I met her at a party. I was working and the bank account was flowing enough that I arrived at the event wearing a new outfit that showed that my shoes had been refreshed by a pair of Oxfords. Spiffy, I might have said, it I was one who was wont to regard myself in mirrors using my own paws in making sure all the tags were off the garments. It was a stale affair as these seances tend to be when the reason for your appearance is a referral by an occasional friend. But it was a Christmas party and I was in a ‘what the fuck’ kind of mood. So I walked about from room to room bouncing off corners where exclusive groups of tightly connected friends reviewed their own lives once again fro the umpteenth time that week. As for myself, I was looking for someone. And after a while, anyone to start up a conversation with lest I be the most visible ‘odd man out’ of this gala.
When I saw her, I had to say that I didn’t think much. Not due to any disappointment over how mundane she appeared. The dress was a mismatch for the body size. An attempt to duck and cover the more ungainly curves while allowing the rest to all hang out. By that time I was past caring offering one of the last two beers I was able to scavenge from the twelve pack that I had brought as a token of unquestionable entry. The same one that everyone else involved in their own private fiefdoms were not shy to carry off without any care to acknowledge the sanctity of possibly leaving a few for its donor. Humanity in general being a lost cause as was generally accepted without argument. Her name was Kathy and she was most probably of Irish extraction which would explain the sloppiness of her genetic awkwardness. But given that my most urgent goal of conquest was to form a beachhead of some sort on foreign territory as a stranger in this strange land I was content. It was better than spinning the channel every forty-five seconds at home that night.
Maybe, after somehow self-righteously snagging another round that were another lesser brand of brew she began to look better to me. Or possibly, in some respects due to some misapprehension, I to her, some smiles were raised and mutually toasted. In any case, that is when I abruptly dragged on her arm and said, “Come with me!” Now this in our current era might have justified a rape complaint but I was still three or so decades back where both parties after talking with each other in a generally upbeat fencing match still had enough faith in both sides of the species to take a reasonable risk. Not only from her to me but from me to her. I was well acquainted with situations where spontaneity was suddenly blunted and the mission aborted. The astronauts involved safely returned to earth in order to go their separate ways. Needless to say, in keeping with the Camelot-like spirit of that era, both of us retired the the nearest fox hole and committed ourselves to the expected performance of the required nasty deed. It was not a spectacular ‘Hail Mary’, ten seconds let final field goal on either of our parts. But it was enough to power a month or two of sexual frequency on weekends with the obligatory number of brainless phone calls endured in-between. Needless the sex was comfort. But that is when all the trouble began!
Boredom set in. Try sawing through log with a water balloon! Or drilling into reinforced concrete with a wet sponge! The amount of consumption of alcohol needed soon having the reverse affect intended. Some new sporting events needed to be injected into the expected play at the end of the evening! Neither of us would admit to anything lacking lest it lead to some reasonable conundrum why our present situation might be awkward grounds as the last one. Riding upon my wiggly worm she suddenly declared that she needed to be spanked. Spanked with the flat of my hand on the jiggling mass of her buttocks. Her entreaty was met with a tentative couple of measure swipes leaving an unsatisfying result. The expression of mild disappointment my meter to gauge the necessary power behind each subsequent blow. The fleshy little whirlpool between her legs suddenly tightening providing incentive for my own bell clapper to rise to the occasion of producing the desired effect. From that point, we were off to the races. Experimentation in various forms of possible peril was for the most part unneeded after several decades of B movie interference of helpless heroine at the hands of an expectedly sexually sadistic villain. Clothesline to handcuffs to hastily tasked wire shirt hangers. All were applied with equal fervor until the thrill of its kink dissipated after a round or two of same.
The need for imagination with a taste of the knowingly unknown began to consume me with a new appreciation for those spindly legged little men with snide carefully waxed mustaches and black satin top hats. The consideration for what ever might have gotten a positive rise from my own Mr. Binky sublimated by the need to surprise and wow the ever voracious libido of my partner. I can’t imagine much work in being a victim in general as all one is required to do is look a little worried rather than mercurially bored. Mind you, a little squirming here or there much appreciated as applause might be at the opera for the hard work of those whose duty it is to orchestrate the performance. The male psyche as motivated by appearance ever in contradiction to the snuggling physically intimate tendencies of the aroused female both during and after. To be unkind might be to admit that the female of the species was ever the more greedy of the two. By the end of another month long epoch of hard noodling and great art to enact ever more ambitious gambits. my enthusiasm had been thoroughly drain. The desire for a quick Checkmate on my end was at a fever pitch.
The swan song of the affair came in an old hotel a hundred miles away where running out of any other further ideas I had suggested that we try a change of setting. The musty room aroma and oversized swayback bed set the perfect atmosphere as the perfect site for the enactment of demented mischief. This was to be the perfect setting my unconscious mind told me to make or break off this quickly sinking affair. I had come up with a plan on the spur of the moment to wire her wrists together behind her back secure her ankles with a makeshift stretcher bar and use the one single pants hanger with double alligator clasps and a nipple clamp based restraint. The gag being de rigor as a play along prop of course, though in point of fact totally ineffective. There she stood naked on tiptoes in the drafty old closet. The addition of a handkerchief blindfold as a final last second decision. The options I had were of course some form of direct interaction with this scenario in the form of using my belt on her fleshy hindquarters. But something even more diabolical happened to stumble into view. I closet the old dark stained heavy wooden closet door and quietly left the hotel room.
I suppose if anyone has any doubts about their own motives or personality after an extended period of indulgence in these dark arts it would manifest itself by the amount of mental concern exercised not only for the physical welfare of their ceremonial victim. But over the possibility of unpredictable possible mental damage from unexpected childhood or previous relationship traumas. It was easy in her case to imagine past physical abuse from past parental overreach. So the point where this whole exercise went from some form of ‘hot’ sexual stimulation of an otherwise jaded libido to genuine fright and resultant panic was ever within my mind. I could in my worst imaginings clearly see a scenario where her unexpected freakout could result in attracting the attention of the sparse but occasionally present hotel staff. The police being brought in to find a trussed up naked woman in mild agony in the closet. No amount of explaining on my part being sufficient to keep me out of jail for a period of weeks or worse. One had to gauge the number of minutes with care.
In this case, I chose just over twenty minutes before I noisily re-entered the room hoping all the while I wouldn’t have a very angry reception committee as previously detailed awaiting me within. But to me relief, she like a proverbial piece of toast when released from her cinctures popped out of the closet perfectly sexually done. Her voice quavering and her body vibrating for what was a fast but very hard and every generous fuck. The bear hug that ensued while we both lay within a puddle of communal juices composed of semen and sweat an extra long affair. What was for her an epiphany was for me a warning. The possibilities of this whole thing going amuck in what in this day could have resulted in a jail term or worse yet a decade or two of marriage the final straw for me. My ardor for the uninterrupted enjoyment of a helpless struggling female now exile to a safer island in the safety of my own imagination. Like an old Ben Gunn of “Treasure Island” fame waylaid by pirates, fortune and fate, I freely can count the buried fortune of others without the danger of discovery.