Beautiful Agony (A Tale Of Savage Love, Part I) Read Online Free

I was overstating my case, but I truly wanted to let any man who might be interested, know upfront that I was highly discriminating.
    The summation of what I was looking for was , of course, the hardest part for me to do.  Bearing in mind my reason s for doing this in the first place , I had very , very precise requirements .  As such, I needed a very specific type of man , a man who did not know me in my current incarnation as a high-powered bu siness woman.  Simply put, I needed a man who would go into this think ing of me only as a partner to please and punish ; that and little more.  Considering how complicated I was (in the bedroom and out) , I knew I’d have to do some serious digging.
    It’ s not like you could go pick the perfect man out of a catalogue .  There might be a number of guys out there who, on the surface, were interested in trying to help me with my unique, individual problem.  Only it wasn’t just a matter of desire.  They had to not only want to “ handle ” me; they had to be capable of doing so.
    I had to be careful, selective, and judicious.  I had to choose exactly the right type of person for the requisite job.  If, just like in the movie, finding a do minating ‘ Master ’ to inflict pain could somehow deliver what it overtly promised, it just might end up saving my life.  Not that I was suicidal by any means, but living like this , wasn’t truly living at all.
    I didn’t know if this would work out on the first outing, or if I’d have to go on a series of ‘blind dates’ before I found the man I believed was the one for me .  A nd even then, I had no idea how easy it would be to go through with it .  All I did kno w was that I had no choice left but to try .  Every thing else had failed me so thoroughly, this was simply my very last hope.

For the first week after I’d placed the ad, I found myself weeding through ridiculous responses.  I immediately tossed out any emails with glaring spelling or grammatical mistakes, deleting them with a lightning-quick finger-stroke, regardless of how handsome they were in their attached photos .  The kind of man I required c ould not just be meat, bones, and brut e strength.  He would need to k now how to control me, push me, pleasure me .  And seeing as how seriously screwed up I was, that was going to take a fair amount of brains .
    Those whose pictures looked more than a few years old, I chucked in the electronic trash -bin as well.  The only reason not to provide a fairly recent picture was if you truly had something hideous to hide; a receding hairline, a pot-belly, a flash of white, un-tanned skin around your ring finger indicating that you were currently married.  I certainly wasn’t searching for perfection, and I could easily deal with physical flaws.  But honesty was absolutely crucial.
    After that initial run-through, I then disposed of all the emails whose photos had backgrounds looking too family-residential .  You know, the house, the two-car garage, the dog, the cutesy neighborhood.  Those men were probably also quite likely married, desiring nothing more than the freedom to fool around.  And in that case, they were looking in the wrong direction.  There were literally tons of websites geared specif ically for the casual, chicanery-type cheater.  Besides, even if they weren’t technically married, they were surely in the process of dealing with a recent divorce.  There would be no oth er conceivable reason t o live in such a neighborhood - a place where each street screamed “suburban dad” - when something much more “bachelor-like” wou ld be quite preferable for a man in th at kind of situation.  I don’t think I personally knew of even one truly ‘eligible’ man who lived out in the ‘burbs.  No – those guys all stayed in tiny, sparse lofts, lived in high-rise penthouses, or shared a n apartment with other single friends in the city (depending, of course, on their individual financial