The subject line of the email read: "tied up tonight?" Inside was a gif file of a woman, hands secured above her head, being made to spin while being slapped by another woman. This looked like an invitation to me, but the last time I had petitioned for playtime I had been informed that unless I was going to be with a woman and he could watch, he was not interested. The time previous -- he had sent me explicit email -- he said it was just the sharing of porn, nothing more. When I called to ask of his intentions he said he was, indeed, inviting himself over if I was available. I reminded him that I had not been tied up since he used the shirt he ripped off me one night a some years ago; he had otherwise always restrained me easily with just his body. We agreed to meet at 9:30 after I returned home from a meeting.
I could see his truck there in the public parking as I pulled into my favorite spot along my building. He got out and rolled a cigarette while I took my time to put up the windows and lock the doors getting out of my car. I barely noticed that he had reached for a bag as he locked his truck and strode across the lot to walk me in. We exchanged pleasantries and tidbits of gossip through the lobby and halls. As I reached for the key to unlock my door, I suddenly noticed what looked like the handle of a flyswatter sticking out of a bag from the hardware store in his grasp. I had not asked him to repair anything on this visit and could think of only one reason he would bring a flyswatter!
"Never you mind," he said when I asked what the bag was for. "You'll see" was the answer to what's in there. I turned to look into his face as he backed up to secure the door behind him. He had a grin that both intrigued and excited me. In our many years of random connections he had never brought props ...
He sat in a chair and watched me sit on the bed with my legs folded under me. We chatted for a couple minutes before he said he had come right from work and required a shower. Watching him undress, I realized I did had not seen where he had set the bag and asked again what was in it. "Gifts," he said this time, reaching to where he had stashed it behind him, behind the closet door and took it into the hall toward the bathroom.
"Maybe not at first," was his answer to, "Will I like it?" as he took the clean towel from me and closed the bathroom door, leaving me to decide whether I was more anxious or excited to see what he was planning.
He emerged wet, clean, wrapped in the towel at the waist, and peering into the bag. He looked at me with a smirk that I know to mean "just you wait'. "Sit there," he directed, pointing to the chair he had occupied a few minutes earlier. I could see the gears churning in his mind as he measured and cut lengths of rope, keeping an eye on me with that grin. Then, he ran the longest one under my bed. My excitement and anxiety increased, knowing what was coming and still not knowing what remained in that plastic store sack. His voice was quiet and still very demanding: "The lighting needs to be more subdued." I turned on the curtain of tiny blue bulbs and switched off the bright overhead. I complied when he told me it was time to get undressed and climb onto the bed as he seated himself watching me, still wearing the towel at his waist.
