6 PM. I’m heading back to my hotel room, happy we’ve wrapped up and already thinking ahead to the booze-fueled possibilities of the evening.
Being 24 and a virgin is not an asset. I’m reasonably pretty – blonde, petite, C cup, big green eyes – so when I admit to my sexlessness (and you pretty much have to at some point), my hookups freak out. Once we’ve established that I’m not saving myself, a feminist but not “anti-men,” and physically capable, we always get to the real reason why: I’m kinky. Turns out, finding someone to tie you down or roleplay during sex is not easy. The “normal” guys that I’ve dated have either not been into kink themselves (and judged me) or been so freaked out about me not having sex that they ghost. It’s hard telling them in the first place - the number of men who have made “Fifty Shades” references kills me. I wish there were some other global BDSM phenomenon, because everyone assumes that’s what you’re all about. Even my friends don’t know about this.
7 PM. I was eating my dinner and looking at the website for the one sex club in my city, again, when my boss called to check in on how the conference is going. We chat mindlessly for a few minutes while I consider the rates for membership, the risks of visiting on a guest pass, and the damage it could do to my career if people knew what I’m into.
Turns out, finding someone to tie you down or roleplay during sex is not easy.
8 PM. I didn’t have much luck introducing kink to the conversation with baby-face last night, so I’m hoping to find someone a different at this mixer. Lucky for me, there’s a whole group of army men who seem macho and a bit pushy and might be willing to take that to bed...
11 PM. We’re at a club, and I spot baby-face coming my way. None of the men in the military group has so much as flirted with me, and I wonder if it’s because they saw me kissing their friend last night. Disappointed, I resign myself to another boring night.
11:30 PM. My phone is buzzing. Because I’m in a new place for this conference, Whiplr, the matching app for kinky people, is showing me new profiles. Unfortunately, they all seem to be creepy guys with no pictures who see that I’m into BD/DS and want to sell me on a little S&M. I take a break from the dance floor with baby-face to check out the messages. The guys that I’ve chatted with on Whiplr and a similar dating app have all come across as untrustworthy, if not predatory, and I have never found anyone I would meet in person with, never mind feel safe having sex with.
11:45 PM. Baby-face comes to find me and suggests we go back to his room. I quickly delete the app so he won’t see anything weird on my phone; no big loss, since I haven’t been able to find anyone who doesn’t set off my sketch alarm. As we head out, I make some suggestive jokes about army discipline, but just like last night, he’s not getting it.
Baby-face comes to find me and suggests we go back to his room.
1 AM. My blue dress is off, and baby-face is in his boxers. I’m not even a little bit turned on, although the guy is a decent kisser. I’ve mentioned how much I like being pinned down, how I want him to take control, but just as he’s starting to finger me, someone knocks on the door. Buzzkill. It’s his roommate. I taxi back to my hotel.
10 AM. I’m in the final session of this conference, wondering why I even bother. I’ve known what I like since I was 12 and my parents let me have a computer in my room. When they were out, I would use the Private settings to do Google searches for tied-up women. Then I would grind myself on my fist through my jeans, uncomfortable with my desire. I didn’t even know it was masturbation, since sex ed at my private Catholic school didn’t cover that, but I still felt guilty. I’m an adult now. I should know to say no to vanilla boys.
12 PM. Time to drive home. I turn on the radio and start my four-hour karaoke marathon.
12:30 PM. Pit stop for lunch. I call my parents, since they’re out of church by now, and let them know the conference went well and that I’m on my way. Then I take my Chipotle burrito to go.
6 PM. Here’s another weird thing about me: I like ballroom dance. I’m in classes for it. My partner shows up to work on some swing choreography, and quickly moves it to my tiny bedroom to get out of the way of my parents. Then, hands on my hips, he sways me gently back and forth before going in for the kiss. Shit.
6:15 PM. The thing about my ballroom partner is that he doesn’t have a commanding bone in his body. He’s attractive enough, but also ridiculously sweet. I’m trying to be the world’s worst kisser, but instead of running the opposite direction he gently suggests that I shouldn’t open my mouth so wide.
6:30 PM. He wants to spoon. I don’t want to offend him, since he’s a great dance partner and I’ve already had two who didn’t work out, but I’m hungry and horny and all I really want to do is watch some porn and get myself off. I (politely) tell him I’m not really into it, and he gets the hint and leaves.
7:30 PM. Hunger overcame horniness. Fortunately there was a piece of salmon which I quickly pan-fried to go with leftover potato and kale soup. My parents want to chat about the conference, so I settle in on the cough.
9 PM. It’s weird doing this in my childhood bed, with my parents upstairs. Earbuds in, I open up PornHub in Private on my phone – the only way I watch, since I know I won’t get spam, viruses, or awkward search suggestions later. I scroll through the categories; sometimes I go for gangbangs or painful anal, which often makes me feel like a bad feminist, but tonight I’m in the mood for an old-fashioned doctor/patient or teacher/student power exchange. Two videos and fifteen minutes later, I have a fantastic orgasm using just my fingers.