Mementos on my Key Ring
Ever stop and look at all the keys hanging on your keychain? If you are like me, you tend to collect them until you have this sort of wad of keys that no longer fits in your pocket. Now you end up wearing it on your belt….sorta like a high school janitor. I mean where the hell do all these go? I tried cleaning my key ring out the other day and I swear have no earthy idea where half the damn keys are to. Now during this “process”, and by process I mean me holding up an unmarked key, squinting at it and muttering, “um… old studio I had during the Clinton years?” Nerdy pointed out one key on my ring that stood out.
A bent and broken handcuff key.
When asked why I had such a thing, I told her, “This is to remind me of two very important, yet embarrassing, things”
It was very early in my kink exploration. I think we had just started talking in terms of SM play. Tambo I had taken some classes and were trying to understand what it was to self identify as someone who is into this whole “BDSM” thing. While I cold deliver a damn fine vanilla flogging, the whole “topping” thing had yet to really become clear to me. That was until I had the opportunity to deliver my first real D/s flavored scene. Our local swing club was hosting a “leather night” and I had a certain cutie in my sights. Now mind you, this was really early in our kink days so all the leather clothes I owned were designed for motorcycle use, not fetish wear and frankly I did not yet have much of a clue as to the whole “leather culture” as it were.
Donning my riding chaps and leather riding vest I dove into my photography props bin in search of some accessories to complete the outfit. I am still embarrassed to even type the next sentence.
To complete the look I put on a leather hat, much like the one Marlon Brando wore in "The Wild One"
, and hung a pair of cheap steel handcuffs I picked up at some stripmall “adult boutique” from the loop of the chaps.
So aside from looking like a reject from “Who Wants to Be a Leather Daddy” the evening went swimmingly. The cutie in question spent several hours handcuffed to the belt of my chaps while I (and a group of kink friendly swingers under my direction) delivered all manner of sensations to her naked body. By the time I decided that she was done her wrists were red and chaffed by the steel cuffs. To say that she was eager to be released would be an understatement. Amped from my success and pumping adrenaline, I plunged the key into the lock and with a cocky smile, quickly spun it...only to have the damn thing snap in two in the process.
She looked at me with wide eyes that screamed, “Oh shit. Please tell me that did not just happen!”
Now this, this could have been bad. Or at least very embarasing. However, like any good boy scout I made sure I packed a backup key in with my street clothes. A quick dash down to the lockers and she was free.
So, the two reminders you ask?
The first is, of course, a memento of my first time. When it all clicked for me and I finally understood what all the fuss was about when it came to being a top.
The second, that a good top always has a plan B.