SITTING ON THE SUBWAY glancing around occasionally at the glum Monday morning countenances of my fellow commuters, I wondered if they could even begin to perceive the erotic vision flashing in my brains as I spied a woman wearing a silver anklet bracelet. Leg-irons, restraints!
Erotic shivers surged through my whole body, while my privy parts tingled and dampened from the anticipation. Deliciously wicked thoughts continued to whirl around in my head and I forced myself to look away. However, I couldn't stop the visions that had already taken root in that simple sight. I glanced around again at the suits and wondered if any, and how many of them might be bondage aficionados, contemplating the same erotic thoughts, although their eyes seemed glued to the financial pages of the daily newspapers. How many of them were contemplating the dominant's leather gear and whip under their stiff collared shirts?
In an effort to turn my mind on to what I felt would be safer thoughts, I started to reflect back in time up to when I first met my present teacher. The feminist leanings of my psyche still couldn't bring me to think of him as 'master' outside the bedroom and playroom. But yes, he was my master and I his sexual slave. A rush of heat suffused my whole body and I was sure that if I looked in the mirror, my face would be scarlet! I saw myself as a conundrum. How could I, a very strong minded, liberated female who treasured the control I had over my life in every other area, become a submissive, sexual play thing to a man behind close doors? Yet when I dared to reflect within, I realized I always craved what he gave me.
I remembered clearly when I first became aware of my bondage and discipline predilections. I was quite young: Fourteen years old, really. Prior to that time, sexually, I had always been a babe in the woods one could safely say, in comparison to my peers; a real innocent, yet precocious. I also sensed that I was different. I was basically a loner, while I had a group of four other girls I hung out with at school. However, when I was alone, I was just as happy and didn't miss them, as I had a tendency to just lock my bedroom door and disappear into my own daydreams. I indulged in that quite a bit, when I wasn't painting or writing stories. Apart from being the youngest and physically smallest, I suppose I had the kind of personality that brought out the protective instinct in many people, and so my friends tended to be rather protective of me, as I got along quite well when I was with them.
My homeroom teacher told my mom on parents' day that I was high-strung, and had a fey look. Things bothered me deeply, and I also had a tendency to see things around people -- like events that happened in their lives or were going to happen. After frightening as well as angering some people including my mom, with this ability, I started to keep the things I saw, to myself, choosing to write them out in a diary I started keeping. I also often felt that I had lived before in another time, another place. However, I told no one of this, because no one would have understood, and my parents might probably have had me committed if they had any inkling of the thoughts that went through my head.
My parents were a very ordinary middle class couple, who led a rather staid but comfortable life, in our comfortable two-story home in Clapham. My father worked for British Telecom, while my mother was a pediatric nurse at Great Ormond Hospital. Their idea of a Saturday night out was throwing back a few pints at the pub with other couples like themselves, or taking in an occasional movie. Daddy was rather diffident, while Mum wore the pants in the family, which worked well for their respective temperaments. They stayed together when many of my peers' parents were getting divorced. I suppose I should have been thankful, and in many ways I was. However, like any other normal teenager, I still thought that my folks were a mind-numbingly boring pair really. But nevertheless, I loved them because they were my parents.
Meanwhile, I knew about other girls around me in my first year of high school, who were already experimenting with sex. However, having no desire to do so myself, I suppose I was a late bloomer in that sense. After all, it was the sexual revolution of the seventies, and 'everybody was doing it.' Those were the buzzwords of the day. It made no difference to me that my body was beginning to mature in puberty, and boys were looking my way with a different kind of interest.
My oldest brother, who was nineteen, had a stack of what my fifteen year-old sister referred to, as 'naughty books'. I'd heard her whispering and giggling to her friends about them, and I had seen her sneaking out of his room with a guilty expression on her face once. Naturally, this aroused my curiosity. So the next time Ronnie went to the cinema, I took my turn to sneak in to find out what Maureen had seen. The first place I checked was under his mattress, because I'd heard her mention the mattress. I closed the door behind me before lifting the mattress. Like most boys' rooms, Ronnie's looked like a tornado had swept through it. Discarded, dirty clothes, smelly socks and other articles of clothing, LP's and 45's, cigarette packets, candy wrappers, and whatever else Ronnie got into, were scattered helter-skelter about the single room. Nobody, not even Mum, ventured into Ronnie's room to clean it, because he was volatile, and would throw an apoplectic fit if he knew anyone had been in his room. So it was a perfect cover for his prize collection of 'naughty books'.
As I lifted the mattress and saw them, my eyes popped out of their sockets. There were pictures of big-breasted naked women in a cornucopia of sexual positions. I glanced through a couple of them and shrugged my shoulders as the novelty quickly wore off. Then I saw one in which women were tied up. I picked it up and looked through it, feeling a tingling in my pelvic area as I did so. I thought I wanted to urinate, so I put back the magazines, left the room and went to the loo but nothing happened. However, the bondage pictures kept whirling around in my head, and as they did, that tingling sensation in my privy parts as well as in my almost developed breasts, continued. Then as if by instinct, my hand went to my vagina, which felt wet, although I hadn't urinated. I rubbed first, trying to make the tingling sensation go away. Instead the sensation kept building, while in the back of my mind, I felt instinctively that I was doing something I should be guilty about. But I couldn't help imagining myself tied up like the women in the magazine.
Just for a moment I glanced in the mirror, and had a vision of having been an adult, in another place and another time. I couldn't see his face, but I had the impression of a tall, dark haired man in clothes that looked like costumes I had seen in a production of Romeo and Juliet at the theatre. He was standing over a four-poster bed to which I had been tied. Cold fingers of fear clutched at me along with the thrill of anticipation shooting through every vein in my body. Then the impression disappeared, as the tingling in my pelvic area continued to build up, and exploded in my head like shooting stars as a feeling of ecstatic sweet release came, and my whole body shuddered from the sensation. And along with it, a sense of guilt! Yet inside I felt I had changed somehow. Although I hadn't had my period yet, I felt I had become a woman. Yet when I looked in the mirror I still saw a cute, petite, fourteen year old with saucer-like light blue eyes, shoulder length reddish blonde, wavy hair, and prematurely developed breasts.
Suddenly, I also felt frightened, especially by the impressions I received. I knew I could never tell anyone what had happened, least of all, my mother. She would have probably grounded me for the rest of my life! However, I was also a smart kid, and more mature than I realized at the time. I figured the best way to handle it was just to forget the whole thing, and never tell anyone. But over the years as I grew up, I would remain acutely aware that seeing someone tied up or even reading about it, made me feel sexually aroused.
After that incident however, I wondered if it was my imagination, but were the boys looking at me differently? Could they tell what I had done? Had I become a sexual creature to them? I must have, as they started coming on to me more aggressively, as well as making suggestive comments. Uncomfortable with the situation, I withdrew into myself for about a year or so, which resulted in visits to a child psychologist at my mother's insistence -- as if I could tell anyone what I had discovered! I just wanted the boys to leave me alone! What was wrong with that?
When I reached sixteen, I contemplated the notion of becoming a nun. After all, wasn't the church the place people like me, went to try and suppress their dark desires: becoming immersed in religion?
One day I cut classes to go and see the mother superior at a local order. She took one look at me and kindly smiled as she said that I was too young to make such a serious decision as that, about my life. She suggested that I come back when I was eighteen, and if I still felt the same way, then she would see about my becoming an initiate. Dismayed, hardly described Mum's reaction when I mentioned what I had done.
"A nun Dana? Why? Besides, we are Protestants! I don't want to hear any more of that rubbish, do you hear me? Besides you've never been particularly religious..." She prattled on, not giving me a chance to get a word in edgewise, and I decided it just wasn't worth the effort trying to reason with her. I remembered turning away and going to my room, locking the door and dropping down to my bed crying; "Why me?"
