The author is taking a weekend
break in a British seaside resort.
The story begins on the promenade ...
So, there I was, striding rather than
strolling on a brisk Friday morning trying to clear my mind. But if
you've got a lively imagination your mind doesn't clear, does it. It
takes in more and more images ... selectively ... weighing every possibility.
I wasn't looking for possibilities ... but my mind was continually sparked.
The roller-blade skaters with plastic
elbow, wrist and knee guards strapped on, looked like something out
of a Space movie. Their strapped-on helmets and rigid plastic boots
firmly clamped to keep ankles locked into position, engaged my imagination
as I walked. A bondage-fraternity friend had recently introduced me
to ski-boots with metal spring-clips screwed to his Playroom floor as
a new way of immobilising a willing playmate. The skate hire kiosk on
Brighton seafront had suddenly become an Aladdin's cave of kinky gear.
Further along, a few fishermen-mates
had settled down for a day on the beach. Because there was a slight
wind and modest tide, rubber hip-boots and waterproof suits were not
out of place. Fully padded Goretex overall suits, bib and brace day-glow
oilskins ... and dark green tents to retire into, probably full of canvas
haversacks full of reels and lines and cords, including fine nylon line
with which to tie inescapable knots. In addition, maybe down-filled
sleeping bags with khaki waterproof covers for one or two people to
snuggle into or struggle about inside.
Wind surfers are, of course, all masochists
at heart; the tight rubbery neoprene suits, hoods, socks, gloves are,
on colder days, essential before they cling to their sails and surfboards
to be dunked regularly in the icy swell. They shiver and sweat as they
compare notes and lug their boards and sails about, hauling them off
and onto Transit vans and Range Rovers and lash them onto metal roof
racks. The fertile mind can imagine games that would make their innocent
hearts miss a few beats.
And then, of course, the continuous stream
of running, jogging, loping men and women in various stages of undress
were a constant source of speculative interest. Healthy folk testing
themselves were a joy to watch, unhealthy folk a constant anxiety (I
have no serious First Aid experience). Old gentlemen bursting blood
vessels to convince themselves they're still fit is not my kind of game.
At an outdoor cafe on the promenade
the author strikes up casual conversation with a tough-looking cammo-clad
ex-army guy who he has previously watched doing a self-challenging
'training run' along the front.
The author has steered the matey chat over tea and a rock bun, to
the topic of testing and self-testing - and, as the conversation builds
- it suddenly gets quite challenging.
Enough beating around the bush I thought
to myself! Shit or get off the pot ... and asked abruptly "Did
you finish your tour in the army, resign or get slung out?"
He eyed me suspiciously
"What do you know about it?" he asked, but not belligerently.
I chose my words carefully "I've
known a few nutters in my time" I said, folowing up his previous
remark about 'nutters'. "I know about people who can't resist a
challenge ... and who like something to kick against ... even if it
might kick back. I recognise people who are looking for an opportunity
to test themselves ... and I have experience of testing men physically
and mentally." Heavy pause. "I may not look as if I can hold
my own in a rough and tumble ... but there are more ways to stay on
top than pure muscle-power ... and I've never been able to resist a
challenge."
After a little more verbal fencing
...
"So," he said, suddenly back
on track, "... what sort of ways do you have for testing people
... challenging them?" he me asked. Obviously he was ready to open
tentative negotiations.
"Well ... that all depends on the name of the game ... and who
I'm playing it with" I fenced. "For instance, you don't like
taking orders or only when it suits you. Right?"
"Depends ... " he started.
"Like now," I cut in "are you willing to accept a few
simple instructions and see where they lead you?"
"Willing ... where?" he asked almost defensively.
"Here ... now." I said evenly.
He looked around nervously at the happy families, unhappy families and
odd couples at surrounding tables. I leaned towards him and spoke quietly
"Just a few simple instructions. You either do them or you don't."
Again he looked past me to the few people
at cafe tables. They were all fully occupied with their own affairs.
I continued steadily "Close the zip of your jacket." He hesitated,
surprised ... and then connected the zip of his tough army parka and
closed it partially. "All the way up under the chin" I said.
He was painfully conscious of the surrounding
tables ... but nobody was exactly concentrating on us. He closed the
smock until it was snug under his chin. The weather wasn't cold enough
to warrant it. He looked decidedly embarrassed.
"Now" I continued quietly "Lean
forward to me ... slowly move your hands behind you and push them through
the two spaces in the back of your chair ... and lean your body weight
back on them."
Cautiously he felt for the gaps in the back of the metal cafe chair,
which had two upright bars. Pushing his wrists down through the chair-back,
he then leaned back onto his arms trapping them. I smiled and leaned
conversationally across the table.
"Press well back on them."
He complied and I smiled and relaxed back in my chair, casually looking
around to check we weren't attracting any undue attention.
A couple of slaggish mothers were trying to stop their offspring murdering
pigeons and a old couple were bickering over a rock bun ... and likewise,
everybody else was preoccupied with their own lives.
I smiled at his tense face as I leaned
towards him again "Now gently move your boots so they're on the
outside of the chair legs. ... like they were tied there."
Keeping a watchful eye on the other cafe
patrons he gingerly moved his feet until they were planted uncomfortably
wide on either side of the chair legs. His khaki combat pants stretched
tight across his lap behind the metal table. Because his chair was tucked
into the corner of the enclosure he had every other table in his vision.
I was sitting directly in front of him so only I could see the obvious
knob of a hard-on that was almost standing upright under the table.
He was painfully aware of it.
"Relax" I said "Look
as though you're just re-flexing yourself and taking the air after exercise.
You're in safe hands. Have you ever been tied to a chair?"
His embarrassed face flushed before
he answered quietly, "Couple of times ... during Escape & Evasion
exercises."
I nodded, "Well, you asked
how I manage to challenge somebody when they're physically more powerful
than me. I like to tie people up ... and watch them struggle ... and
make sure they've got a reason for struggling ... and make them sweat."
I continued quietly keeping my back to the crowd. "I like to see
men who can look after themselves dealing with difficult situations.
... off balance. That's my idea of fun. No damage. No physical danger.
Just challenge and survival, but with some rope or chain or duct tape
to even up the physical odds. Keep still!" I said sharply, because
he was jerking slightly in his chair, his strained body moving against
his trapped arms.
He looked down at his lap and tried
to suppress the final jerk ... but a small dark stain was already spreading
inside his pants. I smiled and said quietly "Keep still ... stay
just as you are. That's what I like to see ... a man dealing with a
difficult situation."
I relaxed back in my chair and made sure nobody around us had cottoned
onto the tension at our table, but life on the promenade just bowled
on by. When I turned back to the tense figure, rigid in his chair against
the yellow tarpaulin enclosure screen, he was determined to deal with
the situation ... but the sweat was gathering around his tight-cropped
hairline. I knew that the game was rolling and it was time for the next
move.
MORE
EXTRACTS
A printer-friendly version of the entire text is at BRIGHTON TEXT