It starts with a phone call. It always does. There’s a frisson which goes with the vibralert on the mobile beyond just the physical. Nine times out of ten it’s just the office with the next assignment. But not this time. I still haven’t figured out how to get to the phone from within the protective gear before the answering service takes over. I check the missed calls record, and it’s a number I don’t recognise. The phone begins to buzz in my hand, Callback calling. Whoever it was left a message. I listened to the anonymous woman telling me I have a new voice message and wait for connection to my mailbox. A woman’s voice, Australian, but not for once Columbia. She doesn’t need to give a name; even after almost a year without seeing her, the image of Rose printed on my mind snaps into crystal focus as soon as she begins to speak.

"You’ve been a naughty boy, Jorj. Be at the The Griffin at eleven tonight."

That’s all. I start to do the maths. Slough, six o’clock, WC2 and E14 to deliver. That much is fairly easy. The Griffin at eleven; closing time, that means she remembers I’m not allowed into the pub.

I’m home before nine, no time for dinner. First, call CCH and book a cab to the station. Clean up and shave, dress as I have a hundred times; cowboy boots, leather trousers, no underwear, white Ely Diamond shirt, Drizabone coat, Stetson, wide belt, gun on the left, collar and chain on the right. There’s no point trying to fool the doorman with vanilla drag. Phone and a clean handkerchief in the left trouser pocket, wallet in the right. No Briefcase of Doom, so the safety equipment gets trimmed to the bare minimum and goes into a coat pocket, opposite a blindfold. Time is flying; call CHH again and switch the booking to EC1, and the driver’s on the doorstep as I put the phone down. Now I can relax, somebody else is driving and Clerkenwell Road in an hour and a half at this time of night is well within reach.

Ten forty five, standing at the corner of Clerkenwell and Rosebery and I’m on time and only forty quid down. She hasn’t started. Fifteen minutes seem like hours. The doorman has obviously decided it’s all over for the evening, so I go through the door unchallenged and stop just inside. Mark has clearly been briefed.

"Hi Jorj. Rose says wait outside."

This is familiar territory, but, as warm as it is, I’m shivering with this much adrenaline in my system. The punters walk past me, then the bar staff, the dancers, new faces, nobody knows me. Eleven thirty, and no sign of Rose. Now she’s started, and she’s really good at this stuff. I jump as the phone vibrates into life. Same number as before, this time I answer it.

"Hello?", pulse racing.

"Get into the car," call ends.

Almost an hour passes, the traffic has become a dripping tap. Up the hill, another set of headlights, but these are slowing. Black Lincoln Town Car, just a little stretch, left hand drive. Female driver in a tux gets out and opens the rear door. I step into the Stygian interior and the door closes. The partition is up, and I’m alone again, cocooned in silk soft black leather seats, windows tinted so dark I can hardly see the streetlights. And it’s so quiet and so smooth; we’re not driving, we’re gliding.

A few minutes later and I’m in a stationary limo somewhere outside Cannon St. The door opens and before me of the pavement like landing lights are two lines of candles, stretching into an alleyway. I follow the trail of light, through a set of open doors into a nondescript building, where the two lines end in the middle of a large plain room. In the flickering light I seem to have entered the loading bay of an office block. A hand slips around my waist and a body presses against my back. That’s an old Rose move, but I always used to feel it just before it happened; odd. Odd too that I didn’t hear heels clacking on the hard floor. No point turning around now, just go with whatever happens. The free hand checks the coat pocket, and finds the blindfold.

Now she knows I’m ready and willing, she pulls away and ties the blindfold in place, removes the hat and coat and checks the remaining equipment. The collar is next, two lines of heavy chain hanging in front of me, clinking the belt buckle. Not for long, for the belt is soon removed. Now a pause, she’s assessing her next move, weighting options. The hands are back, delving into the trouser pocket and emptying them one by one. Now she’s standing close in front of me, not quite touching, just the warmth of her. The city is silent at this time of night, and I hear the twelve little clicks of my shirt poppers opening just before each tug of fabric. She’s being precise, slipping off the shirt without touching skin to skin. Another intermission, then she’s back, grasping my wrists now with gloved hands and fastening heavy leather cuffs. She picks up the chain and leads me forward. The chain slackens, and a hand presses on my chest, stopping me.

"Four stairs."

I push a foot forward, feeling for the first riser, and slowly ascend. Forward again, and after a few paces the hard concrete floor changes to carpet. A couple of sharp turns in the path suggest a corridor, then I’m stopped again. She draws my hands together in front of me, and I hear the unmistakable snap of a carabiner joining the two cuffs together. There is a rasping hiss of rope being run through rings, and my hands are pulled inexorably upwards until I am precisely balanced, half standing and half hanging. I can hear her walking away, gently padding across the carpet, until I am once again alone with the sound of my breathing. With no visual distraction, I become more acutely aware of sounds, each new detection adding a piece to a picture of the city. First a solitary black cab, maybe a couple of streets away, then a slow, regular, metallic clang, perhaps night work on some construction site. A faint electronic hum from a fluorescent light.

From behind me, a breathy glissando whistle and KABOOM! Whip cracks like a gunshot, echoing around the room, and close enough to feel the shockwave as it passes. The low hiss of the backswing, and then once again the air is ripped asunder as the cracker overtakes its own bow wave. Closer this time, concentrating the compression across my back. Again the whip glides gracefully back to the other end of the room before hurtling forward in a snarling crescendo of scattering air molecules, and now she has her distance to perfection. I hardly register the impact before the whip has retreated again, now resting silent. I can feel something wet creeping down my back, first one, then two, then more trickles of warm fluid. A feeling slightly similar to pain is radiating from the strike zone in all directions, across my skin, into my flesh, outwards into my aura.

Hiss, crack, another line drawn into me. Endorphin slips into my brain through an open door and makes himself comfortable, lights a fire in the hearth and covers up the clock on the mantelpiece, dims the lights. I’m starting to hang more than stand, legs telling me it’s past their bedtime. What time is it? Two more cracks of the whip in fast succession, running down each side of my spine to form a bleeding hash mark. Her footsteps telegraph her approach, and she’s in front of me again. This time when I feel her touch on my chest, it is with latex gloves in place of satin. She picks up a fold of skin, midway between collarbone and nipple, and slowly pushes the first needle through. She’s got a symmetry thing going on, piercing first left then right, each new pair edging closer to the tit. Stopping short, she moves her attention to my forehead, her breath hot on my face as she decorates me with a crown of thorns. I’m breathing really hard now, and she steps back and waits for me to settle down into this expanded orbit. The suspending rope slackens, and I fall to my knees, hands still held above me. A straw is offered up to my parched mouth, and I suck it in great gulps of cold water. My body is going nowhere, but my mind is gone, flown away to places undreamed of.

Of the rest, there are just flashes. Traffic building up outside, a sense of daylight, somebody put a coat around me while another removes the blindfold. When I wake up, Rose is at the end of the bed wearing a nurse’s uniform and filling a chart. The only needle left in me is an IV line. On top of the sheet in front of me is a sealed envelope, bearing my name, and I reach to pick it up. My arms are so stiff I can hardly move them, and when I do every movement pulls at the wounds on my back. I carefully open the letter and read a brief, beautifully hand written message.

"United Colonial Exotic Dancers like having you around. Fearing that you might leave us, we have endeavoured to show you there truly is no place like home.

M (direction), R (vocals and bondage), C (whip), B (driving) and L (needles)".

Informed Consent maintains a list of SM related events as well as mailing lists of current events and announcements, but is currently only available through the Internet.

Bi Community News maintains a list of Bisexual events, both on the Internet and as a paper-based publication

Lots of bi information can be found on http://bi.org

An e-mail based list server - see http://bi.org/~smbi for details of how to subscribe

London Bi Helpline - 0181 569 7500 Tuesday, Wednesday 7:30pm - 9:30pm, Saturday 10:30am - 12:30pm

Edinburgh Bi Helpline - 0131 557 3620 Thursdays 7:30pm - 9:30pm

SM Bisexuals is a UK-based group targeted at, but not exclusively for, bisexuals into all aspects of BDSM, and their friends.

We have monthly meetings in London, on the second Sunday of every month at 8pm, upstairs at Central Station for discussions and workshops on SM related subjects. Central Station is a friendly gay pub near Kings Cross station in London - address on the front cover.

Workshops we have run in the past include Temporary Bodyart, Play Piercing, Animal Roleplay, Enemas, Transformations, Suspension, Sex Toys Show & Tell, Paganism, SM Quiz, Transgenderism, SM & Music, Infantilism, Breath Control, and Bondage. Most events are free to attend, but a donation towards costs is appreciated.

We run The Chain Letter - the idea of this is that you send us a page of information about whatever’s on your mind (stories, questions, answers, pictures, photos) and then we send a copy of your page and everyone else’s page on to all people who’ve sent a page in. Then the following month you can send in another page, which can be responding to what others have written.

Send us an A4 page (about 20 copies if you can) by the start of the month, and include an A4 SAE with a 49p (first class) or 38p (second class) stamp.

And we run Ungagged, which is free, but a donation towards costs is appreciated - if you’d like to be added to our mailing list, send us your postal address (not e-mail).

We are always looking for articles, stories, letters, pictures, etc for Ungagged and also ideas for workshops for our monthly meetings (and preferably people to run them too). Please let us know if you have anything we can publish or any suggestions for workshop subjects, or you have a subject you’d like to run a workshop on.

And please let us know if you’d like to advertise in the next issue of Ungagged - prices from only £10 for a quarter page advertisement, up to £40 for a full page.

The editors and publishers of this newsletter do not accept any responsibility for the accuracy of statements made in it. The author retains copyright of any article. The editors reserve the right to edit or exclude articles submitted for publication. No assumption should be made about the sexuality of any contributor.

Sat 5 February 1pm onwards Manchester Munch

Sun 6 February 11am to 5pm London Fetish Fair

Sun 13 February 12.30pm onwards Sheffield Munch

Fri 25 February 9pm to 2am Night of the Bitter Rose

Sun 12 March 12:30pm to 5:30pm Northern Fetish Fair

Fri 31 March 9pm to 2am Night of the Bitter Rose

Fri 28 April 9pm to 2am Night of the Bitter Rose

To see an up-to-date list of what’s happening, take a look at Informed Consent’s website at http://www.informedconsent.co.uk

If you have any updates to this list, then please don’t contact SM Bisexuals, but e-mail Informed Consent on webmaster@informedconsent.co.uk or write to them at: Informed Consent, P.O. Box 152, Manchester, M20 2YZ. If you can, you should check the website to ensure they don’t already have the update.

EBC is a Contact Club for Gay Leather, Rubber and Uniform Men into Bondage. The clubs aim is to promote the meeting up of potential play partners more easily and safely.

It was created four years ago and has now over 300 members throughout the UK and Europe (and China!)

EBC hosts private members only parties in London, where demonstrations take place. These are instructional on technique, informative on materials and educational on safety matters.

Because many of the members live outside big cities, social events are organised more locally. There was one in Brighton on the 25^th September, and in Bournemouth in October. Bristol is on the cards.

We also hope to organise a dirty weekend trip to Europe in the near future!

Annual Membership costs £10 until Dec 31st 1999.

Members receive Contact lists, Updates, Newsletters (bulletins) throughout the year and can make purchases from Market Place.

Members contribute to the Bulletin with stories and experiences. The Market Place contains a second hand gear list, and sells regular bondage related items (electrical goodies to tit clamps) as well as fun lines, such as erotic Christmas cards!

EBC will shortly have its own web site making it easier to join and exchange information between members and other clubs around the world. Until then, snail mail has to be used L

To join, send an SAE to: EBC, PO BOX 9945 London W6 8WW, or e-mail EBC@greyhanky87.freeserve.co.uk for more information.

Legalise Sex - that's what we say! All sex between consenting adults should be free from the oppressive or downright absurd laws we appear to have.

We are a coalition and say no to all of the offensive laws that may make us sex criminals, even if certain laws don't happen to affect our particular interests. We stand together to say that we won't accept any of us being thrown in prison for what we do in our bedrooms… or dungeons! It's 1999, and we still have antiquated laws on the statute books. Bigotry is still written into our laws. We want them changed, now!

The tabloids still "expose" anything sexual. People just aren't shocked anymore. Society continues to change. Readers aren't outraged, even if they are still titillated.

Police enforcement has changed. Taxpayers don't want to pay for expensive police raids on clubs when no harm is being done. Lawyers see SM as a civil liberties issue.

"Educate, Agitate, Organise, Party"

We find better platforms than bear-pit TV shows, such as local radio, and offer an alternative to a sex hating society. We write letters, columns and articles and our occasional "Consenting Adults" paper. We get dressed up, get out on the streets, make some noise and have fun. When the tour buses drive by, we want to be one of the more interesting sights! We enjoy ourselves in public, out and proud of who we are.

We get people together to communicate. Prostitutes show and tell, and clients speak openly. Strippers and dancers talk and show us their skills. The disabled speak about the sexuality that many assume they don't have. Swingers open up about their lifestyles. Queer activists find support among a broader audience. Porn stars and viewers share their thoughts. Kinks are discussed and demonstrated to an accepting and appreciative crowd.

We party. Lifestyle hedonists mix with the adventurous, the curious and those who want to live in a more fun world, right here, right now.

Experimental spaces fit side by side with popular attractions. We are aiming for a "no dickheads" policy for our events. We want all our guests to feel safe and relaxed away from those who cannot follow some simple rules of etiquette and steadfastly refuse to allow a clue to permeate their brains. We are the Sexual Freedom Coalition and we welcome friends and allies.

E-mail us on info@sfc.org.uk, see our website at http://www.sfc.org.uk, telephone our infoline on 0171 460 1979, fax us on 0171 493 4479, or send snail-mail to SFC, PO Box 4ZB, London W1A 4ZB

Dear Ungagged,

In response to Anthony’s letter in issue 10:

nthony, I made extensive notes right after your workshop in 1991. They covered every detail, including all of us having to wait to be moved to another room, who attended, your introduction & the questions that were discussed (you’re welcome to a copy of my notes if you wish). Because I can no longer contact you, I relied on these notes when writing up the disputed part of my article. Yes, It was my point of view, hence my invitation for others to send in criticisms & corrections. I acknowledge what you have said, however I stand by my statements.

Also, despite what you say, I did make many comments to you during & after your workshop. However it soon became clear to me that I was not getting my points across - probably due to the attitude of the times, as I described in my article. I am aware that we come from very different directions in regards to how we view SM & have greatly conflicting views of what was said in that one hour, over eight years ago. This begs the question could we ever agree on what happened? Considering that my article puts you in a negative light, you do have a right to be angry with me. However, I see no advantage in disputing the matter any further. SMBi has now surpassed all that had gone on before.

By the way, when I did my research on the now notorious SM workshop at BiCon 1988, I found people who thought the whole thing extremely funny. Strange how some people perceive events, isn’t it?

Pub. Goths. Latex PVC fishnet make-up, leather, friends, lovers, strangers, shags

Flirts, snogs, smiles

New folks

Showing off

Pretty marks

Two women

With nails

One man

Deep scratches

I see

I admire

He talks

'Twas them

The two

Drinking, laughing

I'm interested

I want

I ask

They laugh

I turn

Raise shirt

Fast, hard, deep

I struggle

Turn away

From one

Into other

They follow

My squirms

Hurting me

The pain

The damage

Pull free

They laugh

Later

I lay

To sleep

Sting reminder

Next day

A train

My back

Against seat

Private pain

Marks take months to fade

Memories will last longer

Straight pub

Yeah, right

Put your reply in a sealed unaddressed envelope and write the person’s box number in the top right corner (where the stamp should go). Then put this envelope, and a loose stamp into another envelope (donations towards Ungagged would be appreciated too). Send this to us at the address on the front cover, and we’ll forward your letter.

If you’re meeting up with someone for the first time, make sure you give their details to a friend and tell them when you’ll be back. Tell the person you’re meeting that you have done this. If you’re going home with someone you’ve just met, then try to do the same - ring a friend and tell them where you are or carry an envelope with you and send the person’s details to a friend (or to yourself). For the first meeting, try to make it in a public place, and meet before you agree to go off somewhere to play.

Remember, you can never be too safe - any person worth playing with will respect you for being careful, not be insulted by it. And have fun! J

Into Lycra? Love the look & feel of the shiny fabric? Into going out in public naked but for your tight Lycra gear? Male, 30, looking for others into the same.

Slim, young-looking 35-year old muscular bi male, mainly top, with extensive range of equipment, looking for F for interesting times. I'm fairly sensible and safer-sex and feminist aware. London or South East.

High Wycombe SM-bi bloke, new to the area, seeks local friends to chat with.

Autonomous male, 34, seeks dominant friend who would like to impose TV servitude / feminisation / sissification for weekend scenes. If humiliation with your submissive en femme turn you on, you have a strong hand, an interest in the art of restraint, and a delight in assigning domestic chores then I would like to hear from you. London or South East.

Warped, perverted, sick... and that's just what my friends call me. Trans-gendered switch bi-dyke, queerer than queer, jaded with parties full of boring poseurs, in search of someone to revive my jaded appetites for the darker side of beauty and the exquisite agony of sub/dom. London, elsewhere at a push, all letters answered.

Hello, I'm 29, 6' with short brown hair and a novice sub. I'm seeking a caring, intelligent dom female or male partner (with GSOH) to explore bondage, leather, rubber. I'm looking for friendship and a possible relationship.

Leeds Master seeks houseboys for weekdays. Mature, strong, bearded, I will work you hard, beat you hard and use you hard.

Bisexual sex slave, boyish body, girlish manner, very obedient, eager and willing to please but delightfully timid and apprehensive, loves to give massage and oral pleasure, and to undergo ordeals of punishment and discipline. Mixed couples/groups especially welcomed.

Practice makes pervert. Horny black SM switch seeks pervy playmates for hot uninhibited fun. Singles and couples welcomed. Let’s go for it. Send letter and photo.

Midlands dom guy, 45 - slim, intelligent, imaginative - but not so good at advert writing, seeks slim sub guy under 40 for friendship and bondage adventures outdoors and in, or, in and out doors! (No door fetish implied).

Experienced but experimental submissive bi guy seeks submissive female playmate/friend for meeting others in safety (playing together or just providing security).

Fresh, horny black SM Bi seeks singles, couples for hot intense scenes - yellow, leather, rubber. Horny letter + photo.

Actively straight, passively bi, young 50, W/E, occasional undie wearer, into cock & ball straps/restraints, pubic shaving, lubricants, seeks female or M/F couple for relaxed fun. Discretion assured.

Couple: Tall bisexual beautiful blonde and presentable partner seek playmates, preferably single female, for role-play and erotic exploration. Games of various levels of elaboration envisaged. We are on the "directive" side, but male can play various roles.

Submissive, young TV into rubber, fetish, seeks M/F, TV? for introduction into rubber/SM scene. Would also like to meet a short/cropped hair female to be my Mistress.

I'm living in London, go clubbing a lot and work as a nurse. I'm tall, slim, dark haired and attractive. I cross-dress in the evenings, but I don't do the full TV thing. I'm bisexual and switch. I take a lot of pleasure from the pleasure of others. I'm looking for groups, couples and singles, particularly with a bi orientation.

Dom male, 35, in London, seeks pretty toy. I have one toy, F21. I seek another for my use, possibly shared. Interests include bondage, CP, TT, candles and other games, all at home, parties and clubs. You are 21 to 35, sub or switch, probably female, looking for fun, possibly leading to a serious on-going relationship.

Into bod mod? Like dangling chains between your piercings? Try to twist your body around until all your tattoos are touching each other? Come hear the jangle of my jewellery, and rope a few together J .

London, male, 50s, generally submissive but versatile and imaginative, seeks female or couple (two females?) for fun.

Yorks Bimale dom/switch, 48, poly, 1 child (would take on another), large house w/ dungeon, home business, seeks sub/switch for long term commitment. Write in detail or see http://www.hilbert.demon.co.uk.

Bi Submissive Male (58) seeks bi/gay female (25/60) for reverse role play. User of Strap-on dildo and/or a player in the fetish club/parties a bonus. E-mail alexhine@hotmail.com.

Runt too old for frosty shorts and tee shirt.

Runt has not visited Master for far too long.

Runt buys rubber lined black rain mac.

Runt pulls on rubber wellies.

Runt rushes for bus, on Sunday morning, only to find bus broken down.

Runt stunned, dejected, feels prick slid down rubber lining, feels warm pre-come, begins to freeze.

Runt turns, pulls up collar, leans in to stiff breeze, walks home.

Runt feel cogs of mind whirl, stiffness rubs on rubber lining, pre-cum dribbles, Master on mind, hot body, welcome hands tying tight rope, fastened in small space.

Runt pictures Master’s prick, waving, pre-come oozing.

Runt watches Master wipe pre-come, feels come on cheek out of reach of tongue.

Runt sees Master’s prick soften.

Runt feels door of small space close.

Runt hears door of another tiny space open.

Runt hears whimpering of another runt.

Runt cowers in corner of small space, trying to ignore sound of lips around Master’s prick, the slurping sound becomes roaring wind, Master’s moans of pleasure as if nettle stings on runt’s prick.

Runt hears storm break, other runt drinks Master’s spunk.

Runt deflates, knows punishment for long time of missing bus and sad excuses.

Runt knows must try harder.

Runt’s fantasy breaks on reaching home, hot and sticky.

Runt strips off, climbs into shower, hot, hotter water cascades, prick rises as tiny pin prick droplets remind runt of past moments of ropes, chains, walking woods, gushing sperm.

Runt reaches for soap, begins to rub hard, hot droplets turn to taste of Master’s sperm, legs tremble, sperm erupts, a caught drop is fed into mouth, not the same taste.

Runt finishes shower, pads over to calendar and dreams…