Fridae

When it comes to life, there's a very good reason why we seldom stray from our regular favorites. There's this unstated confidence that we have in our preferred choices, that the end result will almost always be pleasurable, if not at least pleasant. To stray from the usual would mean having to step out of one's comfort zone and go through the whole 'acquired taste' process all over again. It can be quite a satisfying challenge for some and a hassle for others.

Of course, the same philosophy of life can be applied to sex. We all have our preferences when it comes to the type of men or women we fancy, positions, locations, durations, background sounds, fabrics, types of whipped cream, types of whips, etc; whatever the sexually-curious mind can conjure.
Thus it was with this sentiment that I found myself naked, trussed up, blindfolded with scenes of felons being violently arrested in COPS running through my head the entire time.

It all started with an offer from a random stranger from the Internet - a two-hour session of full body massage with no price tags or strings attached. Of course it sounded too good to be true because who on earth would offer to knead your muscles for a two whole hours and not expect something like sexual or monetary favours in return? Thus it was with this apprehensive feeling that I went to the masseur's place, wondering if I would survive the whole encounter with one less appendage or in the worst case scenario, not even survive at all. The only reassurance was that I have insurance, so at least my loss will not be in vain.

The masseur's place was pretty decent actually. It was well furnished with antique furniture and for a gay touch, a huge Winnie the Pooh plush sitting in a corner underneath a vase filled with plastic daffodils. If it could talk, it would actually have said things like 'You don't know what you're getting yourself into, dude!' There were also several dogs at home and judging from the high-pitched and incessant yapping, I guessed that they were Chihuahuas or really effeminate Rottweilers. There was absolutely nothing indicative of an owner who's into tying people up and doing pleasurably painful things to them.

It was with this assumption of safety that I stripped and lay myself on the masseur's bed. And the moment he did his thing, I was totally relaxed. Believe me, he was an excellent masseur. I know this is going to sound trite, but he discovered places in me that I never knew about - one of them being a street devoted solely to seedy massage parlors. His hands knew the geographical aspects of a man's body like a professor of anatomy. He found hidden ligaments and kneaded them to perfection. He even did this leg-twisting thing that was as pleasurable as a watered-down and sissified wrestler trying to pin me down. It was unbelievably good.

As expected, all went fine until I was asked to flip over so that he could massage the front. That was when he suggested the tying of a blindfold. I never asked him why because I assumed it was one of those 'arouse the senses' concepts and all that new-age zen crap. I was already being massaged by another man and having a hard on. If there were any more senses to be aroused, I would be more than willing to try. And so went a black cloth around my eyes.

It wasn't long however, before he popped the next question: 'Have you ever tried bondage and submission?'

'Ehrm� once' I replied warily.

That was several years ago and it wasn't exactly pleasurable. I ended up with several bruises and protruding nipples from extensive use of clamps.

'Would you like to try it again? No pressure though,' he said as he twisted my arm into a weird locking position. It was out of context that I assumed he was twisting my arm rather than massaging it.

At that point of time, thoughts of the familiar scenes from COPS had evolved into thrill-kill-seeking people from Eli Roth's Hostel. But then again, I had already relented to the tying of a blindfold around my eyes. Plus the noisy little Chihuahuas/effeminate Rottweilers were seemingly barking bits of reinforcement that their master was just a harmless guy who has a fetish for non-violent BDSM. So I thought to myself, 'Ah� what the hell. I'm already here, might as well give it a shot.'

Of course, the 'what the hell' ideology soon turned to 'WHAT THE HELL' when the masseur started applying the nipple clamps and tight ropes. The cold of the metal was chilling and the sudden pressure on the nipples, shocking. If I tilted my head a bit, I could see him taking out his equipment from a really crinkly NTUC (a local chain of supermarkets) plastic bag. It was extremely bizarre, not forgetting to mention painful. Then again, when you're naked and lying on a bed with objects of pain applied to your nipples, the body tends to interpret pain as otherwise.

For that entire afternoon, I was spanked, shaved, bitten, dripped with candle wax, clamped and bounded. There was even this bit with ice-cubes being put up a certain orifice which I'm not very keen on recalling (I had a bad bout of watery stools that night). It wasn't until I had the first orgasm that the fun in bondage started to diminish. Soon enough, everything that the masseur did was too painful, too burning, too hot and too ticklish. I could have told the masseur to stop, but I guess I didn't want to be thought of as chickening out. On retrospect, it's a very silly thought to have when it comes to sex. Sex should not be uncomfortable and awkward, but rather a discovery to find out what pleases one's body. Obviously not an easy thought to cross one's mind when one is feeling battered all over.

It was after that orgasm that I made up my mind that I would be returning back to my usual habits of sex in the spas with random men who can have fun without the use of kinky equipment. It's generally less tedious and definitely less painful. After all, pain is fun, but not when overdone - it makes a really good rhyme, doesn't it? I can't fault the masseur though. He gave a really swell massage plus he was really friendly - for a person who indulges in bondage, and respectful for constantly asking if everything was okay and if I wanted to stop.

We ended the session with small talk about the area he lived in, as if the bondage bit never happened. And out of curiosity, I asked him if I could see his dogs.

Bloody noisy yapping Chihuahuas they were.

Jonathan Zhang has been gay for eight years, a nurse for four, tried bondage twice and tries to write on a daily basis. You can read the combined average of the above in his blog at www.spankthemalenurse.blogspot.com. Ah Men! will be updated every other Sunday.