I recall it was a hot summer afternoon. A Friday. I was in the middle of grad school and had taken the summer off to "recalibrate" and evaluate my life choices. As such I was doing nothing, just hanging out with one of my best friends at his house. Unlike me, he had gotten a job right out of college at a tech firm. It paid well enough that he had bought a house. I considered this as I stared out the big windows in the living room wall. The house sat on a small hill that overlooked the town we had both grown up in, a place he still called home but that I had fled in search of something 'better' I guess.
In any case, it was hot. He had A/C and kept the place at a reasonable temperature (a little on the warm side, perhaps; his circulation was poor, he claimed), but I was lying on his sofa in the sun streaming in those windows and felt like a lizard baking in the heat. Ben looked lethargic, too. He worked from home on Fridays and had just turned in a project to his boss, so he could easily slack off the rest of the day and nobody at work would notice or complain. His short, thin body was draped over the leather armchair--legs dangling off the far end, one arm left hanging askew in the air.
"What do you want to do?" he asked, catching my eye as I looked at him. It wasn't often that we got to spend time with one another like this, and I think we both felt an urgency in using the time well. Trouble was, it's difficult doing anything on a lazy summer afternoon.
Ben was a cute guy: short brown hair; vintage 1980's fashion sense that never seemed to go out of style; youthful, boyish features that never seemed to age even as we inexorably got older. We had met in middle school and had been close friends ever since. He had come out in college, and I suspected there might be more there for him but hadn't really ever asked. He had recently broken up with his boyfriend. They had been together a year and it had been messy.
I, on the other hand, was still working through my sexuality. So far, I had concluded that one, I had a general disinterest in sex, as classically defined; but two, I had a strong fascination with a number of kinky situations and scenarios. For example, I loved exhibitionism in the sense of being underdressed given the context. This could mean being shirtless when everyone else is fully clothed or wearing a speedo when everyone else is wearing swim shorts. It definitely also includes being compelled to strip in front of others.
I also loved being tied up and gagged. The humiliation of having that done to me, of feeling helpless and knowing the person who did it can do whatever they want to me, was really powerful in an erotic way. This was especially true if it was done against my will, as the result of losing in some contest. Strip poker, for example, had always been really fun for me.
Ben and I had experimented a bit in high school and college. Mostly, they involved competitive games where the winner got to tie up the loser. I occasionally won, but am the less competitive of the two of us and was always happy to lose in any case.
I mention all this because I was feeling rather horny in that special way that hot, lazy summer afternoons often cause. I think maybe Ben was, too, because after I replied with a generic "I don't know, what do you want to do?" he made a suggestion that surprised me.
"Do you want to wrestle?"
"Huh? What do you mean?"
"I mean wrestle. See who can pin the other person down."
"Where?" I asked, still trying to imagine what this would be like. I was not the wrestling type. My idea of athletics basically boiled down to hiking in mountain forests by myself. I had never been a team sports or competitive athletics kind of guy.
"Right here," he replied, nodding to the carpeted living room floor between us. "We'll move the coffee table out of the way and use the furniture to delineate the wrestling space. If you leave it, you lose."
"I'm not really much of a wrestler," I confessed, feeling uncertain about the whole experience.
"Oh come on, you'll have a natural advantage," he pressed. "You're about 20 lbs heavier and taller, too."
It was true. I was about 4 inches taller and, though slender, significantly heavier. Ben was both short and skinny.
"I bet I can beat you anyway," Ben taunted.
That tone in his voice was enough by itself to overcome my complacency. "Oh yeah?" I replied. I didn't like being discounted as a pushover; I think my natural shyness made me sensitive about it, eager to prove others wrong. Ben knew it well. "I think you may be getting a little overconfident here."
"Prove it, then," he taunted back.
"How will we know who won?" I asked, starting to take this seriously now.
A devious look crossed his face. "The first one to tie up the other wins."
That sent a thrill of erotic energy down my spine. I was really invested now.
"Wait, this is
bondage wrestling?
" I asked incredulously.
"Don't tell me you're not interested," Ben replied coyly. He knew all about my kinky fetishes. I blushed hard at this, still deeply embarrassed by my 'unique' tastes, even around my best friend.
"I mean..." I began, unwilling to straight up own it, but totally aware of how obvious it was.
"Each of us will get rope," Ben explained, "and the goal will be to pin the other down and tie him up."
"But how can you tie someone up if they can resist you? What if no one manages to tie up the other?"
"Oh, I don't think that will be
my
problem," Ben retorted, the taunting tone clear in his voice. Not willing to back down, I gave him a haughty look that oversold my self confidence by a long shot.
"Ok," I shot back. "What constitutes 'tied up?' How tied up does the loser need to be? Are we talking just hands, or a hand to an ankle, or what?"
Ben considered this a moment. "If you can get my hands tied, I'll give you the win."
"That's all?" I said, suggesting he was going too easy on me but also feeling he was about to say more but wanted to be prompted.
"Yeah," he replied, his voice cocky. "For me, we don't need to be specific." I raised my eyebrows to let him know I was calling his bluff. "When I've tied you up," he went on, "you'll know it. There won't be any doubt about it."
"Oh ho ho," I shot back. "A little cocky are we?"
He said nothing, just gave me a devious look and got up from his chair. He walked to the garage, opened the door and went inside. Sensing things were about to get real, I rose from my torpor as well and waited. Within a moment he returned with several lengths of nylon rope in his hands. He tossed me one, kept one for himself, then distributed the rest on the ground around the edge of our improvised "wrestling mat." I helped him move the coffee table out of the way.
"Let's wrestle, bitch," I said, again faking a confidence I didn't feel. What I did feel was a deep, erotic thrill. I was worried to lose because I honestly didn't think I could bear Ben's taunting mockery if I did. And I knew he'd never let me live it down. But I was also very excited at the prospect of losing this game. I strongly suspected Ben had proposed it knowing it would turn me on. Growing up, our sexual experimentation together had never involved sex, per se, so I was always curious why he was so interested. But he had always shown a fascination with my queer sexuality.
Ben responded by taking off his shirt. This caught me off guard a little. Not that we had never been naked around each other, I have just always been uncertain about when others will see it as awkward or inappropriate.
"I don't want to ruin your shirt," he said in response to my unspoken query. "Or mine." I actually liked the shirt I was wearing quite a bit, and since I'm always happy to strip down, I took my shirt off, too. The thought of wrestling with him skin-on-skin raised the stakes of the whole thing in my mind.
I stepped into the 'ring' feeling excited and nervous.
"One more thing," Ben said, heading into his bedroom.
Where was he going with this now, I wondered?
He quickly returned with what looked like a tiny strip of royal blue cloth bunched up in his fist. He tossed me the fabric, which failed to make it all the way to me and landed at my feet on the carpet. As I picked it up, I saw at once that it was a thong and that the material was almost entirely spandex. I looked up at him, blushing and questioning.
"Consider it an early birthday present," he clarified. He knew that my exhibitionist self loved erotic, embarrassingly revealing underwear and that I was always expanding my personal collection.
"Thanks," I said, still blushing. My birthday was coming up in a week but I wasn't looking forward to it. I had taken a couple extra years to finish college and was now 4 years into a PhD program, so despite turning 30 in a week I was still in school and had yet to start a career. The disconnect between my age and what I felt an "adult" should have accomplished by now was rather depressing. Long story short, I really appreciated this silly levity with regards to what was shaping up to be a downer moment.
"But in return you have to wear it under your shorts while we wrestle."
