So, we’re going to jump from when I was 13 to when I was 20 and just turning 21. Not that interesting stuff with boys didn’t happen in between – there’s a reason why Portishead’s song ‘Teardrop on the fire’ reminds me of sexual freedom. If only I’d gone home aged 19 with “The Toyboy” as I called him in my conversations with Lochlan, this blog wouldn’t exist. Or if, a few weeks later, I’d gone all the way with my gay friend in the bushes instead of just wanking him off. But anyway. This is about Kane or “American Guy” as I call him.
I was 20 and scouting the personal profiles of members on a BDSM website I’d joined aged 16. What was I looking for, people have tended to ask. Well, this was B.L. (Before Lynne) so the only thing I was ever looking for was to fuck, and right now, like yesterday.
Kane was a polyamorous dom and a quick message soon got us talking on a regular basis. We were always honest with each other. I felt we wanted different things, though – he was already thinking about me becoming one of his life partners. He was single at the time but had lived in poly households before. I could easily envision me with a couple of husbands living with Kane and with – or near – his other wives and their men. But the idea of commitment worried me. Actually, it terrified me. Going to the USA for the summer to be with him – that was what I wanted. But to live with him for months? For a year? Years?
Kane opened my eyes to politics. He’s a libertarian, which means he’s for no gun control and no drugs control as well as no welfare state. That’s not as evil as it sounds – he explained the complexities of the arguments to me and while I don’t yet know exactly where I stand (though I do support the NHS) it was very interesting to realise that people who seem completely opposed often have the same goal – the best for everyone. We just disagree on how to get there.
The guy supported the Iraq war, a position we remain opposed on. I’d told him we weren’t compatible early on (because of our political beliefs and he was, like, really controlling – probably too much for me.) But he refused to believe it. I was also in regular contact with three other guys – one was my age, one a year younger and one a few years older. The youngest didn’t approve of my relationship with Kane. Although we’d never met, Kane and I considered ourselves in a relationship and had made plans for me to go to the USA in the summer. I believed that selling my virginity would help fund that. Kane was an older guy, the kind that my ex-flatmate would’ve gone for. I didn’t give two flying fucks about age, I just wanted ‘tae git ma cock’ as Irvine Welsh would probably say in that delightful way of his..
Kane taught me so much stuff. We had a shared hate of Creationists (though he has near-Creationist friends and I have Creationist relatives.) I would tell him hot torture and spanking stories I made up. Through our talks, I came to appreciate the beauty of the Blood Eagle when performed on a hot man, and the exquisite aesthetic of government torture. (When it’s fictional.) Kane wanted to turn me into a kittygirl and had used Saran wrap to make wormgirls before. He also turned people into puppygirls. He critiqued my erotic fiction/porn fiction and I’d often stay up till 3am or even till 7am talking to him. Kane helped me see that I had bisexual tendencies. He believed that most people were bisexual to some degree but that after experimentation he’d determined that he was straight. That night I had a dream about snogging these two girls in a bar – a blonde and a redhead – and going to this flat and then they were topless and I touched their breasts. My dreams are vivid but they’re usually about my family, friends and acquaintances. It was one of the few dreams about women that I remember, though I do dream about men. He called me his bratling.
Kane pursued knowledge vociferously, reading books like ingesting knowledge was what kept him alive. He was a sciencey type and had a black belt in a martial art. He had information I very much wanted, such as how to make your own gunpowder and bullets, and how to drive someone to suicide. Kane was an executive and he had long hair. He was good looking. Like Leanne, he wasn’t surprised when I told him about selling virginity to Roland.
With all this talk of him maybe being my baby-daddy some day, the inevitable happened – I wanted to please him, wanted to try to commit to him in some way. I eventually believed I was in love with him because I thought of him every time I woke up and I would say his name before I slept. Sometimes I slept facing America. He was in my thoughts all the time. I’d never felt that way about a guy before; perhaps I was destined to marry Kane. I decided to tell him, and I logged on from one of the university computers, opened his last email to me, and it was really short. He said he was dumping me because I didn’t want stability and didn’t think that DNA testing my future kids to find out if he was their dad was important. It was a calm, measured, polite email – which sums up Kane perfectly. His last words to me were that I would become “a formidable person” which is his sincerest wish for me. I consider that the highest praise I’ve ever received.
I emailed back that I thought it was for the best, and that I’d never forget him. I also asked him if he’d tell me how to drive someone to suicide (not that I’d ever do it of course) and added that I knew he wouldn’t reply. Then I went on this blog to blog about it briefly. I felt no sadness – nothing. It seemed nothing more than an interesting experience in my life that would equip me for future challenges. I was delighted by my lack of emotion, believing that I had mastered my weakness and was in control of my emotions. I believed I could never be hurt by love and other barfingly mushy stuff like it.
I think the problem was that Kane had a specific goal of getting a wife in mind, so he ignored the warning signs and decided I was the one, before rejecting that decision. And that’s why I don’t think that trying to find husbands or wives by picking up people in bars really works.
But anyway. At the time I first wrote about Kane on this blog – immediately after he’d dumped me – I was flying high. I was selling virginity and had other shaggables on the internet, and no sad lovey-dovey crap was going to ruin my pursuit of pleasure. The future shone ahead, full of the kinky exploration of my sexual identity. As I sit here a year later, without a confirmed buyer yet (Roland moved to the USA before completion of the contract) and knowing that at any moment a Lynne-like episode might strike me again, and with only the experience of selling sexual services and the £2,150 it got me to show for the year, I feel kinda sad…