So, I moved back to a city on the West Coast from where I was teaching skiing in Colorado.  I had a girlfriend, off and on, and it was time to go back to college.  I was a surfer since I was very young, and that became my lifestyle in the two months prior to school staring once again.  I had an apartment on a street called Broadway, and as I drove back and forth, one day I noticed a new tennant ina small business building.  It was a bondage shop.  

This set something off in me.  Everytime I passed (it was on the way to work) I shot my eyes towards the windows, straining to see past the manicins wearing leather and, well at that time, some things I knew of, and some things of which I had no clue.

That summer, I was working as a bartender at a popular night club.  The point of this location and all is that I had to pass by this place nearly every day.

During the day, my friends and I would hang out on the peninsula sunbathing and oogling the girls, but my mind was on something else altogther.  The Bondage Shop.  This feeling grew in my, as I rode my bike home, as I went to work, as I walked along the cliffs that looked over the Pacific Ocean.

One afternoon, a hot afternoon in late July, my friends and I were drinking a bit, and I left early because I thought I'd catch a nap prior to my shift that night.

This was the day I stopped outside when the place was open.  I left my bike at the alley down the block, locked it, and walked up to the shop.  Because I always jumped in and out of the water, I was wearing only my surf trunks.

The place fascinated me, and I was shaking as I pulled in a breath and pushed through the front door...