NOTE: Be advised this is only meant as MY observation of a BDSM social. Please do not interpret it as anything else.
After reigning in my initial instinct to jump wholeheartedly into the BDSM lifestyle, I was surprised to find myself sitting out in a parking lot looking at an old industrial building in a deserted part of town. It was cold, dark and windy outside of the car but I knew that wasn't the reason for my hesitancy.
What an abrupt turn my life has taken at 50. An innocent encounter with a Dom almost two months ago had changed my life forever. Although he had teased me several times about how I would never want to go back to vanilla sex, it seemed more like a silly joke than a strange omen at the time. But lately I had been having unsettling visions, replaying over and over in my mind of being forever caught between two worlds, doomed to never find happiness in either one. Would this next step down the path of my new journey prove all my fears correct? Or would I finally find the fulfillment I so desperately searched for?
Before I could change my mind, I grabbed my coat and stepped out of the car. The bitter wind hit me full-force as I hurried across the uneven gravel and up the metal steps, grateful I had decided against wearing my stiletto heels tonight. Comfort and low-key was the winning decision on my appearance for the evening. Hand on the door knob, twisting and twisting, don't stop, one foot in front of the other, don't stop, walk through the doorway, don't stop, keep going, don't stop, don't show fear . . .
Damn! My feet stopped of their own accord. Everyone in the room had come to a standstill and now all eyes were on me. Silently I cursed my new-found friend, a recently released slave, who begged off coming with me at the last minute. In that moment I could understand totally why my friend had been puking from the stress of attending tonight's social. There was movement and in a cloud of smoke a wiry, white-haired man in his early 60's left one of the tables and came up to me, smiling like anyone's grandfather and extending his hand to shake. His eyes twinkled and he had a welcoming smile. Instantly my fears started to subside.
He started to introduce me to people around the table but, being gregarious by nature, I had soon taken over the dialogue by reciting screen names, comments from the group's message board and online profiles as I recognized many of the people around me. I was so glad I did my homework to learn as much as I could about this intensely interesting group. I kept repeating to myself: keep smiling, be polite, keep smiling, remember I don't have a good poker-playing face, keep smiling, don't ask too many questions and keep smiling.
Most of the people in the room were right around my age except for a table where four 20-somethings were seated and a few others a little older were walking around the room. The girl at the table wore jeans and her head was shaved, one of the males was dressed in a sharp suit and the other male was dressed casually and sported an altered version of a mohawk haircut. Like me, they were new and curious but they were much more outward in their quest for knowledge as the night wore on. I was surprised at how respectful and attentive they were with their never-ending questions.
The Domme across from me, who had been in the lifestyle the last six years, was showing off her new paddle she had made with the table saw she had received at Christmas. It was a gorgeous piece of work. Her sub, a nice looking younger man wearing a cap that declared him a veteran, doesn't like the impact of a paddle she explained to me so she has men come to her home and she spanks them. She was very funny and friendly and we had shared a really good laugh when she confessed that her mom, who was in her 60's, recently told her that she was into the BDSM lifestyle.
I hadn't been there very long when Jerry got up and talked to the group about a few guidelines. I got the impression this was an speech he gave regularly. Where the bathroom was (oh yes, and it was unisex by the way). What rooms were for scenes and of course the more private ones in the back were reserved for penetration. Be respectful and don't interrupt someone during a scene. Don't touch someone else's toys-Jerry assured us that most likely the owner would be more than happy to show them off to anyone who was interested in looking and listening. Be sure to clean up and sterilize an area after use-aids dies almost immediately after exposure to air but herpes would survive if the proper cleaning agent wasn't used. If a slave doesn't talk to you, he/she may be under protocol. Be respectful of a slave/sub if she needs time alone after a scene and by no means do not try to move her.
Jerry introduced some of the members that were skilled at their fetishes. I was amazed at all the different resources from such a small group. There was someone who was an expert with needles; another with electricity (yes, shocking a slave during scenes); another with whips, flogs and paddles of many different variations; another an expert with interrogation skills and yet another that was knowledgeable with the proper protocol used in the lifestyle. His slave of six years was rushing around preparing things and introducing her master to us. He was one of my favorites; like most there, he was tall and imposing in manner. But I soon discovered he was friendlier and more open than most... but his general attitude still made me realize he was very dominant.
One particular master, a very large-framed man standing 6'8", left me feeling a little breathless. I recognized him from an online site as he had contacted me on it. When I blurted out I knew who he was, he looked at me suspiciously and I hesitantly told him his screen name. It was then that I remembered my own provocative picture in my profile on that sight - a close-up of my tongue licking my nipple - and he smiled knowingly at my blush. But what really put me on edge regarding him was the scene of him and his slave who was a woman my age and half his size and stature. It was the first scene that I watched and I was glad that I only observed part of it.
She was naked with her wrists pulled up over her head in shackles hanging from the ceiling. He was prepared to perform as he had all his whips, canes and flogs lined up along the wall. I was shocked to see there must have been at least twenty five to thirty of them. At the time I had slipped in, he had been flogging her for a while and her ass was already beet red. But he appeared to be in no hurry to end the scene. At one point, she was hanging limp on the ends of the chains and he pulled her by her hair to get her feet back under her. At another time, he was using a long whip that curved around her body and viciously bit the front of her thighs. She would turn fruitlessly one way and then the other but he was persistent in reaching the tender ski
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