervousness. Mild panic caused my heart to flutter, my face to flush, and sweat to bead across my forehead.

So many questions rattled around in my head. What would I wear? What should I bring to eat? Who do I talk to? Most importantly, WHAT do I talk about? I imagined everyone there would know exactly what I was — a thirty-five-year-old, overweight woman, whose longest relationship had only lasted a year. A relationship so toxic I don’t even know how I managed to find myself again after I broke it off.

Throughout the entire relationship, my ex told me I was fat. That I wasn’t smart enough or good enough. He spoke of it so subtly, though, I didn’t even realize it had been happening until one night when we were out with some friends. I had come back from the bathroom when I overheard my ex talking to one of the guys about me. About how he had to turn the lights off when we had sex, because he couldn’t stand to look at me. He even joked about how I had no idea the number of women he had on the side. At that point, I realized what I’d allowed him to do to me and my self-esteem. I felt so stupid for being oblivious to how I’d allowed him to treat me. The pain radiated like a slap to the face. It spoke to how beaten down he’d made me feel that I hadn’t recognized the signs. That moment defined me and made me realize that I deserved better. Without a word, I walked out of the bar and never saw him again.

I had dated some since then, except I never let anyone get close enough emotionally to hurt me. I fiercely guarded my heart, afraid to open myself up again and be vulnerable to the kind of hurt I’d already experienced. I fought back against the insecurities that had become so engrained in me. I hadn’t fully recovered my confidence or self-esteem, but every day, I studied my reflection in the mirror and told myself, “You are beautiful, smart, and good enough for any man.” I continued to have bouts of the self-doubt bullshit to work through, but I figured that the more times I said it, soon enough I would believe it. I also worked on opening my heart to someone, which I found extremely difficult. Once trust is broken, it’s hard not to become cynical about love.

As if having low self-esteem wasn’t bad enough. My sex life turned virtually non-existent. I had never gotten any real enjoyment out of sex when I’d been with my ex or any of the guys I’d briefly dated since then. I had tried to love fucking as much as the next woman, but something always seemed to be missing. I rarely orgasmed, but I became a pro at faking one. If I did come, it usually happened because I resorted to getting myself off when my partner fell asleep.

I had reached the age where spending my weekend nights at a bar or club trying to pick up a man no longer appealed to me. The majority of my friends were already in relationships or married. I had a few single girlfriends, and a couple of them tried to set me up with one of their friends, but nothing ever worked out. So, I spent a lot of my time reading and living vicariously through the characters. I read a lot of dirty books. They were my guilty pleasure. I read books with sex scenes so hot, I practically felt the deep pounding of a man’s cock inside me. The mingled breaths, the gasps, the moans, the fingertips ghosting along my skin sending shockwaves through my body. While dating my ex, urges came over me. Urges to give up control and be dominated. In hindsight, I realized why I never expressed my wishes and fantasies to him.

I had an inkling, a feeling, a hunch, a whatever you want to call it, that I was submissive. The thought of being dominated and controlled had me throbbing deep inside. Other than the throbbing in my pussy I experienced when reading BDSM books, I didn’t really know what it meant to submit or to give up control. With not being in a relationship, and having not been in one for a long time, I wasn’t comfortable exploring or giving up that control to someone I didn’t fully know and trust. I realized now that I’d always kept a part of myself hidden from the few partners I’d been with. I wasn’t getting any younger either. I wanted to find that person I could trust with the needs I didn’t fully understand. I needed more from life than casual fucks that I only half ass enjoyed.

Which led me to my current situation. Me, sitting in my car at a local city park, store bought potato salad in hand. I’d never pictured myself as a voyeur until today. Finally, after a half an hour of watching, I worked up the nerve to open the car door and start placing one foot in front of the other. I made my way to the shelter house and sat my potato salad in the buffet line. I moved by the wall and remained there, like a wallflower, while I waited for someone to talk to me.

“Mmm, fresh meat,” a deep, gravelly voice spoke from my right. I turned in that direction. What I saw caused my breath to hitch, and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Beside me stood the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. He appeared slightly older than me and stood over six feet tall with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He wore blue jeans and a tight navy t-shirt that only accentuated his muscular chest and arms. The flecks of gray in his wavy, dark brown hair glinted in the sunlight. I became lost in the soul searching forest green eyes that roved over me from head to toe, pausing slightly at my lips. Unconsciously, I licked them. As I did, his nostrils flared and a flash of arousal lit up his eyes. My face heated as a blush spread across my cheeks, and my eyes automatically dropped away from his intense stare. His full, sensuous lips were quirked up into a half smile, and I fantasized about running my tongue up his square jaw lined with the perfect amount of scruff. “What a delectable blush.”

I almost turned around to make sure no one stood behind me. I mean, completely fuckable men like him had no interest in short, overweight women like me. Don’t get me wrong; I reluctantly accepted this body with all its bumps, rolls, stretch marks, and cellulite. I even tried to actually love and completely embrace it. With my track record, though, I had yet to meet a man this irresistible who showed this much interest, a sexual interest anyway, in me. It made me wonder what thoughts were running through his head as he admired me. I had my long, wavy, slightly reddish brown hair gathered in a top ponytail, a belly, and wide hips. From the look in his eyes though, he wanted to eat me alive. My body temperature spiked, and I shivered despite the warm weather.

“I’m Marcus, by the way. Whom do I have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Pe-Penny,” I stuttered, almost breathlessly as I sensed my blush intensifying. I really needed to get it together. I’d never blushed this much before in my life. I needed the confidence I showed the world, even as unreal as it happened to be. Fake it ’til you make it was my mantra.

Marcus leaned closer as he stepped slightly inside my personal space, his mint-scented breath rasping along my ear, “What brings you out to play with us today?” Subconsciously standing a little taller, I began gaining the confidence I typically displayed as a nurse working with chauvinistic surgeons. I told him about my interest in learning more about BDSM and the lifestyle. I wanted to find a neutral place to meet people and gain, if not friends, then at least acquaintances, and definitely knowledge.

“Knowledge about what?” Marcus asked, showing true interest. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to know the sensation of giving up control, how to please someone and be pleased in return. I wanted to be dominated, to discover why I couldn’t find someone who wanted that happily ever after with me that I constantly read about. Sadly, I didn’t know how to express any of this.

My shoulders shrugged as I settled on, “Whatever someone will teach me.”

“Sweetness,” he cooed, “I’d be happy to teach you anything you want to know. Let me introduce you to some friends of mine.” With a hand brushing across my lower back, startling me with the sparks of electricity that flowed through my extremities, Marcus led me over to a group of women. Marcus made introductions and left me to mingle. I noticed he never strayed far, and several times, our eyes met over someone’s shoulder. The smoldering glances he gave me sent heat burning throughout my body. My nipples pebbled like berries, and I felt myself getting wet the longer he kept staring at me. It wasn’t often that a man scrutinized me the way Marcus did. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time that even happened. I felt naked and exposed under his gaze, as though my barriers were being broke down. It was disconcerting to say the least.

I did very little talking among the women and spent most of the time listening. I met Delilah, her skin inked with a beautiful scalloped tattoo across her chest that travelled up her collarbones and around the back of her neck. She explained that both the tattoo and the gold choker collar she wore signified her Master’s ownership. I didn’t understand their Master/slave dynamic, but she seemed happy. I also met Priscilla, or Priss, a submissive who missed her Dom as he recovered in the hospital after a heart attack. Then came Jackie, a transgender woman who’d recently gone through transition surgery, and finally Bridget. Bridget and I were close in age, maybe five years difference. Bridget was submissive and in between Doms. She was someone whose brain I wanted to pick. I also imagined we might become great friends one day. No sooner were we about to delve deeper into our conversation, than a tingle of awareness rushed through me, and a sweltering heat burned against my back.

“Have you discovered any deep, dark secrets yet?” Marcus asked.

“Yours or mine?” I quipped as I slowly turned to face him.

Marcus stepped closer and closer forcing me backward until I was flush with the wall behind me. Chest to breast, his thigh worked its way between my legs to press against my pussy. His erection grew against my abdomen and with his finger tracing my lips, he rasped, “Why, yours, of course. I’m curious to know what depraved secrets you keep buried that you wish someone like me would discover. In fact, I think I would enjoy that immensely. Discovering your secrets, that is. I’d love to see you spread out before me, your hands bound above your head, writhing as I feast on your sweet, succulent cunt. You have this plump ass that I want to devour while I mark you as mine. You’d remember my handprint for days. I want to hear you scream my name as I fuck you harder than you’ve ever been fucked before. You’ll come over and over again.”

I whimpered and felt myself almost undulating against Marcus’ thigh as he rocked against my clit. I didn’t even care that there were people around. I wanted everything he described. The huskiness of his voice nearly brought me to my knees at his feet in supplication. Every other intimate encounter before today missed this. It terrified me.

Even still, my arousal increased at his words. I didn’t even know this man, but I had a feeling that if, given the chance, he’d discover all my secrets. Overwhelmed by his attention, I made my excuses and raced home, knowing I’d replay his words.