The party had been going full
swing and everyone seemed to be relaxed and in a good mood. The style of clothing ranged from the casual
tee shirt and jeans, through to no more than a couple of leather straps and
nipple rings and everything in between. The
fact that some wore rubber or PVC, or nothing at all,
was accepted as normal, as this was a gathering of like-minded folk. Of those
interested in the S & M scene.
I had been drawn into the
conversation of a fairly large group, both male and female. While relating one of my many bizarre
adventures, I became aware that something was different. The party had gone quiet, and I was
surrounded by a circle of people listening intently to what I had to say.
‘Why don’t you write a book on
your adventures?’ someone suggested.
‘I might just do that!’ I
laughingly replied. Never
really thinking that I would do such a thing. Not because I didn’t want to but because I
had never, before that time, considered that my adventures in the S & M
scene were anything but ordinary. I was
only now realising that perhaps they were extraordinary and not everyone had
had the good fortune to do the variety of things that I had experienced.
You have, no doubt, read many
stories of bondage and similar subjects that have shown what a wonderful
imagination the author has. Stranger Than Fiction is not what its title suggests, but a true
story. Only the names of the people and
places have been changed. The remainder
is just as it happened.
Exact conversations cannot, of
course, always be recalled, but all the relevant details included will
certainly give an over-all picture of the situation.
So come with me on a potted
history of my more bizarre adventures and perhaps you will realise that truth
really is Stranger Than Fiction.
If you have been interested in
the S & M scene since early childhood, then you will understand what I mean
when I say that I thought I was the only person in the whole wide world who
became excited when seeing females in bondage.
I was sixteen, naive and totally
inexperienced in all aspects of sex beyond the heavy petting stage. After all, how do you ask a girl if she would
mind being bound and gagged?
I simply thought it was stuff
dreams were made of. Certainly not something
that could happen in real life.
My other interest was girls
wearing PVC macs and the ‘ideal dream’, was to see a girl wearing a mac and
then put into bondage. The bondage part
was beyond my expectations, but there were plenty of girls at that time wearing
PVC macs, as practically every girl had at least one in her wardrobe.
On rainy days it was a pleasure
to walk the streets of any busy town and count the number of girls wrapped up
in plastic. As far as I was concerned, a
good day in London would mean that it was raining and a hundred girls or more
had been seen wearing their shiny macs.
Mind you, I was always most careful not to stare and would have been
very upset if I had been accused of being a voyeur. I certainly had no wish to annoy anyone.
My girl friends were always
pleased, if not a little puzzled, that I would bother to buy them a plastic mac
as a present, but they wore them when it rained. I thought it was the epitome of thrills, even
if I was never able to share my feelings.
I had been working away from home
and lodging in the usual ‘digs’ in south London. There was nothing refined about the place but
it was clean, the food was good and the 40 watt bulb in my room allowed me to
locate the bed and my clothes. I
expected nothing more owing to its low cost.
Many students and travellers on a budget stayed there.
People were always coming and
going, so it was nothing unusual during my last evening that I heard the voices
of Australian girls talking to the Landlady.
They were making arrangements to rent a room.
‘I’m afraid I’ve only one room
available and that has a double bed,’ said the Landlady apologetically. ‘But at least it is out of that awful rain.’
‘I’m sure it will be fine,’ one
of the girls said reassuringly.
‘We’ll get washed and changed and
then come down for our meal.’
The Landlady walked through the
dining room to fetch the key to the girls’ bedroom. The girls followed. I just sat there, my meal forgotten. Both girls were wearing plastic macs!
The brunette wore a black, shiny
one. Quite long and
tightly belted. The blonde wore a
similar mac but this was of semi-transparent plastic.
As far as I was concerned, they
were angels from Heaven! Gorgeous!
The fact that they were
bedraggled and tired from heaving heavy cases about was irrelevant to me. As they started to pick up their cases again
and move towards the stairs, I made an unseemly dash across the room.
‘Here ‘ I
said heroically, ‘let me help you with those.’
So saying, I grabbed a case in
each hand and struggled up the stairs with plastic clad girls obediently
following on behind.
‘Which room have you got?’ I asked,
trying not to sound too out of breath.
‘Room number three’ the brunette
replied with a smile.
‘That’s next to mine,’ I informed
them as we entered their room and I gratefully dumped the cases on the double
bed.
‘If you want anything, anything
at all, just call me!’
I volunteered, and with an embarrassed grin,
backed out of their room.
I hesitated, trying to find words
to say and not finding any.
‘Thank you, thank you very much,’
said the blonde as she stepped across the room to me. Reaching up, she kissed me lightly on the
cheek. For a second my body was pressed
against that plastic clad dream and then I was out in the passage, with the
blonde closing the bedroom door.
I thought I heard them giggle,
and if they thought I was amusing, then so be it.
Going next door to my own room, I
sat on the bed in the gloom of the 40 watt bulb and thought of nothing else but
the two plastic clad beauties, so close, but so far away.