Important note: This piece was originally written elsewhere, by me, under a different identity.
I do love a little hair-pulling. At strategic moments.
I first discovered this many years ago, when I was but a lass; innocent and unaware of the many perversions that existed in the world; and more to the point, how much fun they’d be to try.
I had a friend back then, called Jamie, whom I met when I was managing a bar in a venue at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. We’d become very close (if platonic) over the course of the three weeks that the Fringe lasted, and a month or so later, i went to stay with him for the weekend, at his parents’ place, which was about 2 hours drive from where i lived.
Jamie was the first person i ever met who was into S&M, as it was then called in those circles. I was absolutely fascinated, and not a little horrified, but I couldn’t stop wanting to hear more and more of what he had to tell me. He would regale me with tales of spanking and bondage and mutual mutilation (the sight of blood gave him a raging hard-on), and restraint and violence and so on.
Though initially shocked the first time he told me, (although I was already self-conscious enough to keep an outwardly cool composure, take a long drag of my cigarette, and exhale nonchalantly, saying “Yeah. And?”) I very soon regained my equilibrium. It was partly this whole thing that kept us both platonic. Hey — I was a young and naive thing back then.
There were serious sparks of attraction that flew between us, constantly, that were like the elephant in the room. Naturally, once away from the commune-like setting of the Fringe, and alone in a cosy little house, said sparks finally combusted into full-blown flame, and i found myself lying in his arms by a crackling fire, ostensibly to go to sleep, but as soon as the lights went out, being kissed with an ardour that few have matched since.
It was as he kissed me that his hand crept up my neck, and through my long tresses until his fingers were tightly woven into my hair. Then, very gently, he grabbed the clump in his hand and pulled.
It was like an electric shock went through my body, from the very roots of the pulled hair all the way down to my clit. I remember gasping, and pulling back my face from his, where he could see from my excited expression how much i enjoyed that.
He kissed me again and pulled harder and I moaned, involuntarily. It felt marvelous.
Then came the surprising thing. He gently pulled his lips away from mine, and held me close, rocking me softly back and forth.
I looked up at him, puzzled. “Why have you stopped kissing me?” I asked him, in wonderment.
“Well,” he said, looking at me very intensely, “It’s like this. Either we stop kissing and curl up to sleep and wake up tomorrow morning still friends, or I continue kissing you and end up actually physically hurting you quite a lot.”
Not being the woman then that I am now, i demurred from the latter option in favor of the former.
O foolish young Sapphire, if you only had known then what you know now….