been successful, too. Richard had only made me cry once, before. This is what I want, I reminded myself as Richard wound his hand in my hair and pulled my head back. His teeth bruising my shoulder felt familiar and wrong. A kiss on my neck sent me rigid. Sobs nearly choked me. Why now, my heart cried, why not when you were who I dreamed of, Richard? I couldn't fault his empathy -- he pulled away. "No," I said unwillingly, "I'm fine,” but he wouldn't continue. Uneasily, he pointed out that I'd never reacted like that. I said he'd never kissed me like that, and he asked, "Really?" as if it were a surprise. Yes, I thought, forcing my tears away. / was desperate for it. I know. To get him to keep hurting me, I had to convince him that I was fine. This is what I want, I coached myself. I was nearly composed when Richard mentioned Andrew, and I felt grief rip me open. He watched me cry, got me a glass of water. Shades of two years ago, I might have thought, but I never did. I apologized; he said only, "I thought this might happen." On some level, I knew that I had, too -- for all my self-reassurances that I would be fine. What was I thinking? | asked myself, and the answer came instantly. / had to know. When Richard asked if I wanted to sleep over, I said I didn't. "Then don't go yet," he said softly, putting his arms around me where I lay. I rested my head on his chest. / won't tell Andrew about this, | decided, wondering if he and I would be together again. Even if I've learned that I don't want Richard anymore. ok In retrospect, it seems surreal that I reacted so badly to my BDSM orientation. The agonizing memories of my adjustment have lost their emotional flavor. I've learned a lot about how to practice BDSM safely -- physically and emotionally. I've had multiple BDSM partners, and I've had positive experiences in the welcoming BDSM subculture. In recent times, I've even begun to switch: occasionally I'll be the dominant partner, though I feel submissive masochism f