Everyone takes BDSM so freaking seriously. Stories from women emphasize their emotional state when the perfect master does the perfect thing at the perfect time. Men write stories about their abilities to mold subs into perfect slaves that live for their every touch. Well I’ve been into this for a big portion of my life and I’ve never had a scene so Hollywood perfect.

What about the fuck-ups, the miss-cues or the funny shit that happens to us all? This is a true story that happened some time in the early-1990’s. I will admit that I embellished a little bit in the interest of readability.

BACKGROUND

I knew of Ray for all things Tiki, like me he loved drinks served in coconuts, girls in grass skirts, Don Ho and Hawaiian shirts. It wasn’t until some time later when a chance encounter at a local BDSM party where we learned of our other fetish…BDSM.  We became pretty decent friends, but his high strung ‘gotta do everything and everything needs to be done now’ personality wore quickly on me, so I could really only hang around him in small doses.

He was in his mid 40’s friendly, funny and a very likable guy with a touch of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). Ray was (is) the guy at the BDSM clubs who seemed to always have a crowd around him listening to his stories or laughing at his jokes. His idea of publicly degrading his sub was to have her walk around in a crowd wearing little more than a pair of Groucho glasses (ok I made that up, but that is the kind of thing I can see him doing).

He had made a pretty decent living for himself dabbling around in different business ventures, and when his mother passed away and he became the sole inheritor of the estate that she and his father had made, he found himself in control of a sizable fortune. After the time it took for the inheritance to go through all the legal mumbo jumbo that all estates must go through and he had the money in the bank he went out in search of his dream, a large piece of property that he could convert into a Tiki oasis.

It didn’t take him long to find a house with an acre and a half in the east county of San Diego. Wedged in between two rock covered hills it was very private and a bit isolated with sage brush and Scrub Oaks dominating the landscape. The house was a non-descript three bedroom ranch of about 1300 square feet and the yard was mostly dirt, dead or dying grass and a few cacti here and there. The house was shaded on one side by a grove of Eucalyptus trees which killed any other plants near them when they shed their poisonous leaves. On the other side were a couple of bushy looking pine trees which killed all vegetation around them with equal abandon. There was a car port that didn’t look like it would last much longer and a rusting chain link fence that surrounded the dismal looking back yard.

After he moved in he was hardly seen in the old haunts. If he wasn’t working at his job he was working on the house, if he wasn’t working on the house he was working on the yard. He was burning the candle at both ends and killing himself during the process. The few times his sub Jill got him to take a break from construction and got him to go to a club or bar his exhaustion was obvious to everyone who know him. He wasn’t as boisterous, didn’t tell as many jokes and he had lost weight. The only time he would seem like his old self is when he was talking about what he was doing to and planning to do with the house.

Being an architectural student at the time I would get frantic phone calls from him asking me to come out and help him. I’d haul my ass out there, look at what he was thinking about doing, give him my two cents and then he’d do whatever he wanted. It was a bit frustrating, but oh well it was his house and money, not mine.

Finally after a little over a year he was done and wanted to christen the new digs with a big party, but not just any party, a Tiki/BDSM party. Knowing him and his personality it didn’t surprise me to learn later that he had actually looked into getting the king of Hawaiian music, Don Ho, to play at it but found out that it was just too much money

It was now early March and it had been about four months since I had been at the house and the change was remarkable. In the front yard the Eucalyptus and Pine trees were gone, replaced with big Palm trees. Not the stereotypical super tall kind that you see lining the streets of southern California, but big bushy ones that provided the same amount of shade as the old trees. Gone was all the dead lawn, patches of dirt and unkempt bushes, they were all replace with thick soft deep green grass bordered by lava rocks and bamboo edging defining an amorphous shaped yard with planting beds filled with tropical flowers and plants.

The back yard turned out to be the tropical Tiki paradise that Ray had always wanted, enclosed by a six foot high bamboo fence straight out of an episode of Gilligan’s Island. From the new back deck you stepped down a couple of steps to a large kidney shaped pool surrounded by grass and edged with rocks imported from Tahiti. There was a water fall cascading over lava rocks into the deep end that acted as the entrance to his own version of the Playboy Mansion’s grotto. Past the pool was another amorphously shaped lawn, except this one seemed to go on forever. Tiki heads and colored flood lights were everywhere, and about two-thirds to the end was a thatched gazebo eating/sitting area with a huge BBQ, wet bar, Rattan patio set and TV. It was simply gorgeous. 

THE PARTY

The party started at noon and Ray was back to his old self, acting like the proud father of an over achieving child and telling everyone time and time again how he did it all. He went on in great detail about the techno gizmo that water all plants with half the water as normal, and about how he made the yard as animal proof as possible by setting all the bamboo that made up the fence in concrete so that the Raccoons, Skunks, Coyotes and Possums couldn’t dig under it, but that from time to time that would get in via the gate but not too often. He told us of the sixteen speaker sound system that was hidden in the jungle, and how he ran cable TV and electrical wires to the far ends of the yard.

More and more people started to show up by 1:00 dressed in their best Luau clothes. Hawaiian shirts, straw hats, grass skirts and coconut bras were worn by most. Personally I showed up wearing my best red velvet Fez, a shirt with Hula girls, beige shorts Huaraches and black socks just to make the point. In difference to what vanilla people may think of the BDSM community this wasn’t some free-for-all orgy of something. Primarily because until 5:00 there were kids at the party, and secondly…well...because it was a Luau first and foremost damn it.

The day was hot, really hot. For those who don’t know, San Diego is in a desert and the east county is really in the desert. So here it is hot and dry and Ray and Jill are busy keeping everyone cool with fruity tropical drinks. Mai Tai’s, Daiquiris, Blue Hawaiians, Margaritas…pretty much anything with crushed iced, a primary or secondary color and a pineapple wedge. Now all the BDSMer’s at the party knew full well that alcohol and BDSM don’t mix, but we weren’t thinking about that at 4:00 in the afternoon in a tropical paradise with kids running around. What we were thinking was:

“It’s freaking hot, and damn this is a good Hurricane!”

So by the time all the parents left with the kids everyone was feeling pretty loopy. Ray and Jill had even cut the booze in the mix by half at 3:00 but the deleterious effects were still apparent.

After the sun had been down for about an hour it was becoming more and more obvious that the Tiki portion of the party was coming to an end and the BDSM part was starting. A few of the coconut bras had been shed, grass skirts were replaced by thongs, and the flowery leis had been replaced by collars. The colored flood lights cast eerily shaped shadows from the plants and turned the once novel Tiki heads into things a bit more sinister. This only added to the ambiance created in the background by the drone of tropical drum music that enveloped the entire yard from the speakers hidden within the landscaping. Images of virgin sacrifices for the appeasement of angry gods filled my befuddled, and mostly inebriated, mind. The mood seemed to be spreading throughout the party as things became quieter. Subs/slaves were now kneeling with down cast eyes as they brought their increasingly tipsy Masters/Mistresses one more tropical concoction.

This erotic mood was broken temporarily when Ray’s computerized watering system, the Yard Soaker 3000, came on because he forgot to turn it off for the party. Fortunately it didn’t take long for the guests (about 20 or so) to laugh it off while ribbing Ray for his forgetfulness. Ray, being Ray, tried to explain in detail the intricacies of the system again, but no one really was interested in hearing another version of the same story they heard once or twice earlier in the day. They were far more interested in what was starting over at the gazebo.

Karen, a large chest tattooed Domme of all things young and pretty (regardless of gender) was starting to have a little fun with Barb, a very attractive young 20 something woman who was on loan to Karen from Barbs boyfriend Miles. Miles was sitting behind them watching them get warmed up with a smile across his face and looking like he was many sheets to the wind with flushed cheeks and, though sitting, swaying slightly from side to side.

Karen used Miles’ handcuffs on Barb who was restrained with her hands above her by a chain that went from the handcuffs to the structure of the gazebo. Miles kept the key to the cuffs on his enormous key ring that he wore on his hip like a school janitor. Barb was thin and tan with exposed breast with pierced nipples and little white see through thong panties. Karen started on Barb with her fingernails and giving her ass a little swat here and there for a few minutes before showing Barb the instruments of her torture. There was a blindfold, leather whips, nipple clamps and clit clamps, dildos, but plugs and candles. Barb looked at the assortment and gave a little Cheshire grin and raised an eyebrow as if to say “Oh yea, bring it on!” Barb was no novice.

The way Barb was standing there, bare foot with two toe rings and an anklet, with her tan and long dark brown hair spilling over her shoulders she almost looked like the sacrificial virgin I was imagining earlier. If her eyes had been more almond shaped and her hair a few shades darker she would have fit perfectly. She had round hips a flat stomach and wonderfully shaped breasts.

The blindfold was the first item to be used, then small whip, some more fingernails, then a butt plug. Karen took her time as she spun Barb around to show her audience. About this time Miles stood up, with some difficulty, and made his apologies that he had to go inside for a moment to use the bathroom. Little did he know that all hell was about to break loose.

Barb, now completely naked, was certainly enjoying both the attention of the on lookers and the attention of Karen. The longer things went on the quicker she responded to Karen’s touch and orders. When Karen ran the back of her finger from Barbs throat downward, Barb, without hesitation or command, spread her legs as soon as Karen’s finger past her navel. Everything was going swimmingly as Karen looked over her arsenal of toys trying to decide with what next to assault Barb. The on lookers were deafly quiet, albeit swaying and/or holding onto each other for support, when there was a little rustle in the bushes next to Barb and behind bit. Then there was another rustle and we all looked over to see nothing except for a bush shaking a bit. Cleo (a woman I had met just that night) was the closest non-chained-up person to the bush, took a few steps closer to investigate as Karen, dildo in hand, walked intently behind Barb to look too.

“What is it” Barb asked as she turned toward the sound as if she could see through the blind fold.

“I dunno, probably a cat or something” said Karen as she leaned in to move a palm frawn when Cleo screamed at the top of her lungs;

“SKUNK!”

In almost synchronized unison the entire group of on-lookers jumped back as a stream of liquid came squirting out of the bushes a good six feet to hit Barb square in the chest.

“AAAARRRRHHHHGGGG” screamed Barb as she fought against the handcuffs in an attempt to get away.

Cleo had spun around and fell to the ground the second she saw it was a skunk and was crawling away on her elbows as quickly as she could.

Karen ran over to Barb to get her down but when she realized that Miles had the key, she looked up in horror not knowing what to do.

Barb was now screaming hysterically as she was laying into the chain that held her with all her worth.

Some idiot, in his drunken logic, decided that he would run around to the other side of the bushes to head the skunk off at the pass. Why? I have no idea, he just ran around one side and the skunk popped out on our side along with a second skunk. Both scared, confused and armed with stench and not afraid to use it.

Someone had run up toward the house yelling for Miles, who was now just walking out of the kitchen with a fresh strawberry Daiquiri in hand, and tried to tell him what just happened through his currently softened head.

By now the idiot that had cut off the skunks from fleeing was coming through the bushes, and when Barb let out her next blood curdling scream they both let her have it at point blank range!

Miles, having finally realized what the hell was going on, and upon hearing Barb’s scream, ran across the deck, knocked over the patio table sending drinks and food flying, jumped down onto the now wet grass in his flip flops, slips, wrenched his knee, fell down and slid head first into the pool Daiquiri still in hand where in the pool the Grenadine from the strawberry mix formed a red blotch like blood from a bullet wound.

I’m now yelling at the idiot to get out of the bushes and the skunks are freaking out spraying at everything that moves….which is Barb, or spraying at anything that’s screaming…which is Barb…and spraying at the on-lookers…who are on the other side of Barb. So Barb is by this time pretty drenched in skunk juice.

Ray has, in the mean time jumped in the pool to get Miles who has sunk to bottom (at least it was the shallow end) and pulls him up, Miles is in so much pain he’s almost crying. Ray pulls him over to the steps of the pool and grabs his keys but can’t get them off because he doesn’t know how to unlatch the hooky thingy that the key ring is attached to. He can’t just break them off because the hooky thingy is around Miles belt not the belt loop and Miles isn’t much help due to the pain.

Now the skunk are running in circles, there’s an impenetrable fence on one side that does an equally good job at barring their entrance to the yard as it does preventing their escape from the yard, a half circle of drunken rabble rousers on another side looking back at them, an idiot in the bushes who’s coming right at them on another side and some naked screaming woman who won’t shut the fuck up no matter how many times they spray her on the last side.

Barb is now not only hoarse from screaming but is also projectile vomiting like she’s a fountain in the middle of Paris. Pulling back against the restraints with all her might, striking a pose then “RRAALLPPHH” she goes off. If it wasn’t for the unfortunate color of baby shit brown it would have been sight to be seen.

Ray finally gets some help from Miles and gets him to take his belt off and comes running to the rescues when he steps in Barbs reminisce of hamburger, fruit wedges and alcohol from the past 5 hours, slips and falls in it to the sound of  a fifteen person choir of “EEEWWW”. But being the trooper that he is, he’s up in a heart beat and looks for the key…and looks…and looks….and….there’s like a million keys on the freaking key ring! Keys from Miles gym locker back in high school twenty years ago, keys to his first apartment and to the pad lock of his parents garage. Ray’s doing his best but there’s only so much he can do.

In the mean time idiot is out of the bushes and behind us but the skunks don’t realize that they have a way out. So a couple of us try to ‘shoo’ them in that direction. But how the hell do you shoo a skunk?! I mean you say ‘shoo!’ they turn to run and you, seeing the back end of the skunk run, and then they stop to see what you’re doing and don’t shoo. It’s like a comedy of errors.

Barb is now sobbing uncontrollably between dry heaves and Ray’s eyes are watering from the stench on Barb, and the sympathy nausea so many of us get when we see someone else puke ad nauseam. If you’ve never had the pleasure of smelling a skunk close up then let me tell you what it smells like. First off it smells nothing like what you may smell floating on a spring breeze and you drive by. It smells like a combination of burning rubber mixed with the morning urine of a bum who found a twenty the night before, mixed up in a jar and left to ferment in the hot Arizona desert for a few days….then mix it with some dog shit just to add a little stench for good measure, it’s horrendous.

Finally after what seemed to be three passes of each key on the ring, Ray found the right one and unlocked the cuffs. Barb collapsed with exhaustion, someone ran over to her and helped Ray get her back to the porch where Miles was now laying with a couple of bags of frozen veggies on his knee being attended to by some guy who was a physical therapist. It was amazing to watch, I’ve have yet to see a body part swell as quickly as Miles knee, it was like watching a Ballpark frank plumping as you cook them.

Barb wanted to make a bee line for the shower but Ray was not going to have skunk juice in his newly remodeled home. So he got her to sit there as people brought bucket after bucket of soapy water to her. She had three people with wash clothes scrubbing her from head to toe as she sat there limp. People were gathering around Barb to console her but the smell drove them away to a safe distance where they made their polite comments about how “it’s going to be alright” and ‘it’s not so bad’ as they tried not to puke themselves.

When all seemed to be finally calming down, Barbs sobbing had fallen off to the occasional sniffle and the ice numbed Miles’ knee, which was now the size of a bowling ball, the only thing that could make matters worse happened. We all heard it in slow motion, the gate from the front yard to the back opened and two San Diego County Sheriffs came walking in to see nearly naked and topless women wearing collars, some even with leashes standing around as others were wiping down a completely naked crying woman who was still wear a handcuff on one very bruised wrist. All among the ruins of patio furniture, food, clothes, underwear, grass skirts and all the other debris that appears during the course of a party. Beyond the crying girl laid an obviously drunk injured man who was babbling about his ACL, his bowling game, and something about pixies (I still don’t know anything about that last comment).

For a moment, frozen in time, they stared at us and we just stared at them, no one, not even the Sheriffs knew what to say.

“Um….” The first cop said “…what in the hell is going on here? Miss, are you ok?” He said to Barb.

To which Barb responded to with her best Lucile Ball impersonation “WWHHAAYYY” and she started to cry all over again.

“Ok, who owns this house?” He said not fucking around

Ray came up from the behind Miles with an “I’m so fucked” look on his face. “I do officer” he said dejectedly.

“Get over here and nobody move” he commanded.

“OOO, I like him” joked a sub, whose comment wasn’t received with the levity in which it was given. Her smile faded quickly in response to all the frowning faces looking back at her and she looked down at her feet.

The second cop moved towards Barb with his flash light aimed at the dangling handcuff. He was about to lean in for a much closer inspection when he got a whiff.

“OH MY GOD” he stammered as he took a step back and pinched his nose

“What?” said the other cop almost panicked like his partner had just seen something horrific.

“I think she got sprayed by a skunk”

“Sprayed by a…?” *sniff*…*sniff*…”ewe” he said.

“Did you get sprayed by a skunk miss?” asked the partner

“Uh…*sob*…huh” wept Barb

“Is that why you’re crying?” He asked

“Uh…*sniff*…*sob*…huh”

“Has anyone hurt your”?

“Uh….uh” Barb shook her head

The first cop relaxed a bit and turned his attention to Ray. Pointed at him said “Come here, we need to talk”

They went off back to the gazebo where we watched as Ray did the best he could to convince the cop that nothing illegal had been going on. The other cop stuck around Barb for awhile making sure she wasn’t covering for someone then went over to Miles to check on him and see how he was involved with all this. The whole time looking around at the topless girls and the accoutrements of our fetishes laying about and giving us all a very confused look. The most confused look had to have come when he was done looking at Miles knee and walked back to where Barb was. He, like all cops had one of those uber flashlights and like all cops was pointing it at all of the trash, cups and stuff that littered the back yard as if he was making a mental inventory when he came across the butt plug that was once in Barbs back side but now laid there unceremoniously on the grass and her feet covered in dirt and grass bits.

“Uh…what’s that?” he asked having no idea what it was.

“Oh…that’s mine, it’s nothing” said Barb picking it up and putting behind her back.

That was the only time I’ve ever seen a cop have the “I don’t want to know what that was” look on his face and mean it.

It turned out that even though Ray’s house was pretty far from his nearest neighbor, Barbs screams were loud enough, and blood curdling enough to gain the attention of the neighbors who called the cops.

As they were leaving, a few of us walked out front with them and when the turned on their head lights there were the skunks running across the street, and I swear I saw the little fuckers giggling to each other.

AFTERWARD

Well Miles and Barb ended up at the hospital where they put Miles into a serious looking leg brace and helped Barb with the smell. It took her awhile to get over things but she eventually did.

A few weeks later Miles ended up having surgery on his ACL.

Ray had other parties until his house was lost in the Cedar fire in 2003. He took the insurance money and moved to Hawaii.