I’m not entirely sure where it all began.
I believe my mother had a great deal to do with it. She worked relentlessly while doing her best to keep me grounded whenever I strayed. She guided me and held me accountable as much as she could. Still, I was a handful—an only child growing up in a deeply patriarchal environment where men seemed to face no real structure, limits, or consequences.
My father, on the other hand, introduced me to philosophy. Our conversations revolved around love, humility, nature, and life itself—what was, or what might exist, behind the veil. He would sing me poems and stories from Ferdowsi, Saadi Shirazi, Molana, and Abu Ali Ibn Sina. Then we would sit together and reflect, talking about meaning, elegance, and what it meant to be unconditionally happy regardless of what life throws at you. We spoke like two best friends, with nothing hidden and all our cards on the table.
Another part of my story may come from the imbalance I felt within myself. Masculinity was forced into every corner of the society I lived in, and I sensed that something essential was missing. There was no space for the feminine qualities within me to exist, let alone develop.
Having friends who were all boys taught me a lot—mostly about what I didn’t want to become. I witnessed ignorance, entitlement, and behavior that went completely unchecked. There were no guiding hands shaping these boys; they ran wild, feeding chaos. Being cruel to girls—catcalling them with humiliating language—was socially acceptable. Many boys and men did it without a second thought, often without knowing any better.
To me, “boys will be boys” became an excuse for some fathers to abandon responsibility altogether. Going against that norm was isolating. Refusing to participate often meant rejection.
What struck me even more was how many girls and women responded positively to those disrespectful advances—not because they welcomed them, but because it seemed like the only way to have any connection with men at all. Such encounters were so normalized that few people were surprised by them anymore.
My interactions with women, however, were very different. They had learned how to navigate this extreme patriarchy with awareness and skill. I felt understood by them in a way I never did with men. I wasn’t a “manly” man by society’s standards. I was softer, and I saw no advantage in behaving like the other males around me.
Younger girls rarely interested me; many felt emotionally immature, and after a brief conversation it became clear we were on entirely different wavelengths. Gradually, I found myself drawn to the company of older women. With them, I could have deep, meaningful conversations. That was when I realized how powerful it was to connect mentally, without sex being the focal point. Sex felt tainted to me. Even as a virgin, I wasn’t particularly interested in the act itself. I enjoyed the sensation of arousal, but what I truly longed for was female companionship.
I was fascinated by women’s perspectives. I had so little exposure to genuine female companionship and knew almost nothing about how women thought or what they truly wanted. Outside my family, it was rare to see women openly state their desires. I wanted to witness that—to experience it firsthand. I learned to notice the subtle hints they dropped in conversation, sensing their nervousness, shyness, and hesitation. Creating a space where they could simply be themselves felt natural to me.
Talking about feelings with my male friends led nowhere. Most of them cared only about roaming the neighborhood together, asserting dominance, getting into fights, or taking reckless risks—anything to stand out, anything to make noise.
Over time, the differences became clearer. Men focused on outcomes—the final act, the destination. Women, more often, focused on the journey: the details, the nuance. They approached delicate matters with care, and to me, those qualities felt foundational.
Eventually, I began to suppress my sexuality altogether. I was afraid that indulging it would turn me into someone I despised. Still, I couldn’t deny my appreciation for femininity or its effect on me. I would see a woman walking confidently down the street in high heels, each step intentional and precise, and I couldn’t look away. The grace, the rhythm, the quiet power of her presence stirred something deep within me. It felt as though my biology had found its weakness—an undeniable pull, a desire to surrender.
I felt safe with women. I was attracted to them, yet as a non-traditional man I was often unheard or dismissed by my peers. Women, however, knew exactly how to navigate this male-dominated world, and I learned from them.
I noticed that I could get much further with a woman’s insight than with my male friends, who often fell into tunnel vision—pursuing what they wanted without considering details or consequences. By that point, my desire for a dominant woman in my life had become unmistakably clear.
Throughout my life, I’ve crossed paths with women—and a few men—who taught me about foundation, discipline, attention to detail, emotional depth, diplomacy, and hard work simply by being who they were. Their presence made me want more from myself. What came naturally to them often felt like a struggle for me, leaving me feeling inferior and ashamed. With time, practice, and repetition, things became easier. Still, I’ve long been curious about what it would be like to be led by an intelligent, dominant woman with whom I shared genuine chemistry—to learn, to grow, and to explore that dynamic.
And I would be dishonest if I ignored the undeniable erotic pull—the desire to surrender to the presence of a beautiful, dominant woman.