People always ask how I got into the world of fetish and erotic dressing, in particular domination. I can’t really answer exactly how I got here but I guess you could say that I was born with it. In my DNA, my genes, my fetish interests all there, I just needed to be tapped into it, I guess. The high end fashions, lingerie, leather, latex, high heels, stockings garters pantyhose. The crack of the whip, tightening of a buckle, locking a latch, melting some wax, smell and shine of the rubber, leather, PVC. The make-up, hair, the LOOK that commanded attention and garnered some serious respect. It was inevitable
I’m also not sure if it was while in Denmark at the age of 22 at a dinner I was invited to; a dinner with a slave suspended over the dining table that got me interested. Or maybe it was the lovely gentleman who invited me over who “saw something in me” all classy, stylish, and slick that had something to do with opening the tap for the waters of fetish to flow freely.
I never forgot the mysterious energy of that dining room, all dark, dimly lit with candles, antiques and the musky aroma of a suspended human body excited beyond words. The furniture, the food, the wine, and yes the attitude, the glorious attitude, all so intense that I never forgot it. Right down to the unspoken communication between my host and ceiling adornment hanging a few feet off the table. Naked and oiled to perfection over the sinewy landscape of his pale pink ginger haired skin. I was famished! Not only did I want to rip this guy down from the ceiling and have it off with him, I truly was hungry, I needed to know more as to what this was all about.
Good thing I was in Copenhagen because a wealth of information lay at my feet. Not to mention the fact that stories began early in my life from my own family and their frequent talks about the Sunday walks through Copenhagen’s red light district just for kicks with me listening like the “Kilroy was here” graffiti of the 70’s with nose and hands propped up on the wall eagerly absorbing the fun, and dirty stories. Did I mention my family is Danish? My Grandfather had the best stories of which always pissed off my Grandmother and excited me the most, stories that were always accompanied by a loving pat to my head, because I really couldn’t understand them but I was none the less captivated.
Copenhagen was loaded with stuff for me to start going nuts over, apparently it has cleaned up quite a bit since my eager years, but on my return to Canada I couldn’t wait to start reading my books lovingly smuggled amongst the licorice and Lego I was bringing back. Stuff like Latex Lovers, Smother Me in Leather, Whipping Post, and Shit Fuckers, thrown in for good measure. Don’t ask about the last one even I don’t know why. Eventually I was able to stave off the urges during high school by pretending to be cool smoking way to much pot and consuming mass quantities of self forced rye and beer.
Thankfully that didn’t last long, for coupled with the gender dysphoria and my growing anxiety, I was about to explode. I had to get out, and get out fast. I couldn’t take another year of high school so I quit! I think high school really sucked for a lot of people, I wonder how many of my old gang felt the same.
I was on my way, and after high school and some serious counselling and DNA testing I realized there was more to life than being the local freaky action. Or so I felt.
Fast forward to the night in my now past, the night I sat licking up the drips of my orange flavoured popsicle. Working that popsicle while seated on the brick wall outside the entrance to Cawthra Square, the local park close to where I lived in that sprawling metropolis of Toronto. A van, like any other van in the eighties rolled to a stop in front of me, a scene reminiscent of an abduction in some cheesy kidnap film; at least that is where my imagination went. Rather quickly the passenger window rolled open and inside was a lovely older man asking if I was up to joining him for a little ride. Rather eager, I hopped in.
In hindsight I think what an idiot I was, I could have been kidnapped, worse yet killed. Sure is what I really thought, I didn’t have a care in the world. To make a long story short we ended up in a concrete parkade behind the Pantages theatre with a performance of our own. The request was that once he knocked on the door, I slowly put one leg out of the passenger side door and then the other. He knocked, I opened, and the show began, and to my surprise I found him on a piece of cardboard having a good old wank that ended in seconds the minute my shoe hit the pavement. He commented that it was great, and would you mind if I called you in the future? Who was I to say no, not only was I $250 richer but I got a drive back to where I was and my popsicle was still dripping.
The money helped to pay for a new pair of shoes, and as I later learned, that was what it was all about for my older friend who I saw on a weekly basis for the next 4 years. Needless to say I’ve got great shoes now, and realized the fun and power involved with all this, thus beginning my journey into a world of fun and fetish.
Thinking back on the clients and play partners I’ve had over the years makes me truly wonder where these guys got the kinks they have; in hindsight one of the many reasons I got interested in the scene. A scene I’m looking forward to sharing in other stories. I do miss some of those clients from my earlier days, but they all live on with me and share a place in my heart.
When I think of the stuff I’ve done and seen I should write a book. Of course I’ve been told it would be mistaken for fiction not fact, and since I’m not writing a book, yet, you’ll have to settle for my blog. Even better trip on over to Amazon for my soon to be published, even naughtier writings some about me and some a bit of fiction. I think you’ll have fun!