Safe Journey JB

Several blogs have reported the passing of James Bond, the incredible photographer, kinkster, bondage Top, and gracious man who I have idolized since the day I saw my first black and white copy of Bound & Gagged magazine sitting on a shelf in a grocery store in New Orleans.

Seeing that vivid imagery was a confirmation to me: Somebody else had the same kinks as me! And was acting on them! And enjoying every minute of it!

I felt every bit "released" as women burning bras, as slaves being freed from shackles. To know that someone else was turned on by divers and neoprene and rope and straitjackets and rubber and hoods and gags. I truly had thought I was headed for the looney bin because of all those urges and needs. And I gasped when I saw there was at least one other man like me.

Last year I saw a pic of JB's on Eckie's site. It was stunning (as always) and I fired off a comment of "I would give my left nut to be the boy in that pic." He sent a message back, very simply, "When?"

That started our e-mailing back and forth and our plans for him to visit Atlanta last May, a birthday present to myself. I would finally get to be at the mercy of the great JB. In return I was already planning some mighty fine bondage for him! It didn't come to be. Finances, as I understand it, were always tight for JB and it just wasn't possible to make the trip at that time. But we kept planning. 2011 was gonna be the year.

Of course grief is a very selfish thing. "Woe is me!" But truly I hurt for his family and close friends. Find peace in your hearts. You were lucky to know this fine man.

And this is the weirdest double whammy which started off 2011.

Last night hubby and I are sitting here having just finished dinner. Phone rings. A neighbor calling from, not here, but the condo we own and have leased out. Seems no one has seen the tenant for a few weeks. The car is still there. Storm door is locked from the inside (with no outside keyhole). This doesn't sound good.

So we hop in the car and drive over there. On the way I tell hubby "I hope for all kinds of things, but I expect we may find a dead body."

When we get there, indeed the storm door is locked and no other entrance available. I call 911. 35 very cold and nerve-wracking minutes later a policewoman finally arrives. She tells us she can't break in since there's no sign of imminent danger. So we jimmy the lock, use our key to unlock the deadbolt, and sure enough we see the worst. Now we're dealing with ambulances, fire trucks, and an hour later the Medical Examiner: "Natural causes," meaning anything from heart attack to stroke to diabetic coma.

We didn't know the tenant well. He was a nice guy. 63 years young. All the neighbors liked him a lot. He was late on the rent every month. We let it slide. He was haggling with Social Security, had medical bills from prostate surgery. We were just grateful to have someone who appreciated the space and took good care of it.

But what struck me so hard was he had been lying there on the kitchen floor for three weeks. During the holidays? No one asked where he was on Christmas Day for dinner? No one wondered where he was for the New Year's football games.? It really broke my heart. Hubby and I spent a lot of time talking last night and again this morning. I think he gave me the best hug of my entire life last night.

My lesbian dentist, of all people, asked me yesterday if I had any New Years resolutions. I think she was hinting that I needed to floss more often. I mumbled around the poking and prodding and scraping tools, "nope." I do now.

I'm grabbing life with both fists. I'm pulling my friends much closer to me. I am SEIZING my opportunities like there is no tomorrow.

And when I go, and someday I will have to, I hope my friends say "Maybe 99% on that electric buttplug was a little high for somebody who just turned 96 years old."