On
the busy promenade of a British seaside resort, the dangers and
excitement of Power Exchange games are explored ...
The
main character (the author) Is there for a weekend and has convinced
himself that he is not looking for any action - but his mind is
continually sparked by what he sees
Having set myself
the task of walking briskly from West Street to the Hove-end and back
before allowing myself coffee, I'd already mentally undressed and re-dressed
two hunky motorcyclists; visualised two horny young space cadet roller-bladers
strapped together in their gear and struggling; imagined a scenario
for three butch fishermen mates on an overnight fishing and drinking
spree away from their wives
Being mesmerised
by an ancient jogger tottering towards me, I was only faintly aware
of the thudding sound behind me until a runner overtook me, travelling
at a determined speed. I watched the receding combat booted, khaki trousered,
sweaty singleted figure thud away towards King Alfred's Baths. His army
back-pack seemed too weighty to bounce: a self-imposed handicap, I speculated.
Before I'd walked
another couple of hundred yards and stopped to watch a wind-surfer struggle
to peel open the top of his tight rubbery neoprene suit and go bare
torsoed to his Range Rover, when the military runner was thudding back
towards me. A look of steel-eyed determination on his face; a lean,
mean machine with sweat darkening his cammo singlet. The straps of his
back-pack tightly pinning back his shoulders to define muscular but
not artificially developed pecs. Sweat was glistening on his face and
matting his tight cropped hair. Looking neither to left or right he
passed by, metal identity tags jangling. Do they issue metal dog tags
in the British army, I wondered? I turned to watch him yomping his way
east, appreciating the compact figure, especially the tight ass well
displayed inside standard combat pants ... which looked like genuine
army issue ... but should they be so trimly tailored around his buns?
I'm old enough and
wise enough to know about that sort of guy. Although maybe up for a
whirl in a safe situation, they should remain totally unapproached by
strangers. No complications or distractions this weekend, I reminded
myself.
The walk back towards
my coffee break was uneventful as far as it went ... until I realised
that the army runner was doing a circuit of the big green by the Hove
boundary. I watched him in the distance as I walked, resolutely pushing
himself to pound the ground as he ran, mind focused on completing whatever
challenge he'd set for himself. The need for me to reach the public
toilet became more pressing and I thought no more on the attractive
but impractical possibilities of this army showpiece.
After
a visit to a public toilet the author stops at an outdoor café
on the promenade
I swear on the Bible,
Your Honour, I did not see him sitting there until I'd actually bought
my coffee and Kit Kat. The military runner, sitting at a table, sweaty
vest clinging to reveal his lean but powerful frame, emphasising his
pecks and even his hard nipples. He'd chosen the remote corner table
in the tarpaulin enclosed seafront cafe area. Framed against the right-angle
of yellow waterproof tarp, his back-pack slumped heavily against his
chair, a cup of tea cooling before him he looked alert but not defensive.
Because most of
the tables were occupied, many by families with kids ... it wasn't too
obvious for me to walk directly up to the table where he sat alone still
recovering his breath. I remained standing while asking if he minded
me sharing the table.
Sure he
said and reached for his tea which was still too hot and he was still
slightly out of breath.
You training
for something special ... or just keeping in trim? I asked, all mates
together.
He shrugged
Nothing special and wiped his face with a cammo hanky. Now that's
not regulation issue or I'm a Dutchman I thought to myself, and then
asked You like to set yourself challenges? He shrugged and risked
the tea.
I like to
see people challenging themselves I added recklessly.
He shrugged
again ... but didn't shut me out. In fact, he reached for the sugar
which was on my side of the little round metal table.
How far or how
long do you run for?
Hour.
Every day?
I asked.
More or less.
Doing more
today?
If I feel
like pushing myself.
He supped
his tea, I watched him over my coffee.
Looks to
me as if you like to push yourself I risked.
He considered
the comment before looking back at me ... studied me more steadily and
chose his words deliberately It's easier when somebody else is pushing
you.
That comment wasn't
something to dive straight back at. I broke the Kit Kat into four fingers
and indicated that he should take a piece. He declined, silently. I
munched a piece before framing my next question. Are you army or were?
Was.
How long
since?
Over two
years.
You're still
in good shape
He shrugged
Try to be.
My brain said
Gently does it. ... but I couldn't resist repeating his words back
at him, Easier when somebody else is pushing? ... I know what you mean.
To which he made no reply, clearly inviting me to continue.
You enjoyed
having somebody to push you, and challenge you in whatever Mob you were
in?
He thought
before a slight grin emerged. And have something to kick against he
admitted.
The
conversation stays quite general about the riggors of army training
but when the author prepares to go for more coffee, the squaddie
having finished his tea, refuses the offer of another - but doesn't
leave
Returning
to the table I saw one strap of his back-pack was now open and he was
wearing a camouflage jacket. It was a classic Sixties paratrooper's
jump smock, not recent issue.
You getting
cold? I asked, too late to avoid sounding like his mother. Were you
in the Paras? I added, to cover my embarrassment.
Raff Regiment
he replied.
I nodded approvingly.
Tough bunch.
Nutters
he countered with a rueful smile which faded as soon as it appeared.
The last thing I
needed was an ex-service rough-neck with an emotionally unstable civilian
life I decided. Stay uninvolved I warned myself ... have a quiet weekend
... but I'm my own worst enemy ... and a card-carrying masochist. That
jump smock is a collector's item. Wasn't current issue two years ago.
No response. You've been in Civvy Street for two years but you still
dress like Action Man. This was my most obvious challenge so far ...
but I hoped my appreciative smile would prevent any hostile reaction.
He shrugged, not committing himself. Are you still in touch with any
of your old mob? I asked, to which he shook his head. So not much
opportunity for outside challenges? My question received another silent
negative. I persisted, pushing the subject as far as I dare on a casual
social level. So what else do you do to challenge yourself. His only
response was another slightly depressed shrug.
Fuck this, I thought
to myself, shit or get off the pot ... and asked abruptly Did you finish
your tour, 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 simply. 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.
He eyed me without
blinking. I decided to wait as long as it took get a response.
What sort
of ways? - challenging people? he asked eventually.
Why did you
get slung out of the Services? I asked.
He considered
my non-answer seriously, and thought about it. I like to challenge
authority. I like to see how far I can push my luck. He lapsed into
silence ... and shrugged.
Coolly I asked
Do you think you're pushing your luck now ... with me?
He thought
about it and deliberately repeated his noncommittal shrug. The fencing
was becoming more acknowledged by us both.
Did you want
to get slung out ... or did you want to try your luck in the Raff Detention
Centre? I risked.
His response
was immediate and bitter: In this day and age they don't put you in
Nick, they just sign you out. Thank you and good night! No second chances.
I nodded understandingly,
A miscalculation. You just wanted to see how far you could push your
luck. That's tough.
He lightened
the mood. Not serious ... I'm a survivor.
Glad to hear
it I said meaningfully before returning to my coffee, while he considered
his next move, if any.
So ... what sort
of ways do you have for testing people ... challenging them? he asked,
suddenly back on track and obviously ready to open 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 and
closed it partially. All the way up under the chin I said.
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 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, deal 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 that 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.
I leaned forward
smiling OK, looks like the idea of being tied up turns you on, too
... so, lean forward slowly and bring your arms out of the chair ...
but keep your feet where they are.
With a look of relief
he freed his arms and un-tensed his shoulders inside the loose camouflage
smock.
Lean forward and
give me your hands under the table. I've got something for you.
He pulled his chair
closer to the table careful to keep his boots anchored to the chair
legs, then tried to locate my hands under the small round metal table.
I watched his eyes as he felt handcuffs close quietly around his wrists.
He could not believe what had happened, but knew that being around the
central table leg, his hands were staying where I'd locked them.
Fancy another cup
of tea now? I asked with a smile as I stood up. He stared at me and
then around at the unconcerned cafe patrons as I walked away to the
counter some twenty feet away.
The
concept of challenge game-playing is explored - the encounter continues
for a further 3500 words.