by Nola Summers
(06/06/01)

I'm as warm and fuzzy as the next person. I'm a candidate for Mother of the Year on a regular basis, protector of small children and furry animals, friend of the environment. But somehow, somewhere over the last few years, I've developed a penchant for disciplining my partner. It has become an integral part of our lovemaking, an important part of what we do -- what we do to each other -- and where we go in our heads while we are doing it. It wasn't an outright decision to go down this road. No discussions prior to this, no "let's try this."

I do remember very early on in our relationship, watching him walk up the driveway from his car. He was carrying a plastic bag, and I thought, how nice, he's brought me a gift, the wrapping sucks, but still, it's the thought that counts. Inside were four neckties. The look on my face was question enough. "They're old ones," he said. "So you can tie me up." And so it began. Four old ties in a crappy plastic bag. My first reaction was indeed to tie him up, and leave him there, just for bringing me four old ties in a crappy plastic bag, but the wheels started turning and I stayed on for the ride.

My biggest problem so far has been the cost involved in buying the props to do things up right. Whips and clips, lotions and potions, paddles and saddles; what's a single mom to do? I'm on a budget here. How many shopping lists read: eggs, bread, milk, nipple clips (or clamps -- check price -- may have to put off if cost of oranges has gone up) dish detergent, cat food? Probably quite a few -- I know I'm not the only one out there strapped (ouch!) for cash.

When the novelty of the ties wore off, I knew it was time to get creative. My, what a challenge. BDSM on the cheap. The Dominatrix and the Dollar Store. Hardware Store Hannah (she has needs).

I did eventually get to the hardware store, but my first purchase was a lovely riding crop. I was splurging on some tax return cowboy boots, and right there at the cash register was an entire barrel full of crops: every color of the rainbow. I look good in red, I thought. Wearing or wielding, what's the difference? I picked one up and was flexing it and testing it on my palm as the cashier rang up the boots. When I indicated that I would take the crop also, she asked me if I had a horse. "No, I do not," I said, in a tone that did not invite further inquiry. My crop rests now between my box spring and mattress, well within reach, and well used.

My partner's studded leather collar and leash came from the local pet emporium. They did try to sell me a huge bag of dog food, which I gracefully declined. "Wrong brand."

This was fun.

I remember lying in bed one morning, looking up at the plant hanging in front of the window. Hooks, I thought, big hooks, man, hang man by big hooks...hardware store. If you try this one, you do have to use a good stud finder (which is not the same as finding a good stud), or like me you will end up with more holes than hooks. I have three holes, two hooks, and no hanging plants to be found. But on occasion, when the light is just right, I hang my perfectly divine and defenseless man up instead.

I've been back to the hardware store again for some rope. I've (since the four ties) felt a real need to tie him up. Not tie down as much as restrict his movements. Off I went...ropes, aisle five. It was really busy that day, loaded with contractors and do-it-yourselfers, and I wondered if anyone else was there with the same purpose in mind as me. I found the ropes, so many sizes and different materials, but after fondling them all I finally picked one out, had the rope man cut me a good length of it and off I went. Truthfully, I couldn't wait to get home and tie myself up. Self-pleasure, however, is a different topic. We have had lots of fun since then just trying out different methods of binding him.

My last discovery was a ping-pong paddle. A whole whack of fun for seven bucks. I covered it in red leather from an old skirt that had been hanging in the closet for -- well, for a very long time. I've been eyeballing a good size branch in the backyard which I think would make a lovely whip handle...hey, I've got some leather left...waste not, want not. The only thing that strikes fear in my big he-man's dear heart is when I tell him, "I've got an idea. I'm just going to the hardware store."

Still, my local sex store plays a big part in supplying me with props and ideas. I'd be hard pressed to fashion a dildo (out of anything), or a leather mask, high heels, a vibrator, cock restraint, plugs, handcuffs, the list goes on...and on. I love going there and just browsing the aisles and displays. I don't go because I need something to liven things up, I go because I like to try new things. I want to enhance my partner's pleasure, in turn enhancing my own. Sometimes just describing what I've seen and how it's used leads to an extremely hot session. I can always come up with some special occasion that warrants spending a little cash, and if I can't -- well, I make him pay!

I do know one thing for sure; it will never be about what props you can afford to buy, or how many. Finding the right partner is a blessing, trusting them is priceless.

Editor's note: Now that Nola's got you hot and bothered and ready to play, Clean Sheets would like to take advantage of this opportunity to announce that our Official Sponsor for the summer of 2001 is Toys in Babeland. Every time you purchase toys, books, videos, and accessories from Babeland, you help support Clean Sheets and keep us a free zine. Toys in Babeland has stores in Seattle and New York City, and a delicious catalog for purchasing your goodies online. Tell them we sent you!

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