Fragile Delicate Things

I don’t have to imagine the wickedwednesday prompt because I lived it. In the mid nineteen 80’s I was stationed in Hawaii. When we were in port life was actually quite boring; there is only so much softball you can play and beer you can drink. I started taking jobs in various places that had dubious reputations.

At different times I worked in a backroom poker club, a brothel that catered to Japanese tourists, and a few different bars on Hotel Street. That area was pretty much what you saw on Miami Vice, only not so pretty. There were gangs, hookers, drugs galore and lots and lots of bar girls. I forget exactly how I got the job at one club, but it was basically to pull beer from the stockroom, change kegs and to smack sailors who got out of line with the girls upside the head with a sawed off pool cue and deposit them on one of the bus benches along the street.

The club I worked at closed once a month and held a private party. I was not allowed in, but I worked the door. I allowed in the folks with the right invitation, and nudged the others to different bars. I knew what was going on inside though. It was one aspect of the Hawaiian leather scene.

I asked the owner about it, she deflected my questions for a long while, but she knew I was very interested in the goings on inside. One night the owner asked me to stay late. The bar closed at two, so staying late meant next to no sleep before the next day on the ship. The owner was Jae and she whispered to me, “It will be worth it.”

Once the drunks were out the door, and the bar girls paid their due the owner locked the door. “You want to be one of us, show me you know what to do.” She laid out several implements on the pool table. I knew what they were of course; a flogger, a cane and a crop. I had never used one on a woman before. I was a farm kid who was barely past virginity and the only instances I had ever used anything remotely like a cane or a crop was to move livestock along.

Soon came out from the back room in a red robe. She dropped it once she stood in front of the pool table. I’d seen her naked before, when one of the other girls was sick she’d often dance on the stage, or keep the customers busy. This was entirely different. Jae said something to her in Korean and she laid herself across the end of the table.

Jae glared at me then the implements. I chose the crop since it was the one I was most used to and I began on Soon’s ass. I was using light taps. When you use them on livestock the entire idea is to not bruise them and to be frank; my upbringing taught me that women were these fragile delicate things; that they were weak and needed to be protected.

Yes I know that’s a very sexist attitude…now anyway… but that’s what this lesson was all about. Jae said a number of things in Korean that I knew were not very complimentary and she grabbed the crop from me and put a full armed swing into it. It was like a gunshot going off in the small bar. I could see Soon’s face in the mirror along the wall.

I saw it in her eyes, in the way her mouth formed around the noise coming from her. Jae shoved the crop back into my hand and scolded, “She is not some flower, treat her with respect.”

It took several moments but I eventually raised my arm with the crop, I remember the moment perfectly. We locked eyes in the mirror the moment before it came down. I saw it in her, she wanted it hard. She was almost encouraging in the look she gave me. I brought it down then watched mark rise.

I’d learned the lesson, in my life, there would be no more thinking of all women as fragile delicate things.

Wicked Wednesday

10 Things and a Story

While I’m rolling around ideas in my head about what I want to write here I figured I’d take the lame way out and post the 10 things most people don’t know about me.

1.       I was one point off of a perfect score when I took the ASVAB

2.       When I was younger I held mid to high level belts in four different martial arts…no black belts though.

3.       I used to dress up in armor and fight with people with big padded wooden sticks

4.       Along with my engineering degree, I graduated with three minors: nuclear sciences, mathematics and English (creative writing)

5.       The first time I saw my wife I thought, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” And I did

6.       I’ve broken 19 bones in my body at various times

7.       I was almost arrested because of the Westie nuts out of Topeka

8.       When my beard used to grow in it was red, and I’m not a redhead. Now its mostly gray.

9.       In my professional life I let people purposefully think that I’m far less intelligent than I am.

10.   When I sing karaoke, I stick with the 3 B’s, Bob Seger, Billy Joel and Bon Jovi

What follows is a short story I entered in monthly contest on a site for adult writers…it did not win.

Title: Making an Impression

My teeth sunk into her flesh; into the only soft part of her, the upper, upper inner thigh. Zoe hated it, or at least she pretended to whenever I did it. As I took hold, my cheek brushed up against her and already I felt the heat there, growing warmer every second that I held onto her.

“Damn it, it takes forever to heal when you do that.” She bitched.

Zoe would not accept any kind of mark from me willingly. Oh, it was fine for her to rake my skin with her nails. My back and ass had bore more than a few bruises from her drumming heels when I gave her head. Her hair was shorter than mine in tough-girl spikes that took her forever to tease up until they were just so. She was my little fashionista, and the woman I thought about sinking my teeth into every day. 

She reached down to grab my hair and move me between her legs instead of just being latched onto her like I was. History left me prepared and I caught her wrist and pinned it to the bed.

“Fucker.” My girl cursed when thwarted and if I didn’t know better I’d say she had spent time as a sailor.

I bit in more firmly and my teeth squinched into her as her flesh submitted to my teeth. She groaned at the sensation and moved her other hand down. I grabbed it and captured it as well.

It would have been easy for her to scissor her legs closed. That she didn’t was why I know she only pretended to not like this occasional play of ours. She could have easily raised her free leg and pushed against my head to dislodge me. But she didn’t.

Instead her lips parted and her desire painted against my cheek.

It was still too soon to let go, I wanted a perfect mark on her. A true representation of me that would live upon her flesh until it healed. One that only she could see, and remind her of me every time she did.

I’d shaved before coming to bed, so we slid together smoothly, lip to cheek. She rolled her hips, much like she would when I turned my neck and covered her. For that I loved her a little more. My strong girl could never admit in words that she loved the marks too, but words are only the least of our communication, or of our adoration. Body language meant more, and her response was her gift to me. The roll of her body changed and I knew that her head rolled along with her hips now, punctuating the message.

Zoe purred deep in her throat. I released my grip on her thigh slowly, pulling my teeth from the divots that would bruise the pale flesh. My tongue traced them and I smiled feeling the mark upon her. My tracery brought out new noises from Zoe because she knew what came next.

Her.

I turned my neck and covered her with my mouth and began making a new impression for my love.

There's always a beginning.

I've just created a blog...that's new. I'm not really sure how I feel about that.

There are bloggers I read and respect. I admire their ability to put their lives out there, their ability to record the things they feel passionaletly about. So I guess the question is, what do I feel passionately about?

I intend for this blog to record both my past and present so I guess I should talk about the things that are important to me, the things that have been constant throughout my life. Its an amazingly short list. But my passions did start early. The first time i remember being truly excited about something was seeing both Daphne and Velma tied up and gagged on Scooby Doo. I really did not understand what it was making me feel at the time, but I knew it was important at the time, and that it was going to be important in my life. Later I watched shows like "Johnny Socko and his Flying Robot" and "Ultraman." (I'm probably dating myself here) I rushed home after school every day to watch them. I cared little for the villains or heroes, but I waited with and held my breath once the moment in each episode was finally reached. At some point the hero's sidekick females were bound and gagged. I think one of the first images I remember from TV is that of a japanese woman in a box-tie. Though I could not have told you what I box-tie was at the time.

I just knew that...it was perfect.

Other times it was Bat Girl, tight spandex outfits and lovely white rope around her. For me play was more about using the jump ropes to tie the girls to the tether ball pole than exercise. In middle school, I wrote a story that was mistakenly left out where people could find it. It didn't take long for it to wind its way through our small school. The boys read it and didn't understand. The girls read and I heard them talking about which of them it could have been about. In reality it was about my 8th grade science teacher, but I noticed that the girls all seemed to be excited by it.

So I wrote stories. We were a small class, there were maybe twenty girls in it. That year I wrote twenty stories. Each featuring one of those girls. They were poor stories, more about the sex we barely understood and my limited understanding of rope and torment. But you know what. I wrote those stories on blue paper, and every one of those girls left that paper hanging out of their notebooks. They all looked dreamy eyed at the other boys, hoping it was one of the prime athelets in the school. Not one of them ever though that it was the nerdy kid who played tackle in football, or center in basket ball. Nor did they ever consider the kid who was a freak and played that new game "Dungeons and Dragons." They always hoped it was the quarterback, the running back, or someone who mattered. I dearly wish I still had those stories.

I grew, they grew and we all wound up in high school, the same group of us. In small schools like ours, things were always kind of inbred. The main rule was you didn't date your cousins. The problem was half of them were your cousins. It wasn't uncommon to date a lot of the girls, at least for the popular guys. I only really dated three of them. I got calls from a lot of them when their boyfriends were jerks. I had many of them drop by where I worked on a Friday or Saturday night when their boyfriends gave them the "put out of get out" speech. Guess what, the girl crying on your shoulder about her asshole boyfried can be pretty accomodating when you're the one giving her ride home. Of course they'd never admit to it in public. It was all innocent then, just the typical teenage groping and fumbling. But I always knew what I wanted. I just didn't have the nerve for a long time.

That changed with M. (of course all the names in this are changed in some way)  She lived near me and rode horses by my house on a regular basis. Her body had a very distincive bounce as she rode, one that I noted a bit more every year. One Saturday morning she rode by and invited me swimming. I hitched up behind on her on the horse and we rode the half mile or so down to the river and played. It was fun, it was almost innocent. On the way back she stopped at her place, and put the horse back in the barn. She brushed it down and I watched from a hay bale. I remember her taunting and teasing me while she did it. From there it grows fuzzy.

We wrestled, I tied her wrists with a length of rope and used a hoist in the barn to pull her up to her tiptoes. Her shirt was pulled up above her waist and I rested my hands on her, feeling the sweat of her under me and I just looked at her.

She didn't call me a freak.

She didn't scream for her parents.

She didn't ask me to kiss her. She said the words, but it wasn't an "ask" it was a "beg". I was hooked.