I walk into the banquet room, for me a torture chamber, to meet Master Shey who has me on loan from my Master for the evening.
Master Shey is a teacher of Shibari.
He learnt from his grandfather and he is known for safety first in everything.
However, the people who go to his classes or watch his online tutorials don't see the same side of him that we see at BDSM Manor.
Hustling in a close second to safety first, is pain.
Master Shey is a sadist.
Wrapped in only a robe, fresh from my enema (not pleasant or unpleasant to me, just a necessity) I embrace my empty, light feeling (I'm a little hungry and weak as well) and feel blessed that I belong to my Master.
Master Shey has not arrived yet, so I gaze out of the window and daydream about the day I met Kerry.
-X
I was in Belfast, on a gay lads weekend away, which is basically like any lads weekend away, but with more cocktails and glitter.
There were three couples and me. I was the seventh wheel if you like. My friends were on a mission to get me laid, but I wasn't really into hook ups, so I was resistant.
"Best way to get over a broken heart, lovely," my mate Gary's boyfriend told me.
Sean, who had suggested Belfast because it was his hometown and he could squeeze in a visit to his Nan, was in full drag.
It was like walking around with the star of 'Priscilla'. I just smiled and brought the sweet (and opposite of subtle) guy a drink.
My heart wasn't broken.
It was just embarrassed and pissed off.
Belfast may not seem like the obvious choice for a 'gay' weekend away, but everyone had been really nice. Sean knew everyone it seemed, and where to go.
Where not to go, equally important.
I was happy for Gary. Sean seemed like the kind of bloke who didn't wait for things to change. He would just blast through, dragging change with him.
I envied that kind of confidence.
A quick word in the ear of my best mate Trevor, and I wandered out for some alone time.
Walking around the streets and soaking up the atmosphere.
I wasn't worried about walking around Belfast alone if that's what you're wondering.
I wasn't in drag (sooo not my thing) and I don't have GAY stamped across my forehead.
Plus, I have the 'when in Ireland get out of jail free card' of an American accent.
I'm actually a Londoner but lived in the States from the age of three, until my parents split when I was fifteen.
My Dad's American and still lives there, and in over ten years, I've never lost the accent. Well, I'm still over there half the time.
Deciding that it was time for a pint I wandered into a pub and was immediately flummoxed by the thick accent of the guy behind the bar.
"Er," I offered, "maybe I can just point and pay?"
The guy laughed and toned down the accent, "Ah, a Yank. I was just joking with you. What can I get you?"
I laughed, "Well, when in Rome!"
He nodded and started building me a Guinness.
We chatted on and off about nothing much, and when he wandered away to serve someone else, I just relaxed and idly people watched.
