[This story, a wonderful continuation of one of my personal favorites, How I became a Bondage Addict, was published in Issue 8 (January/February 1989). BW]
THE FINE ART OF HOG-TYING
By the time I was 12 or 13 years old, I had been playing bondage games for many years. I must have been a precocious kid, because by the time I was four, I was trying to tie my uncle's legs. He was a good-looking man in his mid twenties, and a soldier in the U.S. Army; needless to say, those attempts left me with a fetish for men who wear boots! During WW II, my uncle had been wounded in France; he was recovering at home while he waited for his discharge. I have no idea why he tolerated my trying to tie his legs. While I have no memory of those attempts, they were, however, part of the family's oral folklore, and as I was growing up, my parents, or other relatives, would sometimes mention them, to their amusement, and my embarrassment.
I was an only child; perhaps that helped me to develop an active imagination: it passed the time, and besides, my imaginary friends and our imaginary adventures were always exciting. I was about eight years old when I met "T"; he was an attractive boy my age, and we eventually became best friends. He was an only child also, and I assume he had imaginary friends and adventures too. I don't recall when or why we began tying each other up; it probably started with games like cops and robbers, cowboys and indians. I always seemed to be the one who started our bondage games; T rarely did. He was always a willing participant, however. We started a "secret" club when we were about ten years old, and new members were initiated by being tied to a post in my basement. I wanted the club to succeed so I could meet other boys who also enjoyed playing bondage games. Unfortunately, I never did; T remained the only friend I could regularly persuade to play them.
For some reason, T always had a better sense of what the latest trends in clothing were among boys our age than I did. When Levi jeans became available in our town, he bought a pair; later, he persuaded me to get a pair too. They were zipper fly; stores in our town did not begin selling button fly 501's until years later. Boys our age wore their Levis in one of two ways: some, mostly "greasers", bought them a couple inches larger than normal in the waist so they could wear them as low on their hips as possible; that was cool. I hated the baggy, diapered look it gave to the seat. Others, T, myself, and our friends, wore our Levis snug, if not actually tight. While I did not understand why, I loved to look at the way another boy's butt filled a tight pair of Levis. We would buy them a couple inches long in the leg so we could roll them up; narrow cuffs were cool; 1/2 inch or less was very cool. Eventually, I began to wear a Levi jacket; I also had a pair of light brown ACME cowboy boots. As my Levis faded to a lighter shade of blue, I thought they set my boots off beautifully. One day my aunt, who had just returned from a visit with her son, who lived in Texas, happened to see me in the yard wearing my boots and Levis. She didn't think much of Texans, and said I looked just like a "Texas cowboy"; I knew that what she meant was that I shouldn't dress that way. I took what she said as a real compliment, however. To me, wearing my boots and faded Levis seemed to make the sheriff/cowboy bondage games I played with T more realistic.
Within a couple of years, the "Brando" biker look started to become popular with boys my age. For once, I was ahead of T. One day, my mother took me to a department store to buy a winter coat. Exactly what she thought when her 12 year old son picked out a black "genuine horsehide" (it was, too) CHP style motorcycle jacket, I never knew; but she did buy it for me. She drew the line at buying me a pair of black motorcycle (engineer) boots, but after pestering her for a few months, I finally got them too. Soon after, T followed my lead, and got his own leather jacket and boots. Walking down the street together, T and I must have looked almost like twins (clones?); if we had been zapped into the future, we would have looked right at home on Christopher Street, or South of Market; and we were only a couple of 12 or 13 year old boys! For a while, we had to put up with some ribbing from our friends, but eventually, more and more of them began to copy "our" look. Whether our friends also used our look as a starting point to get into their own cop/biker bondage games, I never knew. (I was in San Francisco about a year ago. As I was walking up Polk Street, I saw three boys, all about 14 years old, loitering in a store front. They were "skinheads", and were dressed in "Punk Rocker" uniforms: Bomber jackets, tee shirts, air conditioned Levis rolled half way up the leg, and Doc Martins with white laces. Politics aside, to this dirty old man, I thought they looked beautiful! As I passed them, I smiled to myself as I thought how more than 30 years ago, some other equally dirty old man must have looked at T and me in our black leather jackets and motorcycle boots, and thought we looked pretty beautiful too.)
My father worked for a small manufacturing company. It was located in the country, in a heavily wooded area, on a large plot of land, roughly triangular in shape. Years later, the land was developed into an industrial park. It was bounded by the tracks of three different railroads. One of the railroads had a freight spur which ran behind the company, and from time to time, they parked empty box cars on it. During the summer, my father would sometimes invite me to spend the day with him "in the country"; and I would invite T to come along. While my father worked, we boys would play, and what a playground we had! We would spend hours exploring the woods, watching trains go by (there were still a few steam locomotives in service), and playing bondage games. We had a secret clearing in the woods where we would make a tent by throwing a blanket over a rope strung between two trees; our parents never suspected that we used what rope was left over on each other.
If we hadn't played any bondage games for a while, I would usually suggest to T that we practice on each other before getting into them. Practice meant crawling into our tent, and trying out any old (or new) ways we could think of to tie each other up. We would use the softest, thickest cotton rope or sash cord we could find; sometimes that was difficult. (The trick of running a new rope through the washer, to soften it, and then through the dryer, to fluff it up, never occurred to us.)
When tying each other up, we would usually "hog-tie" each other; we found it was the simplest way to immobilize a guy, and also the most difficult to get loose from. We would start with a piece of rope about 15 feet long. If T was tying me up, I would lay belly down on the floor of our tent; T would get on his knees, straddle my butt between them, and sit on my thighs. He would pull my arms behind my back, crossing my hands at the wrists. He would use the center part of the rope to tie them together; as he looped the rope around my wrists, he would be careful to use the same amount from each half, so as to keep the length of unused rope on each end about the same. He would also try to wrap about the same number of loops around each wrists; that made for the neatest looking job.
I liked to wait until I had at best a 50-50 chance of getting free, and then I would start to struggle. If he was fast enough, T could usually manage to get enough extra rope around my wrists to keep me in control. I always like the special feeling that came over me at the moment I knew I couldn't get loose, and that I really had become T's prisoner. I never liked to give up easily, however, and sometimes, even with my hands tied behind my back, we could still get into some pretty good wrestling matches. Of course, if I couldn't break free, T would always win: he learned he could wrap his legs around mine and lock them so I couldn't use them to kick or push us around; then he would use the weight of his own body to pin me to the ground until I either gave up, or tired myself out from struggling with him.
Depending on how hard I was to control, T would try to tie my wrists with the least amount of rope possible. At some point, we had discovered that using too much rope, and tying it too tightly, was not the best way to keep a guy tied up for very long: using too much rope actually made it easy for a guy to get loose by "pulling out" enough slack in the loops to slip one free, and once one loop was free, it was easy to get free of the others; tying the rope too tightly would most likely cut off so much blood circulation that a guy couldn't be kept tied up for very long.
When T was satisfied that he had enough rope around my wrists to prevent me from getting loose any time soon, he would tie the rope off at my wrists with a good tight knot. Then he would reach under my belly and pull the free ends of the rope around my waist from one side and then the other. Once he had the ends of the rope wrapped around my waist, he would tie it off with another knot in the small of my back. I liked the way these waist ropes added to the feeling of restraint; they also made it harder for a guy to untie his hands since he couldn't easily move them from side to side to get a really good look at where to start trying to untie them.
T would then sit on my legs and pin them; he would use another rope, about 5 to 10 feet long to tie them at the ankles. I don't know what I liked best, the feeling of T tying a rope around my legs, or the way I felt when I tied T's legs. Since we both usually wore boots, we could tie each other's ankles about as tight as we wanted without ever cutting off circulation. For myself, I know I really liked feeling a good tight rope around my boots; I also know that there was something about the way T's boots looked after I had tied a few lengths of rope around them that fascinated me. I have never understood why; perhaps it was all the result of being "patterned" by my attempts at tying my uncle's legs when I was four years old.
If T felt I needed to be taught a lesson for having struggled with him, he would "buck" or hog-tie me by bending my legs back to my hands, using the free ends of the waist ropes to tie my ankles to my hands. When we tied each other this way, ideally, the same rope which tied hands to waist to ankles would be tied off in a final knot in front of the ankles where it couldn't be reached.
While part of the fun of our bondage games came from tying each other up, another part of the fun came from trying to get loose. Sometimes that was pretty hard to do: since we used relatively short ropes, and tied them off at several different places, it was always tough to pull out enough slack to get loose. Whoever was tied, we would stay with each other, and if it looked as though the guy that was tied up was having real trouble getting loose, then the other guy would help out by showing him where the slack was, or loosening the rope enough so he could eventually work himself free.
tieing someone up or being tied up gives me as much pleasure as you 2 seemed to enjoyed. espacialy when one cant escape. but to me the iceing on the cake would be to be well gagged and blindfolded as well. then one knows then they are realy at their captives mersey. oh jooooy.
Posted by: roper | January 18, 2009 at 10:53 AM