Free The Pleasure's All Mine: Memoir of a Professional Submissive by Joan Kelly Page A

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        One spring afternoon, I received an e-mail from a friend of a friend I’d never met, asking me if I’d ever been tied up. This type of thing was not as out of the blue as it sounds. At that time, I was a latecomer to a sputteringly social computer-geek community, that had loosely formed a few years earlier. The guys in the group, or geek boys, as we called them, were habitual in their random come-ons to newcomer women. Claiming the mantle of kink for oneself was a common enough ploy among them. It didn’t necessarily mean anything except that the person saying it wanted to be thought of as a sexual dynamo. Even knowing it was quite possibly an affectation, I answered my e-mailer with as much controlled enthusiasm as I could muster. No, I haven’t been tied up, I typed back, but I’ve always wanted to be.
         Meet me in the woods behind the computer lab in fifteen minutes came the immediate reply. He had to be kidding — there were bugs out there. And though he may have been a friend of a friend, this was Santa Cruz, California, a town that had only recently shaken off the distinction of having the highest percentage of serial killers per capita. Still, the invitation was irresistible. Ten minutes into the waiting period, I headed toward the back door of the building, trying to develop an air of reserve to camouflage my blind hope.
        Minutes later, I stood before him in a little clearing he’d led me to. He sat on a fallen log, watching me with a smile in his eyes but nowhere else on his face. I had reflexively followed his first order and taken off my T-shirt and bra without comment.
        “Stand in front of that middle tree there, and lift your arms over your head,” his voice came again, low and confident.
        As I had walked out the back of the building to meet him, I had merely hoped for someone who didn’t gross me out physically. His name was Tim, and I had been extremely relieved by the first sight of his cute face and fit body. His brown hair was not quite thick enough anymore to grow as long and wild as he seemed to be aiming for, but it still framed his slightly dangerous-looking face in a flattering way. His skin was pale, more due to time spent indoors than as a result of his natural coloring, and his smooth white hands looked capable of anything I might desire.
        Immediately after lifting my arms, I heard a noise. My first thought was: Is a deer going to freak out if he sees this? I worried that what we were doing out in nature was somehow tantamount to a form of spiritual littering. I cut my eyes away from Tim and was alarmed to see a flash of color, chest-high, many yards away, moving in our direction through the foliage.
        “There’s someone coming,” I said in a panicked voice, and crossed my arms over my bare chest.
        “Stay exactly as you are,” Tim ordered, his tone polite yet insistent. I stared at him open-mouthed, and then raised my arms again uncertainly.
        “What if he sees me?”
        “Probably it’ll make his day. Don’t move.”
        Rational thought tried to force its way into my mind, but the jolts of electric excitement traveling the length of my upstretched body refused to be overridden. Don’t move. No matter who came around that corner, I knew I would remain still. I could not mess up the opportunity to hear Tim say more things like that to me.
        Holding my breath, I heard more clearly the sound of crackling leaves and the whoosh of movement through the stillness outside our little circle. When a clear outline of a blue T-shirt bobbed into view a few feet from where I stood, I clenched my eyes shut and waited for catastrophe. Over the roaring of blood in my ears, I heard twigs snapping directly in front of me, and opened my eyes to see who was about to make a citizen’s arrest for this public lewdness.
        “You were very good. That pleased me a great deal,” Tim said,