Lawyer Seeks Kitten: An S&M Cautionary Tale

If I had my way, filth and love would not be mutually exclusive.

By this I mean: wouldn’t it be GREAT if the object of your affection, the person you want to father your kids and chat literature with 'til you’re old, was also someone who would intimidate, humiliate, maybe even hurt you a little in bed just because it turned you on?

Sadly, mastering sexual role-play in a loving relationship is tough. It’s highly unlikely that your secret perversions are exactly the same - plus you’d like to be able to look at them over the breakfast table for the rest of time without the sordid flashbacks.

The realisation of a fetish relies on meticulous planning and the ability to keep in character at all times – it has to be both excitingly artificial and totally natural.

Tricky.

When you’re single, it’s much easier to experiment.

You can find someone purely "fit for purpose" by logging online to plot out the mass orgy/spanking/whatever-does-it-for-you that fits.

But even when you're experimenting, and your inhibitions are numbed by the promise of a relative stranger, how often does it really live up to the fantasy?

This Happened To A Friend...

Obsessed with finding a sexual deviant, a 25 year old London girl decided to find her own Mr Grey via a site for the "sexual elite", Killing Kittens.

The idea behind Killing Kittens is to hold sex parties in West London penthouses. Women set the rules and no man can enter without a kitten companion.

Guests are vetted and there’s a weight and age limit - it’s Eyes Wide Shut meets American Psycho.

Searching their database, she happened upon a handsome lawyer whose prose was well-crafted filth, with none of the misspelt smut of

nasty.com.

His bathroom selfies confirmed that he was in shape, and his face, obscured by a mask, hinted at a strong jawline and the promise of sustained intimidation.

So she decided to meet him in person on a Friday night in a Notting Hill pub.

Texting to confirm arrival, SolicitThis69 shuffled forward to greet her, his young face blurry from pre-drinking, expectant like a boy.

Offering her a pre-purchased G&T he went on to bore her with chitchat before suggesting a “jaunt” later on that night to Kings Road club Public.

She grew frustrated, then bored. He was flushed with nerves and stuttered his flirtations with zero conviction.

Quickly making her excuses to leave, she foolishly offered her number as a conciliatory prize.

That night, she received 24 missed calls and 11 text messages.

The core sexual proposition was that his “parents were in Tuscany” and he had “the Holland Park pad” to himself.

It had the trappings of wealth with none of the debauchery.

His messages progressed from invites to threats to whines to pleas. Presumably he was in the club downing Jaegarbombs and simultaneously trying to grow some balls.

By the 8^th message he had come to the conclusion that she was a ‘tease’ and a “whore”, threatening to “destroy” and “nail” her, if only he had her address…

The next morning she awoke to a heartfelt text.

“I’m frightfully sorry, that was all rather out of character.”

The well to do deviant was repenting. Even worse.

The hopeless episode confirmed what she had suspected but not wanted to believe - browsing someone’s sexual CV online promises you NOTHING.

You order a master and you get a wimp.

So what’s the takeaway here? Public school boys don’t know how it’s done? Hell no, they can be filth.

The moral is… when it comes to erotic role play, DON’T OVERSELL YOURSELF.

Yes, it’s great to know what turns you on but sex is a game of two halves and if you can’t keep character - er, play ball? - then get the F off the pitch.

Nana is the newest addition to our Yahoo Lifestyle blogging team. She's runs a bespoke dating service called Social Concierge.

Check out her full bio HERE.

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