I was propositioned by my electrician. But why?

When I got back from a holiday, the large light bulb suspended over my bed had exploded. Most of the bulb lay on my pink velvet bedspread like a windfall apple, the craggy remains still attached to the light fitting. The electrics were off. I flicked the trip switch, but nothing happened. I posted a job on a tradesperson website and within a few minutes I picked an electrician who landed in the sweet spot between five-star reviews, how fast he could come and reasonable call-out fee.

Later that day, a youngish blond man in workman blue turned up at my flat, diagnosed the issue as a faulty switch and said he’d be back when he had a part. As I saw him out, I thought to myself, was there a vibe there? I was aware of a strange pull towards him, or was it him towards me? I hadn’t felt attracted or attractive to someone for a long time and I couldn’t read my own signals.

He returned to fit the part and the next day he messaged to check all was working well. Yes, all good, I replied. It struck me as unusual to have this type of aftercare, but I didn’t think much of it beyond that.

I saved his number in my contacts under Electrics Man.

Months later I received a text from him that simply said, “Queen?” This meant nothing to me. Queen-size bed? Perhaps he meant to text this to someone else, perhaps he was buying a new mattress. I ignored it.

But in late spring the same fault happened again. I messaged Electrics Man and he came along to fix it. It was something silly. He fixed it quickly, invoiced me and left. Again I thought to myself, was there a vibe there? As before he followed up the next day to check all was working well. All good, I said, smiling-face emoji.

Then, a month or so later, another text: “I assume you’re OK and the circuit’s OK?” I now felt certain this went beyond ordinary customer care.

My friends Sheena and Monica were over for dinner and we discussed whether I should reply. We were having a screeching kind of evening, very funny and boozy. They were very encouraging. When they left at 1am I texted him back: “I’m fine, the circuit is fine, thank you. How are you?”

Two messages into the conversation he said: “I’ve got to be honest, I really want to submit to you.” I screenshotted and sent to Sheena and Monica in our group chat: “Wow, this escalated!” I don’t know if it was the fact I’d had several wines or the result of a few years’ worth of largely self-regulated horniness dragged into the open, but I just went with it.

I replied: “You’re into being dommed then?”

“Yes, Queen,” he replied. “Is that something you’re into, too?”

I confessed I’d never really contemplated it. I was curious, though.

“Every time I saw you I thought about how hard you’d slap,” he said. “You could be really cruel…”

“What would being cruel look like?” I asked.

“Maybe if you laughed at me, made me do degrading things,” he said. “I’d get on my hands and knees and follow you wherever.”

The To Do list is so mercurial. One minute you’re focused on the mundane – cancelling a subscription or buying a train ticket – the next you’re contemplating if you want to cuckold a man who fixed your electrics.

I started thinking about fucking someone while Electrics Man watched. Could I do that? Would it be hot? I was glad to be given the opportunity for such contemplation. Putting it on my To Do list rescued it from dismissal and dropped it into a space of exploration. I was fascinated not only by his desire, but what it opened up in me.

Electrics Man became immediate legend among my friends. Seasoned doms gave me their top tips (my favourite was “Treat him like a pathetic horny worm who is lucky to get within 10ft of you”).

When they saw me, pals sang Mr Electricsman to the tune of Mr Loverman. “It’s like the plot of a porn,” they’d squeal. I was happy for them to share the story. I got to be the shagger of the group. I finally had some social, sexual currency to spend.

He and I continued to text – him telling me about his fantasies and me asking questions. The one that intrigued me most was cuckolding. Around that time I’d started sleeping with someone casually. When I told him about Electrics Man he was crazy turned on by the idea, talking about it became incorporated into our sexual dynamics. I realised I found a partner’s desires erotic and fun to think about, even when I’m uncertain about whether I want to participate in them.

But I’d noticed that for someone who wanted to submit, Electrics Man didn’t seem interested enough in what I wanted. How could I be a Queen if he laid down the conditions of how he served me? I didn’t want to degrade someone. Slap or spit or call them names. I might have liked a different type of sub… someone to make me drinks and stroke my head. Do the washing up and concern themselves only with my comfort. That might be hot for a while. I did point this out to him when after a spell of no messaging he texted saying, “Is it bad that I really want to be cuckolded by you?”

“Wouldn’t a good sub be more interested in what I want?” I said.

“Yes, Queen,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

At the start of October he sent me a photo of him wearing a cock cage. It was a message I was only able to open once, it disappeared after a few seconds. The brief sight of his relaxed penis in a clear Perspex cage helpfully clarified that our desires did not align. It was the opposite of what I would ordinarily view as evidence of yearning for me.

I’ve since poured over lists of kinks and fetishes, keen to figure out which, if any, appeal to me. Talking to the man I was sleeping with, and noting a desire of his, I said, “That can go on the list of things we could try.” “What’s at the top?” he asked. I didn’t have an answer.

“Chicken,” he replied.

All my life I’ve configured desire as someone being extravagant in their wanting to sleep with me, but Electrics Man expressed his desire for me as denial.

After a long period of being disconnected from sex, not having a default signifier like a hard dick was weirdly helpful. It made me challenge my ideas of how sexual desire could be communicated. I was impressed by how Electrics Man knew what he wanted, and had the courage to ask for it.

I don’t want to be a chicken. I told my then-sexual partner that my desires don’t queue up in the way his or Electrics Man’s do. I’m into the mystery of how sex might unfold, like starting out on a walk in a city with no fixed destination; finding pleasure in possibility. But there is another way to come to know a city, to draw up a list of places you want to see.

I thought about my lover’s list of desires and realised one in particular appealed – visiting a nude spa together. I augmented it, wanting us to pretend not to know one another until we met afterwards. I wanted tension to build, he wanted to see other people desire me. It became our fantasy, not his.

Although my desires remain open to being influenced, I want to be someone who claims the power they’re granted and uses it wisely, not just in sex but elsewhere in my life.

Electrics Man saw me and thought I should be in charge. I agree. But once you give that power, you can’t always control how someone uses it, nor where it may take you both.