(I've decided to occasionally post some more personal stuff here. So yeah.)
Before Otto and I ever fucked for the first time back in the fall of 1997, he tied me up. We were sitting in his apartment watching both TV and the naked exhibitionist guy across the street when, apropos of nothing, Otto asked me, "Have you ever been tied up?" I hadn't. Unless you counted the childhood times I would fake tie myself up with my makeshift magic lasso so I could then "break free" and save the day with my Amazonian powers. I had certainly never experienced it as a sexy possibility and the thought had never really crossed my mind to do so. Otto proceeded to direct me to sit in a chair in the middle of his living room and he tied me up. I wish I could say it was one of the most erotic moments of my life but it was about as opposite of that as it could possibly be. We both became more and more giggly as the bondage commenced until I sarcastically blurted out how this was all SO HOT.
The laughter was largely due to the huge pink elephant in the room: how much Otto and I wanted each other. He was in a very non-open relationship and I was very single. We hung out constantly when he wasn't at work and our friendship was largely based on our mutual, suppressed desires that were forcing themselves to be recognized more and more each day. The next afternoon we were sitting in his room listening to music when he told me to lay on my stomach and he tied me up again. We both collapsed into childish giggles once more and then he untied me and laid next to me on the bed. In a further burst of infantile behavior I began kicking and punching the bed and groaning in frustration. When he asked what was wrong I shouted "Oh, you know EXACTLY what is wrong! And you have a boyfriend so there is no fucking way I am doing anything first!!" He reached over to hug me as he "awww"d in mock sympathy and the next thing I knew we were jamming our mouths together like this was the only way we could consume oxygen. When he tied me up again minutes later, neither of us was laughing.
For the next 2-3 months I had some of the most incredible sex of my entire life. It didn't always involve ropes but it very often did. And I very quickly discovered that I didn't like it if they didn't leave marks. One afternoon, as I lay face down on his bed with my wrists tied to the headboard, he noticed me twisting my wrists and asked if it was too tight. "Not tight enough," I half-whispered, a bit embarrassed about how desperate my voice sounded. But I wasn't embarrassed at all about the moan that came out of my mouth a second later when he called me a good boy, leaning over my back to tighten the ropes. Two hours later I stood in an East Village zine shop tracing the imprint of them on my wrists and smirking at the sensation of lube trickling down my inner thigh. I knew I should be feeling guilty about this affair but the only real guilt I has was over how I didn't feel bad at all. I felt like I was learning all of these new things about myself - things that seemed like they'd always been there but, until someone reached down and shined a light on them, I had never really been aware of their existence. It was hard to see how there was a downside to any of that.
As I walked around work today doing my various, thankless tasks, I mentally remarked on how much I loved the grip the sock garters had on my calves. They aren't exactly what I'd call comfortable. But they aren't uncomfortable either. They're tangible and sensate and I can never fully ignore them even if I am not always totally aware of their presence on my body. The physical marks Otto left have long since faded but the other ones will always be there, even if I'm not always aware that they are. But today I decided it's time to find someone else who's at least as capable of leaving more of those physical marks.