A true story
He is my touchstone.
I am nervous, yes. Very. I try not to think about why I am here.
Sitting at the back of the room on a bench, clinging to His arm, my hair is in a simple ponytail. I have no makeup on... it's not necessary. I will be wearing my hood.
The workshop room is huge; larger than life posters of gorgeous people hang down from all sides in various erotic poses, leather or latex adorning some, others only in sexy shoes or bondage gear.
Front and center of the room, made of black leather, shiny metal, and raised higher than normal, is a modified gynecological exam table with wrist restraints. I will be on that table.
Naked. Except for the hood.
Situated around it are rows folding chairs set up for the workshop. Filled with people new to this lifestyle, mostly. The workshop, Networking for Kinky People, is sponsored by the Stockroom.
The instructors are a delightful husband-wife couple in an open relationship, flown in from Chicago. They entertain and educate the crowd with a kind of kinky sex & BDSM 101. I find them fun and interesting, as they skillfully involve the participants by asking questions and breaking the ice.
There is another model here, hired as a demo for flogging and electro-play. She sits across the room to the side of where I am in a bathrobe and I secretly wish I had her job instead of what I am about to do.
I like new experiences. I like testing my limits. I like doing things that make me feel good, feel alive. The rush of energy, the adrenaline and lovely brain chemicals are my intoxicating drug of choice.
But in leading up to these new experiences, especially ones that involve witnesses, sometimes the anticipation and nerves are overwhelming.
