from South Croydon
Start of Sally's first draft - November ‘94
I sat down to write this book four years ago I was a very angry person.
On December 20th 1990 a judge at the Old Bailey declared that sex
games my husband and I enjoyed in the privacy of our bedroom were,
in fact, criminal. On that historic day Judge James Rant decided on
a surprise new interpretation of existing laws ... and
it changed our lives. I wouldn’t mind, but we weren’t even on trial
... it was nothing to do with us ... but there it was in black and
white in THE NEWS OF THE WORLD: Consenting adults can’t consent to
all sorts of things that until then we didn’t think were anybody else’s
business but our own!
So ... I
won’t go back over the whole depressing, disgusting, sick-making,
infuriating disgrace to the British Judicial System called the “SPANNER”
trial ... because, as you can see, I’ve calmed down a
lot in the past four years. If you don’t already know about it and
you’re a real masochist, you can read more about it elsewhere ... but
it’s very depressing. The main outcome being that a single judge without
reference to me (or to Parliament) decided that my husband and I weren’t
intelligent enough to decide for ourselves what was and was not good
for us nookie-wise.
that time we felt very powerless because so many of our basic rights
had obviously been bludgeoned to death by the Good Judge Rant.
We decided that we should try and do something positive. But what?
Well, such a lot of rubbish was talked and written about S&M and
fetish games in general during the trial
... that gave us the idea. Even the so-called Quality
papers trotted out every misconception and popular prejudice, so we
thought “Time to stand up and be counted.”
my Malcolm has never been one for letting it all hang out, but he
agreed with me that we were at least in a position to tell the other
side of the story: that kinky sex and SM games may not be everybodys’
cup-of-tea, but they are certainly not something for the great British
Judicial System to make an ass of itself about.
As my sister Ethel says “Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it”
(she’s famous for such platitudes), and Judge Rant and subsequently
the Law Lords (God bless their
silk socks and silk frocks) did seem to not have a very clear picture
of the reality behind the lurid myths about S&M for pleasure.
we decided to tell it how it is because, whether the disapprovers
like it or not, there’s a whole lot of us intelligent, responsible
but sexually uninhibited people out here in the real world and we
manage to live full and fulfilled lives without disturbing the neighbours
or corrupting our kids.
what it’s worth, here goes with the story of two of them.
When I first met Malcolm he thought he was
king of the Orchid Ballroom, Purley. At 18 he was your typical early sixties Jack-the-Lad.
Elvis hair and Elvis trousers.
Legend had it that he wore a salami down his pants leg for effect.
That wasn’t true - it was all his very own. Of course me, I was five years older and light-years
wiser than him then but not exactly experienced sexwise. You see if you’ve got a mother who talks to
you about sex it may take away some of the delicious mystery and excitement
... but it also makes getting it a bit less desperate.
My Mum’s always been a lady who knew exactly what she liked and
got it regularly. And, because she was never furtive or saw reason
to hide things from us girls, I suppose as a child I was well informed
but managed to remain totally objective. Adult sex seemed as natural
as enjoying a game of tennis or hopscotch. No she didn’t corrupt me.
She enabled me to approach the practicalities of sex more calmly than
is usual in British family life. Maybe, unintentionally, she did exposed
me to some early experiences of men’s sexual overdrive. But, as she
put it, information is power. As
a young teenager when anyof her admirers attempted some minor slap and tickle with
me ... they were left with very red faces. I’d seen the way she could handle any situation
and I learned by observation. So,
I suppose you could say that early in life I’d discovered that sexually
I could not only look after myself, I could take it or leave it.
me, lusty Malcolm (“Big M” to his friends would you believe) had a lot
of notches on his gun at 18 but very little idea of subtlety.
He won’t mind me telling you all this because he was a very different
person then. In those balmy days
of Beatles and the last of the Milk Bars, for a boy to pull a bird five
years older than himself was like doing rude things with your granny. I’d seen him around of course (you could hardly
miss him), but I’d never spoken to him till I took my mini into this
garage in the Brighton Road. He
was working there: bright red Pit Stop overalls with zip open down to
the crotch, picturesquely torn vest underneath and more grease on his
hair than in his grease gun. Well,
I don’t remember what sort of smart crack I made as I drove away
... but he remembered
me next time he saw me at The Orchid.
With a couple of other girls we were all looking cool and unavailable
in the Stardust Bar when in swaggers 'Big M' attended by several of
his courtiers. Two of his cronies nearly came to blows over
who would buy him a beer, and his gaggle of girls giggled nervously
imagining what death by impalement might feel like.
me a smile that wasn’t meant to look sincere and drawls “Oh
... where have you been
all my life?”
“23 Margurite Villas,” sez I quick as a flash, adding in
what I hoped were sexy tones, “Why? Are you looking for accommodation?” He sensed the challenge and so did his groupies.
“Oh ... would you like to accommodate me ... cuddles?” he purrs.
Now, if it hadn’t been
for this reference to my slightly fuller figure I might never have pursued
the matter. “I have a bed that
would accommodate you nicely,” I smiled,
“It’s in our front garden and all ready to be planted.” I’ll skip over the subsequent verbal fencing
and two months of sporadic sniping, but the garage he was at did good
work, and when I noticed that he always managed to be the one to come
over and deal with my car when I drove in
... I began to warm to him. Two years later we got married in a hurry.The
parents of this ballroom Lothario were more
conservative than Winston Churchill.
They’d had Malcolm late in their lives and his three older brothers
were all already up and away before he was twelve.
So his slightly lurid Hollywood Pop star image was his defence
against suburbanites as he put it. Anyway his poor old Mum and Dad were relieved
that he would be safely married off and moved out by the age of 20 so
they could enjoy their old age in peace.
God love them they’ve been good Grandparents and will soon be
Great-Grandparents if all goes well.
We’d set up house just
in time for our Melanie to arrive and a year later almost to the day
our son Todd followed in. There
we were, as ideal a young family as the Christian Family Association
could wish for. The fact that Daddy was emotionally immature
and randy as a buck rabbit and Mummy less than ecstatic about being
a life member of the Pudding Club didn’t promise well for our long term
future. In addition, super-stud Big M’s self-image was
developing in a distinctly un-lovely chauvinistic direction. So with the danger of a population explosion
plus our need to be a two salary family something had to be done. Our sex life was terrific ... predictable
but terrific, but I knew something had got to change.
Now ... I
don’t think it was exactly what my mother had in mind when it was first
suggested: After I’d talked to her on the quiet about the problem, she
just happened to remark in passing to Malcolm that there were alternatives
to good old straight forward penetration.
She’s like that, my Mum. I
thought he’d freak out ...
but he was just vaguely mystified.
To him sex had always been as natural and uncomplicated as loading
the washing machine ... and he wanted his oats about as regularly as
a household with two infants runs its washing machine. But anyway, he adored my Mum and loved it when
she talked about sex because of course his parents never had. Well, there’s nothing kinky about our Vera (that’s
my Mum) so all she was really suggesting was that perhaps there are
things a man can do that make it last longer, perhaps without quite
so much wear and tear on the merchandise, and not result in too many
unwanted little strangers. God
bless him, poor Malcolm was totally out of his depth.
I think he wasn’t all that far from asking her to show him what
she meant. But I stepped in and told him I’d explain it
when we got home. It wasn’t easy. #
Big M was used to taking what he wanted when
he wanted it. Physically he was
powerful enough to control any situation.
He welcomed a good fight but in bed nobody had ever put up much
of a struggle. So when I tried
to show him that if he would only hold back a bit and let me regulate
the build up ... but
it wasn’t what he was used to. It
was too easy for him to take over whenever he felt the urge. The cellotape was my idea. We’d both got quite giggly while I was trying
to get him to hold back and control himself.
I trooped out of bed and down into the living room and came back
with a roll of cellotape and said “If you can’t keep you hands to yourself
you’ll have to let me help you”. So
without any protest he let me tape one hand to the bed head. He was in a stupid mood and said in an Irish
accent “I can fight any man with one hand tied behind me back!” So I
said I’d tape the other one as well.
He laughed as he let me, shouting “Help! Help I’m being accosted
by a sex mad female!! Help! Rape!” and he was laughing and struggling
... and I don’t think
he realized how strong cellotape is when it’s wrapped round a few times.
was ever so dramatic. He’s a big feller and for the first time in
his life he wasn’t in physical control of the situation. He did his damnedest to break free and I waited
for him to convince himself that he was well and truly fixed. His legs were under the bed covers and I was
sitting on them so they weren’t too much of a problem. We both had an incredible time. After I’d teased him a bit he was getting so
worked up he told me to cut him loose so he could take control and I
said no way. He was all steamed
up and at first he didn’t believe I was serious
... but I was having a ball like I’d never had before.
It was the hottest sex we’d ever had together and it went on
and on and on. We were both deep
into new territory, with new rules, new possibilities
... and before that night was over we both understood
that there were places we’d never even dreamed of. It was fabulous.
Next morning he wasn’t
so sure. Ever since I’d known
him he’d sniggered about perverts and people who needed 'kinky' sex. Same with his attitudes towards homosexuality:
Prejudice based on total ignorance. He’d always been dismissive but at the same
time very defensive about Queers as he called them. Only, with his silk shirts and tight pants at
The Orchid it wasn’t only the women that gave him the eye. But then if any man ever looked at him twice
there’d be ugly incidents and punch-ups.
At times I almost felt he invited the trouble. Let’s face it The Sixties may have been swinging
in Carnaby Street and Liverpool, but in Croydon
horizons were still pretty limited.
Our local Borough Council wasn’t actually top of the league table
for Sex Education. No, our Malcolm
was your typical provincial macho, chauvinistic, Daily Mirror reading
penis-brain. Why did I let him marry me? Apart from him being
highly sexed and incredibly good looking he had a sense of style and
a sense of humour and inexhaustible vitality
... and I was slightly
plump and twenty five years old. Now,
if you ask him why he married me ... I don’t think he knew at the time but he knows
now: We’re well matched. From the first time we met we’ve been good sparring
partners. Two halves of the same
Getting back to how little we knew about non-conventional
sex; whatever preconceptions and misconceptions either of us had at
that time about “kinkiness” had been obtained through school yard mythology,
adolescent jungle telegraph and the more sensation-mongering newspapers.
We’d all heard about it but nobody we knew admitted to actually
having done it. Sound familiar? But the social conditioning
was deep and effective. Unlike
today when fetish clothes and bondage imagery are commonplace in the
Pop Scene, at that time imagery of so-called Bizarre Sex was thinner
on the ground ... particularly
in Croydon. So even
after that one great night, the inhibitions that 'Civilized Society'
had so subtly tangled us up in prevented us from escaping.
For me the altered balance of physical power had opened up new
vistas of tactile, emotional, sensual and imaginative possibilities. For Malc his brief experience of powerlessness
had (he admitted much later) broken down so many barriers and made him
realize how potentially destructive to our relationship his limited
sexual horizons had been.
But speaking chronologically the
cellotape stayed out of the bedroom for over two months.
Then, one night when Malc was trying to persuade
me to let him go off on a six week deep water diving course, in wheedling
to get me to agree he said he’d let me tape him up again. Ho-ho, I thought, he’s been thinking about it
too. Our second bout was even
more fantastic than the first because I taped his ankles as well that
time. Purely a practical measure because with his
weight training he could throw me off or trap me with his legs. The progression of the scene that I improvised
took him through excitement, frustration, real impotent anger, desperation
and eventual physical exhaustion to a point where he’d have agreed to
anything to get me to stop teasing him
Somehow he grew up five years in that one
night. For the next week he smiled
a lot and we were closer than we’d ever been.
Then he went off to learn deep sea diving and I was left with
two screaming kids to contemplate what the rest of my life might hold
NAMES OF THE GAMES
and Masochism were words I’d never even spoken before the age of 25. I’d read them, maybe even heard them said at
work; sniggered about in the nudge-nudge wink-wink way people do. Certainly at that time the sort of games Malc
and I occasionally played weren’t sadistic or masochistic in the Sunday
newspaper sense of the words. Starting
out with the purely practical need to get a better balance of physical
power between us, the new alternatives we discovered opened up a whole
new ball-game (if you’ll excuse the expression).
So, is tying somebody down and tickling them until they beg for
mercy or will agree to anything sadism? Is agreeing to have it done
to you masochism? If you say so ... that’s
what we were by natural instinct. If
you disapprove ... that’s your problem. If you think we should be sent to prison for
doing something we mutually enjoy in the privacy of our own homes ... then
stop reading this book.Assuming you’re still there
... what’s your opinion on tying somebody down and
bringing them to orgasm five times over a period of three hours or maybe
less? Is that torture and sexual abuse? Can you imagine the headlines
in the NEWS OF THE WORLD? Well, it became one of my favourite games
on a slow Sunday when the kids were off with their grandparents for
the weekend.Other words like fetish and perversion gave us
the same problems in the early days. I looked them up in a dictionary but the definitions
didn’t seem to relate to anything we liked to do in bed. Fetishes like stiletto heels and fishnet tights,
nun’s outfits made in black latex or grown men wearing girls school
gym slips were cliché we discovered in soft porn magazines the first
time we went to Amsterdam for a weekend.
They didn’t appeal to us but we thought 'Live and let live'. No, in our early days of self-discovery we derived
innocent fetishistic pleasures unconsciously. For example Malcolm’s greasy garage overalls
with his wide leather belt and high lace-up boots turned me on more
than his satin shirts and blue suede shoes at the local hop. When I first went on the back of his motorbike
(He’d had one since he was 16) I wore one of his old leather jackets.
Snuggling up against his leather shoulders and nice round butt
gave me a thrill that I didn’t identify as even sexual
... it was just exciting. I think the words sensual and erotic are often
much more appropriate than sexual.
Malcolm and me to work out a way to discuss things together we found
we needed to learn a whole new vocabulary and un-learn a whole load
of prejudicial meanings that have been imposed on words.If
leather and boots are a fetish, by the time I got my own jacket and
boots so I could go for weekends on the bike with Malc I was well on
the road to hell ... because
in them I even turned me on let alone Big M! And not only leather but
wet weather gear too. Climbing
off the back of the bike after a ride through the rain with Malc dressed
up like a plastic spaceman ...
we were both so turned on we could have rolled around on the
garage floor having rampant sex if it’d been physically possible in
all that gear. The frustration
of having to peel it all off before we could get at each other was terrible.
By the time we got to bed or into the shower the main turn-on
imagery was lying wet and limp by the back door.
So, “Fetish is as Fetish does” as sister Ethel might say if she
had any imagination.Is having sex with your clothes on Kinky?
Somehow when I was young I thought is was ... unless
you had nowhere to go except the cinema car park. When I first talked to Malc about it he agreed
that somehow he’d grown up thinking that to have proper sex you needed
to be naked. First time we had
sex together in full leather and boots it was fantastic beyond belief. It was in a tent on the Yorkshire Moors and
it was a very cold wet night ... so that made it OK. After that we tried it once in our bedroom and
felt stupid.Now rubber was a different story.
Long before it became fashionable and Madonna wore it I think
Malc was attracted to it. He had waders and oilskins to go fishing in
as well as his bike waterproofs. For
his wind surfing and snorkelling he had a wet-suit before I met him. Then came his yen to take up deep water diving.
It didn’t strike me until the first time I saw the Avon dry-suit
catalogue how sexy men look totally encased in thick rubber
... preferably black.
After the diving course when he suggested he
should get his own suit I thought ...
to hell with the expense, think about the possibilities offered
by having one on hand on dry land. Specially when I went to the diving centre with
him and saw what was involved in neck entry as opposed to zip entry. All the struggling and pushing and pulling to
get into it, and it being almost impossible to get out again without
outside help. Right there in the shop seeing Malc totally
imprisoned inside the thick rubber casing made my innocent heart flutter. I can tell you I could hardly wait for him to
get it home.People who don’t know what I’m talking about
kink-wise often ask how it can be sexy if you can’t get at the essential
equipment. Well first of all,
if I can’t get at it, neither can he (for more about Chastity Belt
games see page 35). And when
he’s in no position to push me off, it’s amazing what you can do with
ice, a hair dryer and a vibrating Pifco massager
(Whenever we see one at a Car Boot sale we buy it - they’re the
best sex toy ever produced).'Bondage' is another word that
always causes a stir but most people don’t really know what it actually
means. Bondage when I was at
school was something Shylock yattered on about in Shakespeare. In the Bible people always seemed to be getting
themselves into or out of bondage, and in the NEWS OF THE WORLD a bondage
shock horror story is anything from a fully furnished dungeon in the
basement to a roll of cellotape in a bedside table drawer.
There’s a lot of confusion in the public mind
about what exactly Bondage involves.
It’s a conveniently vague taboo for The Establishment and Customs
Inspectors to maintain without having to be specific or even logical.We
still didn’t consider we were seriously into Bondage when Malcolm and
I had already learned from experience that rope is less messy than cellotape;
cotton rope leaves less marks than hemp AND the knots don’t slip like
they do with nylon cord. It was much later in our development that we
switched permanently to using leather strips which we first saw at the
annual BIZARRE BAZAAR in New York ... but that was years later and gets a chapter
to itself so let’s stick to the subject of the names of the games.In
our early days of discovery without access to information, we discussed
between ourselves whether or not such 'exotic' sex games might be addictive
and we might lose the ability to enjoy the simple pleasures of kissing
and cuddling and good old straight forward humping.
Well, we still don’t know the answer to that one
... but how many other couples who’ve been together
for 27 years play erotic games regularly at least twice a week ... sometimes
12 hours at a stretch? You tell me.
If we cut down on the actual intercourse that
might originally have been to do with birth control or because it was
so exhausting with Malcolm exclusively in the driver’s seat. Anyway I’m turned 50 ... but
then again Vera’s nearly 70 and she still gets a little whirl when she
needs it. I don’t think SM or
Bondage sex are any more addictive than arcade video games. It’s all a matter of degree and intelligence. For some people even Bingo becomes obsessive
and wrecks their home life.
Still on the subject of our vocabulary
of eroticism: Pain as a game takes a bit more explaining. We eventually came to the conclusion that Malc
has always been some sort of masochist.
Well, you don’t leave a warm bed at five o’clock in the morning
to go fishing when you’re 12 years old if you’re normal, do you. Enjoying physical pain and discomfort in Malc’s
case ranged from boxing, wrestling and running (until he tore a tendon)
at school, through motorcycling in all weathers as a teenager to deep
diving off a North Sea Oil Rig in winter.
That all involved degrees of self-induced discomfort
... whether consciously
or unconsciously is another matter.
I suppose physical self-challenge can become a fetish if you
get off on it (As an American friend of ours might say “Tell THAT to
the Marines”). What would you call a man who works out with
weights till his whole body is trembling and he’s almost crying with
the strain on his muscles?; He-Man or Pervert? So here’s a scoop for
the Daily Mirror Sports Page ... in our bedroom for the past six years we’ve
had an elaborate and expensive home exercise construction called Super
Gym. It fills half the room with
posts, pulleys, weights, traction benches and push-up/pull down bars
with grab handles and suspension points.
Well I wasn’t the one who decided to add lockable wrist and ankle
straps at strategic points. I
wasn’t the one who set a tough exercise program and asked me to make
sure he did it all ... “and
maybe more”! What sort of a game would you call that? Kinky? Perverted?
At 45 his body looks great and he feels great ... believe
you me. OK it was my surprise
idea that he’d do his chosen exercise program every day wearing his
silver plastic sweat suit. I
love to watch him sweat and strain and cuss.
I tell him it’s his full body condom.
He gets so mad ... but a deal’s a deal. I lay and watch as he does his exercises ... and
we both get the benefit from them.Erotic games involving
deliberately inflicting pain, like everything else we do, grew naturally
out of experiments.
what turned Malc on it was only right that he should be free to get
his own back and spring a few surprises on me.
Almost the first time I let him give me the cellotape treatment
I thought I’d made a serious miscalculation.
When I was all spread-eagled and vulnerable he announced that
he’d bought a new whip that he wanted to try.
We were still only at the slap and tickle stage then
... and although we hadn’t got into gags at that
time he improvised something and left me helpless and fuming ... but
somehow deep down I knew we had too good a relationship for him to push
it too far. Back he came saying
that he’d have to blindfold me as well before he used the whip. I heard the swish and braced myself ... the
devil had bought a aerosol can of whipped cream which he proceeded to
squirt all over my helpless naked body
... rub it around ... and
then lick it off. Gagged and
blindfolded I was in seventh heaven.
I couldn’t have let him do all that to me if I’d been free to
fight him off. You see, it may sound terrible or wonderful
to you or just plain silly ... but we like it.
IN THE WILDERNESS
the first five years of our marriage before our kids were capable of
serious curiosity Malcolm and I were free to play at home
... although, as an investment in the future, we
did from the beginning encourage my Mum and Malc’s parents to have our
kids to stay with them for occasional weekends and take them on holiday
trips from time to time. Luckily
this suited all concerned and even in our innocent beginnings allowed
for our noisier game playing. As
far as our instinctive gravitation towards more (shall we say) experimental
games, we were isolated from any form of outside influence, but at least
we had each other. When I think how many people there are out there
with nobody to even exchange ideas or opinions with; people who may
never succeed in making contact with another compatible soul on this
planet ... Sorry,
recently that thought’s been bothering me more and more. Anyway, where was I? Beginning of Phase Two
of our development.
By the time
our two kids both reached the age to start primary school full time,
money was getting tighter. Everybody
was ready for a change. I wanted
to get back to my work full time and Malc was eager for a shot at something
more adventurous than being a garage mechanic all his life.
From the first his idea behind the diving was to get work on
the oil rigs which were only just starting.
After five years of married life he had earned a break. Bless him he was great with the kids but he’d
still got a lot of the kid in him at 25.
We thought there’d be more need for him to be around the house
when our two hit adolescence. I
was nervous of the dangerous work of course but there was good money
to be made on the Rigs at that time
... and I was quite looking forward to getting back
onto the career ladder I’d hopped off to get married.
saga is only about our sexual exploits I’ll get to the point of this
chapter: Voices in the Wilderness. Throughout
history sex-starved men in lonely places have found solutions that 'Civilized
Society' might find unacceptable. Life
on the oil rigs pitched Malc smack into a world he’d never experienced
but took to like a duck to the proverbial.
In spite of his Orchid Ballroom bravado and our less than conventional
occasional sex games he was still an innocent at heart.
Older men on the rigs knew and did things that blew his mind. Luckily for me we had a good firm relationship.
Without the bond of our secret and slightly guilty games (we
still felt guilty about them then ... we
don’t now, Your Honour) I don’t think our marriage would have survived
Aberdeen ... the Tartan Klondike. For the first time Malc was exposed to German,
Swedish and American porno videos. He
had access on local shore leave to strip shows, sex clubs, phone sex
... and what was so sweet
was he used to write and tell me all about it.Not to be outdone
I used to write him weekly letters giving news of home and the kids
plus totally fictitious and outrageous accounts of my sexual exploits
with my boss, the milkman, his old mates from the garage and even with
the lady next door.
Some of the scenarios I dredged up from my subconscious
shocked even me. On his first
two trips home he was suspicious ...
but it was the beginning of the role playing that we both eventually
became so good at. On an early trip home he brought a few of the
Contact ad. magazines that circulated
on the rigs to show me. Of course
they’re illegal in Britain but that didn’t seem to include Aberdeen. BITCH GODDESS, SM GAZETTE (I’m not making this
up), SM/ADS, , RUBBER NEWS, and
DIZIPLINE were all packed with contact ads as well as pictures and fiction.
Most of the ads were from professional Dominatrix offering the
men interesting shore leave in Amsterdam, Hamburg, Bradford, Birmingham
and even Carnoustie! Some of the ads sounded like pure fantasy but
who knows? There were also obviously genuine personal ads from lonely
men, lost souls sending out messages from the wilderness.
It was the first time I realized how many lonely hearts never
get heard from.
During that leave I asked Malc if he’d fancy
writing to some of the more outrageous Dominatrix ads. I said I’d be very interested to know how they
wrote back. He said he’d think
about it. When he went back he
left the magazines ... they certainly contributed to my education.
No, they didn’t pervert me, I was just happy to know we weren’t
the only perverts in the world if that’s what we really were.
Reassurance that you’re not alone in the world is not something
to be sniffed at. And like it or not Mrs. Whitehouse, there are
people in the world who choose NOT to live by the rules you choose to
live by. Whoops! Cool it! Don’t
get emotional. But you see, thinking
about all the people who never manage to make contact with kindred spirits
makes me angry and depressed ... and I don’t want this book to be depressing
or shocking just informative.
IN MY BED.
role playing between regular sex partners isn’t as peculiar as it might
sound, nor as unusual. When we
first drifted into it early on, it was on paper like I said
... in our letters. The first time in full make-up and costume was
full of surprises. A week after
that leave when I suggested Malc should write to some of the sexy contact
ads a letter arrived from Aberdeen addressed to the 'Divine Madam S'
at our address. I could have killed Malc because the postman’s
good a friend of ours and member of the Darts Team. In it he’d written to me as though I’d advertised
in a magazine called SEX EXCHANGE BY POST. According to him my ad had said “Frank exchange
of sexually explicit letters desired by suburban housewife from frustrated
sailor or manual worker living alone”! He’d concocted this quite sincere
sounding letter from a man who had a wife who didn’t understand his
needs and was sexually frigid. He
went on to unburden his secret sex fantasies which included every kind
of perversion under the sun and ended with the admission that he was
so sexually frustrated he was masturbating nightly together with several
of his work mates and was seriously in danger of turning homosexual
if he didn’t get a sympathetic and understanding response.
He even signed his letter with his real name!
next two months our exchange of letters was by return post
... sometimes he wrote
a second letter before he’d received my reply to the one before. The erotic fantasies he thought up were incredible. In one of his letters to his “Divine Madam” he sent a set of ridiculous black see-through underwear with red marabou
feather trim. I can imagine what
sort of shop he bought it in Aberdeen.
Well, he asked 'her' to wear it and think of him.
In response I asked him to send a photo of himself in the nude. Ten days later I’m damned if it didn’t arrive:
Malcolm stark naked except for his hard hat and his wellies, grinning
away larger than life. I’ve never
dared to ask who took the picture ... which was in a box with this slightly larger
than life vibrating dildo and a note suggesting that I should use it
and think of him.
As a return challenge I wrote straight back
and said that on his next leave not to go straight home to his wife
but come visit me 'The Divine Madam S' for a couple of days. We’d actually booked a family holiday in Ibiza
for the second two weeks of his shore leave ... but
in my letter I said I (The divine Madam S) would send my children to
their Grandparents for the weekend.
It was really exciting. The
next week his letter was very short.
It just said that his leave started the following Saturday and
he was very much looking forward to meeting me for the first time.
I had no idea if he’d have the nerve to follow through with it, I tried
to cover all eventualities. I’d
already ordered by post a few items advertised in the magazines he’d
left ... just
for a bit of devilment ...
but I’d never dared show them to him.
They were just what I needed if I was to live up to the reputation
of the Divine Madam S. - Slut of the South Circular Road. So I packed the kids off for a weekend with
his Mum and Dad, my excuse being that I would be working overtime to
earn extra cash for our Spanish holiday.
Of course they were always happy to go because Malc’s Mum and
Dad always spoilt them rotten.On the appointed morning the
front doorbell rang and I was suitably tarted up as The Divine Madam
S. just in case. I’d even borrowed
this long dark wig ready to give the acting performance of my life. When I opened the door there stood Malc and
I was stunned. He’d had his lovely
long hair shaved down to a tight crew cut, wore seaman’s sweater and
wellies and was smiling like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
“Are you Malcolm Barratt’s missus?” he asks in a broad Scottish
accent. There was a pause before
I nodded. “Funny,” he says, “he
told me your were brunette. Anyway
Malcolm asked me to look in on you while I was on leave.
He sent you these,” and he produces a bottle of booze and chocolates
from his canvas kit bag. The
bastard had concocted a totally different scenario.
“Would you mind if I came in for a wee while?” he says easing
his way past before I could answer.
I was totally off balance but the scene that followed should
have won us both an Oscar because, having switched roles into the role
of dutiful wife and mother, Andrew McGilligan (“Call me Andy” he tells
me!) opens the Scotch, plants himself in Malcolm’s chair and starts
making a strong pass at his good mate’s wife.
When I demurely rejected his advances, downing a third “wee dram” he starts getting insistent and I find myself defending my honour against
a sex starved helicopter pilot on his first visit to London.
It was a wonderful performance. Before long his character started to turn quite
nasty and suggest that he could take me by force if I didn’t co-operate.
I was just deciding whether to drop my role and opt out of the
game or knee him in the groin and ruin both our weekends
... when he suddenly changed tack and said not to
worry, Malcolm had asked him to visit and tempt me because he had heard
that I was being unfaithful. Well,
I acted outraged and shocked and then came the tears and ordering him
out of the house. Suddenly he asked why I was trying to get rid
of him and what was I trying to hide and who was I expecting ... and
before I knew it he was up the stairs and into our bedroom.
Well the lacy lingerie and the dildo were all laid out on
the bed ... and a Scottish Presbyterian Minister couldn’t
have been more biblical about me and my Fancy Men. It was time for thinking on my feet so I said
I knew Malcolm had been having an affair through a contact magazine. I cried a bit and said I’d fetch us both a drink
and I’d explain it all. Down
stairs I quickly reviewed my options and dashed back up stairs with
two large glasses of scotch ... and I don’t even like scotch!
He was sitting
on the bed looking at the set of lockable leather wrist and ankle restraints
with matching collar I’d bought by mail order.
For a minute I thought he was going to come out of his character ... but
he downed the drink in one gulp instead. I could see I’d gained a little time so I took
it quite slowly. “Andrew,” I
said “I am not, in fact, Malcolm Barratt’s wife.
I am a professional Dominatrix and his wife Sally has paid me
to be here because her husband was supposed to arrive today and wanted
his wife to do terrible perverted thing to him
... and I’m a lady who can deal with men like that.”
Calmly I added “That’s why I laced that drink I just gave you with a
potent chemical which will make it impossible for you to resist me physically
or mentally ... do you understand? Can you feel that all the
power has drained from your muscles? You will do exactly as I tell you. OK?”
I could see that his old brain
was whirring away before he decided to play along. He says weakly but ever so dramatically, “You
Bitch, what have you done to me?!” “I
have made you my slave and my prisoner.
Take all your clothes off. You
have just enough strength to do that but no more.” Acting like the last of the zombies he strips
right down to the buff as I sit on a chair and watch, smiling enigmatically.
“Now lock on the ankle, wrist and neck restraints,” I purr.
He does it and Zombie or not his pecker was stiff as a pole. He co-operated while I fastened him to the bed,
then I got the other glass, lifted his head and gave him a drink from
it. “This is the antidote to
the drug. Your full strength
and power will be restored immediately.
You can fight and struggle as much as you like now because I’m
not going to let you loose for 48 hours”.“Forty eight hours,” he yells suddenly springing back to life.
He thrashed around and really put my new purchases to the test. Luckily they were worth the money and held him
fast ... but he didn’t give up easily. “Keep still,” I barked and slapped him quite
hard. “Now tell me who you are
Andrew McGilliguddy or Malcolm Barratt?”
He thinks for a minute and then says “McGilligan.
Andrew McGilligan, helicopter pilot for B.P.” “Right Andrew, I’m going to do to you all the
things that your friend Malcolm wrote and told me he’d like me to do
to him. Two whole days with no
arguments. No get out.
Well, he was determined not to drop his character ... and
for two long days and nights I pulled out all the stops. He slept in restraints for the first time.
I’d also bought a good solid gag so he couldn’t keep me awake.
Incidentally, this isn’t the time to interrupt the continuity
to talk about long scenes or degrees of 'consent' and the removal of
it, but I hope to find a place to slot it in later on.
Anyoldway, by the end of it all poor Andrew
was drained quite literally. He
acted like it had never happened to him before .. and I had worked in a lot of surprises ... and
it was the longest scene we’d ever sustained. When I let him loose poor old Malc was too tired
to think and I played my part right to the end. When he’d got his clothes back on I kissed him
gently. “Well now Andrew. You pop off down to the station and phone Malcolm
and ask him if when his leave starts he’s coming to see The Divine Madam
S. for two days before he and
his wife and kids fly off to Ibiza for his leave proper. Andrew nodded and trotted off down the road
like a lamb.
In about ten minutes the phone rang “This is
Andrew, Madam” he says, “Malc says he’s feeling a bit shattered and
would like a couple of quiet days at home before the start of the family
holiday ... but
he asked me to ask if perhaps on his next leave he could come and visit
you for the first time.” “Tell
him I’ll look forward to that, Andrew,” I said.
Well, talk about quick change and stage management. I only just had time to change my clothes and
pack away the gear in the bedroom before I heard Malc breeze noisily
in through the back door. He
was wearing a colourful athletic track suit and carrying a sports holdall;
the sailor’s kit bag and wellies nowhere to be seen.
I thought ... you have a talent for this game matey. I’m going to have to get in some practice.
Since then the repertory of characters we turn into to turn each
other on has grown. Together we’ll plan a night out ... perhaps
by one of us going to a bar we know which is mainly for singles in Redhill
... the other will arrive pretending to be somebody
totally different. It’s real
improvisation stuff. We have
a file of character types, turn-on clothes, basic scenarios. Sometimes we just pick a piece of paper out
of a hat. Malc knows I like his
slightly dumb drunk Irish labourer and motorcycle stud or off duty policeman
new to the neighbourhood. My
tart with the heart of gold and the school teacher who’s never had sex
and getting desperate are fun for us both.
I suppose many people don’t need or can’t deal with elaborate
role play in sex ... but
I tell you, it beats going to the pictures.
Chapter Five: COMING
OUT IN CROYDON.
It might sound
like I’m skipping a lump of the story, but with Malc working away and
two kids springing up like weeds and me back at work full time, although
our correspondence and holiday breaks continued to be full of surprises
our real serious development into fully fledged sexual perverts didn’t
happen for another six years. When
Melanie was 12 and Todd 11 it seemed like time for Malc to settle down
closer to home. Always in his mind he’d wanted a machine shop
or specialist garage of his own. The
opportunity presented itself and the cash had been saved. It was the time of the North Sea boom but he
eased his way out of the field work but had managed to make himself
useful enough to have some good contacts when it came to special marine
engineering requirements. So
by 79/80 we were in business.
job had elevated to Company travel organizer for the multi-national
which shall remain nameless, and was too good to give up.
The perks had already got the family to Spain, Crete, Greece
and California plus romantic weekends for Malc and me in Rome, Venice,
to say nothing of Hamburg, Paris and Amsterdam
... and I’ll say nothing of our visits to Hamburg,
Paris and Amsterdam!Oh, what the hell! Those trips contributed
to our coming to terms with our sexual preferences. After seeing the magazines from Aberdeen, visiting
these so-called fleshpots of Europe made us realize how normal we were
and how screwed up so many so-called normal people are ... but
it certainly confirmed our isolation in South Croydon. Contact ads of the less lurid kind were there
to be found if you knew where to look even in Britain in the late Seventies.
Useful magazines like SKIN TWO, SHINY and BOUND TO PLEASE hadn’t
started to appear yet but FORUM, PUSSYCAT, ATOMAGE and Pamela Young
were all good low key contact points for the needy and the lonely.
Malc and I discussed the possible advantages of making social
if not physical contact with like-minded people.
Choosing our own route towards further personal development was
proving difficult. Access to information allows you to make informed
choices. 'Ignorance is not bliss' as the opponents of Sex Education
would have us believe. But with
our kids increasingly alert, inquisitive and demanding, our games at
home needed to be very very circumspect.
I was determined the kids would not grow up ignorant of the broader
concepts of sexuality ... but
no way would we complicate their lives by opening their minds too far
A brilliant solution
to our space needs was for Malc’s new workshop to have a separate 15
x 15 foot 'Work-out Room' for his weight training complete with shower,
etc. ... etc.
Naturally this was something he used mainly in the evenings
... and at weekends when Daddy was working overtime
and Mummy was helping him with the Books. The kids were happy to have the house to themselves
from time to time and entertain their friends. They were good kids and we treated them like
young adults.But somehow our sense of isolation seemed to
be increasing and several times we discussed running some sort of ad
to make a few social contacts or at least to exchange letters with other
closeted suburbanites. We’d both
become very good letter-writers during our months apart, but first we
needed to take stock and consider what we had to gain or lose by risking
exposing our interests to strangers.
Malc had met several men on the rigs who in that free-wheeling
atmosphere had let down a few barriers about their less-conventional
sexual preferences, but with most of them there was still an element
of snigger-and-wink coyness about such admission
... and apology.
Malc said these men often pretended to be contemptuous or disapproving
when in fact they were dying to try things they’d only heard about second
hand. 'Civilized Society' (aided
and abetted by the muck-raking media) was still helping to keep the
locks firmly on the closet doors even then.
I had never had a serious discussion with anybody but Malc or
my mother about so-called deviant or kinky sex.
It was time to put a toe outside the door.But before
we’d decided what to put in some sort of ad, FORUM magazine Personal
Column provided us with what looked like the perfect opportunity.
“South West London couple with interest in all forms of unconventional
sexuality and erotic stimulation wish to meet others with view to forming
discussion group. Confidentiality
guaranteed. Send phone number
only in first instance”, and a Box number to write to.
Well, that was the start of the next phase in our personal development.
can be a mixed blessing. Malcolm
and I have learned a lot since that first faltering attempt by the two
who put the ad in FORUM. As it turned out they were really looking for
additional sex partners and shared experiences rather than discussion ... and
Malcolm and I weren’t ready for that. Apart from us, three other couples and eighteen
singles replied to their first ad so it showed just how many people
were in the same boat as us. I
don’t think now’s the time to get into generalizations about the dynamics
of Group Interaction ... No I’m sure it isn’t. Maybe it’s something to do with being British.
Anyway, a few of us did meet two or three times in private houses
from Streatham to Dorking.One direct good result was that
we got to see a copy of a newsletter from EULENSPIEGEL, a well established
SM group in New York. And, well,
one things leads to another as Ethel would say.
(I really should tell you about my younger sister sometime. She’s the queen of the platitude and lives a
totally uneventful life in Sutton).
Anyway, as our personal development into depravity is what I
expect you want to hear about I’ll skip over the fumblings of our first
face to face Group Encounters in South West London and get on with our
expansion into the international network of newsletters put out by different
SM groups in different countries and the personal contacts which can
build up from there.We’d found the door we were looking for
at that time. Our previous letter
writing experience gave us the confidence to say things in print we
perhaps weren’t yet capable of saying in public. Very British! But the immediate response we
got from our tentative letter to the Secretary of EULENSPIEGEL was friendly,
generous and genuine. 'Goldie' welcomed us and also immediately sent
us a copy of THE RIGID BONDAGE ROSTER (now sadly defunct) which was
filled with useful Contact addresses for other clubs and groups around
the world. There were also “Personals” of hair-raising
explicitness (if there’s such a word!).
Importing such publications was illegal in Britain even at that
time (1978/9), but it was before the recent vicious clamp down made
even having a copy of such a magazine in your private home a criminal
At that time Malc first got his Personal Computer
because it was necessary for his new business and he got ever so good
at Word Processing ... and over a period of about five years that modest
little office Word Processor found itself becoming the centre of an
international information exchange of private opinions about all aspects
of kinky sex! It built up gradually, but people we wrote to were mostly
so friendly “It just grow’d” as Little Topsy said (a literary reference!). It also proved how isolated so many people like
us were. Not just geographically
but isolated from their neighbours, family and social friends ... and
forced to lead double lives.
Anyway, we found we could store
letters we wrote and send chunks of information and opinions on any
specific topic whenever that subject cropped up again in a letter somebody
else wrote to us. I suppose even
that is technically illegal ... publishing obscene material ... and
sending it through the Royal Mail (Now there’s an obsolete and cranky
Victorian hangover. 'Obscenity' like corruption and perversion are used
like blunt instruments by people who’s understanding is as limited as
their Christian tolerance. Whoops!
I digress again).
So, by the start of The Eighties our circle
of PPPs (Perverted Pen Pals) had already spread and we were in regular
contact with like-minded souls as far afield as San Francisco, Oslo
and outback Australia. Apart
from informative intellectually stimulating and psychologically sound
exchanges on all aspects of SM and Bondage
... there were offers to “Visit if you’re in the
area” from all over the world. Not
invitations to orgies, you understand
... just nice, friendly
sociable people who were longing to have more communication with people
who shared similar interests and weren’t screwed up about it. Well, because the kids were lively young teenagers
and Malc’s business actually did take up a lot of not only his time
but mine, we not only didn’t have much time to ourselves, we wanted
to give our kids the best. For
our annual family holiday in 1980 the kids opted for New York.
We invited my Mum to join us and it was the first time for all
of us ...
and as it turned out a wonderful time was had by all.
ACROSS THE SEA
The Big Apple lived up to it’s reputation. The hotel was big and busy and just off Times
Square. The kids at 14 and 15
were fearless and eager for adventure - and in a funny sort of way so
were Malc and I. We’d been writing
regularly to three people who were all members of this EULENSPIEGEL
SOCIETY and also to the man who published THE RIGID BONDAGE ROSTER,
so when they all knew we were coming the offers of hospitality were
overwhelming. “Come and see our
Playroom”, “We’ve got a guest apartment in our house”, “Will you give
a talk at the weekly Meeting?” But it was essentially a family holiday
so we declined all offers except that we said we would like to be at
the regular meeting of the EULENSPIEGEL SM GROUP if there was one while
we were in town. There was and
it was arranged for Vera to take the kids to see the play DRACULA on
Broadway (their choice, not ours) and off we went to meet “Rose and
Dick” who we already felt we knew. Ron,
the man from THE RIGID BONDAGE ROSTER was to join us along with a Professor
from City College who lectured on Fine Art and had a fully equipped
dungeon in his basement. They were to buy us dinner and then escort us
to the meeting. I thought I’d
be nervous but we’d all exchanged so many intimate letters it was like
meeting old friends. They took
us to eat in Greenwich Village and the table conversation ranged from
SM Night Clubs to where to buy a leather strait-jacket, and nobody even
bothered to lower their voices. The
sense of freedom was something I found difficult to get used to.
walking into that little hall where EULENSPIEGEL met was somehow like
coming home. A wonderful mix of misfits who’d found one another
and although they were all into different things they were comfortable
with one another: From city and suburb; straight, gay, lesbian; couples
and singles. No strict dress
code so we didn’t feel at all out of place in our tourist clothes. There were some in full leather or fetish dress,
even two transvestites or trans-sexuals (I didn’t know the difference
then). Anyway, we were made to
feel completely at home because it was actually homely. I’m not being wicked but the atmosphere wasn’t
much different to our local parish church social ... except
for the topics of conversation of course.
There was coffee and biscuits and the sales table was piled high
with pamphlets, information sheets and publications (many of which we’d
never heard). Rose and Dick knew
most of the people and we were introduced informally around the room. People asked what we were “into” ... and
we hadn’t actually got a pat answer.
They were amazed we hadn’t brought any photographs of the games
we play. We’d never thought of
taking pictures of us in action ... in fact I thought it was quite a kinky idea.
We discovered that a lot of people there had photos in their
wallets of themselves dressed up or tied up. They handed them around like showing photographs
of their children or holidays; common currency, communication. We felt completely relaxed as people gossiped
together as more people arrived and the official meeting was ready to
A fabulous lady of about my age and build who was a
lecturer in Social Psychology introduced herself and gave us her business
card. She invited us to come
meet students in her 'Human Sexuality' course and talk to them about
marital S&M in Great Britain. We
said we had our kids and my mother in tow.
“Oh, I’ll get somebody to take them on a boat trip up the Hudson
for a day” she says. “My students
would love to meet you. Last
week we had a professional New York SM Call Girl give a talk.
She was a lot of fun.
”Then there was Donna, a sexy
but tough looking gal in full leather (although it was ever so warm
that night) who asked if we’d ever been to San Francisco.
“That’s where it was all at” she announced. She told us that she was employed as a sex Counsellor
at a big hospital there, had helped found “DYKES ON BIKES” the all female
motorcycle club and, as a hobby she made the best whips in the USA. We saw DUNGEONMASTER magazine for the first
time and bought all the back issues of it and RIGID BONDAGE ROSTER. A very masculine man in boots and motorcycle
jacket introduced himself to Malcolm and said he was a member of the
Gay Male SM Activist’s group (G.M.S.M.A.) and would Malc like to go
to a meeting as his guest? Malc looked panic stricken.
He’d grown out of thinking of all homosexuals as limp wristed
pansies but this hunk looked like he could beat Malc in the wrestling
or boxing ring. I speculated on the thought of Malc being overpowered
by two very macho homosexuals ...
but from there on I didn’t pursue that fantasy.
But I did buy a couple of issues of the gay magazine DRUMMER
which specializes in photos and fiction about muscular men in leather
and chains. The theme of the issue was “Hot’n’heavy Mansex”.
I thought that’ll make interesting reading after we get home.
Speaker for the evening was an expert on whipping techniques.
He demonstrated various types of whips on several willing acquaintances
of both sexes. We were impressed
by his insistence on safety, hygiene, precision and total responsibility
(Mutual consent seemed to be taken for granted).
These strict rules & established etiquette were new to Malc
and me. The rules are clearly
defined and generally observed among the 'in crowd'.
Prescribed codes of conduct are even written down and published
in magazines in American, Sweden and Germany
... it’s just that all
those publications are banned in the UK, so we found we were horribly
ignorant at that time.
This lecture demonstration was part
of a series. Other topics listed
for forthcoming meetings were restraint as a sensual experience without
SM titled “The Gentle Art of Bondage', “Pins & Needles” (which was
piercing and tattoos as Art and Eroticism), “Masks, Hoods and Helmets
in Fantasy Enhancement” and 'Military Interrogation Techniques, including
demonstrations of electro-torture with muscle stimulators, vibrators,
cattle prods, violet wands and hand-cranked generators”.
I slipped a copy of the list to Malcolm and as he read it the
bulge in his crotch got noticeably bigger.
After the main
talk and coffee the crowd of about sixty split up into smaller groups
each discussing a different topic or sexual preference.
Rose and Dick were leading a 'Talkshop' about enemas which didn’t
appeal to us much, so we sat in on 'Inferno 79'; the dishy young leatherman
talking informally about the recent annual meeting of the Chicago Hellfire
Club. 'Inferno' each year is a gay leather/SM/bondage
get together for four days. 200 men into every kind of 'Heavy Mansex'
he explained, “It’s a learning experience as well as having a
great time”. The slides were incredible; flogging and electro
torture workshops with demonstrators working on willing victims and
surrounded by crowds of observers; a Slave Training session by a well-known
Master; a freestyle bondage competition.
Men aged 21 to 72 at the equivalent of a Boy’s Camp in the wilds
of the Mid-West doing their own thing in public in the privacy of an
enclosed campsite. Apparently
it’s by invitation only and always oversubscribed.
Malc bought the illustrated souvenir program for the previous
year ... and
picked up membership details!
I’d wandered over to a group
to which a middle-aged Jewish housewife was demonstrating 'Nipple Torture'.
I gathered she was generally known as Rosie the Tit Lady, who
sat at home in Brooklyn modifying all types of bulldog clips, alligator
clips and anything that would grab, grip, nip or tweak as she put it.
I moved hastily on to join Malc at 'Bondage for Beginners' where
we didn’t learn anything. But it was a massive breakthrough for us both.
Sixty men and women responsible and intellectually alive, sharing
ideas with the specified, publicly advertised aim of promoting SAFE,
SANE AND LOVING S&M.
back in Croydon the need to share some of the things we’d learned grew
stronger. Nothing to do with trying to corrupt or convert
people you understand, just an increased awareness that there were a
lot of folks like us around if we just knew how to meet them. Oddly enough a Pen Pal in Stockholm put us in
touch with a couple who lived 20 minutes down the road from us and one
thing leads to another, doesn’t it. They
knew a couple of couples and over a few social get-togethers the confidence
grew. We discussed the practicalities
of having a more formal group with regular meetings and pre-planned
agenda. We decided on a few rules and codes of practice
and it wasn’t long before we took the risk and advertised.I’d
been Secretary of an amateur Drama Group and Malc and I were both on
the Committee of the Bowls Club ...
and the administrative side of it was no different and we weren’t
offering anything illegal. Of
course we kept a sharp eye out for newspaper reporters trying to join,
but prospective members were well vetted.
I’ve not spent 30 years in Personnel and Public Relations for
nothing.This was a particularly rewarding period for Malc
and me. We had experience and
knowledge other people could benefit from, and we never stopped learning.
The Group brought us into contact with a whole cross-section
of possibilities we might never otherwise have stumbled into.
And although talk not action was the name of the game at meetings,
that didn’t mean to say our social interaction with individuals met
through the Group didn’t, shall we say, spill over somewhat.
not going to give you a catalogue or blow-by-blow account of this natural
progression but meeting different people with different preferences
gave us not only information but occasional hands-on experience.
Particularly when it came to equipment, there were things we’d
never have thought of buying but having had an opportunity to try it
... well, for example
...One nice couple from the Dorking area (let’s call them
Rita and George) were very much into corsets.
That was something we’d seen in magazines but never encountered
in the flesh (if you’ll excuse the expression). In advance of inviting them to give a talk to
the Group Malc and I went to visit them socially. During the evening they were very proudly showing
us their collection, and Malc says to me that I’d look good in a corset.
Well, I wasn’t any slimmer than when we were married but I wasn’t
much fatter. So Rita says to
try one on ...
hers wouldn’t fit me but one of her husbands’ would.
Well, I wasn’t flattered but I didn’t want to be a spoil sport
so I whips off my frock and Rita puts this contraption on me and laces
it so tight I could hardly breath. It
did wonders for my boobs and hips but nothing for my digestion.
No wonder Victorian ladies were always fainting.I
think Malc was quite intrigued because he started looking through this
corset catalogue George had and I says firmly “If you’re thinking of
ordering one of these get it in your size, mate!”.
George thought that was a wonderful idea and out he whips this
heavily boned and strapped man-sized corset.
I suppose Malc didn’t like to be unsociable so he strips down
to his briefs and lets Rita and George lace and strap him into it.
I said “Now you know what I mean” but his old pecker was trying
to rip his underpants apart and Rita said “Oh, we’ll have to do something
about that, won’t we George.” Malc caught my eye but neither of us expected
what was coming next. The corset
had attachment points for a through-the-legs piece that tucked all his
masculinity into a sort of solid crotch box and then sort of ... depressed
it. Before we knew it he was
looking like Danny La Rue below stairs.
Well ... perhaps
if we hadn’t already had sherry before and wine with our meal he might
not have gone along with what followed from there. Rita and George decided on the full treatment
for him; make-up and wig, black stockings and a pair of George’s best
high heeled shoes topped off by rhinestone choker, earrings and long
black gloves. He looked fantastic
and he couldn’t take his eyes off the mirror.
Eventually, all he said to me was “Have you ever thought of becoming
a lesbian?”.Talk about broadening your outlook: it was around
that time we also met a few people who were really into Chastity Belt
games. Not just over night anti-masturbation
devices but long term for weeks on end. The different psychological control and domination
games centred around restricted access to your own body and bodily functions
can be mind blowing ... a book could be written about it. I’ve even sat through 'The Sound of Music' locked
into a chastity belt when our Melanie was in it for the local Operatic.
First time we got somebody to give a talk on Practical Chastity
Devices at the Group Malc said he wished he’d known they were available
when he was on the Rigs because he’d have bought one for me.
It’s funny isn’t it, how you tend to threaten somebody with something
if you’d secretly like to try yourself.
That can signal the threatened person to go ahead and turn the
tables. That double bluff situation
is something you learn to recognize in a lot of 'power exchange' games.
Certainly Malc and I soon got good at it
... and we like to do things together. So, chastity belts, lockable clothes and controlled
access to our own bodies became part of our games.
been times when I’ve had him trapped into his diving suit for three
days on end. He once told me that Air Sea Rescue teams wore
urinal bags inside the regulation waterproof Immersion suits so they
don’t have to keep taking them off and on during long tours of duty. Malcolm got all the gen from copter pilots taking
them to and from the rigs (Shades of Andrew McG!). Diet control and a butt plug can also prolong
the time a suit can stay on. Nowadays
I also insist that Malc wears his restrainer belt inside so he can’t
get an erection or bring himself off when I’m not watching him ... but
then I like to watch him. I’ve
had him working in his workshop all weekend and sleeping in our play
space there, trapped inside his diving suit including face mask (which
now locks so he can’t take it off).
Intense? Yes! Sexually stimulating
... you bet! And I know that most of the time he’s
sweating and melting away there he’s dreaming up something diabolical
for when it’s his turn to get his own back.
That’s how I like it.
Something else we never invested
in in the early days was actual custom made bondage equipment. When we modified our double bed so it had attachment
points in the early days we thought we were being pretty daring.
The first time I saw a D.I.Y four poster made of builder’s scaffolding
it slightly blew my mind. Actually having a separate play space rather
than a trunk of toys under the bed is beyond most people’s resources,
especially if they’ve got families.
But it’s amazing what you can do with a little bit of imagination. We actually knew somebody who got a local government
Home Improvement grant to open up and insulate their attic and then
used it as an SM playroom. Certainly
if you’re good at Do-It-Yourself the dedicated SM games player can save
a fortune. Creative imagination
seems to be something most people we know who are into this sort of
Of course Malcolm having the machine shop and
access to welding gear has meant we’ve never been short of the odd shackle
and attachment point around the house, garden and garage. But of course that doesn’t mean to say we weren’t
tempted by the professionally made paraphernalia from Bondage Equipment
suppliers. The leather wrist
and ankle restraints I sent away for were only the first of a series
of purchases. Other modest accessories such as gags, blindfolds
and our first leather hood made us feel very committed. If any aspect of playing SM games is accumulative
it’s picking up bits of equipment. Over
the years we’ve accumulated so much junk ... but
that’s only like any normal household isn’t it ... except
that you can’t have an S&M Jumble Sale ... well,
we haven’t yet!
When it comes to fetish clothes, like I said,
conventional erotic-type slinky vinyl cat-suits or form fitting full
body latex outfits have never been my preference ... perhaps
because my figure isn’t exactly classic. I can tell you from experience that a five foot
five high black latex dumpling doesn’t look exactly appetizing. Because we’re both more into real gear rather
than sex costumes means Malc is well provided for with his diving suit,
bike waterproofs and a black oilskin naval Foul Weather suit if he fancies
a session of sweat and struggle. One
of his favourite kicks is to be out of doors warm and waterproof all
wrapped and strapped up helpless all night in the pouring rain. With me cosy and warm inside our little camper
van somewhere in the wilds of the Surrey countryside everything is possible.
chapter’s been rambling on a bit but I guess you’re getting a clearer
picture about where we’re at and how we got to be where we are today.
The story of our development’s about up-to-date except for the
changes in our lifestyle since both kids got married and moved out ... and
now this temporary setback in terms of legal interference with our private
lives. Where to go from here
I’ve no idea ... but the future is in the lap of the Gods ... and “Tomorrow is another day” as Ethel would tell you. If she hadn’t become a nun she could have written
scripts for BBC TV.Anyoldway, never having written a book
before I’m not sure how to end it. As you will have gathered, I’m not really a
writer. In fact this book wasn’t
written ... it was talked. I
said it into a tape recorder and Malc typed it out and tided it up a
bit (a bit!). You might be interested to know that, because
I needed to concentrate hard and get in the mood for each session of
recounting our story it became a routine that Malc got to go down in
some sort of wrapping and strapping so he couldn’t interrupt my train
of thought during a 'Session'. We
agreed that these would be regular four hour slots because it took me
a while to get going. Naturally, he was as happy as a pig in the proverbial
with the arrangement. Only thing
was, by the end of a 'writing' session he was about ready to get let
loose, just when I’d had enough of writing/talking/thinking and ready
for a bit of action ... and, of course, he was in no position to argue
... which is really the way he likes to be.
So ... where
was I ... talking about knowing when enough is enough!
Biographically I think I’ve gone about as far as I need
to go to illustrate the sense of maturity and confidence Malcolm and
I have reached together. Perhaps
one last episode might round off this half-baked biography. It was a point in our development when for the
first time we found ourselves not only comfortable with our extraordinary
way of life, but proud to be part of an intellectually stimulating,
imaginative fraternity of people around the world.
Two years after the New York trip, thanks to my cheap travel
concessions we made another trip to California.
The kids were too old for Disneyland but the bright lights of
Los Angeles and San Francisco attracted us all. Again first and foremost a family holiday.
In L.A. we did the tourist things like Universal Studios and
the homes of the stars but we found it all too big and impersonal and
stuck very close to each other. But San Francisco was a different story all
together. The kids felt safe
to go off and explore on their own in that wonderful city. Good job too, because we had so many people
who wanted to meet Malc and me. How
The SOCIETY OF JANUS hadn’t got a meeting scheduled during our stay
so they threw what they called a “Play Party” specially for us so we
could meet all our various Pen Pals in one fell swoop. Soon as we’d arrived and settled into our hotel
our main contacts, Mike and Janie, invited us to come up to their house
and bring the kids. We were nervous
of that, but they told us they also had kids who didn’t know about their
alternative lifestyle either. So
on the day of the JANUS party we took a cab up to Nob Hill.
The house was incredibly glamorous with lots of space and stunning
views. Their son was away at
college but Liza their daughter was just Todd’s age (Ho, ho, ho!). So after a meal for the seven of us Liza took
Todd and Melanie off to see some sights and meet a few of her friends. As she drove them off in her Lincoln convertible
(she was 17 years old!) she promised to drop them off back at the hotel
around 2 in the morning. Mike
our host was something high up in a bank and his wife Janie seemed to
be a well known photographer. Dress
code for the Janus Play Party was, they told us, leather or fetish and
they’d previously agreed to kit us out.
From an impressive
wardrobe of clothes which was housed in Janie’s photography studio (which
doubled as their playroom) Malc settled for a leather waistcoat over
his bare chest, his own jeans and tall Engineer’s boots like John Travolta
wore in 'Grease'. I had the choice of leather or Western. I chose a fabulous embroidered silk rodeo shirt,
suede skirt, boots and hat. Mike
said he’d be my escort for the evening so he’d wear brown Western leather
chaps and boots and a fantastic fringed suede jacket.
Janie appeared in a slinky leather catsuit and proceeded to persuade
Malcolm to put black leather chaps over his jeans to compliment their
leather image. He looked smashing ... we
The Janus Society is mixed straight and gay, and
the Play Party was well underway when we arrived. Several men and women were chained or strung
up to various pieces of equipment and being worked on systematically
by lovers or friends ... but a good time was being had by all apparently.
Some of the action was heavier than anything Malc or I had ever
seen in 'Public' but however much moaning and writhing
... nothing was ever without consent. In our honour there was a sumptuous buffet all
laid out and wine or soft drinks. We
were told that club policy discouraged alcohol during 'Scenes' and drugs
were totally forbidden.
After a few introductions Malcolm
and I took a look at some of the incredibly wonderful equipment which
various members had brought along to use and share; leather strait-jackets
covered in straps and with detachable hoods.
Head to foot form-fitting leather 'Sleepsacks', man-size canvas
'Male Sacks' with air holes. These
could be suspended from the ceiling and two were already occupied when
we arrived. Also an impressive range of metal manacles for
ankles, wrist, waist and neck in styles ranging from neat and chromium
plated to super-heavy medieval dungeon weight, all fully lockable. Our hosts were amazed that we’d never seen any
of this merchandise before because it was all made in London. FETTERS turns out to be a London-based firm
with a spectacular illustrated catalogue of amazing bondage items. You live and learn, as sister E. would say.
As the evening progressed
I got the uneasy feeling that Malc and I might be expected to DO something. Perform! Various members of the Janus Committee
told us we had the run of the equipment, but I said we were quite happy
to just talk and meet people. Chet
and his lover Bill were two passably handsome and incredibly straight-looking
men in full leather and appropriate hardware.
They told us they regularly come to London for the museums and
theatre but of course they always went to the Colherne, London Apprentice,
the Cellar Bar and named several other leather clubs which they went
to during their visits. Malc
caught my eye and we both nodded wisely, but we’d never heard of any
of those places. Funny old world, isn’t it. They asked Malcolm if he’d like a tour of the
‘Frisco Leather Bars? He declined politely using me as an excuse. By this time the action was hotting up and a
man was screaming and writhing as a woman was lashing him with a leather
belt. Apparently they did the
same thing at every meeting but in real life he was an important Attorney
and she was his secretary. SM
as therapy, somebody explained.
Chet and Bill asked me if
we ever went to the opera. They
offered to take Malc and me while we were here.
I said thanks but no ... but tell me more about the Leather Bars. They told me they were the best in the world,
raunchy and the action was really steamy but strictly male only (this
was 1983). I told them that Malcolm
was not gay (or bi as far as I knew) but I thought he’d really like
to see them ... but
he might need a bit of persuading. Janie
had joined us and her comment was “Well these boys can be extremely
persuasive. When any of our members submits a kidnap or
arrest and interrogation scenario to our Fantasy Enactment Committee,
Chet and Bill usually provide the muscle.
John over there is actually a cop and the guy he’s talking to
is in the Marines”. Chet unclipped
handcuffs from his belt and looked at me.
“We’d enjoy taking him around the bars in chains and if necessary
gagged. Nobody would look twice in those places. The action does get pretty heavy. Do you think he could handle it?” I knew he’d
hate it at the time but thought that after he’d survived it, who knows
what he might do to me in revenge.
To this day I don’t know
what came over me but I heard myself saying authoritatively (just like
Miss Whiplash) “Don’t hurt him, don’t humiliate him
... but I don’t mind if
you scare this shit out of him.” To
this Chet grinned and gave me a kiss before saying to Bill “Get leg
irons, gag, hood, collar and lead. Talk
to John and Nick and be in the backroom in ten minutes.”
As Bill jumped to it, Janie said “Honey this is what makes it
all worth while. Now Chet, after
giving him the tour take him back to our place.
Sally how about a few of us girls taking in one of the Male Strip
Joints while your old man’s otherwise occupied?” Chet suddenly asked
“They’re having a Shaving night at one of the bars.
Do you think your husband would mid losing some hair around his
crotch?” I thought about it before saying “You might need to tie him
down. I wouldn’t like the razor
to slip ... and do you think you could arrange for a couple of photos
so I don’t miss all the fun?” Chet gave me another bear-hug “I love
you lady and I lust after your sexy husband, but I will defend his honour
and he’ll be delivered back to you as unsullied as ever was. Janie, do you have a camera here?” “Bet your
ass, and Mike’s almost as good a photographer as I am. Sally, you shall have a photo storyboard from
start to finish. I’ll go find
him. How soon, Chet?”. He checked his watch. “Bill, John and Nick are already in position.
Soon as I see Mike go into the Backroom, Sally and I will go
find her lucky feller.” He added “Let me do the talking.” ... and he
Chapter Ten: MIND
was all so totally professional ... no fuss, no bruises, no noise. Chet told Malcolm there was some equipment
in the backroom that might surprise him! He was so right. Soon as they walked in the door somebody pinned
his arms and covered his mouth with a leather gloved hand. Leg irons were around his boots before he realized
what was happening. After that
the gag and cuffs were relatively easy, but he put up a good struggle. It’s all there on photographic record. He’d calmed down a bit by the time they brought
him out to me. I’m not sure
what they threatened him with if he didn’t stop struggling and play
along. He was more embarrassed than angry ... but
I gave him a kiss on the gag and told him I’d let them take it off
if he agreed to go to the bars with the nice gentlemen ... but
the chains would stay on for the whole tour. Mike was continuously snapping photos like the
NEWS OF THE WORLD at a Roman Orgy.
Malc glared at me and I said to the four men standing guard
“He may need a collar and leash if he decides to be uncooperative.
Are you going to co-operate? Nobody wants to humiliate you. Just show you how different San Francisco is
from Croydon. Now, are you
going to play along?” He looked at John the cop for some reason before
he nodded, and I wondered for a flash what sort of threat the cop
had made. I unbuckled the gag and gave his moist face
a couple of big wet kisses and everybody applauded. He says to me quietly “I’ll get my own back
for this, lady,” and I smiled and told him I’d look forward to it ... and
with that off they went, Malc clanking along with his escort of four
beefy guards and his own personal photographer.
it’s all theatre. Fantasy games
well played have rules and agreed limits even if Judge Rant hasn’t
heard about them. That night not only Malcolm but I had three
hours of suspense, excitement, a little fear and a huge amount of
pure sexual arousal. Even when
Janie and three other ladies took me off to this amazing Club to see
six hunky male strippers driving 800 women into a frenzy, part of
my mind was with Malcolm handcuffed and helpless.
On the way home we even stopped off at this terrifically smart
Night Club with a Drag Cabaret. Glamorous or bawdy, those men were not only
a hoot they were living the lives they wanted to live and the audience
wanted to be there ... and I thought who’s to say they’re wrong.
this point I should say something about the subject of consent and
the removal of it. In the light of Judge Rant’s draconian disregard
for the concept, read Jim Stewart’s 'Talking Points' on both MUTUAL
CONSENT and CONSENSUAL NON-CONSENT. Enough to say here that in an SM 'Scene' surrender
of control to someone you trust is one of the most rewarding elements
in the game. Of course mutual
trust and responsibility are essential.
The danger comes with lack of experience and particularly lack
of shared knowledge between players.
In this instance the adventure was a classic example of the
sort of psychological catch-as-catch-can which makes the whole subject
of erotic fantasy games so potent. For years we had been expert in taking control
of each others’ head space ...
but this was the first time I’d not only taken him over, but
handed him over ... and
allowed him to be taken out from my control ... and
in retrospect both Malcolm and I agreed that it was (and remains)
one of our favourite 'Scenes'.
So, meanwhile, our Hero was,
as I learned later, after suffering the intense embarrassment of a
walk through the streets of San Francisco manacled hand and foot,
faced with the problem of getting into a car wearing leg-irons linked
by a short chain. John the cop’s private car had a 'Prisoner seat'
specially shaped for someone with hands handcuffed behind their back.
It also had two safety belts to prevent any movement of the
torso or legs. I know because
those seats are illustrated in the Law Enforcement Supplies catalogue
that John later gave Malc to bring home with him. The whole sequence of events on Malc’s night
to remember were documented shot by shot in the forty page presentation
photo album which reached us in London soon after we got home. From leaving the Janus party to when they dropped
him off to wait for me at Mike and Janie’s house, I have all the evidence,
Your Honour ... along with
all our other family holiday snapshot books.
highlights of his tour were being escorted into the first bar where
among a crowd of leathermen Malc was by no means the only one in chains. Highly stylized scenes were taking place on
all sides ... I’ve since read THE URBAN ABORIGINAL so I understand
better about the needs of 'Leathermen' and their rituals. So that Malc was able to have a drink John switched
the cuffs for a Transport Belt: That’s a lockable leather escort belt
(standard police equipment) which allows the prisoner to take a drink
or a leak while still restrained by handcuffs on a thread-through
The second bar was a ten minute drive away, and out
in the street they decided Malc should travel in the boot of the car.
Surrounded by four of them he didn’t have much choice but agree.
Having promised to behave, John took the leg-irons off him
so he could climb in unaided. It
was fully carpeted and there were even anchor points (so he didn’t
roll around when the car went round corners).
They reassured him there was enough air because “Dozens of
people have travelled a lot of miles in here”.
When they all arrived at the next port of call they warned
Malcolm that this was a bar for dedicated SM enthusiasts and he might
see things that would worry him ... but
nobody there was being forced to do anything they didn’t want to be
forced to do.
Well, from the photos it looks like a terrifying
orgy of torture, humiliation and pain. In reality it was a crowd of a couple of hundred
men proving to themselves or to people they loved that they could
endure, enjoy or survive. 'Tops'
and 'Bottoms', Leather Masters with their so-called Slaves, cowboys,
construction workers, prisoners in army gear with military escorts. Musclemen were strung up from the ceiling by
their boots, being flogged with belts; nipples, genitals and buttocks
being abused in all manner of ways
... and nothing illegal about any of it. And, if you please, in the middle of all the
mayhem my Malcolm smiling with his friends, casually drinking beer
and eating peanuts. The photos
are irrefutable proof that life in the wicked world of S&M is
not exactly what it seems.
At the entrance to the third
bar I guess Malcolm was the closest he came to panic. It was, he was told, a special 'Naked Night'.
He could keep his leather chaps, waistcoat and boots but the
jeans had to go! Well by this time I guess he trusted the four hunks
who were showing him The Town ... so along with John the cop, Nick
the Marine, Chet the college professor and his lover Bill the construction
site manger (plus Mike the bank president) they all peeled down to
various states of leather undress.
Photos of this sequence are tactfully limited to our hero. They even let him leave the handcuffs with his
jeans in the locker by the door before they entered what (according
to Malc) looked like Dante’s Inferno.It was, in fact, 'Shaving
Night' at THE RAMROD bar. Malc
might have been more difficult to handle if there hadn’t been a chair
vacant when they walked in. Without
warning four pairs of brawny arms lifted him bodily into what used
to be a dentist’s chair before it was fitted with straps to immobilize
ankles, knees, thighs, wrists, elbows, chest, waist and neck.
When everybody stood back and Malc was sitting comfortably,
he was offered the choice of the hard way or the easy way.
He’s a sensible lad so he nodded as much as the neck strap
would allow, gritted his teeth and accepted the inevitable.
The sequence of photos of my husband stoically watching two
pairs of manly hands clipper and wet-shave away all his genital hair
don’t embarrass me. The whole album has pride of place among our
books of holiday snaps. They
may be pornographic to you Mrs. Whitehouse
... but to me and my husband they are mementos of
times enjoyed. If owning them
makes me a criminal ... tough shit (as Ethel definitely would not say).
The fact that a year later Malcolm allowed the slide version
of this photo set to be shown to our Group in Croydon AND a few years
later at the 'DRESSING FOR PLEASURE' weekend at the Penta Hotel in
New York tells you that we’re either the most decadent degenerates
in the world, or very sophisticated people.
final sequence of Malcolm’s adventure into the world of 'Leather Mansex'
is my favourite. Bare buttocks and shaved crotch open to the
elements he was escorted manacled hand and foot from The Ramrod with
his head encased in a tight fitting leather hood without eyes or mouth. Loaded bodily into the boot of the car he was
driven off to destination unknown.
I can still get hot imagining how he must have felt.
Once inside the new space he was strapped standing spread-eagled
in the middle of a mirrored room with spotlights illuminating his
glistening leather chaps and boots and sweating chest.
Chet told him through the hood that anybody who gets shaved
publicly at The Ramrod wins a prize, his was a pair of nipple clamps
joined by a heavy chain. I’m told Malc yelled when they first gripped
his tits but as Chet reasoned with him, yelling was pointless inside
a thick leather hood in a soundproof room.
He then thanked Malc for a memorable evening and hoped he’d
return the favour when Chet and Bill were next in London
... but for now it was
au revoir. He unsnapped the
detachable blindfold from the hood before leaving so Malc, left alone,
could appreciate his spectacular predicament mirrored from many angles. He had no choice but to stand there and await
When I got home with Janie it was
late. Mike without ceremony
told me to follow him straight down to their playroom and told me
to go in alone. In the mirror
Malc saw me behind him and groaned.
I moved close behind him and we looked at the two of us in
the various mirrors. I walked around to the front to get a better
look at the tit clamps ... lifted the heavy chain and let it drop suddenly.
He flinched but no more than that.
There are no photographs of what happened next but it took
an hour. I saw Malc’s jeans
were neatly folded on a table nearby and with them a small gift wrapped
package labelled “A present for Sally .. and Malcolm”.
Inside a velvet bag marked FAMILY JEWELS was the most beautiful
reproduction of a penis and balls moulded in superbly realistic feeling
plastic. Also there was a small
tube of lubricant with it’s own label from Chet and Bill saying “Disappointed
we weren’t allowed to round out his evening
... we hope you will.” Well,
Chapter Eleven: EVIL
IS AS EVIL DOES.
unusual length and seeming gratuitously explicit previous two chapters
wrote themselves and I let it roll because I had a serious point to
make. Consider the situation
of a handsome married man taken by four homosexuals around four bars
each packed with self-confessed sadists, seemingly grotesquely dedicated
to uninhibited sexuality ...
and during three hours nowhere at no time were any liberties
taken. There are strict rules
about such things. Judge Rant may not know about them but in SM
Communities anyone who commits an act which is irresponsible or non-consensual
is considered to be a criminal. It’s
just a tragedy that The Law in Britain is not wise enough to make the
same distinction. The sequel
to that first San Francisco story (there have been several other visits
since) is relevant to what needs to be said next.
After I’d had my wicked way with Malc as a grand finale to his
adventure we both got back into the clothes we’d started the evening
in and went upstairs to find Mike and Janie.They’d waited
up for us. Malcolm was looking
decidedly sheepish ... but Janie hugged him soon as he appeared and
said “Thanks for giving Mike and the boys such a wonderful evening.” Then Mike drove us back to our hotel and we
slept through till noon. Over
lunch the kids told us about the fabulous time they’d had with Liza,
Janie and Mikes’ daughter. They’d
arranged to meet her again that evening and asked if we had any plans. I said I thought we old folks would just take
it easy. Suddenly Todd said “Are
you two into Kinky Sex?” There’s nothing subtle about our Todd ... and
without waiting for a reply he went on “Liza thinks her Ma and Pa might
be. I told her we know that you two get a lot of
rumpo but we’d never asked what sort.” Well, if Rosanne Barr had been invented in 1983
she might have come back with the right reply. I looked at Malc who shifted uneasily on his
chair ... but that might have
been a physical problem due to my grand finale last night rather than
embarrassment. I heard myself
saying “And how do you know we get a lot of Rumpo as you call it?” “Aw come on,”
drawls Melanie like she’s been to Yale for a semester “We only have
to look at your faces over the breakfast table to know if you’ve had
it off the night before.” “Stop the world it’s spinning too fast,” I thought.
We’ve always made a point of being honest with our kids, which
has meant trouble since Melanie heard about the virgin birth in Religious
Education and asked the teacher if that was like artificial insemination.
Well at eight years old that can start people talking.
I certainly got some funny looks at the next Parent/Teacher meeting.
No, but seriously, coming in the middle of this particular learning
experience for Malcolm and me the kid’s question came as a bit of a
shock. Suddenly Malc says “Yes. We’re into kinky sex .. at least kinky for want of a better description.”
“Wow great!” says Todd, his sixteen year old eyes bright with
admiration “What sort of kinks?” I held my breath.
“That is for us to know and you to find out, as your Aunt Ethel
would surely say. We’ve always told you to ask questions but we
didn’t promise to always give you answers, right? Ask me again when
you’re eighteen.” “I’ll be eighteen
next month,” chirrups Melanie. “On
second thoughts ask me when you’re twenty,” he tells Todd “and until
then keep your noses out of our private business.
We don’t quiz you too closely about what you’re finding out for
yourselves. We trust you
... and don’t stop asking
us questions.” Then he says “I’ll
tell you something I didn’t know till I read it somewhere: the word
education doesn’t mean to be taught things
... it means to draw out or perhaps it was find
out. I happen to think it’s important
that people are taught where to find the information, and it’s wrong
to prevent people getting to that information.
Censorship has been the name of the game since the Christian
Bishops burned the library at Alexandria.
The collected wisdom of the Ancient World was there and a lot
of it was lost for ever. Then
all those monks beavering away editing things out of the original gospels
in the Dark Ages because they didn’t agree with them. Well, it’s still going on!”
Well, we all stared at Daddy Bear
... and he shrugged suddenly and went back to munching
his home fries. I asked him “What
sort of kinky books have you been reading to pick up that sort of opinion?”
“Oh, there are still things about me that you haven’t found out yet,” he twinkles. I stood up and kissed
him and as my fingers moved to tweak his nipples he grabbed my hands
very quickly and firmly.
Just to wrap up the story ... our kids are both married now and as far as
we know, happy. Vera, as I said
at the beginning, is notoriously still as active as she wants to be
and she’s still streets ahead of many people with less miles on the
clock. As for Malc and I, we didn’t find the kids moving
out was the end, but the beginning of something. Until last December’s court decision we were
contented with our life. The
process of writing all this down ...
well anyway, thinking it, saying it, writing it and kicking it around;
deciding what to include and what not to include has helped us both
come to terms with our opinions and our natures and our confidence that
even if the world judges us as being guilty of horrible things we know
we’re not. We love our games and we love the people who
play them safely and sanely and of course consensually. Without mutual consent you have a crime. If people play without responsibility it would
be nice to have the protection of the law
... but like regular health
checks for State Registered Prostitutes
... that’s beyond our
so-called Civilized Society.