In yesterday’s post I wrote about a heavy bondage and hooding session I’d just done. I was happy that I’d managed to conquer what was for me a difficult style of play. However, the real surprise of the session wasn’t dealing with the hoods, but a strange memory of childhood that was triggered. That was a new experience. I know a lot of people can trace their kinky roots back to particular childhood events or relationships. That has never been the case for me, and I’ve never really thought much about childhood when playing.
What made it particularly odd was the heavy and intense nature of the experience. Some session can be kinky while still have a recognizably playful sexual element. Stuff like light rope bondage, nipple pinching, teasing, spanking, etc. These aren’t sex, but they are sex adjacent. You start in Sensation Avenue, and rather than a left into Sex Drive, it’s a right turn into Kinky Fun Terrace. In yesterday’s session I was wearing leather chaps and gauntlets, wrapped in a leather sleep sack, fastened with leather straps to a wheeled hospital trolley and isolated under a thick leather hood. The only exposed bit of me was the cock, and that was only there so Lydia could slap it around. To the casual observer that’s not sex adjacent. That’s down Bizzaro Highway, along the You Need Help Freeway and straight into the heart of Freakytown. And I’m happy to say that my childhood didn’t overlap with any of that geography.
The moment in question occurred when I was left unmolested for a period, free to relax and float in the bondage. It was dark, only faint noises could be heard, and the smell of leather was all around. As I lay there I flashed back to being a young boy in the back of my parents car. After visiting relatives we’d drive back late at night, and I’d often stretch out to sleep on the back seat. It would be dark and peaceful, with just the light of the instruments and the quiet murmur of my parents voices from the front. It felt safe and comforting, which is kind of ironic given the lack of safety features compared to the cars of today.
There are some obvious physical parallels between the two situations. Darkness. Limited background noise. The leather smell from the car seats. But I think the main trigger was the sense of security and lack of responsibility. As a child I trusted my parents to get me home safely. I didn’t have to worry. I could just relax and drift away. The bondage and sensory isolation created a similar emotion. I couldn’t do anything. I was safe. Wrapped up. Nothing to worry about. At least not until Lydia decided it was time for a little cock torture. That gave me something to worry about.
For an accompanying image a shot of the young paltego would be kind of appropriate. But since I’m not into humilation or emotional masochism, I’ll give that a pass. Instead I turned to the Serious Bondage site and an article they did on Darla Kincaid (sadly now retired). Not quite the same setup as my scene, but it does look very intense.
