I Never Thought Rough Sex Could Lead to Love, Until It Did

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I've always believed there were two different types of sex: making love and f*cking. Growing up, movies, TV, and even music had always categorized sex as one or the other. But it wasn't until I met him that I learned they can be one and the same.

Tom* and I started out as neighbors. We engaged in some light flirtation, but I never imagined something would actually come from it. Yet there I was, six months after saying hello, sitting on his sofa, talking about how we were going to have sex — good sex, the kind of sex that would make me blush in public and create an ache between my thighs the more I thought about it.

I saw Tom as my chance to experiment. After recently coming out of a sexless relationship, I didn't want to hold back or hide my needs. So after our "light flirtation" began to escalate and I realized that Tom was interested in the kind of kinks I'd always been interested in, I took the mutual attraction as an opportunity to change that. We came up with an "arrangement," where I'd be able to safely have the dirtiest sex of my life. But we agreed from the beginning that this was about the sex; we weren't looking to fall in love.

Is anyone surprised to hear that somewhere in between all the exploratory sex, I felt myself falling in love with Tom? Of course, I knew it was happening, but I wouldn't let myself admit it. I didn't want to play into the stereotype of someone who couldn't separate love from sex.

But something else was playing a role in my self-deception, too. I didn't realize it consciously, but part of me believed I couldn't be loved if I was touched this way — not because BDSM is devoid of love, but because previous experiences had always felt so cold and like a means to an end.

I knew Tom was different from previous partners based on the respect he showed me in general, but I didn't anticipate he'd offer me anything more than a chance to experiment.

So when I visited him one morning, I came over under the guise that I wanted to "catch up." Yet as we stood talking in his kitchen, I got tired of pretending I didn't want him to take me up against the wall right then and there, so I asked him if we could go upstairs. He agreed.

Before we could even make it to the bedroom, we tore off each other's clothes. Our hands moved as fast as our mouths as we breathlessly kissed each other. My bra had only just hit the floor before he bent down, grabbed my legs, and lifted me up onto his bed. As I waited for him to join me, I saw him open the closet and pull out something new: a riding crop.

The short, flexible whip was enticing but also made me nervous. Sure, I liked spanking, but I wasn't sure if I'd like this. What if it hurt a lot more? What if it felt fantastic? He could see I was torn but assured me I didn't have to do anything I wasn't comfortable with.

"I got it because I know you like spanking, but there's absolutely no pressure to use it," he said while holding the crop by his side.

But I wanted to explore. So I leaned in, kissed him, and told him to treat me like a bad girl.

Once we established our safe words, he instructed me to move onto my stomach and scoot to the edge of the bed. I willingly obeyed. His hands began to tenderly stroke along my jawline, and he told me to open my mouth. Eager to taste him, I did what I was told.

After a few minutes of going down on him, I felt a thwack on my ass that made my entire body jolt. A small gasp escaped my mouth in surprise. I'd been so caught up in the blow job that I hadn't heard him reach for the riding crop or even notice the toy as it swung through the air. I felt the sting, but I felt it in a good way — a way in which I knew I was desperate for more.

As I continued to tease him with my tongue, he hit me with the crop again, and then again, and then again. Each sting made my body tingle and created a pang between my legs that made me wetter than I had ever been. I wanted him so badly that I needed him at that very moment.

He must have sensed my hunger because he quickly put the crop down and climbed onto the bed to join me shortly after.

"You've been such a good girl," he said as he lightly caressed my body. His fingers began to gently stroke my breasts, and he slowly made his way down my body as I begged him to do whatever he wanted with me.

I moaned as his fingers entered me; that sudden fullness was more than welcome after I had almost lost my mind waiting for him to touch me. A grin spread across his lips as he started to move his fingers harder and deeper inside of me. As I reached up to kiss him, our tongues collided, and I started to rub my clitoris as he worked his fingers inside of me.

For some frustrating reason, I just couldn't come. I was so close to the edge but couldn't get over it.

"I can't," I moaned after a few minutes, disappointed in myself. But he didn't share my disappointment. In fact, he saw nothing but a challenge.

"Oh, you're going to come," he told me, and his free hand lightly wrapped around my throat with his eyes transfixed on mine.

"Come on, come for me," he said again, and it was so damn hot.

As he growled at me to come, I felt that sudden build followed by an overwhelming release. Both my legs shook, and I came so hard that I turned my head to muffle my moans in the pillow.

It was the best orgasm I'd had with him so far, and while the newness of experimenting with a different sex toy and feeling different sensations certainly played a role, there was something else at work, too. During the entire experience, the growing love I felt for Tom kept surfacing in my mind and body. I felt it in my vulnerability, in his respect for my boundaries, and in the trust we were showing each other as we played.

And right at the peak of my orgasm, as I turned to look at him, I saw love reflected back at me. That's when I finally admitted to myself that I had deeper feelings for this person than I'd let on. And that's when I began to understand that maybe kink and love could coexist in one relationship. In fact, they thrived together when I let them.

We hadn't just f*cked; we'd made love. I knew because of how tender he was through every hard impact. The sex was frantic, sure, and even ravenous, but it was filled with lust and love in equal measure.

That's the thing so many people get wrong about BDSM, myself included. I was with someone I trusted and who trusted me, and because of that, it became an incredibly erotic and romantic experience. I felt safe in his arms because I knew that there was no malice or concealed intentions, the sex was simply about us being together, exploring each other.

Of course, part of me quickly began to wonder if it was just the afterglow of the experience that was making me feel the connection. But as if he could read my thoughts, Tom whispered, "I do love you, babygirl."

The words caused tears to form in the back of my eyes, the immense rush of love I felt from him almost too much to bear. "I love you too, so damn much," I whispered back, realizing at that moment that there was absolutely romance in rough sex — and it looked exactly like this.

*Name has been changed