Haken - A Mans Firm Hand

Jere Haken

Copyright 2013 Jere Haken

I met Jamal on the internet. That wasn't a thing I normallydid, looking for guys online, but it was so much safer than it used to be. Usedto be if you told someone you met a guy on the internet, they looked at youlike you were crazy, or like there was something "not quite right"with you. After all, if a man couldn't meet his partner in the traditionalchannels of downtown bar or grocery store checkout line, there had to be somethingwrong with him, right?

These days online dating doesn't have that kind of stigmaattached to it. These days, everybody does it, not just the desperate. Makesthings a lot easier, too. You don't have to weed through dozens of duds just tofind one person that you mightmighthave a little spark with. These days youjust check off your preference boxes like it's the most normal thing in theworld. Are you looking for male, female, straight, gay, bisexual, or all of theabove? You want smoker, non-smoker, drinker, social drinker, teetotaler,butcher, baker, candlestick maker? Anybody you want is at your fingertips. Youjust have to hope you find each otherthat's one thing that hasn't changed withthe advent of online dating. You still have to hope.

Jamal was huge, in every sense of the word. Huge smile,huge laugh, huge muscles. At over six feet tall, he was bigger than any of themen I'd ever dated, and I admit I was a little bit intimidated by that. Iusually liked my men short and soft, like me. But short and soft men like mehadn't been getting the job done. That was why I put my profile up in the firstplace.

I needed a big man. I needed a man who could take me inhand. I wanted a man who could get rough with me when I needed him to.

Jamal seemed like he'd fit the bill nicely.

When he first opened the door and I stared straight intohis wall of rock-hard chest, he laughed. A rumbling laugh that came from deepwithin. A genuine laugh. I blushed and forced my gaze upward to meet his, andour eyes locked. I'd never had a man look at me like that, like he was hungryfor me. We hadn't even spoken our first words to each other yet, and already hewas undressing me with his eyes and ravishing me. I shivered.

"Hi," I said. It came out in a squeak, and Imentally kicked myself. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Hello. Areyou Jamal?"

"I am," he said, extending his hand to me. Youguessed it, it was huge.

He held my hand in his, and I couldn't help but notice howstrong his grip was. He'd told me he wasn't afraid to use a firm hand when heneeded toan idea which made me shiverand I found myself thinking about italready.

Who was I kidding? I never didn't think about it.

All my life, I've had this thing for spanking. When I was akid, I used to look up the word in the dictionary over and over. Just seeingthe word "spank" printed on the page gave me a thrill, and I wouldhastily close the book if anyone walked into my room. It didn't matter if therewere dozens of other S words on the pagethey would know. I was convinced thatif anyone saw the dictionary open, they would immediately deduce what I'd beenup to. They would realize I'd been reading that word and fantasizing about itand all of its various synonyms, that I'd been using my dictionary forless-than-scholarly purposes.

And then I'd be in trouble.

But not real trouble. Not the kind I fantasized aboutnearly every waking hour (and often dreamed about at night). My parents didn'tdo that kind of thing. They reasoned with me and took my allowance away andconfined me to my room on the rare occasion when I misbehaved. But I didn'tmisbehave often, because, despite every rational thought in my head that toldme it would never happen, I was terrified of getting a spanking.

By my early twenties, I wanted nothing more than a hot redbottom. By my mid-twenties, I still hadn't gotten it, and by thirty-two I'ddecided enough was enough. I couldn't wait around for it to spontaneouslyhappen. Clearly, it wasn't going to. If I wanted a man to take me over his kneeand wear me out, all I had to do was ask for it.

As it turned out, asking wasn't enough. I lost everyboyfriend I mentioned it to, some more quickly than others. They simply weren'tinto it. They were afraid of hurting me, they'd say, or they weren't ready fora D/s relationship. Hell, I didn't want a D/s relationshipI just wanted aspanking. I suspected many of my past boyfriends were secretly more worriedabout their own asses than they were about mine. If I wanted them to spank me,how long would it be before I was asking to spank them instead?

People without the kink don't get it, and you can't reallyexplain it to them. That was something it took me years of heartbreak to learn.

Things would be different with Jamal. I knew that, and itexcited me literally beyond words. Not only did we meet on the internet, but wemet on a fetish site. The site had your standard dating checkboxesmale,female, gay, straightbut it also included an added spice section. Everything Icould have dreamed of and some things I couldn't have were listed right thereplain as day. With the click of a mouse you could choose your orientation in a wholenew way. Sub, dom, top, bottom, master, slave, switch. Did you like anal play,breath play, blood play? How about ball gags, Saran wrap, or feather torture?

I wasn't into anything as extreme as feather torture,thankfully, but my hand shook plenty as I checked off the box for "purespankophile" and hit submit. I waited, refreshing my profile page overand over, expecting the messages to roll in. Things didn't happen quite asquickly as all that, apparently, but I buried my disappointment and carried on withmy life like normal. Two weeks later, I had a blinky little envelope in myinbox.

I must have read and re-read Jamal's profile a hundredtimes before I got up the courage to message him back. His note to me had beenbrief and blunt: "I'm into spanking, too, and it looks like we might livein the same area. I have lots of experience as a top, and I'd love to bend youover for some discipline. Write me back if you're interested."

I was very interested, especially after I took a look athis photos. I hadn't put a photo on my profile, out of fear or embarrassmentor who knows what. But Jamal wasn't shy. In addition to the standardshotsshirtless in front of the mirror, the obligatory dick photohe had a close-upheadshot that showcased a gleaming white smile and skin the color of milkchocolate. It was that photo that got me (though the dick one was nice, too). I could have sworn his eyes peered straight into my soul, and they said to me,"You've been a bad boy, Seth. Get yourself over Papa's knee."

Most people online will try to make themselves sound moreattractive than they are. I don't think it's intentional, eitherwe just writeourselves like we wish we were, or how we imagine one day being. Two inchestaller here, fifteen pounds lighter there. Teal eyes instead of blue,eight-inch cock instead of six. But one look at Jamal was all I needed to seehe had taken the opposite approach.