The Electrician

The pleasures of contemplating an unexpected proposition

My to do lists are generally a war between things I have to do, things I’d like to do and things I feel socially obliged to do. But there is another camp, the speculative zone. For a while, in this category, I had one suggestion: cuckold the electrician? The only thing in the list with a question mark.

*

When I got back from a holiday the large, globe-shaped lightbulb suspended over my bed had exploded. Most of the bulb lay on my pink velvet bedspread like a windfall apple beginning to rot where the stalk had been, 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 to look at it on a find a tradesperson website and within a few minutes I picked an electrician who landed in the sweetest spot between 5-star reviews, how fast he could come and reasonable call-out fee.

Later that day a youngish blonde man, in workman blue, turned up at my flat, diagnosed the issue as something to do with 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 to 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.

Several months later I received a text message from him that said simply said ‘Queen?’. The greeting of ‘Queen?’ meant nothing to me, queen size bed I thought? Perhaps he meant to text this to someone else, perhaps he was buying a new mattress or booking a hotel room. These possible explanations satisfied my curiosity, and I ignored the message.

But in late spring, the same thing 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, I received another text from him, ‘I assume you’re ok and the electrics are ok?’. I now felt certain his contact went beyond his ordinary customer care. A couple of friends were over for dinner, and I talked about whether I should reply. We were having a screeching kind of evening, very funny and boozy. They were delightfully encouraging. When they left around 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 the group chat: wow, this escalated. I don’t know if it was the fact I’d had several cocktails and wines, or if it was the result of a few years’ worth of largely self-regulated horniness dragged into the open, but I just went with it. I replied to him – 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.

Everytime 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

I’d get on my hands and knees and follow you wherever

The To Do list is such a mercurial form. One minute you’re trying to focus on the mundane – cancelling a subscription or buying a train ticket, the next you’re contemplating if you want to cuckold a man who has fixed your electrics twice. I started thinking about whether I’d be turned on by fucking someone while someone else watched. I imagined have sex while the 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 was to rescue it from the easy realm of dismissal and drop it into a space of active personal exploration. I was not only fascinated by his desire but also what it opened up in me. If he’d tried to simply hook up, I knew I’d have done it: it told me that even if I was on the fence re: sub/domme dynamics, I was – after a very long hiatus – finally up for getting railed by a near-stranger.

Electrics Man became immediate legend among my friends. Seasoned dommes gave me their top tips (my favourite was ‘treat him like a pathetic horny worm who is lucky to get within 10 feet 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 hope it’s ok that I’ve told this story to [insert name of their friend/partner/sibling/colleague]’ they’d say. I was happy for them to. I got to be the shagger of the group, 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 that 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 and pleasure. That might be hot to me for a while. I did point this out to him when after a spell of no messaging he texted me 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.’

On the first 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 his desires and my own did not align. It was the opposite of what I would ordinarily view as evidence of yearning for me. But 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 of desire like a hard dick was weirdly helpful. It encouraged me to – if not entirely abandon, then certainly challenge – my ideas of how sexual desire could be communicated. I realised I was impressed by how Electrics Man really knew what he wanted, and that he had the courage to ask for it.

*

I don’t want to be a chicken. I told the man I was sleeping with 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; I find pleasure in possibility. But I know there is another way to come to know a city, you draw up a list of places you want to see and experience. I thought about the man I was sleeping with’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 privately 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 it, you can’t always control how someone uses it, nor where it may take you both.

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This essay was first published in The Observer - huge thanks to Eva Wiseman for commissioning and editing it.