I can't help it; every time I have a moment's peace I start worrying. I invaded Afghanistan for god's sake! I've shot people, been shot at, saved and lost lives and now meeting this woman is frightening the life out of me. I'm sitting on the sofa, biting a nail absentmindedly when Sherlock comes back from wherever he's been. He is holding two carrier bags; it looks like books in there.
He takes off his coat and scarf and sets the books out on the table: The guide to bottoming, The guide to Topping, How to be Kinky, SM 101 and The BDSM primer. Great. I look up at him, expecting to see him smirking but his face is serious. He goes into the kitchen and starts to make coffee.
"Look John, I know you're not comfortable with this but I thought you might feel better if you did some research." I am sulking and I know I am. There's something about the whole idea of bondage, or S and M or whatever this is, that upsets my equilibrium. Maybe it's because I just can't square pain with pleasure. I've felt pain and it's not nice. I don't understand how it can be either. I know I'm annoyed with Sherlock for getting me into this and I know that's not rational either. He didn't know what they did, that I'd get invited round there. But still, despite understanding and owning my emotions, I still feel them right? And it doesn't feel nice.
I pick up the first book, SM 101, it's black and white and it has a cover picture of a man's hand gripping a riding crop. Ok. See? This is what I have a problem with; he's going to hit someone with that. How to be Kinky has a picture of a woman in shiny vinyl (I wince as I think back to my terrible faux pas of the day before) and she's sprawled backwards so her high heeled, thigh length boots are most prominent. Surprisingly, despite my recent sexual proclivities, this picture I am more comfortable with. I'm not a complete innocent; I've had girlfriends put on sexy underwear and things but nothing latex, nothing rubber. The Topping book and the bottoming book, I notice the placement of the capitals and wonder if they're anything to do with who's in charge, have almost comical pictures on the front of two cartoon women, one clearly the Top and one the bottom. They are both grinning wildly, looking like they're having the time of their life. I rub an eyebrow. Do I have to go? I almost ask him but he's back with the coffee leafing casually through The BDSM Primer. It has a studded collar and a rose on the cover.
"Right, the principles." He sounds like he's teaching me to drive or play chess. "There's a Top or a Dom, spelt with double m and an e if they're female. Then there's a sub, a submissive or bottom. BDSM is what most of the people who do this sort of thing will call it. It stands for Bondage and Discipline or Domination and Submission or Sadism and Masochism; it's quite handy really because it covers all the most prominent areas of their... interest." God help me he sounds intrigued. He sips his coffee. "Most people into this kind of thing will call what they do 'playing a scene'. It's all very well rehearsed and what's happing on Saturday sounds like a 'Play Party'. They'll probably have rooms set out for various interests." I don't ask and I know I'm still sulking. "And, contrary to popular belief, the actual person who has more real control over a 'scene' is the bottom or submissive because they are allowing the Dom to do those things to them. They give up themselves to the experience. They can always stop it. It's the illusion of control."
"How do you stop it? If you're tied up?" I am interested despite myself. Sherlock grins; he knows his methodical, almost medical delivery of the facts has got me into the subject.
"They have a safe word. Something unlikely to be shouted out in pain or pleasure, like..." his eyes cast about the room. "Cactus." He says and grins.
"And what if you're gagged?" I point to a picture in SM 101 where a woman is wearing some kind of gag with a rubber ball stuffing her mouth open. Sherlock's grin gets wider.
"Well, from what I've researched on the internet..." I look at him in frank horror. What was he doing researching this stuff on the internet? "What? John, I am interested in all facets of human nature. And this was before I met you anyway... when I was experimenting..." I file that comment away for later. I really can't imagine Sherlock in leather and things... well I can. That's the problem. "Anyway, I think they use some kind of object which squeaks or makes a noise when squeezed. Like a dog toy." He grins at me again. "Something you can hold in your hand even if you're tied up." Jesus.
I can't help it anymore. I have to ask.
"Why would anyone want to let someone hit them? And treat them badly." I point to a picture of a man lying on the floor with a woman's shiny stiletto presses painfully into his cheek. Sherlock smirks at me.
"Interesting John that you're not asking me why someone would want to dominate another person." He raises an eyebrow and I splutter into my coffee. I don't even want to think about that. He carries on, "from my research I would say that most submissives enjoy the release of endorphins that go along with pain. You said yourself when you told me about your experiences that you found a place where the pain just became a sensation, not painful, not bad, just a feeling you were experiencing. I believe that's what these people would term 'sub space', a frame of mind where you let go of your attachment to your body through extreme sensation." I look away, out of the window and watch the rain run down the glass. I feel my anger rising.
"That experience wasn't 'fun' Sherlock! I didn't get off on it!" I stand up, the coffee spills and I don't care. I can't believe he just equated my experience in Afghan with these people playing silly games. He touches my hand and I pull it away. I vaguely register his hurt expression and it makes me feel better.
"John, John I wasn't saying that I was merely trying to explain these people to you in a way that you might understand, by using your own experiences. You were forced, coerced against your will. These people aren't. They choose this lifestyle."
"Well they're freaks." I mutter and sit down again. I look at him. His face is serious, his mouth tight.
"That's what Donovan calls me too John." He gets up and goes out of the room. Damn.
I don't go after him. I know I'm in the wrong. I've been judgemental and unfair. I know I've hurt him but I'm still angry because I feel he forced me into this meeting with this woman and I feel scared about going. So I just sit there.
In the end I'm bored, so I pick up a book. How to be Kinky with its sexily dressed woman on the cover seems the least threatening. I flick to the index and start reading. Two and a half hours later I look up and I realise two things. One it's going dark outside and two, Sherlock hasn't come back. I put the book down and decide to look for him. I have to apologise.
I find him lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. He doesn't open them when I come in but I know he isn't asleep, there's something of an awareness about his posture. I sit on the edge of the bed. He still doesn't move.
"Sherlock," I put my hand out and touch his shin.
"Hmm?" he doesn't open his eyes but at least he's speaking to me.
"Sorry." He is still and I feel the silence between us, uncomfortable and tense. It's horrible. "Sorry I used that word, that I was so judgemental. I just find it hard to understand." He opens his eyes and regards me seriously.
"I don't understand how someone can join the army; kill people they've never met because someone else tells them to. Risk their lives and their friends' lives for a cause that doesn't affect them directly. Have I ever told you that?" My head is reeling. He's never even discussed my decision to join up, never been anything but impressed by the things I've done as a soldier. The shock of this revelation hits me hard. I want to retreat, to say something hurtful and get out of this room but I know that this is pride and ego talking. And both of those voices will only damage the amazing relationship I have with Sherlock. So I tell them to shut up.
"No, you've never told me that." As quick as a flash he's sitting up, folding himself into a cross legged position.
"No I haven't John because I don't think I have the right to judge those people, those decisions." His eyes are bright and intense. I nod slowly and bite my lip.
"You're right. I know you are. I just... reacted. I suppose what happened to me has coloured my judgement. I still don't understand how...well, what's happened to Eccles then if it's not something to do with these people?" Sherlock laughs.
"They're kinky John, not murderers!" Then he stops for a moment and his next question totally confuses me. "Boxing John, what do you think of boxing?" What? I don't understand.
"Well, I'm not into it; I did a little in the army. It's ok."
"I used to box John." Now my eyes are wide. Sherlock? Boxing? I can't see it, can't imagine him risking his brain, his faculties for a sport. "A long time ago but I did. And I hit people, hard. And I let them hit me." I fight to make sense of his argument.
"But... that's different; I mean it's a sport Sherlock..." I struggle with the explanation.
"Yes I didn't even get anything out of it except maybe winning sometimes. These people, they get something out of it."
"Like what?" he grabs my hands and ducks his head so he can look into my eyes.
"Trust John. Imagine the massive amount of trust which must exist in these people's relationships. The breaking of taboos, the sexual release of one's outward personality and the putting on of another, entirely different one, letting go of what society thinks you should be." I think about this. I think about Sherlock, pinned by his jacket on the kitchen table and how it made me feel. The tremendous sense of power when this brilliantly, dazzlingly clever man succumbs to his lust for me. I nod slowly, something is clicking and he sees it.
"They don't bother anyone else, they don't hurt anyone else and in the traditional sense of the word hurt they don't even hurt each other. Yes they push boundaries, yes they do things that other people wouldn't like but not all sex is the same John is it?" and then he kisses me. As the slow fire spreads through me I think about what he has said. I think about people's reactions to our relationship, how it might have been perceived in the not so distant past. How can I judge how another person finds pleasure? I can't, can I?
He holds my head and his tongue caresses my lip. I am struggling to catch my breath now. I hold on to him by his strong shoulders and he puts his arms around me. We fall back on the bed, just kissing, holding. After a minute he pulls back and smiles at me.
"Let's get back to those books. We might learn something." I splutter and he laughs louder.
So it's 2.25pm and I am outside Ms Brandon's house. Sherlock isn't here; he's stayed at 221b because Lestrade is calling over later and, to be honest, I thought I'd do better alone. Less of an audience for the embarrassment.
After one long breath I lift the silver knocker and announce my presence at the door. After a moment it opens and it's the maid. She's the same small, dark haired woman who answered the door to Sherlock.
"I've got an appointment with Ms Brandon. I'm erm..."
"Mr. Vinyl," she grins, "we all loved that name!" I try to smile and she leads me into the house.
Whatever I expected of the interior is not what I see. The place light and airy, high ceilings and is lavishly decorated, regency chairs upholstered in gold material, marble tables with large plants atop them and a long black marble staircase which winds down from the upper storey. It's beautiful in a cold way.
The maid leads me to a room which has a chaise longue, a sofa and a chair all covered in deep purple velvet. The wood of the furniture is dark, almost black and is complimented by the coffee table on which sits a cut glass fruit bowl filled with wrapped sweets. The bright colours of the packets reflect off the glass facets and glimmer on the dark wood. Long shuttered windows let in the light and there is an enormous fireplace with a real fire crackling and spitting at the other end of the room. It's warm in here, pleasantly so after the chill London air and I take off my jacket. The maid puts out her hand and takes it from me.
"Ms Brandon will be down in a moment, can I get you coffee? Tea?"
"Coffee please." It's all very civilised. I sit in the armchair and try not to stroke the upholstery, it's tactile and comfortable. I unwrap a sweet and then wonder where to put the wrapper. I stuff it into a pocket.
I had a major panic about what to wear today. Sherlock's comments were not helpful. In the end I put on my best black jeans and the jumper I wore to Harry's. I'm all in black so I think I should fit in. I have to get some more clothes at some point.
I'm just thinking this and picking some lint off the knee of my jeans when the door opens and Ms Brandon walks in. She is an amazingly stunning woman. Pale skin, red lips, large dark eyes. Her hair is blonde and piled on her head and she's wearing a sharp grey business suit. She might be a rich business woman, she probably is, the only thing which might give her away are her shoes. They are patent and have a wickedly sharp high heel. I find myself staring at them. She puts out her hand for me to shake.
"Mr. Vinyl," she doesn't laugh or even smile. Her expression is professional, polite. "How wonderful to meet a friend of Simon's." This reminds me why I'm here. What has happened to Simon?
"Hi, Ms Brandon. Yes, Simon gave me your number and said I should get in touch with you. He said you had some interesting gatherings which I might like to attend." She smiles. She really is stunning.
"How is Simon? We've not seen him for a while?" her concern seems genuine. I file the comment away. "Of course you'll be eager to get going and we'll get to that but first I'd like to find out a little about your interests and about you. Have you been part of a group before...?" She's asking my name.
"John," I say. "John Holmes." She smiles again.
"John, have you been a member of a group before?"
"No," I shake my head. "I've erm... played with partners before but never a group."
"And are you with someone now?" Oh dear. I go for honesty.
"Yes, yes I am. I think he's had some experience before but I'm not sure." She nods again and takes a PDA from a drawer in the coffee table.
"Do you mind if I? I like to keep everyone's details on file so we can ensure you get what you want and no one..."
"Gets hurt?" I offer smiling. She chuckles.
"Well, not quite. At least not if that isn't what they want." Her smile broadens. I laugh, relaxing into the conversation. She taps on the screen with the tiny pen.
"So I have a checklist you might want to look at and then we can talk about previous experience. Do you have any previous experience John?" I like her, she seems kind and genuine and I want to tell her the truth. I tell her half of it.
"Well, like I said I've had some experience of role play," Jennifer Slater, aged 21 she dressed as a nurse, once. "And I've had some experience with pain," Sandra Bingham, aged 25, chewed my nipple a bit enthusiastically. "And some experience of bondage," Sherlock Holmes aged 34 pinned to kitchen table with jacket. "I think I liked the bondage best." She grins.
"I think we might be just the people for you." She hands me the PDA as the maid brings in the coffee. Ms Brandon stands up.
"I just have something with which I must attend. Please, look at the checklist, tick off what you can and I'll answer any questions when I get back." I'm left alone. I look at the list in my hands.
Anal penetration, anal fisting, triple penetration, fellatio, group sex, exhibitionism, breath play, edge play, bondage – knots or fastenings, gags, slings, spreader bars, suspension, corsetry, enforced feminisation, golden showers/scat, humiliation - verbal, physical, public, enforced chastity, kidnap play, age play, interrogation, role play. Jesus. I click the next page. It's full of instruments, props I suppose paddles, canes, whips, crops. I have no idea what to tick.
Ms Brandon comes back and I frown. She frowns too.
"Is everything ok? Did you not see something you liked?" She is concerned as though I am buying a car and want the colour they don't have.
"No, no. I was wondering if you have a paper copy I could..." she brings one from behind her back with a flourish and a warm smile.
"People often find this a little daunting John, don't worry. As long as you get it back to me by Saturday morning so I can arrange anything special for you." It's all so amicable, so normal I am feeling like I just fell into a very surreal novel.
"Thanks. Thanks." I fold the paper and hold it in my hand. Ms Brandon looks uncomfortable for a moment.
"John, I'm very sorry but... well a client is proving very difficult and I think I had better go and attend..." she grimaces slightly.
"Of course, of course, I'll just get my jacket and ..." she smiles as the maid bring the very item of clothing in.
"Well I look forward to seeing you on Saturday John. Although I might not... oh did I mention it's a masked party? It adds to the fun although most people can tell who they are playing with." I gulp. "And do bring your partner if he's up for it."
The maid sees me to the door and I start to walk down towards the tube station.
My mind is buzzing with random thoughts. How was she going to deal with her client? With a whip? A dildo? What is Sherlock going to make of this list? I have to admit the idea of going through it with him, finding out what he knows, what he might have done, is interesting. I grin to myself. A mask, I have to get a mask. I stop on the street. I have become so enamoured of the role I was playing I realise I have agreed to go on Saturday to a BDSM play party. Fucking hell.
Hey, hey, hey to The Baker St Irregulars! I can't get over how helpful and lovely and enthusiastic you all are!I love you: PrincessNala Peachsilk, Darmed (where are you?), Clubba Bear, Tasty- Kate(and where are you?) , 2cajuman2,Tanya Zsa Zsa, Aelfric's cat, Nellyington, mrs winny and Despairandcupcakechild! You're wonderful people!
Love as always to OHOB and Reggie cxx
