Betty Dodson with Carlin Ross

Better Orgasms. Better World.

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The winter of '76, my friend Ruth, a feminist organizer who lived in San Francisco called to ask if her boyfriend Jack could stay with me while he was in New York. I gladly said yes. My apartment was always available to friends and friends of friends. While we talked, she casually mentioned they were into SM sex play. At first I assumed she was dominating him. The idea of her putting him into bondage was totally acceptable, but when she said she played the role of his slave, I couldn't believe it.

How could this powerful feminist get off on a punk kid dominating her? Causally I asked when she'd gotten interested in S/M, hoping none of my moral judgments were showing.

"Actually Jack is the devotee of black leather and bondage," Ruth said, "But I find wearing it kind of sexy. There's not that much difference between putting on a leather bra that's studded with silver or a black satin one trimmed in lace."

After I hung up the phone, I realized this could be an opportunity for me to find out more about the hard-core sex roles of S/M. Although I'd never admitted it to anyone, not even Laura, I had a big hidden prejudice toward this particular sexual preference. Instead of trying to control someone or giving up control, I wanted sex to be between equals. Laura had a few S/M scenes with a lesbian friend of hers who was very devoted to consciously playing with power during sex. When she told me about being dominated by Georgette, I listened with interest, but nothing she described really turned me on that much. At the time, I carefully avoided being overtly critical because after all, I'd made it a point to be open-minded about all forms of sexual expression.

The night when Jack arrived, we both agreed we looked like a twin brother and sister with our similar butch haircuts that we did ourselves with electric clippers. He was only a couple of inches taller and we were dressed alike with our jeans tucked into cowboy boots. Even our down jackets were the same color of green. As we sat down to eat dinner together, I began running my list of questions.

"When did you become a sadist?" I asked, starting at the top. He said he didn't use the words, "sadist" or "masochist." Those were psychiatric terms that didn't really describe the sexual games he liked to play. "Master and slave" or "dominant and submissive" were more precise.
"What do you do after you tie a woman down? Beat her up?" I said, partially in humor, but Jack picked up on my bias toward S/M.

"Betty, that's a very primitive view of S/M," he said with raised eyebrows. "I might spank her if that's what she wants. Then I'd go down on her. We'd most likely end up fucking together."
"You mean you're doing regular sex, except with handcuffs?"

"Well, if you were to let me put handcuffs on you, it wouldn't be regular sex, now would it? You'd be making a real emotional statement of trust by submitting to me while under my control."

I asked if that wasn't just taking the conditioned sex roles of passive female and aggressive male to the extreme. He said I was exactly right. By intentionally exaggerating and agreeing to play those roles, both his partner and he were consciously heightening their sexual pleasure. In a way, they were putting on a sexual performance for each other. He went on to explain that S/M could also be a public performance at a club with an appreciative audience.

As I sat there I silently thought, "If Jack was sexually liberated, he'd have more fun with an equal partner. Maybe he's insecure about his masculinity." Then he interrupted my thoughts by asking if I wanted to do a scene and I found myself trapped in a paradox. Hadn't I always insisted there was no one "right" way to have an orgasm? Yet, here I was, thinking there might be a "wrong" way, like in the firm embrace of handcuffs! Just then, I thought of a way to experiment safely. I'd do a scene if it was a threesome with Laura and me, so we agreed to spend the following night together.

Jack had asked for a couple of hours alone to prepare, so the next night Laura and I had a leisurely dinner out. When we returned and were taking off our clothes in the foyer, I whispered, "Remember, I'm an S/M virgin." Laura grinned and nodded.

As we walked into the living room, Jack's equipment was artfully laid out on the floor, the candles were lit and the air was scented with incense. First we began with an impromptu fashion show, trying on all the black leather harnesses, cuffs, collars, and other paraphernalia. Looking at myself in the mirror, I had to admit black leather studded with silver looked great against bare flesh. So far, playing dress‑up was fun, and I was enjoying myself.

Since I didn't know Jack well enough to submit to him, I agreed to let Laura be my master. Very shortly there was a dog collar around my neck. Laura ordered me to get down on all fours while she attached the leash. My ankels were hobbled with cuffs connected by a short chain. In a flash, I became a dog, licking and panting, wanting my master to pet me. Although I was playing my role for laughs, neither Laura nor Jack acted amused. They were seriously playing their roles.

When I pawed at Laura's leg to get her attention, she yanked at my collar and said, "Heel!" She was the perfect stern mistress, demanding obedience. Once again I tried to get her to pet me. Pulling on the collar, she ordered me to "stay." When I did it again, I was sent to the corner of the room and told to "lie down." For the next five minutes or so, Laura and Jack chatted away while they completely ignored me. Although I knew it was just a game, I still felt left out. Unexpectedly, a genuine feeling of sadness came over me. For a moment I identified with "man's best friend" as I remembered all the times I'd seen people yanking on their dog's leashes, yelling, and snapping orders at them. All very interesting, but what did any of this have to do with sex?

"So that's a dog's life!" I said, standing up, ending the game.

Next, Jack let us put him into wrist and ankle cuffs while he was lying face down on my carpeted floor with a soft blanket. Laura got right into a nice run of verbal humiliation by commenting on his fat round butter‑ball butt while she flicked him lightly with a riding crop. Then she started to name all the fattening things people eat, giving him a whack after each one. I joined in with my hand, and together we set up a catchy rhythm, spanking the behind that we said was too plump, even though we both thought it was cute.

When we ended our scene, Jack complemented us. Intuitively, we'd varied the rhythm to keep him anticipating by not knowing when the next blow would come. We could have gotten more intense, he added, gradually building up to stronger sensations. All the while I'm thinking, "I still don't see what any of this has to do with sex?" To me, S/M seemed to be avoidance of sex, or at best, a weird kind of foreplay. The only part I found intriguing was the clarity about who was in control. That aspect was in line with my idea of people taking turns when they shared sex. Most often, when heterosexual couples tried to get off at the same time, it usually ended with the man coming and the woman faking her orgasm.

Just then the phone rang. It was Victor Green, an old sexual friend I hadn't seen for years. When he asked what I was doing, I couldn't resist showing off. "I'm involved in an S/M scene with a beautiful woman and a cute twenty‑five year old houseguest who's got a lot of equipment."

Victor said he longed to be my devoted slave and promised to do anything I asked of him. While listening to him begging to come over, I did experience a twinge of power that prompted me to say he'd be permitted to see me the following night. After I hung up I bounced back into the front room and announced that I had my first slave. I asked Jack if he'd be my guide for the upcoming scene and he said he'd be delighted, but Laura said she'd made other plans.

Next evening, Victor arrived thirty minutes early, and Jack wasn't back yet. "Just be cool," I told myself. With few words, I marched Victor straight into the living room and ordered him to undress. Pulling out the dog collar, I snapped it on, added the leash, and told him to get down on all fours. He obeyed. While I was hobbling his legs, I realized he was going to surrender to everything I did like a helpless rag doll. Just then the phone rang, and I went into the back room to answer it. It was Jack telling me he was going to be delayed for a couple of hours. He apologized and said he'd join us later.

When I hung up the phone, I suddenly felt extremely vulnerable, the exact opposite of feeling masterful or in control. As I headed back to the living room, I stood in the doorway a few moments looking at Victor waiting to get done. The responsibility made my blood run cold. He was going to have all the fun while I did all the work! With my mind made up, I crossed the room and began undoing his bondage. When he asked what I was doing, I told him I wanted him dressed and out of the apartment in five minutes. He reluctantly followed my orders and left, sniveling all the way to the front door pleading with me to tell him if he'd done anything wrong and when could he see me again.

When Jack returned later, I told him the image of Victor trussed up like a chicken waiting to get "done" it was more than I could handle. He said I'd get more into it when I was with someone I really loved. However, I was in no big hurry to play S/M again, much less fall in love. I had assumed the role of master was going to turn me on, but it didn't, and my hard‑won feminist ideology wouldn't allow me to be a slave to anyone for any reason even if it was just a game.

A few years later at the beginning of the eighties, I would get involved in S/M as a form of fantasy role playing with a group of lesbian and bisexual women that incorporated a myriad of fetishes and a lot of varied sexual activity, but more about that later.

Excerpted from My Romantic Love Wars