By Bikermike
I contemplated how I had failed as I hung there naked, my wrists in heavy metal shackles suspended from the ceiling; my balls stretched taut by a steel ring, connected to a chain attached to the floor. Thus, my body was fixed there in a tight X shape, my ankles being about three feet apart. There was to be no “stopword”, no release, just the enevitability of a severe beating. l was rock hard and awaited my fate.
I had failed the “edging” test: He had bet me, on the pain of a flogging, that I would ejaculate before an hour of His edgeplay had expired. I will narrate here more or less what happened.
We had met in a nearby bikers’ caff several weeks before. Somehow, our conversation had turned to sex, our fetishes and our perversions. I had confided that I liked man-man sadomasochism; fifty-fifty dom or sub. He told me that while he had “subbed” on a few occasions He considered Himself to be mainly a “top”. He certainly looked the part: He rode a Fireblade and wore a leather race suit that exactly matched the bike’s paintwork. As always, He sat outside the caff with His leathers undone down to His navel, exposing His muscled chest and occasionally allowing a glimpse of His pierced nipples. At six foot four, I somehow could not imagine Him ever “subbing” for anybody!
Andrew died in May of this year, and on Sept 28, a beautiful gathering was held at the LGBT Community Center here in New York to celebrate his life. The service was lovingly organized by his friend Matthew and attended by dozens of people whose lives Andrew touched over the years — many of whom wore leather and/or club colors. Andrew’s own well-worn vests, adorned with his patches from CHC/Inferno and Delta, were hung for all to see. A photo collage and objects from Andrew’s home were also set out. A portion of a video interview with Andrew was shown, and a musician played some of Andrew’s favorite music, on soprano saxophone and flute. Several participants read poetry. The celebration concluded with a champagne toast.
