Story of O was my downfall. Or my uplift, if you prefer.
Thus I write at the start of Emily's Submissive Wedding Night. It was the same for the realer me: reading it for the first time among the shelves of a perfectly proper academic bookstore in New Haven, though it corresponded in its outlines with the terrible, slender books with the awful covers and the young schoolgirls (aged younger than I could age them) having their bottoms fucked--indeed though it was itself a slender book (with, thank God, a plain white cover)--I knew there was hope.
That hope didn't materialize into flesh (rigid flesh [heh]) for three years, however, and in that time I began really to explore. That was the time of the first butt-plug, and the first sexy lingerie, bought just for me to, er, explore in. It was also the only time in my life that I was promiscuous, as will come to light as this "real" story continues: in addition to my solo explorations, I also lost my virginity and slept with a total of five guys (including that first one), really I think in an effort to feel like I was living the way I thought I should be living and not because I was looking for anyone to play BDSM with, since I still thought of that as something completely private, even if with the help of Réage I now thought there was hope for me in that area. . . .
For more about the "real" me, read the Companion! You'll find the rest of this post (and it's hot, I promise!) there.