Being submissive, the idea that there are people who are superior is not foreign. Men, women, trans, passive, active, whatever it is, it's not a matter of gender; it feels like something much deeper and primitive.

Is that person more attractive? More charismatic? More self-assured? The reasons don't matter. As always in the animal kingdom, what matters are the sensations.

Even online, you can get an idea, supposed dominants who seem to be just active with anger issues. As soon as they start sending messages like "I'm going to violate you like you like," a submissive knows deep down that this is not a dominant, maybe a good fuck with their corresponding dose of physical and perhaps verbal abuse (if you’re lucky), but not a session with a master.

I suppose that for a true dominant, recognizing a slave is just as simple or even simpler. In my case, I have always thought that I am quite obvious, always insecure, always with furtive glances, shrinking in the presence of others, and too nervous to step forward. And maybe it was just that which provoked everything.

I was on my way to university, sitting alone in a combi in Mexico City (a kind of van used as public transport) when a boy got on and everything started to spiral out of control. The boy, I estimate no older than 25, was tall, probably 1.80; he had light skin slightly tanned by the sun, although the skin on his abdomen that peeked out for a moment when he sat down looked a few tones lighter; black, straight hair not too long in a popular cut; and most notably, a white, neat smile full of confidence.

Was he, then, the hottest guy I had ever seen? Not at all, I already knew a couple who were much hotter in my faculty. Was he someone with a lot of style? Neither, at least not particularly; his black jeans, oversized brown hoodie, and sunglasses made him look good, but nothing out of the ordinary. The real question was why my body immediately knew that, had he asked me, I would have knelt right there, without even knowing his name.

He sat near the door, almost on the opposite side from where I was, and stretched out with calm and confidence uncharacteristic of public transport. He placed his feet on the seat and took out his phone without giving me much attention, or at least that's what I thought.

Assuming that I could never have the attention of someone like him, I dedicated myself to "discreetly" looking at him from time to time while pretending to look at something on my phone. It probably wasn’t exactly as I imagined; maybe he saw me looking too much, or maybe it was how tense I appeared, but however it was, the boy let out a small laugh, smiled to the point of making me tremble, and, as casually as he had sat down, moved right to my side, resting his foot next to me and enjoying seeing me there, curled up as much as possible with my gaze fixed on the floor.

—Hey! —I looked up at hearing his voice and tried to fo...