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| dungeonmouse | |
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Part 2
| Copyright 2004 by dungeonmouse After college, with a job and my own apartment, I got back into bondage. Part of me still saw bondage as something to hide and I went through cycles of excitement and revulsion that is common among self bondage folk. I would gather equipment by either making or purchasing it. I would experiment with the gear during short sessions, culminating in an overnighter. The overnighter would end in a mind-blowing orgasm followed by an intense desire to get out of bondage and return to "normal." Sometimes I would throw away my bondage gear; other times I would put it away for some weeks. The bdsm community refers to this cycle as "purging." The cycle was quite violent when I was younger and has moderated as I've gotten older. Now, as I enter my fifth decade of bondage, the "down turn" after orgasm manifests as a mild desire to relax. With a good job and the energy of youth, I set about chasing the American dream. I found a girl, got married, had kids, got promoted into better jobs, bought a house and went to church on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. I did not tell my wife of my interest in bondage before our marriage and broached the subject gently after a year or so. She was a good Christian girl who had saved herself for marriage. She was also a dutiful wife who tried to please her husband. We tried bondage a few times but she had no real interest in it. We continued for several years but the sex dwindled then vanished all together. I realized that, for me, sex without bondage is a lake without water - it isn't really sex, or a lake, at all. My bondage during that marriage took place mostly on the road. I traveled frequently and kept up with my fantasy life during my travels. I couldn't keep heavy-duty equipment around an unenthusiastic wife so I used household items and took them with me on trips. I traveled with several extra belts. I hid lengths of rope in my suitcase. I removed curtain cord from hotel rooms and tied myself up. (I've noticed that hotels no longer use pull cords on their curtains. I've always wondered if they switched to the little push rods because they got tired of replacing the cords stolen by bondage fans. And I know others took the cords, too. I've been frustrated in hotel rooms where all the curtain cord was already gone!) I was still young and bulletproof at this stage but getting older and my interest in bondage was increasing. When I was away from home, I took risks. Scary risks. I made a locking belt from leather and chain, one of the few "real" items I used during that time. It wasn't really a male chastity belt so much as a hip harness to hold a butt plug. I wore it one evening and met young woman from the local college who noticed the bulges in my jeans and asked about them. I told her about my bondage life. She was intrigued. We talked for a while, had dinner and met some of her friends. Her friends were all curious about this older guy (I was in my thirties). One guy really gave me a grilling. I think he was after the girl and saw me as competition. In retrospect, he was right. I had the next day off, so I decided to spend it in the hotel room playing. I got a wild hair and called the girl. I told her I was chaining myself to the bed and would eave the keys on the dresser. I would leave a message at the desk so she could get a key to the room. If she didn't come see me, I wouldn't get free. Amazingly, I then did just that! Even more amazingly, she came to the hotel. She also brought five dorm mates for moral support. A photograph taken when she opened the door would have captured every emotion in the human pallet. I was lying bare-assed naked, chained to the bed when the six college girls walked in. One girl freaked out at once. Another, mature beyond her years, had another girl take the panic-stricken girl back to the car. The girl I'd met just stood and stared. The remaining girls eventually found the keys and set me free then we all sat around and had a long talk. As I recall, I got only minimally dressed. Finally, the girl who had taken charge decided it was time to leave. To my amazement, the girl I'd originally met decided to stay. We had another discussion while the other girls satisfied themselves that a) she had not taken leave of her senses and b) I wasn't going to do anything they'd read about on the crime page tomorrow. Reasonably sure their friend would return in one piece, the girls left. We had a wonderful afternoon of sexual play that ran the gamut: bondage (her and me), oral sex, regular sex. It was all light-hearted. She did not seem very experienced in sexual matters and I definitely was inexperienced at introducing others to bondage. We took it slow and easy, making sure something was fun for both of us before going at it with vigor. That encounter came out reasonably well, much better than I had any right to expect. Leaving yourself at the mercy of a total stranger on the other end of a phone line pretty much defines "stupid." My next couple wild hairs didn't come out nearly as well. On another trip, I found myself in a hotel room with minimal equipment. I looked at the luggage stand. It was a folding metal stand with fabric straps joining the top. I played with the straps and found a way to slip my wrists into the straps then fold the luggage rack so the straps would tighten up. Then, with only a few brain cells working, I added extra features. I tied my ankles (with curtain cord, of course) to the legs of the rack and rigged a scrotum collar from a small belt and attached it to the rack so it would tighten as well when the rack folded. I slipped my wrists into straps and slowly folded the luggage rack. It was wonderful. Everything tightened up just right. I was sitting on the bed and, in the throws of ecstasy, slid down onto the floor. The geometry changed and the luggage rack folded completely. All the straps got very tight. I was lucky the straps didn't break both my wrists right there. I tried to roll over and get my weight off the luggage rack so it would unfold but I couldn't move. I worked the problem for a while but I was stuck. I heard the guy in the next room open his door and yelled for help. He got the manager, who opened the door and got me out. I made up a story about having a girl in the room and her talking me into this. I don't think either of them believed me for a minute but they accepted my explanation. Not long after that, I was on an extended trip and found myself with a long weekend off. There was a national park nearby and I scouted out a great place for an overnighter. I drove into the park and left the car in a parking area. I had some chains and padlocks which I used as manacles and leg irons. I also locked a length of chain around my neck. I hid my clothes and the keys under a bush near the car. I took a jug of water, two extra locks with keys and my combination lock and hiked back down to the interstate highway, about two miles. At the interstate, I crawled into a culvert that ran under the highway. Between the two sides of the interstate, the culvert widened and deepened into a drain with a heavy grate on top. I crawled through the pipe to this drain. I tossed the keys to the extra locks down the pipe several feet. I locked the collar chain to the grate with the combination lock so I couldn't escape or even reach the keys until sunrise. I used the extra padlocks to fasten my ankles tightly together and my wrists behind my back. I did check that I could reach the combination lock with my wrists locked behind me. I pushed the last lock home and sat in absolute delight. I was tightly chained in a dirty dungeon and I wasn't going anywhere for over a day. I squirmed around all night long enjoying the absolute power the chains held over me. When dawn came, I unlocked the combination lock, shinnied down the pipe and retrieved the keys to the padlocks on my wrists and ankles. I undid those but I was still naked and chained hand and foot. I couldn't leave the drain until it got dark again. I sat there all day, marveling at the sight of my filthy body bound with shiny steel chains. Night came all too soon for my fantasy though just in time for my stomach. I waited until it was fully dark then crawled out the pipe and hiked to my car. Rather, I hiked to where my car had been. It was gone! I waddled around the park hunting for my car but it was truly gone. I retrieved my clothes, the car keys and the keys to the padlocks from under the bush. I released my chains, got dressed and hiked back out to the highway. I called a friend who came and got me. I said I had gone for a nature walk that afternoon, gotten back after dark and found the car missing. I was covered in dirt and smelled like a barnyard but my friend accepted the story. The police found my car the next day. The park was a very rough neighborhood. Gangs and drug dealers controlled the place after dark. Kids probably stole the car although the police never apprehended anyone. They were just happy to fill out a stolen car report instead of a homicide report. If I'd been discovered by a gang while waddling through the night chained hand and foot, homicide was the best that would have happened to me. The incident in the park scared me off taking risks for a while. I started looking for other ways to satisfy my fantasy without endangering life and limb. I started looking for other bondage fans. I found my first almost bondage fan about a year later. I went to an adult bookstore and posted a note on their bulletin board, giving my hotel room phone number. The kid at the bookstore cash register called me later that night. He was gay and had never experienced bondage. I gave him my hotel and room number. He arrived with a bottle of cheap whisky and a terrified look in his eyes. I'm not sure what drove him there but he was clearly very nervous about this whole gay sex bondage thing. I had been playing by myself with some chains and locks I'd brought (the same set I'd used in the park) and I was pretty deep into subspace. I showed him how to chain me in a hogtie, which he did, though not very well. He let me out after a few minutes. He was hitting the bottle pretty good but not getting drunk. He seemed too wired for the alcohol to effect him much. I tried cuddling him like my childhood friend had done so many years before and that calmed him a bit. We necked and stroked each other for a while. I wrapped a chain lightly around his manhood and asked him how it felt. He said it felt OK but it made him flaccid so I unwound it. He finally just got up and left. So much for wild gay bondage sex. In retrospect, we obviously were not a good match. Still, the episode planted the seed that there were indeed others out there who might share my kink and with whom I could explore bondage. It also marked my first adult homosexual encounter. I didn't get struck by lightening and didn't feel like I'd suddenly become queer. I'd just enjoyed bondage with another person, albeit a very reluctant person. I also tried a professional dominatrix. The lady I found lived in an old residential neighborhood converted to small offices. As I recall, a law office was across the street and a CPA was next door. Her house had a very complete dungeon with more equipment that I could imagine. Our first session didn't go well. She discussed the session with me, including the safe word then we started. She chained me spread-eagle on the bed and teased me for a bit. Things were going well and I drifted into subspace. She started to put a scrotum collar on me, which we had discussed. What we did not discuss was her habit of wiping her client's balls with alcohol before applying the collar. I thought she'd set my balls on fire and safe-worded out. We got it sorted out but by then my hour was up. On a later trip, I talked her into letting me have two hours for the price of one if she would just chain me up and let me enjoy the bondage. Assisted self bondage for hire, if you will. That worked well but she was still a bit steep for my limited budget. Also, I disliked being on a clock. I went to her a couple more times then stopped. About this time, I had my first "real" gay experience. On a trip, I visited a gay bar. The town was small and the bar was little more than a shack. But the beer was cold and the bartender friendly so I hung out for a while. A couple guys were playing pool and the sound system was playing classic rock and roll. If someone didn't tip you off, it looked like a regular small-town bar before the chicks arrived. I chatted with the bartender for a while and eventually told him of my bondage kink. He called a pool player over and introduced us. I talked with the pool player for a while. He was an ordinary guy like me and we ended up in my hotel room. I showed him my home-made gear. He complimented me on my craftsmanship and resourcefulness. I stripped and put on my gear with his help. He teased me, very slowly and tenderly at first, then quicker and harder. I soared off into deep subspace. An hour or so later, we'd both been satisfied at least once. He let me out of my bonds and left. With that experience, gender ceased being a selection criteria for my bondage partners. Eventually, my travel plus a number of other problems took their toll and the marriage ended. My bondage orientation may have been a factor but it was far from the main reason for the divorce. After the divorce, I pursued bondage even more enthusiastically. I lived by myself in a little house and played bondage games every chance I got. I spent many happy nights chained spread eagled to the bed, waiting for sunrise so I could see the dial on the combination locks holding my wrist chains. I had a few flings. I told one woman about my bondage interest and she embraced it enthusiastically. She was a free spirit who had sampled virtually the entire sexual spectrum, so bondage wasn't a stretch for her. We had some good sex but nothing else in common and drifted apart after a short while. I lived in a small town so meeting other bondage enthusiasts was difficult. But I had the time and opportunity to practice self bondage and I took advantage of it. I spent a lot of time bondage walking. I lived in the southwest with empty desert in every direction. At night, I would take my chains into the desert, strip naked and put on the chains. I would hide the keys and my clothes somewhere safe but easy to find in the dark. Then off I'd go into the desert. I followed a few foot trails and dirt bike paths but mostly I followed dry washes, called arroyos. Sometimes I wouldn't get back home until almost dawn. Walking around naked in the dark must be experienced to be understood. Yes, I was chained hand and foot but I was also free and doing what I enjoyed. It was a heady experience. Someday I'll try a bondage camping trip for several days or weeks, hiking at night and sleeping during the day. The desert is an excellent place for bondage hiking. The nights are pleasant and you've got miles of open space with almost no one around. Almost no one. One night I was hiking along an arroyo. Suddenly, a car door opened not twenty feet from me. Light spilled all over the arroyo and me. Voices rang out into the night. I froze. The voices resolved into a teenage boy and a teenage girl. I ducked behind a large bush and stayed quiet. After a few moments, I figured out they had just come up for air. A few minutes later, the car door shut, the windows steamed back over and I continued my walk. Another time, I was hanging around an abandoned stone cabin at the base of the mountains. The cabin had a cement floor, stone walls and a fire place. The windows, door and roof were gone. The local kids used the cabin for bonfires and drinking parties but if they weren't there by about 10 p.m. it was usually safe for me to hang out. I would chain my wrists to the lintels over the windows and just stand there, enjoying the bondage and the night sounds. This night, I was doing just that but the chains were attached to the lintels with small screw shackles that I could unscrew when I felt like it. Sound travels a long way in the desert and sometimes transmits in strange ways. Suddenly, I heard a car driving up the trail, with sounds of a loud party coming with it. The car sounded like it was right on top of me. I unscrewed the wrist chains as fast as I could, shuffled like a madman to a shallow arroyo behind the cabin and dove in. The car still sounded like it was right on top of me. Finally, the car passed by on another trail about a quarter mile away. They went up the trail another half mile, stopped and partied. Even then, they sounded like they were on the cabin's front step. I went back to the cabin and hung out for a while longer, enjoying the mystery of an "if they only knew" moment. I did an even more brazen bondage walk one summer evening. I put on my jeans and a sweat shirt then my chains. Then I walked around the block. The ankle chains limited my steps to a few inches shorter than my normal stride. The wrist chains held my hands as close as standard handcuffs. I wasn't waddling or shuffling but I didn't have a normal gait either. It was about 11 pm but a weekend so people were still out. I walked past one house where a backyard party had spilled out into a side yard. One dude took a good long look at me as I walked by. He didn't say or do anything, just watched me walk down the road. A couple of cars passed and didn't even slow down. I was almost back home when a car pulled past me and into a driveway just a few doors from my place. Two girls got out. I'd seen them during the day and surmised they shared the house but I'd never met them. They were pretty well sloshed. They giggled as they got out of the car. One sounded like she had seen me and was coming over to talk but the other dragged her into the house with more squealing and giggling. I finished my walk. The next day, I couldn't get the girls out of my mind. I wrote them a note saying something like "Yes, that's what you really saw last night. Call me if you'd like to talk about it." I included my phone number. I stuck the note in their mailbox. I got a call a couple days later. At this point, reality takes a hard turn away from fantasy. I'd like to report that I hooked up with the girls, got them interested in bondage and had the most fantastic sex anyone has ever experienced. Reality sounded more like this: Me: "Hello." Girl: "Giggle! Are you that guy?" Me (unusually quick on the uptake): "Why yes, I am." Girl: "Squeal!!!!" Other girl (not on the phone): "Eeeeeeeeee!!!" Click. I never heard from either of them again. Word must have gotten around about the weird guy on the corner, even though I never walked around the block again. A few months later, about 1 a.m., someone banged on my door. For once, I wasn't doing any bondage at all, just sleeping like a normal human being. I pulled on a robe and answered the door very sleepy and not a little cranky. Two police officers stood on my porch. Seems a good citizen had spotted someone sneaking around the alleys. Did I know anything about this? Where was I just now? I answered their questions truthfully (it was about the only night that month I could have done so) and they left after a few minutes to seek the perp elsewhere. Whew! On a trip to San Francisco, I got my first taste of wild gay bondage sex. I made a neat set of leather cuffs for my wrists and ankles as well as a leather collar. I wore them as I cruised Market Street and got lots of attention. Walking in public wearing bondage gear was wonderful, almost as good as bondage itself. I met a gay couple my age. We had some beers at a bar then retired to their house. They had me put on all my chains then the fun began. I think we performed every sexual act the male body can do, often several varieties at once. At one point, I was on my back being taken both orally and anally by my two hosts while watching them kiss above me. I was so far into subspace, I felt like never coming down. I almost didn't. When I left, I got in my car still naked and chained hand and foot. Everything went well until I saw a toll booth ahead. Oh, well, too late now. Being San Francisco, the toll attendant took my quarters without batting an eye. I did manage to take off the chains and put on my clothes before walking through the hotel lobby, though that may not have been necessary either. About a year after this event, things got still hairier. I made a wood bondage frame for my garage. It was a beautiful, multipurpose unit. Imagine a low wood platform, four feet square with two uprights reaching to the ceiling and a cross bar on top. The frame had eyebolts everywhere so the possible positions was almost infinite. It had brackets on the platform for leg stocks and brackets on the uprights for a pillory. It was make of heavy lumber and braced to hold an elephant. I stained it dark oak for a sinister look. Now that was bondage. I came home one Friday for a three day weekend. I had no plans for the weekend and hadn't fantasized any bondage scenarios. I walked into the garage, looked at the frame and had a flash: spend the whole weekend chained to the frame! The idea enflamed me. I couldn't get my clothes off fast enough. I still used the combination lock release so I needed to keep the sun from coming up tomorrow morning. Easy: tape over the garage windows. Now, how do I get the sun to come up at all? Also easy: rig a timer to turn on the garage light. I had electric timers as I'd planned experiments with this release method. Unfortunately, the timers were only for 24 hours. So I plugged one timer into the other. I set the first timer to stay off for 16 hours then run for 8 hours. I set the second to stay off for 16 hours then run for 8 hours. The first timer had to run two full cycles of 24 hours before the second timer turned on the light so I'd be chained to the frame for 48 hours. If you are a little confused, so was I. But I forged ahead and chained myself spread eagled on the frame. I gagged myself so I couldn't chicken out and call for help. Soon I was deep into subspace. After a while, as these things do in bondage, body parts began to hurt. Worse yet, my hands kept falling asleep. I had put them as high above my head as I could reach. If my hands stayed numb, I could not undo the combination lock when the lights came on. Then I began worrying about the timers. Did I set them up right? What times did I really set them for? Did I get them plugged in the right order? What if the bulb burns out when the timer clicks it on? What if we have a power failure? I was close to full-scale panic. I stood there for several hours, twisting every way possible, looking for a way out. I'd done a good job this time and I wasn't getting out. I tried opening the combination lock by feel, but had no luck. (I later got pretty good at this and could open a standard gym lock in a dozen tries by feel alone.) Now I was worried. My shoulders and arms hurt, my hands were numb and my legs ached from standing splayed apart. Did I mention the scrotum collar? Yes, I had a small leather collar around my scrotum with a chain attached to the floor. My scrotum burned from the collar and the weight of the chain. With my legs apart, I couldn't massage myself and ease the burning. I started thinking, "I can't survive two days of this." One part of me said suck it up and enjoy the real bondage. The other part said I would never get out. My suck-it-up side won out for a while, mostly because the only available option was hanging there for two days. Then while twisting and turning, I moved the gag to the front of my mouth. The gag had only a single strap. Unless the strap is very wide or is pulled tight enough to break your neck, you can usually work a single-strap gag out of your mouth by tilting your head forward to get some slack in the strap. After some weird contortions of my neck, I worked the gag out of my mouth. My two inner debaters resumed the discussion with vigor. The chicken side had a new option: I could yell for help. At first, I recoiled at this idea. Remaining undiscovered was a basic tenant of my self bondage life. I wasn't ashamed of my actions as much as worried about embarrassing my neighbors and possible repercussions if someone took strong exception to my activities. Gathering the neighbors in the wee hours to witness an over-the-top bondage scene went beyond anything my psyche was prepared for. However, the feeling in my hands was staying gone for long periods of time, my arms felt like the were pulling out of their sockets and my balls felt like they would fall off any moment. I chickened out. At first, I yelled rather softly, afraid I might disturb someone. The absurdity of this notion quickly became apparent and I yelled louder. I'm not sure how long I yelled. It seemed like a very long time. Eventually, my neighbor knocked on the back door and asked if I was alright. For some reason, I'd left the back door unlocked. I told him I had "gotten stuck" but would be OK if he would turn on the garage light. Naturally, he came in the garage, turned on the light and stood there staring. He was actually quite nice about it. I started working on the combination lock as soon as he flicked on the light. My hands worked fine after the rush of adrenaline from being discovered. While I was disconnecting myself from the frame, the elderly couple across the street showed up. They had called the police. My neighbor shooed them out the back and kept them quite while I finished unchaining myself I pulled on my pants just as the police showed up. The police officer had a disapproving look on his face but also a demeanor that said he'd seen this all before. He hung around and asked enough questions to assure himself that I did indeed have a "misadventure" (official police description) and wasn't trying to kill myself or had been put in bondage unwillingly. He said he'd have to file a report but no action would be taken. I thanked everyone and they eventually left. I cleaned up and went to bed, relieved it had been so painless. My rescuer neighbor checked on me the next day. We actually got know each other better after that. Before, we just waved when we saw each other. Now, we stopped to chat. The elderly couple across the street nodded when they saw me but didn't stop to talk. Things settled back into their usual groove. The company I worked developed new, cutting edge technology and industrial espionage was a concern. We had a security department. The people routinely checked the police blotter for names on their clearance list. They spotted my report. When I got called to the security office, I thought it was all over. The security people were very polite. We talked about my activities for an hour or so. They didn't seem concerned that I was into bondage. They were more concerned that I'd had contacts with people who might blackmail me into releasing information. When I told them about the very few people who knew of my activities, they seemed satisfied. They asked to see the garage and the frame. I told them OK and we met at my house after work. The two security people examined the frame and asked about my timer release mechanism. One complimented me on my woodworking! They asked to take pictures of the frame. The hair stood up on the back of my neck. I told them I'd rather they didn't and they dropped the subject. They left after telling me I needed to see a psychiatrist for a more complete evaluation before they rendered their final decision. The next day was Saturday. I got up early, dismantled the frame, cut it into unrecognizable pieces and took it to the landfill. Pictures of that frame floating around the company bureaucracy didn't seem like a good idea. A few weeks later, I went to see a psychiatrist. We had a very pleasant discussion. Like the police officer and the security people, the psychiatrist was less concerned about the bondage and more interested in what I thought about it. Once he satisfied himself that I considered my kink a normal activity and that I was well adjusted in all other respects, he ended the session with the happy words that he saw no reason I shouldn't keep my job. When I asked if he would recommend therapy, he said certainly not. The "cure" rate for my kink is abysmally low. Those of us into self bondage are basically wired this way. As long as I recognized the dangers inherent in bondage and kept my habit in perspective, I was no more a threat to myself or others than a motorcycle rider or a skydiver. I went back to work. Everything returned to normal. Nothing was ever said publicly about the incident but I have the feeling my co-workers heard rumors. I felt a sense of relief, knowing that they knew. The secret life wasn't so secret anymore and that felt refreshing. I did have a complete falling out with one individual. We disagreed on many issues but tolerated each other. One day, he came to work completely intransigent. I couldn't deal with him at all. Luckily, the office was reorganizing and we moved to positions where we no longer dealt with each other. I never found out for sure, but I've always wondered if he heard a rumor about my bondage and that's what turned him so adamantly against me. If so, he was the only one, ever, in my whole life to respond that way. I visited a second psychiatrist a few years later at the request of my employer. The second psychiatrist repeated the original diagnosis: you're normal, just different. That felt good. This psychiatrist also said my interest in bondage would probably increase with age as this is the general pattern. He enjoined me to take care and left it at that. We are nearing the end of the tale. I've remarried. I told my second wife about my interest in bondage during our courtship. We incorporated bondage into our sex a few times but she isn't really into it. I'm not sure I want her interested. I enjoy being both top and bottom. Being bound and alone with my thoughts and fantasies is my turn-on. My wife is generally supportive though she wishes I would "be more careful." I continue my bondage activities. I'm interested in long-term bondage and have done some sessions over hours. I'd like to try longer sessions but the right situation hasn't developed. I'd also like to try an extended bondage walk, a bondage camping trip, if you will. I've mentioned homosexual activities. My activities with men came about mostly because men are receptive to short-term, spur-of-the-moment sexual encounters. I suppose I'm bisexual but what I really am is ferro-sexual. ("Ferro" is Latin for "iron.") I make love to chains and they to me. If another person is present, that's fine and the person can be male or female. But when I have human sex, I'm always in a three-some: me, the other person and the chains. Even if the chains are only in my head, they are always there. Most of my partners over the years haven't realized this but they were along for the ride. The real passion has always been between me and the chains. The second psychiatrist was right. My interest in self bondage is increasing. I'm becoming more open about my kink. This web site is one expression of that openness. I've taken to wearing a set of metal bracelets on my wrists and ankles and a thin metal collar around my neck. My friends have all seen me wearing them and have mostly ignored them. I think most have guessed what the bracelets are about. A few have asked me about them. I've given evasive answers such as "they are an eccentricity to keep my demons at bay." Others include the answer in their question: "Are those bracelets for your health, like arthritis?" I reply "Yes, but these focus more on the mental and spiritual aspects than on physical health." I don't discuss the issue openly partly because I live in a rural and very conservative area. Most of my friends are good Christian folk and I might provoke an outpouring of religious fervor if the matter were laid bare. I haven't discussed my pagan beliefs for the same reason. (Being a pagan would stir up more furor than the bondage. Bondage is just weird sex. Paganism makes you an unbeliever doomed to hell.) They politely view me as an eccentric and that's enough for the present. The future? That's always the big question, isn't it? I have fantasies of living openly as a self-bondage fan. The chances of that fantasy becoming reality are debatable. Check in now and again and we'll see where this goes. The tale continues in my essay "Out of the Closet." |
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