After the last episode of his memoirs, Eric set himself to answering some of the questions asked by readers, but the next thing he knew he had written a whole essay about his feelings on bondage, without succeeding in giving direct answers to many of the questions at all. He does want to do that soon, and to answer any other questions you may want to ask him.
At first, he was unsure whether he wanted to continue writing about his bondage experiences. Fortunately, as of now, he tells me he intends to go on with these memoirs. I for one am delighted, and imagine many of you will be, too.
1.
Before I say anything else, let me say “thank you” to those who have commented on my memoirs, whether positive or negative. As Bob and I discussed when I first started posting over two years ago, it would be great to have a dialogue about bondage with the readers. I wish more of you would write Bob with your own thoughts and experiences, which would be helpful to us all.
From the moment my neighbor Gary tied me up as a small boy, I knew I loved being bound with ropes. The thrill in my gut, the intoxicating flow of endorphins in my brain and the steady pump of adrenaline all told me I had to do this again and again. As with any addiction, one is never satisfied with the current level. I craved more. I craved stronger doses. I had no idea why I craved what I craved, I just did.
After my family moved into town and I no longer had Gary to play with, I delved heavily into self-bondage, but ultimately that was not satisfying. There is nothing like having someone else tie you up so well that you cannot possibly escape on your own. There is nothing like putting your life and well-being into another person’s hands, if you have the guts for it—or lack the good sense (remember, we were just kids with raging hormones, and kids can be really stupid).
Had I not grown up next door to Gary, I might have stuck to self-bondage and been content with fantasies like most people. I probably would have kept my desires hidden from others. I doubt I would have been bold enough to actively seek out partners.
Had I not encountered Logan in high school, quickly noticing his desire for dominance, which attracted me to him in the first place, my life would certainly have been different. I deliberately set out to develop a close relationship with him.
I was adept at playing bondage games, and Logan seemed to like them as much as I did. Things escalated quickly. Abuse from time to time made the bondage experience all the more fulfilling. I wanted to find out how much torture I could take. I didn’t want to be treated with consideration.
Logan gave me what I needed. Maybe he was cruel and I was crazy. Maybe he was a sadist and I was a sap. But our relationship met both our needs. Then Dylan brought an even stronger, darker element to it.
Logan and Dylan. I know I make them sound like the cruelest sadists you have ever imagined, and certainly they had some sort of mean streak somewhere inside, especially when we were in high school. But as I see it, I’m the one who may have been the real bully, by mercilessly forcing them to bully me. I am pretty persuasive and strong willed, and as we grew older I made them do this stuff to me long after their zeal had waned. I haven’t done a very good job of conveying that, and perhaps I am incapable of making anyone understand it. I badgered them, yelled at them, criticized them, played on their emotions. I used whatever means at my disposal to make them continue in their roles long after they expressed a desire to stop.
Bondage means so many different things to different people, and there are as many ideas about what is good or bad, acceptable or unacceptable, and erotic or cruel as there are participants. That is why it is so difficult to find a dominant and submissive pair who are completely compatible. I have rarely seen it happen, if ever. Non-compatibility has led to conflicts many times in my own adult experiences, and I have seen it happen in the relationships of others over and over.
But there was no question of compatibility when it came to my teen-age relationship with Logan and Dylan. We were good friends, and what we did together, which we had no grown-up vocabulary for, was something that developed naturally out of our own needs and desires. We were obviously compatible as far as those went, because the bondage “games” and the “tortures” went on and on for a very long time.
We did not know about tops & bottoms, or dominant and submissive feelings, back then. We didn’t know about bondage terms or of the bondage scene, or that anybody else even did this sort of stuff. It was our invention, we thought. Our own little world.
2.
As Bob has said many times, it is amazing that I didn’t suffer long lasting effects, or even get myself killed. Looking back on the years of abuse I withstood, and craved, I realize how dumb we were and how fortunate I was to survive. Bob and I have tried to stress that point over and over to make sure someone doesn’t just read these stories and then try to duplicate what we did.
I was extremely lucky that things turned out fine. I never even suffered a broken bone, although there were several times I thought I had been permanently injured following a particularly rough activity. There were a few times I thought I had cracked a rib or worse. I was lucky, but I could just as easily have been crippled, maimed, or killed.
What I’ve told here are the facts, whether you believe them or not. Everything I’ve written did happen. If I sometimes do embellish things a little, that’s just in the details, for variety and dramatic effect, not in the actual experiences, which at times may even have been more intense than I’ve described them, possibly because I feared Bob wouldn’t have the stomach for what really went on. (He assures me that’s not the case.)
For my part, I can assure those who are critical of the abuse described in these accounts and the lack of safety precautions we took: you haven’t seen anything yet. The worst is—or was—yet to come. By far.
I endured beatings far worse than I have described up until this point. I could easily have frozen to death on a few occasions. Then there’s the torture chamber we built, where I endured tortures literally straight out of the middle ages. Plus, I have the scar from a third degree burn on the side of my hand caused by a cigarette lighter.
I spent longs stints tied up or chained up in solitude, often days at a time. I spent hours and even days at a time locked in stocks. Then there were those damned road trips and barefoot walks in the snow. There were the camping trips to the secluded Little Shepherd’s Island where I spent lots of time tied up and tortured. I experienced something akin to water boarding, before we ever heard the term. It seemed like torture to me. Once, I thought they were going to drown me there.
You will be happy to know I am still alive and doing quite well. Miraculously. Don’t try any of this at home.
Logan, Dylan and I continued with our bondage relationship for many years. Logan and I were still involved in bondage even into our thirties, though Dylan stopped earlier.
I have continued, though. I am a slave to someone even now. For the most part, my adult experiences have been much safer, if being enslaved and tortured can really be safe.
3.
There are some things about my personal bondage obsession I do want to say, and will try to explain here. Bob and I have discussed them, but I’ve never written them down for his blog before.
As thrilling as bondage was for me, deep down I felt it was wrong. No, I knew it was wrong. Something in my mind told me that I shouldn’t be doing this, I shouldn’t be liking this. Perhaps it was the culture I grew up in. Instinctively, I knew to hide my feelings and my activities even as a small boy. Even from the very beginning.
Sometimes I would be at a friend’s house and maybe see a brother tying another brother up, right there on the living room floor with the parents watching and laughing. It happened more than once back in the day. I would cringe, terrified inside. Didn’t the kids know this was wrong? Weren’t they embarrassed to do this in front of their parents and friends? I have even seen sons get their fathers to tie them up,more than once, as a game to see if they could get free. And there were plenty of times I joined in after my initial phobia faded.
Bob and I have discussed this many times, and he wonders if I shouldn’t use the word “humiliating” rather than “wrong”. I see his point, but while I agree that such things may have been humiliating, “wrong” gets more to the heart of the issue. Deep down inside, for whatever reason, I always felt that to like getting tied up was wrong.That is why I went to lengths to hide it. And because I was doing something so wrong, of course it would humiliate me for anyone to know what my feelings for it were.
I'm not sure I can explain how I felt, but I will try. I am not saying that getting tied up is wrong. I am saying that, as a boy, and even now as an adult, something inside of me is “telling” me it is wrong. It is an internal conflict. Part of me knows that it’s okay, but another strong part of me is saying that it isn’t.
That conscience, or whatever it is that tells me getting tied up is wrong, probably stems from the conservative culture I grew up in. I wanted to do it, but I knew I couldn’t let anyone know I was doing it because it would humiliate me and shame me to have someone know I liked that sort of thing. And yes, it even shamed me in front of the very person I was submitting to—Logan, Dylan, or whoever—to let them tie me up, much less treat me as a slave and humiliate me. I still get ashamed usually when I submit to a Dom.
Don’t know if that muddies the waters even more, but I'll leave it there.
As I grew up and became eight years old, ten years old, twelve years old, the intoxicating thrill of bondage steadily grew stronger than ever within me. But the feelings of guilt for liking bondage were growing equally strong. I often compared myself to my friends in elementary school, and later in junior high and high school. I couldn’t picture any of them loving to be tied up all the time.
Sure, some of us played tie up games, war games, cowboys & Indians, and other games from time to time. Some of my friends even liked being tied up to see how quickly they could escape, or not. Others liked doing the tying. It gave them a rush to tie someone up so well that in the end the victim had to give up and ask to be released. It gave the victim a rush to get out of a difficult position.
But it was only a game to them. Something to do to make an hour or two of boredom pass more quickly (we didn’t have video games back then, nor all the other activities kids have today). If they desired to do it as much as I did, they certainly hid it well.
None of my friends were like me. They didn’t fantasize all day about being tied up, dream about it all night, wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat after some bondage dream that seemed all too real. In my teenage years, the cold sweats were sometimes replaced by wet dreams.
My friends would get tied up, love it for an hour or two, and then go off to play a pick-up game of baseball or to roller skate on the sidewalks in town, or go swimming at the lake or in the pool.
I was never satisfied with the occasional dabble into bondage. Bondage was something I wanted to do all the time, but I knew no one else felt that way. None of my friends had that drive. I continued to hide my dark passion the best I could.
I learned a lot of subtle tools to try to get a bondage game going whenever I could with cousins, neighbors and close friends. Sometimes I was successful and sometimes not. More than once I was asked, “Why do you want to do that?” Or “Why do you like doing this stuff?”
Those questions would scare the daylights out of me. Maybe I was coming on a little too strong. Maybe I was being a little too obvious. Had I finally divulged my darkest secret unknowingly? But the questions were good questions, profound questions really, that I had no answer for except silence and a metaphorical jaw dropped wide open.
I have no good answer even today.
When readers question me on why I submitted to such brutal torture, placed myself in such jeopardy, or risked my life and, worse yet, my reputation—I wish I knew the answer to that. What need lies buried deep within my psyche that causes me to want this stuff? Can it be satisfied another way? Was the desire innate, or did something happen to me in early childhood, something I don’t even remember, to cause it?
I am at a loss for words to explain. When readers ask me those questions, I just sit in silence with my metaphorical jaw dropped open.
Why do I like this stuff? As a teenager, when my friends were out on a date, why would I rather be bound and gagged in a dark, hot closet? Or tied to a tree freezing to death for that matter? Why would I rather be left staked out on the ground for a few hours, needing to piss in my pants, rather than go roller skating in town?
I had and have no earthly idea. In my mind, I was some horrible freak of nature, some strange being, an outlier far away from the norm. It terrified me.
I can’t tell you how many times as a boy, and even into adulthood, I dropped to my knees in the privacy of my bedroom and openly wept because I was such a freak. My face buried in my hands, bawling until my eyes burned, struggling to catch the next breath between sobs.
I tried to stop my preoccupation with bondage many times. I tried everything to become normal. I tried to force myself to like other things, to find something that would replace my terrible desires. Nothing ever did.
As a young adult, I contemplated suicide many times. At least twice I held the loaded gun in my hand having every intention of ending my misery. Once and for all. A couple of other times I considered hanging myself. That would be much cleaner and easier to do, I told myself. Like going to sleep, just never waking up.
A freak like me, so miserable, so passionate about something dark and forbidden shouldn’t live. Bondage shouldn’t consume my life the way it was doing. It was controlling me. Once I even wrote a suicide note. This time I was going to go through with it. Fortunately, I was not strong enough to complete the deed.
It was only about fifteen years ago, well into my adulthood, that I realized my desires were not so abnormal. In fact, I suspect the majority of men have these feelings, but they are too afraid to act on them. One never knows for sure what someone else’s true needs are.
My sincere hope in sharing my experiences is to help someone out there realize that you are not strange and alone in your feelings for bondage. Lots of people have them, but they cleverly hide them from their closest friends and even their wives (I mention this because almost all the men with whom I have met over the last dozen years are married men). I am pleased that many of you enjoy my stories, but if by telling them I can make someone a little stronger, then it will all have been worthwhile.
Readers' comments and questions for Eric will be greatly appreciated. Either send them through the comment section below, or write to Eric c/o me at my email, [email protected]
I trust Eric no longer considers himself a freak; otherwise, there are thousands, maybe millions, of us freaks.
It's great that Eric had the courage and conniving spirit to get what he wanted/needed.
Many thanks for sharing. Hope to read more adventures.
Posted by: Bob Dooman | August 06, 2012 at 02:57 PM
I read all your stories with great interest, Eric. In reading the above explanation of your love and deep desire for bondage and the shame it can cause, a flood of memories has come back to me. For I too had such a deep desire to be bound since I was a little boy, under ten years of age. I still love being bound and I'm still ashamed, still trying to hide it. I've confided to Bob somewhat but there is a lot left untold. Yes you are so right, many male bondage devotees are married men!
I hope to read many more of your bondage stories and please do not consider yourself strange in any way. There are so many of us who think and feel as you do. Take care of yourself. If you wish to correspond with me personally, just let Bob know. He knows how to reach me.
Posted by: Bondagebuddy | August 07, 2012 at 03:19 AM
Eric is a hero in my mind. Yes, nowadays there's more and more of us bondage lovers coming out of our shells, and this is largely due to the pioneering work of Bob Wingate and Eric Tide and many others. Ropes and Gags for everyone I say! Now, all I need is a Bondage Buddy close by here in Newfoundland, Canada. Any takers? :)
Posted by: Bondokid in Canada | August 07, 2012 at 09:33 PM
Fascinating. That could easily have been me, given his opportunities. What a bondage life he has led. I'm envious. I'm also envious of his ability to write about it so well.
This particular chapter had to be difficult for him to write. There are experiences he has written about here which I've also had that I still can't get up the gumption to discuss.
Like bondagebuddy, if Eric wishes to correspond with me personally, just let Bob know, as he knows how to contact me.
One area we may want to correspond about is that I'm pretty sure I understand why we are the way we are. But it gets into the purpose of life, which I believe to be quite different from the standard explanations.
Please Eric, continue describing your experiences. I, like so many others, look forward to reading about them and relating to them. It helps me understand my "dark passion" side.
Posted by: Mister-X / Spartan | August 14, 2012 at 10:50 AM