Friday, April 22, 2016

The Contract We Didn’t Sign

Whenever work, stress, deadlines, and just life in general become overwhelming, my mind and body react in one of two ways. Either my libido—and my kinkiness—go into absolute hibernation, or they go into serious overdrive.

Last fall, they went into overdrive.

Blame it on overlapping work deadlines, getting a mortgage, closing on a house, and then getting that house ready for us to move into. For months on end, free moments were few and far between, and what free moments my wife had rarely coincided with my own. We tried (and tried), but we also failed more often than we succeeded. And while I may be a fan of tease and denial, I want my wife to be responsible for it, not late-paying clients and our mortgage lender.

The new house also held the promise of finally getting away from having neighbors beneath as well as beside us, with thin walls and sound-leaking floors in between. That only probably would have been enough to kick in the overdrive, especially after a decade of amorous and/or kink-charged moments being interrupted by the Neighbor of the Moment’s Loud Toddler of the Moment.

So I started writing a contract, here and there, if just to give my kink some outlet. Given that it was my first ever attempt at a contract and my kink capacitor felt like it was about to overheat and catch fire like a Boeing Dreamliner’s battery, I went a little berserk right from the start:

     By this agreement, entered into freely by both parties, ___________ (hereafter referred to as “OWNER”) takes physical and sexual ownership of ___________ (hereafter referred to as “PROPERTY”) for the period from ___________, 20___, to _________, 20___, with rights, responsibilities, and restrictions as detailed below:


     1. OWNER has exclusive rights to, control of, and authority over PROPERTY’s physical body and related aspects thereof, including, but not limited to, clothing, state of dress or undress, hair, location and restrictions thereon, restraint or freedom, chores, marks and other symbols of ownership, and speech.

     2. OWNER has exclusive rights to, control of, and authority over PROPERTY’s sexuality and all related aspects thereof, including, but not limited to, choice of all sensual and sexual acts, location of all sensual and sexual acts, duration of all sensual and sexual acts, role plays, masturbation, and orgasms.)

Multiple additional sections and much verbiage followed, but you get the point. In my defense, writing this Apple Terms and Conditions-like monstrosity (and Twitter) was the only real kink outlet I had the time. Overly legalistic and just plain wordy, it still helped keep me sane during that period. And even then, after I’d reached five extremely dense, single-spaced pages, even I gave up on it.

Fortunately, this contract was never meant to be signed. It was a stress release, a safety valve, and on that score, it did the job. Utter personal fantasy, it was never even intended to be shown to my wife, which is good. I don’t think I could find a better example of trying to lock one person into someone else’s fighteningly specific kink buttons—especially the in parts not reproduced here—as this thing. She wouldn’t have run screaming from the room, but she would have given me that look, and any chance of what we have now would have been shredded along with the paper this contract was printed on.

Like a lot of “first drafts,” though, it taught me what not to do. And that was valuable experience for writing a contract that might actually stand the test of reality and two sets of expectations as well as boundaries—in other words, the one we actually did sign, just a few weeks ago.

Thank God I let myself go a little crazy back then, or I might have really screwed up the real thing, when the opportunity for it actually came.


  1. there are always multiple drafts. thank god for word processing.


    1. Thank God for several months between drafts, too!