Thursday, October 13, 2005
Fit To Be Tied (Pt.2)
Last time I began talking about the Citadel, a bondage club in San Francisco. Now we're taking a tour....
The place is fairly large, two stories worth. We climb a flight of stairs to the check-in area, where clothes can be left, fetish outfits put on, whatever. Entry fee is the usual twenty clams. They give you a brown paper shopping bag to stash your clothes and valuables in. Sounds iffy, but it works. Then you round a dividing wall and enter the place proper.
A large wrestling mat is the first thing one sees inside. And real live wrestling was going on throughout the evening. Again, wrestling that was just wrestling, grappling, writhing around. Not even an attempt at playing grab-ass. The cutest guy in the place was there, clad in jeans but no shirt, with a cowboy hat. But no sex play at all.
We migrate further along, the main floor here is set up for the whitebread activities. Noshing on snacks, drinking coffee, hanging out on the sofas chatting. Most of the people here seem to know each other, which makes for breaking in as newcomers a bit tricky. D and I are about the only male-female couple here tonight.
D is already getting a bad feeling about his possibilities for the evening's entertainment. He sees maybe two or three guys he may be interested in. He really wants the Cowboy. But the Cowboy's not for burning. Er...fucking. He's not even wrestling steers, dammit! He's just wrestling. There was more heat back in the old "Rawhide" series.
As D eyes the boys, I'm checking out this slim squeak of a girl dressed all in black. We saw her at the front door and smiled as we arrived together. I watch her throughout the evening, wondering what kind of scene she's looking to hook into. I am uncertain what she's after. But then, people probably thought that of me.
I mean, here I am, with a guy, wearing an outfit that probably sends mixed messages. I have a thick collar around my neck, the kind with the three rings. D bought this for me a while back. I added soft leather straps, which hook into the collar rings and drop down across my naked chest, and loop into the top strap of a harness (toys removed, yes thank you), which I am wearing to cover my privates. They do, barely. It's quite a nice looking outfit, rather beautiful in a way or so one woman told me.
But is it signalling that I'm a top, or a bottom? What's the big deal? Well, in THIS place, or similar, it becomes a big deal. My body type is very lean and sinewy with definition, so that probably says "top" all over the place. But yet I'm wearing the collar. Several girls have also come in with collars. Actually, they were led in by their respective female partners. Leashes were attached to their collars. I had no such leash, and I'm with a guy, so God only knows what the crowd thought. I am probably more than likely to be Bottom Material, at least at this early point in my budding career as Party Slut. I will probably develop into a top, of sorts, as I move along through trials and tribulations. Is this what they mean by the Wonder Years?
Downstairs we go, into the heart of the place, where the fun stuff goes on. It's a long rectangular room, with various stations on each side. You can pretty much see from the front end all the way down to the rear. Spectators can move along and watch the action on both fronts, as it were.
They have flogging stations, St. Andrews crosses (an x style, rather than a T cross), spanking benches, bondage tables, several leather slings are suspended from the ceiling.
There's a "puppy cage," and you forgot to bring your pooch. There's also a stand-up cell, somewhat misnamed, because you can't quite stand up in it, nor can you lay down quite fully. Cages designed to make you cringe.
We also saw a pommel horse device, where a lovely woman was bent over, her naked ass in the air, getting paddled for what seemed like ages.
Is it the exhibitionism? The enjoyment of having your naked butt hoisted in the air in public? Is it the thrill of the spanking? Take your pick as to motives, they're probably all good.
TO BE CONTINUED
The place is fairly large, two stories worth. We climb a flight of stairs to the check-in area, where clothes can be left, fetish outfits put on, whatever. Entry fee is the usual twenty clams. They give you a brown paper shopping bag to stash your clothes and valuables in. Sounds iffy, but it works. Then you round a dividing wall and enter the place proper.
A large wrestling mat is the first thing one sees inside. And real live wrestling was going on throughout the evening. Again, wrestling that was just wrestling, grappling, writhing around. Not even an attempt at playing grab-ass. The cutest guy in the place was there, clad in jeans but no shirt, with a cowboy hat. But no sex play at all.
We migrate further along, the main floor here is set up for the whitebread activities. Noshing on snacks, drinking coffee, hanging out on the sofas chatting. Most of the people here seem to know each other, which makes for breaking in as newcomers a bit tricky. D and I are about the only male-female couple here tonight.
D is already getting a bad feeling about his possibilities for the evening's entertainment. He sees maybe two or three guys he may be interested in. He really wants the Cowboy. But the Cowboy's not for burning. Er...fucking. He's not even wrestling steers, dammit! He's just wrestling. There was more heat back in the old "Rawhide" series.
As D eyes the boys, I'm checking out this slim squeak of a girl dressed all in black. We saw her at the front door and smiled as we arrived together. I watch her throughout the evening, wondering what kind of scene she's looking to hook into. I am uncertain what she's after. But then, people probably thought that of me.
I mean, here I am, with a guy, wearing an outfit that probably sends mixed messages. I have a thick collar around my neck, the kind with the three rings. D bought this for me a while back. I added soft leather straps, which hook into the collar rings and drop down across my naked chest, and loop into the top strap of a harness (toys removed, yes thank you), which I am wearing to cover my privates. They do, barely. It's quite a nice looking outfit, rather beautiful in a way or so one woman told me.
But is it signalling that I'm a top, or a bottom? What's the big deal? Well, in THIS place, or similar, it becomes a big deal. My body type is very lean and sinewy with definition, so that probably says "top" all over the place. But yet I'm wearing the collar. Several girls have also come in with collars. Actually, they were led in by their respective female partners. Leashes were attached to their collars. I had no such leash, and I'm with a guy, so God only knows what the crowd thought. I am probably more than likely to be Bottom Material, at least at this early point in my budding career as Party Slut. I will probably develop into a top, of sorts, as I move along through trials and tribulations. Is this what they mean by the Wonder Years?
Downstairs we go, into the heart of the place, where the fun stuff goes on. It's a long rectangular room, with various stations on each side. You can pretty much see from the front end all the way down to the rear. Spectators can move along and watch the action on both fronts, as it were.
They have flogging stations, St. Andrews crosses (an x style, rather than a T cross), spanking benches, bondage tables, several leather slings are suspended from the ceiling.
There's a "puppy cage," and you forgot to bring your pooch. There's also a stand-up cell, somewhat misnamed, because you can't quite stand up in it, nor can you lay down quite fully. Cages designed to make you cringe.
We also saw a pommel horse device, where a lovely woman was bent over, her naked ass in the air, getting paddled for what seemed like ages.
Is it the exhibitionism? The enjoyment of having your naked butt hoisted in the air in public? Is it the thrill of the spanking? Take your pick as to motives, they're probably all good.
TO BE CONTINUED
