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Monday, 11/30/2009 - 5:41 a.m.

He was a smoker and I didn't find that attractive, and he was a total misogynist and I didn't find that attractive, either. He was a typical Italian man, raised in a family where the men rule and the women submit. Period. You found a nice Catholic girl and married her, and made lots of babies and went to Mass every Saturday - that kind of guy.

But I found him attractive, nonetheless - black hair, black eyes, excellent build, decent cock, pretty good kisser.

I had just come out of the leather closet and he was one of my first...experiments. He'd let me tie him up, but only if there would be sex. He'd tie me up, but only if it led to sex. I was 20 years old...what the hell did I know about BDSM?

So we experimented and something was missing. Lying in his waterbed, in his scrupulously clean apartment, with the lights turned off and candles burning, I knew there was more. There had to be more, right? More than just scarves and rope and rough sex with a man I definitely didn't love and wasn't even sure I liked.

After a particularly...enthusiastic rough sex go-round, I was lying naked on my stomach, sheet pulled half-assed over my ass, snuggled into a pillow, mostly afterglowy from the sex. I heard his lighter flick open, and heard him inhale. I didn't hear the lighter close but I didn't think anything of it. So he sat there, smoking, with that lighter open and burning while I dozed off in that post-sex sleepiness that happens. I was conscious enough to hear him blow out the flame and feel him shift in the bed.

And then my right shoulder was on fire. He pressed the head of that lighter down into my skin and when I screamed, he said "You're into all that freaky pain shit, right? This should turn you on" and all I could think was "Thank god it's only my shoulder.".

Everyone wonders why I'm so cautious and careful when I top someone.

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