Goth

Months after the first encounter, Rafaela and I met again. This time I would discover she had a boyfriend — and that maybe, after all, she really was a professional.

It was around 2016, maybe 2017. Back then swingers’ social networks still had some innocence to them, and it was on one of those sites that I stumbled onto Rafaela’s profile. The cover photo said everything: skinny thing, ass disproportionate to the rest of her body, a look that knew you’d click. And I clicked.

We traded messages. First the usual internet banter, then things got more direct. She opened up fast: she liked getting gifts. I returned the honesty: I liked being dominated, the whole cuckold thing, that grey zone between submission and voyeurism I was still learning to name. Neither of us seemed scared. If anything, that sealed the deal faster than any pickup line could.

Nick was a gothic redhead I dated, I think I dated, for about 8 months. I met her on the way to a BDSM party, and she was impossible not to notice: an hourglass figure, an incredible ass, and she knew she was extremely hot, that almost everyone would want to eat her. With corsets she got even better, pushing her soft curves to where they’d be valued.

She was the first woman who talked openly about cuckoldry, big dicks and BBC with me. We swapped inversion porn and even made a profile on UOL Friends, something like that, trying to find someone. We went to BDSM and gothic parties together.