I was flying to Bali again.
Still, I couldn’t quite believe how quickly this new reality had unfolded — but there I was, curled up in a soft business-class seat, heading toward the Island of Gods. Frankly, I knew perfectly well, although I kept denying the obvious as usual:
I was not flying to Bali, I was flying to Her.
…
The week before departure passed like a dream. Just seven days earlier, I had no intention of going anywhere. My luxurious country estate was rented until autumn, my current IT project was in full swing, and I was still living out the role of the serious, self-sufficient woman, issuing commands from the leather director’s chair in front of a huge monitor. This life, the one I’d chosen a year ago upon returning to Russia, was meant to ground me. I wanted roots. Stability. And I got exactly what I had been looking for.
It felt… solid. Predictable. Safe.
And boring. So goddamn boring.
Human interaction had become rare - a luxury, really. I was getting used to the role of a dominant mistress, occasionally indulging in depraved pleasures with submissive pages, but real intimacy… that kept slipping further and further away.
Over the course of this year, I'd come to a crystal-clear understanding: I was no longer attracted to men. Not as lovers, not as sponsors, not as life partners. Business partners - absolutely. Friends - why not. But with men, I now dealt only from a position of power. I would outtalk, outmaneuver, and outshine any man who dared tell me what to do. Sex with them had become unbearable. With my heightened sensitivity, traditional sex became virtually impossible. I reached orgasm from a light touch, from a breath, from focused energy. I no longer needed a dick inside me to feel pleasure. For me, friction felt rough, and male energy simply ceased to attract. After all, I had already revealed it within myself to the fullest.
“So what the hell am I supposed to do with all this?” I thought, sending yet another hopeless lover back home.
“Should I just become a lesbian?”
Hmm. Now that’s a thought!
It lingered in my mind for a while. Not just a fantasy - a real possibility. I began to recall my first sexual experiences… all of them with girls.
And they literally began in kindergarten - games of doctor during nap time, tender touches that tiptoed over the edge. I remembered how, at the summer house, my bestie and I used to hide inside sleeping bags from adults, kissing..secretly. I remembered how tremulous those moments felt, when my close friend - my soulmate - suddenly became even closer. There was something so deliciously delicate about it. Not forbidden, not sinful - but soft, intuitive, natural. A little shy, perhaps. Because those moments with girls always happened unexpectedly, and once that current pulled you in, there was no stopping it.
In my teens, I had many girls. Frankly speaking, I shared sensual connections with nearly every close girlfriend. I remembered one in particular, my best friend at school - we shared a desk. I went to class just to feel her hand glide over my thigh under the table. We never spoke about those moments, pretending they weren’t happening, but both of us were waiting for those secret caresses, silently thinking: "put your pen down.. touch me now.."
That game - the one where nothing is happening - still turns me on to this day.
I love keeping composure while drowning in arousal, holding back the urge to moan out loud. Like back then, in the deathly silence of the algebra test, when she set her pen aside and slowly slid her hand under my skirt. Her fingers brushed my skin, inching toward my soaked panties. My entire inner world was shaking with lust as she, with one light movement of her gentle fingers, pushed aside the edge of my completely wet panties and, slightly touched my burning clitoris.
Still, I couldn’t quite believe how quickly this new reality had unfolded — but there I was, curled up in a soft business-class seat, heading toward the Island of Gods. Frankly, I knew perfectly well, although I kept denying the obvious as usual:
I was not flying to Bali, I was flying to Her.
…
The week before departure passed like a dream. Just seven days earlier, I had no intention of going anywhere. My luxurious country estate was rented until autumn, my current IT project was in full swing, and I was still living out the role of the serious, self-sufficient woman, issuing commands from the leather director’s chair in front of a huge monitor. This life, the one I’d chosen a year ago upon returning to Russia, was meant to ground me. I wanted roots. Stability. And I got exactly what I had been looking for.
It felt… solid. Predictable. Safe.
And boring. So goddamn boring.
Human interaction had become rare - a luxury, really. I was getting used to the role of a dominant mistress, occasionally indulging in depraved pleasures with submissive pages, but real intimacy… that kept slipping further and further away.
Over the course of this year, I'd come to a crystal-clear understanding: I was no longer attracted to men. Not as lovers, not as sponsors, not as life partners. Business partners - absolutely. Friends - why not. But with men, I now dealt only from a position of power. I would outtalk, outmaneuver, and outshine any man who dared tell me what to do. Sex with them had become unbearable. With my heightened sensitivity, traditional sex became virtually impossible. I reached orgasm from a light touch, from a breath, from focused energy. I no longer needed a dick inside me to feel pleasure. For me, friction felt rough, and male energy simply ceased to attract. After all, I had already revealed it within myself to the fullest.
“So what the hell am I supposed to do with all this?” I thought, sending yet another hopeless lover back home.
“Should I just become a lesbian?”
Hmm. Now that’s a thought!
It lingered in my mind for a while. Not just a fantasy - a real possibility. I began to recall my first sexual experiences… all of them with girls.
And they literally began in kindergarten - games of doctor during nap time, tender touches that tiptoed over the edge. I remembered how, at the summer house, my bestie and I used to hide inside sleeping bags from adults, kissing..secretly. I remembered how tremulous those moments felt, when my close friend - my soulmate - suddenly became even closer. There was something so deliciously delicate about it. Not forbidden, not sinful - but soft, intuitive, natural. A little shy, perhaps. Because those moments with girls always happened unexpectedly, and once that current pulled you in, there was no stopping it.
In my teens, I had many girls. Frankly speaking, I shared sensual connections with nearly every close girlfriend. I remembered one in particular, my best friend at school - we shared a desk. I went to class just to feel her hand glide over my thigh under the table. We never spoke about those moments, pretending they weren’t happening, but both of us were waiting for those secret caresses, silently thinking: "put your pen down.. touch me now.."
That game - the one where nothing is happening - still turns me on to this day.
I love keeping composure while drowning in arousal, holding back the urge to moan out loud. Like back then, in the deathly silence of the algebra test, when she set her pen aside and slowly slid her hand under my skirt. Her fingers brushed my skin, inching toward my soaked panties. My entire inner world was shaking with lust as she, with one light movement of her gentle fingers, pushed aside the edge of my completely wet panties and, slightly touched my burning clitoris.
Inside, I was unraveling.
Outside, I kept my focus on numbers.
I came - soundlessly, ferociously, but so vast that remembering it still makes me wet.
Later, at a summer program in England, in the pale hush of a foreign dormitory, we became each other’s anchor - best friends, conspirators, tender lovers - sharing nights of whispered caresses and breathless laughter.
We would slip beneath the sheets and drift to the edge of madness together, and yet, even then, we remained, in our own secret way, untouched.
There were other girls after her, each one drawing me deeper into my sensual self.. This went on until I turned twenty, when marriage stepped in and those early explorations quieted beneath domestic life.. Flirting with women faded completely.. Until the day I launched the Secret Sense School of feminine intimacy.
And that’s when I met Her..
Outside, I kept my focus on numbers.
I came - soundlessly, ferociously, but so vast that remembering it still makes me wet.
Later, at a summer program in England, in the pale hush of a foreign dormitory, we became each other’s anchor - best friends, conspirators, tender lovers - sharing nights of whispered caresses and breathless laughter.
We would slip beneath the sheets and drift to the edge of madness together, and yet, even then, we remained, in our own secret way, untouched.
There were other girls after her, each one drawing me deeper into my sensual self.. This went on until I turned twenty, when marriage stepped in and those early explorations quieted beneath domestic life.. Flirting with women faded completely.. Until the day I launched the Secret Sense School of feminine intimacy.
And that’s when I met Her..
to be continued..