Submitting to Her by Max Sebastian Page B

back, I think I always had that sense
of being incomplete, and my earlier efforts to bed as many shiny
but vacantly pneumatic blondes as I could lay my hands on had been
a way of distracting myself from that emptiness.
    Thinking about my sexual history, I realize
that all the real high points along the way had been when women I'd
been with had displayed little glimpses of the kind of power that
Zoey lived every moment she was with me.
    It had started with the loss of my virginity
at the end of high school in the sunny corner of a Pennsylvania
cornfield, when Sally Donovan had grown tired of me kissing her and
nothing else. After a stern talking to from my father in the
Baptist-inspired name of sex education, I had been under the
impression that if a guy attempted intercourse with a girl before
their wedding day, it would be deemed a sexual assault, with the
guy ending up in jail. Sally had told me to quit stalling and lie
back so she could get a condom on me, and then she'd straddled me
without so much as another word. At the time, I think I was so
overwhelmed by the loss of my cherry and the life-transformation
that represented that I completely missed the underlying thrill of
being ordered to lie back and allow Sally to make use of my
equipment for her own ends.
    There had been Eliza Reeves in first year of
college, the first girl who had ever worn proper lingerie for me,
and the first and only girl prior to Zoey who had ever actively
asked me to go down on her. God, how hot had she been? She hadn't
the prettiest girl in the world, but so sexy and curvaceous in
stockings and suspenders and all that lace, showing off the kind of
outfits that couldn't be anything other than clothes specially
picked out for sex.
    Helena, a redhead I met in my first real job,
selling classified ads for a newspaper before that whole part of
the industry was shut down by Craigslist. She'd had the dirtiest
mouth of any woman I'd ever met, and while she had never dominated
me, her running commentary whenever we screwed had made me harder
than any girl before, and told me exactly what kind of things got
her going, which had ultimately served to ensure she came at the
end as well as I did.
    I even recalled a one night stand with a girl
called Rita that happened at some point when I was 26 or 27,
because that particular night we didn't have a condom, and she
hadn't been in the mood to go down on me. I'd spent that night
tonguing the alphabet over her clit until she'd rolled over and
gone to sleep. The experience had been memorable, although at the
time I'd been seriously disappointed not to go the distance with
her.
    Perhaps I had now re-engineered my memory in
the light of my new-found obsession, but the fact was those few
encounters had certainly lodged in my head out rather than the
countless others had simply faded into the ether. If I'd only
recognized at the time what was going on, and why it had been so
hot.
    When I thought about it, I'd been waiting for
Zoey all my life.
    Where did it all go wrong? I suppose as I
matured, moved away from home and found the confidence to actively
pursue the opposite sex, like many men I took the line of least
resistance - going for the girls who literally threw themselves at
me. Hey, if they were pretty, why wouldn't I go for them?
    Only, with almost all of them the fires of
desire were quickly quelled. Even though the sex might be
distracting for the first night or so, it quickly became routine,
even with a string of different women.
    Looking back, it's easy to get depressed that
there was nearly a decade of my life that was essentially wasted as
I never got to truly appreciate the women I had been with. Sure,
now I can see how selfish I was at the time, but until Zoey came
along there was really nothing to help steer me in the right
direction - the vast majority of those girls did not want to show
me how to satisfy them properly. Maybe they didn't know how,
either.
    But it doesn't help anyone to have