The other night I was thinking back to when I first met my lioness. From the very start, I felt that she was special. No, it wasn’t that we had anal sex on the first date, though that was wonderful. Something else was there that touched me deep inside. It took me a while to realize just what it was.
Before I met Mrs. Lion I was in a nearly decade-long relationship with a woman who saw herself as a slave. She needed to feel that she was owned. That sort of thing is fun as a BDSM scene, but gets very difficult when it becomes a lifestyle. I wasn’t obsessed with the need to own a woman, but she was cute and sweet. I learned to love her.
Because she needed to feel possessed so strongly, she referred to any property we had as “Yours.” It was your dog, your house, etc. I accepted it as part of the way she was wired. I won’t go into detail about the rest of the arrangement. I will say that we worked out a way to sustain the relationship for almost ten years.
When we broke up, I searched for some sexy fun. I went to an online dating site. That’s where I found Mrs. Lion. Yes, I found my lioness on the Internet. Her picture was a closeup of her face. She was smiling. It was a wonderful smile, and as soon as I saw it, I knew that I had to try to meet her. Luckily, she didn’t live a million miles away. She lived about an hour and a half from my house. We met halfway at a motel. The rest is history.
Right from the start, after we finished fucking, I felt she was different. It wasn’t just her smile. When she spoke to me, she always used the first person plural. Everything was “we” and “us.” There was no “yours” and “mine.” I don’t think she was consciously aware of it, but even though we had spent less than an hour together, she referred to us as a unit.
I don’t know if, way back then, she felt a strong connection, but her language certainly signaled one. Those two small pronouns, “us” and “we,” moved me. They did. At first, it felt a little scary. Was I being trapped? By the time I got home from our first meeting, I felt the effects of her inclusion warming my heart. Her words didn’t trap me; they shared with me.
We had sex. We made plans. We shared our feelings and our bodies. That pronoun proved we were starting to share our lives. How many first dates are full of so much inclusion? She didn’t just give me her body. She shared much more. I wonder if she realizes how profoundly she affected me that day in August twenty years ago.
