SM 101: A Realistic Introduction by Jay Wiseman Read Free Book Online

that the average person, having been exposed to such material, has a wildly inaccurate understanding of what’s actually involved.
    At the time I wrote the first edition of this book, no “mainstream” (that’s code for heterosexual) person had yet stepped forth and, using their full, legal name, written about SM in an accurate, non-sensational, realistic manner from the standpoint of someone who actually did it. Since then, several more have, and I’m delighted to see them. If SM is to gain the acceptance it rightfully deserves then, just like being gay, bisexual, or lesbian, it is time to stop keeping it a “dirty little secret” that people need to hide. It is both unjust and morally wrong for people who practice consensual, responsible SM to live in a society where they must fear discovery of that fact.
    Regarding the revelation of my participation in SM, I feel some embarrassment, but absolutely no shame. I feel a touch of chagrin, but absolutely no contrition. I feel a bit of reluctance, but absolutely not one bit of remorse.
    The time is long overdue for the tens of millions of people in this country who share my interest in this form of responsible, intense, and, yes, caring form of sexuality to no longer have to live with the fear that their interest will be discovered and used to harm them by ignorant or ill-intentioned others.
When first got into SM I was convinced that 98 percent of all the people were going to be dominant. Hoo, boy, was I ever wrong.
     
    For more than four years now, I’ve been about as “out” as you can get, and nothing terrible has happened to me — in fact, many very wonderful things have happened. I continue to refuse to hide.

My Very Own, Official, “Coming Out” Chapter
     
    First fantasy. During the midafternoon of a late spring day in 1970, about a month before the Kent State murders, I was sitting out on the balcony of a Northern California house with my feet propped up on the rail, enjoying the sunlight. I was a 20-year-old, long-haired hippie who had moved out of the Haight-Ashbury slightly less than a year before. My “old lady” and I were “crashing” (please excuse the sixties terminology) indefinitely with some friends at a large house in the “notorious hippie haven” of Cotati, California — located about an hour north of San Francisco.
    The combination of the warming sunlight and gentle breezes felt luxurious. I leaned back in my chair and let drowsiness sweep over me. My mind began to drift as I lazed in the chair, and a number of images floated through. One image that stopped and focused itself more and more clearly was of me sitting in a chair. My old lady was naked and down on her knees in front of me, and she was energetically sucking my cock. That was definitely an image I could “groove” with, so I focused in on it some more. If memory serves, a grin spread across my face. And it was right about then that I looked at the image closely enough to see, to my utter shock, that her wrists were tied behind her back with a small, black cord.
    My eyes popped open and my feet came down off the rail. I sat bolt upright and blurted out loud to the only person there, me, “Where the hell did that come from?”
    I had no idea. I had absolutely no idea. I had never fantasized about anything like that before. The only time I had ever done anything like that was about two years before when I was living in New York’s East Village. A lady I met there once asked me to tie her up while we had sex. I did so (as best I could in my then-fumbling manner) and I enjoyed the sex, but the tying-up part aroused nothing at all in me other than vague uneasiness. So this wasn’t anything I had a prior interest in.
The rest of the world has absolutely no concept of what a warm, loving, and intimate act this is.
     
    My old lady and I were going through a rough phase, but things surely hadn’t become that bad. Or had they? I didn’t think so.
    I put the image out of my mind