I’d broken up with my boyfriend. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I’m sober and I couldn’t share him with drugs anymore. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to.

I blocked him on messenger, Facebook, sent his emails to spam, etc. And I waited — and hoped — for him to wake up and come knocking on my door.

Then one Friday night about three weeks later, I got this WhatsApp message:

“Are we still together?”

No.

“Good. Thought I’d check. Because I’m going on a date.”

Watch: The horoscopes and breakups. Post continues below.

That shook me. I had thought he might have been pining for me. Hitting his bottom. Instead, he was out having the time of his life.

So what was I doing? Waiting around?

I instantly signed up on Tinder, Bumble and OK Cupid (I don’t do anything by halves). By the following night, I had a date.

The following week, I had two more (a second date and a new guy). The first date was lovely. But we ran out of things to say on the second.

The new guy asked if I wanted to be in a relationship with him… one hour in.

Then there was the OK Cupid guy who liked pee…

I quickly realised I actually didn’t want to date.

It wasn’t until my therapist asked me, “What is it about him that you really missed?”, that it hit me: I missed the sex.

We had amazing, intimate sex.

The way our bodies responding to each other, how we communicated. It was passionate, sensual, and f**king hot. We’d done things I’d never tried — new positions, anal play, toys. I was opening up with him in ways I never had before.

The conclusion I jumped to: I didn’t want to date. I wanted more sex: This guy had uncorked a sexual genie that I didn’t want to put back in the bottle.

Here I was single, living alone, no strings. What better time to explore my long-held secret sexual fantasies without having to deal with a messy relationship?

What was on my list of sexual things to do before I die?

I’ve always had this fantasy of being dominated. I spend so much of my life having to manage and control everything — people, places, things, work, timetables, emotions…

The idea of handing over my body to someone else – giving them complete control of my pleasure – was real appealing: Being tied down, gently teased to the brink, only to have them stop, then repeat it all again. Restraints. Orgasm denial. Making me beg. Making me ask for things I was too ashamed to… It all seemed sexy AF.

But how was I going to find someone who would do that to me? Not Bumble, that’s for sure. A bit of subtle prodding of some more open-minded friends led me to Fetlife.

Thanks to the guy, I had some sexy photos I’d taken while I was on a work trip to keep him titillated. I created my profile and then I posted:

Inexperienced sub, seeks kind and loving Dom to train and master her.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I was instantly flooded with messages and requests. So much so, that I had to take my post down in a matter of hours. It was like drinking out of a firehose.

I was working from home and my projects were not very mentally engaging. I was a little restless and very horny.

I started getting some random requests from anonymous names: Write “SLUT” on your chest in lipstick then send a photo; straddle and writhe on your bed railing while crying, “Yes my master”. I was a little naive — so I did it. I gotta admit, in the moment, it turned me on. The cold of the metal against my clit, sliding up and back along it.

But afterwards, this sense of shame washed over me. What if that got out somewhere? Who was this video actually going to? And after they refused to even send me a photo of themselves, I blocked them.

Listen to Overshare, the podcast you really shouldn’t be listening to. Just like the best group chat with your mates, Overshare is a bit smart, a bit dumb and a bit taboo. Post continues below. 

I decided to get smart and meet a few of my Dom “suitors” first.

The trouble was, I was so new to the game, I really didn’t know exactly what I was looking for. I wanted to explore this new sexual side of me, but what I didn’t understand at the time, was that I really wanted to do it with someone I felt loved and nurtured by. Someone I could trust. What I was actually looking for was an emotional connection and intimacy.

Over the coming weeks, the meetings took a general pattern: There was a bit of texting and sexy messaging. If we had a rapport, we’d meet for a drink or meal, if that went well, the second meeting would always involve sex.

For the first meeting — there was always a clothing request. One told me no bra, one no panties. One wanted complete control of my wardrobe down to my nail polish (which I normally didn’t wear). I was usually happy to — one less decision for me.

The “no panties” was the most thrilling for me. Feeling the air brush up from the ground and caressing my vulva. It felt kind of naughty.

They would pay for dinner/drinks, even though I’d always offer. We’d talk about travel, our lives, what turned us on, what we liked. I was pretty open — too open, really:

“I have no experience I just have these fantasies and now’s my time. I want to hand over my body and I don’t want to think about it.”

By the way, without meaning to brag, I’m in decent shape, I’m smart, funny, attractive. It must have been ideal to them: This naive woman with a hot body they could use like a plaything without all the usual trappings like expectations and commitment. I was selling myself short, but I honestly didn’t see it at the time.

On leaving the bar/restaurant, we’d go for a walk and they’d make their move: Fondling, groping, kissing. One walked me home to my place, came in and gave me a handjob to orgasm. (But then he made demands afterwards that I went along with though I really didn’t want to.)

Then on the second meeting, we’d get down to business. I make it sound like there were a lot of guys, really there were only five in a very short period of time (and two at once) that I got physical with. There were a lot of messages and texts but I weeded quite a lot of them out.

Anyway, the first guy had asked me to order some toys — a glass anal thing, butt plugs, etc. He was older. Kind of scrawny and had thin lips. He had three glasses of wine on the first date and he was quite tipsy by the end and very handsy.

When he came over, he tied me up for a second, but then halfway through he untied me, which I was secretly disappointed by. We played with the butt toys. He made me cum very quickly and then he jerked off over my breasts.

He was smart, articulate, mature, but I wasn’t attracted to him, and I realised his kink was more anal and butt play than domination, so I moved onto the next.

The second one was much more of a gentleman. In fact, he was kind of lovely. He came over with a big sports bag. And the minute he walked in the door, his voice changed. It got lower. And serious. Then he took me over his knee and spanked me hard. I got my first taste of ‘subspace’ and I kinda liked it.

He tied me up, used a pinwheel on my thighs. I experienced anal sex for the first time. He made me ask for permission before I orgasmed — even though after I asked and it was granted, I didn’t actually cum.

Each experience marked something off my sexual bucket list, but somehow they still left me feeling empty and hollow. They were nice guys, but they weren’t guys I was attracted to and I didn’t know them very well (at all, really).

I wasn’t being as discerning as I should be. If this was a date rather than a Dom application, I wouldn’t have even gone on a second date with the tipsy guy.

But somehow, I’d believed it was okay for me to hand over my body simply because they bought me dinner and it was just sex?

I was also missing something else. It wasn’t until the ex knocked on my door again sort of sober that I figured it out. The minute he hugged me, all the feelings came rushing back. I had an epiphany.

I didn’t actually wanted a Dom at all. I wanted an intimate relationship with someone I was attracted to and who I could trust enough to let them absolutely dominate me in bed. Up until now, I hadn’t understood the difference.

And because I have this kind of addictive personality, I’d explored it very “alcoholically” — I hadn’t taken the time, thought it through or been discerning, I’d simply dived in head first with whoever was in my path.

My lack of boundaries had also meant I’d let things go further than I would have liked on a few occasions. I wasn’t ashamed, but it was a warning sign I was heading into unhealthy, potentially destructive territory.

I can’t say that the things I explored weren’t fun. They were. To a certain extent. But they didn’t open me up, help me find my voice and give me the sense of sexual freedom I wanted. They didn’t take me there.

I realised that as much as I love sex, to me, it’s meaningless without an emotional and intimate connection to my partner.

So now it was time to pull back and re-think my approach. I’d found out what I didn’t want. Now I needed to figure out how to find and get what I did. And how to exercise the patience to wait instead of just going for whoever was in front of me.

Finding the right person to explore my kinky fantasies and my submissive side was going to be harder than I thought…

This article originally appeared on Medium and has been republished with full permission.

Jo Buckman is and English born, mostly Australian writer, currently living in LA. When she’s able to be physically separated from her laptop, she can be found camping, scuba diving, traveling the world or reading a book. Sober and single. Currently exploring sexuality, mental health, love and life – and taking you along for the ride. You can read more of her work here.