Porn Shows Me The Way

Somewhere along the way through high school I ran across something that focused my desires. It came in the form of a catalog for porn.

The Adam & Eve catalog, a company that is probably long out of business, found its way to a friend of mine. It had the usual variety of moderate porn for a wide range of tastes. But on one page there was a magazine I knew I had to have. I forget the actual title today, but it was something along the lines of "The Dominatrix Phenomena," and it featured a woman in high heeled boots on the cover, with a man on all fours kissing them. That had me written all over it.

Of course, I couldn't go straight at this. I was in high school. You cannot admit you are anything but normal in high school without being derided as a weirdo.

Alone with the catalog at one point, I detached the order form inside, noted down the item number and price of the magazine I wanted, and stuck the form in my backpack. Later I got the money together, bought a money order, and sent in the order. I put down my name, but my grandmother's address for delivery. I knew she would not bother opening the package, and if I said it was a surprise, she would not pry.

One day the package arrived. My grandmother called up to say that a large envelope had shown up for me at her house. I was lucky in answering the phone, as that meant no awkward questions about what had come. I told her I would come by on the weekend to pick it up.

That weekend I drove my recently acquired car over for a visit. I dismissed the package as nothing really, told her about school, family, and the like for a while, then headed home with my prize.

Late that night, with my parents watching TV down stairs, I got my reward. A magazine full of women in high heeled boots, stockings, and leather outfits. There was a write up in the magazine, a pseudo-scholarly work on the role of the dominant female in modern society, but that was minor filler that flowed around all of the pictures.

I was a bit worried about looking at the men. All the men in the magazine were in very submissive roles. Some were kissing or licking boots, acting as foot stools or chairs, or dressed up in French maid outfits serving tea. Others were bound up, or in the process of being bound up, with rope or leather straps. A man on all fours, naked, wearing a dog collar and a leash held firmly by a booted goddess, was another common theme.

And many of the men were being punished. They were being spanked, cropped, or whipped. Candle wax was being dripped on some men, while others were suffering with clamps or clothespins on their nipples and weights hung from their testicles by straps so constraining that the skin of their sacks was pulled smooth and firm.

I found that I could look at them because I identified with them.

A girlfriend I showed this magazine to much later told me it was horrible.

I thought it was wonderful. I wanted to be the men in these pictures. Any of them. Even the one being menaced by a whip with a rubber handle shaped like a large penis. ("Why was she hitting his butt with that end?" I wondered in my naivety. )

I had not associated pain, through corporal punishment and tight bondage, with my submission fantasies up to that point. But once I saw it, it seemed a very natural extension to my desire. I wanted to be tied up and beaten by a woman in boots. I wanted to wear a thick leather collar and be lead around on hands and knees by such a woman.

And of course, I wanted to jerk off. And I did. Furiously. For weeks. I had to swipe my step-sister's hand lotion, as I was getting raw jerking myself dry or into my T-shirts. (The softest material I could find, until I discovered my step-sisters cable-knit knee socks.)

Of course, that wasn't going to get my anywhere closer to these women in boots. I had no idea how to get there. I had no focused idea of what I really wanted. I thought it was really about a little bondage, a woman in boots, a spanking, and then sex. I had a long way to go.