Guest Blogger: Katrina Strauss

Many thanks to James for inviting me to play here today. When it comes to play, shouldn’t it be fun? Yet for all the enjoyment of BDSM, sometimes we can forget it’s meant to be fun, or that fun can be, well, funny!

When my partner and I ventured into the lifestyle years ago, we were so serious about it. I recall our first visit to fetish shop Leather by Boots, located in Dallas’s gay neighborhood Oak Lawn. I stood by, expecting my Dom to go in first. He waited, door open, with a stern-lipped look. Taking the hint, I bowed my head in apology and went ahead of him.

Two middle-aged bears stood behind the counter. One of them wore a leather vest over a white T-shirt with leather pants. His co-worker, who I would later learn was Leather Daddy’s boy and shop co-owner, simply wore a polo shirt tucked into jeans. They both watched with amused looks as my Dom and I navigated the store and communicated with questioning glances from me, authoritative nods from him. In retrospect, Leather Daddy and his boy probably knew we were n00bs because we were So. Fucking. Serious.

That, and this was during our goth-as-fuck days, the two of us decked out in black vinyl, fishnet, and boots. My ensemble included hot pants, while my Dom wore more eyeliner than I did.

“You two look like you should be behind this counter,” Leather Daddy cracked. My partner and I laughed. The silence broken, the shop owners came out from behind the counter and asked what they could do for us. The conversation took a warm, friendly tone from there. It was at that moment that I realized “Wow! BDSM can be, you know, fun!”

We discussed what accessories my Dom and I already had on hand versus what we needed or wanted to upgrade. After making a few selections (read: the basic beginner’s pack) we looked at the paddles. “What about riding crops, Sir?” I whispered.

“What about riding crops?” my Dom asked out loud.

Leather Daddy explained how metropolitan Dallas was still part of the Bible Belt, and for whatever reason, nipple clamps, ball gags, and leather paddles could be sold as novelty items while riding crops had been deemed a no-no. As he rang up our purchase, he referred us to another store. “Their crops are kind of cheap, but serve their purpose.” He scribbled on a slip of paper and passed it to my Dom. Elliott’s, it said. According to the crudely-drawn map, Elliot’s was a few blocks away on the edge of Oak Lawn.

The owners’ shared sly grins struck my partner as odd. “What kind of store is this?” he asked.

Leather Daddy’s grin widened. “A hardware store.”

“Seriously?” I blurted.

“You’ll see. Check out aisle 17. Agricultural goods are a few rows over.”

His boy chimed in. “We should get a referral fee for every customer we send their way.”

A short drive later, my partner pulled into the parking lot of Elliott’s Hardware. As we crossed the sun-baked asphalt, we passed a bowlegged farmer in flannel shirt, faded jeans, straw hat, and cowboy boots. He eyeballed my legs, tipped his hat at my Dom who he probably thought was a girl, then spit a wad of snuff in the opposite direction. He jangled his keys and walked to a ramshackle pickup truck weighed down with bales of hay. I noticed similar vehicles parked between Jags and Bimmers. “Only in Dallas,” I muttered.

We walked through the doors of Elliott’s. We were greeted by a blast of A/C and a display of power tools, lava lamps, and pink patio furniture. “Only in Oak Lawn,” I added to my previous sentiment.

We headed straight to aisle 17. Yep, they had riding crops, in every color of the rainbow – which meant no black, so we settled on blue. Two aisles over, we found various types of rope. My Dom, who was himself learning the ropes, tossed a coil of white nylon into the cart.

As we wandered the aisles, my eye was caught by housewares. “Clothes pin!” I announced. I corrected myself. “Sir, can we get some clothes pins, please?” I held up a bag of wooden ones.

“What about plastic?” he asked. “We could get blue to match the riding crop.”

“Wood gives a better pinch.”

“Get a bag then.”

The preppy gentleman standing near us edged slowly away. I guess he got the hint we weren’t talking laundry. I threw the clothes pins into the cart next to the riding crop and rope. I grabbed some really cute dish cloths while I was at it. Hey, they matched my kitchen theme, and they were marked down!

We found the agricultural aisle. A tall woman in a black dress and high heels studied the spreader bars. Her companion, a short, meek gentleman, stood dutifully by with the cart. I peeked and saw they’d picked up one of the lava lamps, bathroom cleaner, and a toilet brush.

She eyed our cart in turn, then each of us. She addressed my partner, apparently sensing a fellow Dominant. “Excuse me, where did you find the riding crops?”

“Aisle 17,” he told her.

She thanked him and walked away, heels clicking against tile, her sub following behind. I got the hint they weren’t farmers any more than we were. My partner and I discussed the spreader bars, but decided they were too heavy-duty and that we’d be better off with ones tailored specifically for play. Another customer cleared his throat and scuttled away.

We went to the checkout lane. A young black woman stood at the register. She eyed us in our vinyl and fishnet. She studied our selection rolling down the conveyor belt. With a hand on her hip, she shook her head and quietly rang us up. I suspect she was thinking “Who keeps sending these freaks over here?” I was tempted to ask for the Leather by Boots referral discount, but refrained. She looked like she’d had a long day.

My partner and I laughed all the way home. We learned a valuable lesson that day: It’s okay to inject some humor into BDSM. I think of other hilarious moments friends have shared. Like the professional Domme onstage at a club. One of her stiletto heels broke halfway through the scene. “Look what you made me do!” she growled, shaking the heel in her bent-and-bound sub’s face. He trembled, not from fear but because he was trying not to laugh. She made him clench the heel between his teeth, then hobbled around behind him where she proceeded to flog his ass six ways to Sunday. He wasn’t laughing anymore!

Or the May/December couple role-playing as teacher/student. He took her past her comfort zone during the spanking session, and she forgot the safe word. She turned around, skirt hiked over her hips, ponytails whipping in her face, and jerked the paddle from his hand. She yelled “I don’t think so, motherfucker!” and threw the paddle across the room. This scenario might sound disturbing to those of us who know how intense things get when a Dom/me brings their sub to the breaking point. But this couple took turns laughing in the middle of Denny’s as they regaled us with their tale of how she then cursed him with every name in the book while he massaged her rump, talked her down, and gently reminded her that “motherfucker” wasn’t the safe word. They went on to integrate what they learned from that mishap into future scenes. He quite liked it when she stole the paddle from him and cussed him out. It gave him reason to rein her in and paddle her all the harder.

Don’t get me wrong. In my younger days, I liked my play dark, rough, and intense. But really, as in all matters of life, it’s okay to laugh. What’s the point of any relationship if it’s not fun?

And if you’re ever in Dallas, check out Elliott’s Hardware on Maple Avenue. Let me know if the riding crops are still on aisle 17.

Warped at a young age by sneak peeks at her grandmother’s romance novels, Katrina Strauss pays homage to the genre with her own spicy twist. Be it homoerotic, heterosexual, or menage, from steamy romance to fetish and kink, her stories are all about exploring our innermost desires with that special someone.

A Texan by birthright with the accent to prove it, Katrina currently lives with her family near St. Louis, Missouri. When not writing, she enjoys reading, cooking, music, and entirely too much anime.

Learn more about Katrina’s BDSM series Blue Ruin and The Eldritch Legacy at: http://www.katrinastrauss.com/