Epiphany
 
It was a strange year in a life marked with strange years. Nothing spectacular, but not what I could have imagined when standing in Time Square on New Year’s Eve, January 1, 2000. I had a nowhere job I had evolved into, at a nowhere company I had helped found. Too much in one year, and I was more restless than I’d been since I took off for Europe and the Middle East between my Junior and Senior years at college.

In the spring of the year, I got an e-mail from an old college roommate. He is the Superintendent of Schools for a city in the desert country of East Washington State. After a month of e-mail exchanges, the inevitable job offer came. I found myself answering enthusiastically. Seven years in New Jersey was a lifetime, and any change was as welcome as the weather he promised. I traded in my car on another Porsche and arranged for the movers. My last act before setting out on my cross-country odyssey was to fire up my computer and let Mr. Gates and his minions plan a “scenic” trip to California. I printed out the maps, looked them over, grabbed my bags, tossed everything into the Porsche and left the keys for the movers. Without a backward glance, I ran, not walked from the “Garden State.” Not a particularly happy camper, but I was free and that meant a lot.

I had more time than money; so, I had arranged to stay in San Jose, at my brother’s apartment on my way to Washington. San Jose was as interesting as I expected – as exciting as watching paint dry. Though a long ways from New Jersey, an “arm-pit” city is just that – a waste of space. San Jose is located about 50 miles South of San Francisco and is rapidly becoming part of the con–urbation that will one day run most of the length of California. We had been born and raised in San Francisco, and I wanted to look around “my” City and assess the changes that time had wrought.

I took the Porsche to the airport and parked in the short-term parking. I had never been on B.A.R.T., and this was an excellent opportunity to try the system. Shortly, I found myself mousing around downtown San Francisco. Union Square had changed little, and, after a stop at Brook’s Brothers, I caught a cable car to North Beach. Gone were most of the “topless” clubs of Broadway’s heyday, but the amenable coffee shops and the clientele, were as ever, equally agreeable. I sat at an outside table, ordered and Irish coffee and watched the passing parade.

The fellow at the next table and I began trading comments on the “floor show” passing on the sidewalk. The next thing I knew, we were engaged in a conversation, which was to lead to the most radical change in my life. His arms were covered with beautiful tattoos, and he said that they were his own work, done in his own shop just down the street. His questions became more personal, but as yet, no alarm bells sounded. I found this, in itself, strange. I had never opened to strangers, as I seemed to open to him. I was invited back to his shop to “look around.”

Upon entering, I was first taken with the décor. Old wood cabinets and display cases, lovingly restored and oiled to a satin glow. On the walls were some of the most striking examples of the tattooing art I had ever seen. I’d done some research on destabilizing elements in industrial societies years ago, and the tattooing of their “societies” identified many of these elements. His art seemed as wholly competent as any found in the Orient or India. He was a true Master of this esoteric art form.
It was the items in the display cases that strangely attracted my attention, interest and, most of all, my curiosity. All manner of BD/SM “toys” were showcased. He chortled at my interest and fascination.

“I thought so,” was all he said. After long minutes, he began unlocking cases and removing items for my inspection. Masks, gags, leather belts, leather accessories of every imaginable use and misuse. I was fascinated at the largess. However, none evoked in me more than passing interest. Quickly, I went from one to the next – never pausing for more than casual inspection. Through this, he continued his patter – the wry grin in his eyes constantly assessing me.

“Here, look at these,” he said, removing a large key from his pocket and opening a tall oak cabinet that looked as if it once was a case for fowling pieces in an English mansion. The light was dim, but the fire in my eyes provided all the illumination I would ever need. Hung with loving care were canes, crops and… and, the finest assortment of “cat-o-nine tales” I had ever imagined, let alone seen. “Take them out. See how they feel,” he suggested. I was so enthralled I hardly heard his words.

First the canes, of the finest Vietnamese bamboo. I had only read about these and here, they were now in my hand. Then the crops of finest leather and spring steel, polished to a luster that showed the loving care lavished upon these wonders. Finally, as I had been putting this off until last, needing, wanting but fearing deep within – the cats. So lovely in their own place of display. “Go ahead, try the feel of one,” he urged, seeing my progression through these wonders.

I chose, carefully. Lifting the cat from the case, I set it on the counter and without thinking withdrew my fine leather driving gloves from the pocket of my car coat. Again, I picked up the cat, and, the thrill, the rush! It was overwhelming. It fit my hand as if it were and extension of the tight leather glove. The world stopped spinning; time took time-out. I was totally lost in this feeling, this control, the Mastery I felt.

He broke my reverie. “Now, try this,” he said in quiet tones that filled the room as if it were a voice from on high.
He brought an inlaid case from a drawer hidden in the bottom of the tall chest and laid it on the counter. Again, an ornate key from his pocket and the case swung open. Inside, folded in the finest of silk was another lash.

However, it was not just another cat. The tails were studded with small silver claws – this cat was as a feline on the hunt. It’s claws barely retracted, ready for instant use. I lifted it and was instantly transported. This tool spoke to me. I did not carry this. I wore it. It truly was and extension of my arm. We, the cat and I, knew one another. We were one – inseparable. Each completed by the other.

His knowing smile was beginning to grate, but I had to know more. I had to experience. I was here, and synchronicity was ruling my universe.

“Take that treasure, a crop and choose a cane and come with me,” he said, “you are ready for the next step on your journey to your true inner self.”

Enigmatic and overly dramatic, I thought, but I followed him through the curtains, nonetheless. I could no more put down that cat than I could amputate my arm so much a part of me it had become.

The inside room was as impressive as the shop. Fine furniture and wood, lovingly polished – the walls hung with the finest of Persian carpets. He picked up a crystal bell and rang it once, and he gestured me to a comfortable chair. In a minute, a door it hadn’t noticed opened and a woman entered. At the sight of her, the cat whispered to me, it’s call, deep in my soul. The cat knew this woman and longed for her, needed her, wanted her – again? Yes, again. The cat hungered for this woman again. It called to me to share its secrets and its desires. My arm tingled. My mind raced my heart. I needed to understand this symbiosis that was now such an integral part of me.

She was dressed in simple cotton dress – loose fitting, yet erotically revealing. Her nipples, fully erect, so evident through the light materiel. The most striking thing about her was her face and her hair. Beautiful red/gold tresses framed her handsome face and floated over her shoulders. The fire of it seems to flow down, softly caressing her breasts. A veil. It reminded him of a veil.
Around her neck, she wore the most lovely leather collar I had ever seen. So rich and exquisite in its simplicity. It was as much a part of her as were her blue eyes. She brought a teak tray with two cups and a pot of steaming tea. She set the tray on the table between him and me, and knelt to pour. She handed me my cup and him, his. She knelt at his feet – at home, serene, at rest.

We talked of inconsequential things as we sipped our tea. Her at his feet seemed as normal as the cat fitted into my hand. He finally took notice of her, lightly caressing her head.

“This one, presently, is in My keeping for instruction,” he said, as if showing me a prized pet. “You will excuse us for a moment?”

His request was more of a statement to the two of us. He rose, tugged her leash and she followed him into the recesses of His apartment. I was relieved for the solace. It gave me time to try to mentally adjust to this tableau, of which, I seem to have become a part. What in the Hell had I gotten myself into now, kept running through my mind? I truly was a “Stranger in a Strange Land,” as Robert A. Heinlein would so describe the “where/when” I seem to be inhabiting in this time-space continuum. As I was about to help myself to more tea, they re-entered the parlor.

Curiously, she did not kneel at his feet as before, but crossed the room to kneel alongside my chair. As she knelt, she rested her head against my thigh but not against my thigh. Her cheek touched only the cat, draped across my lap. I’d almost forgotten it so much a part of me had it become. As her cheek touched its tails, it seemed to come from its somnabulance and, again, vibrate in my hand.

Reclining in his seat, he looked long and hard at the tableau before him, and, then he spoke in almost a whisper,  “As I told you, that one is resident here for my training. Her Master brought her here, but He has since lost interest in her and taken another. This girl was to be trained and tattooed for His pleasure, but she is allergic to the dyes and totally useless for this purpose. I have kept her here to aid in my business and demonstrate some of the “toys” I have created. I suppose she will stay until a suitable Master is found for her. The collar she wears is a training collar and has no locking mechanism. If you decide it is of interest, I can make it a permanent collar in a few minutes in my shop.”

His words struck a chord with me as the cat’s restlessness sharpened my awareness and understanding of what was being said. I reached down and removed the collar from her throat. I looked at it for long moments, my thoughts in turmoil. Not knowing what else to do and so admiring the workmanship and beauty in this piece of leather, so beautifully crafted. I started to rise, thought better of it and tossed it across the room where he deftly caught it. Looking it over, caressing its surface, he nodded and set it aside.

“I have no further interest in her,” he continued, “other than the convenience she serves in my business. In point of fact, as she is so identified in my mind with that cat you hold, I was intending to give her to the person who first had the affinity for the cat and the cat for them. You seem to possess both the interest, and the respect of that cat. However, this I will not force it upon you. When you have finished with her tonight, return her to me, if you so wish. I will soon turn her loose as my one is shortly to take up residence.”

“The cat you now possess – yes, it is now yours, the Gods only know it was never mine – and this one... They are the reasons that I have brought you in here, and I am bothering to explain all of this to you. When I created that piece I was doing some very heavy peyote, and the work didn’t go well for the longest time. When, finally, the cat was finished… I could not ‘feel’ it, though I ‘knew’ it had a life, and it seems still to hold some sort of power over me. It is a power I can not master nor control.”
“I have shown that piece to a select few of my most experienced clients, and, though they all admired its beauty, few would even touch it. This may seem like I am anthropomorphizing this cat, but is does have imbued within it some sort of spirit – some living thing. I was damn near awe struck at the way you and the cat seemed to have an instant symbiosis. A select two of my clients and I have tried to use this cat with this one. Here, you’ll just have to take my superstitious word, we were never successful. It fought us. She was with me while I was constructing it, and I sense that she too seems to have an affinity, a joining as it were with it. I think you noticed some of that when she assumed the position she now maintains.”

Again, he sat still, and a quiet descended in the room. He stared at me. Stared in a way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand and take instant notice. Whatever his thoughts – wherever his mind had gone – after long minutes, his attention returned to the room and its occupants.

“one,” he said to her, “I think our friend is ready to experience the downstairs room. Will you take him there and accommodate him as if he were your Master? I will not expect your further service this day or evening,” he looked not at her, but at me during this exchange, gauging my reaction to his words.

She rose, crossed the room and stood, head bowed, before him. “Yes, my Master,” Were the only words she spoke, but hours of oratory could not have been more eloquent nor carried more meaning.

“Follow her, “ he said to me, rising and returning to the shop area
.
He paused at the door as we started down the staircase to the underground area,   “Welcome to ‘the Life,’ and the self you are to realize…” He said with a slight, knowing smile and was gone.

We reached the bottom of the stairs, into a storage area and rooms for the incredible artisanship I had seen in the shop. She took me to a door at the far end of this area; reaching above the lentil, she took down another ornate key and opened the door to… the most magnificent room I had ever seen. The walls were hung in deep red and black draperies; she went about the room lighting tapers in the sconces on the walls. In the flickering light, the frames of polished wood shone with a life of their own. As I entered, the cat, once again, quivered in my hand, speaking to me of its home. The cat was home, and it belonged. Moreover, now, so did I. This strange sensation – de je vous, engulfed me, rocked me to the very depths of my soul as my mind reeled. I turned to her for an explanation. She was nude, on her knees, head bowed in supplication.

“What is all of this,” I inquired, my eyes trying to record all of that was here. My mind staggering at the implication of all that I was seeing, sensing, and, then, I knew. Moreover, amazingly the cat comforted me, supported me in my awareness.
“For Your pleasure, Master, as am i,” she whispered.

To settle my mind and absorb all of this. This, what? My mind screamed at me. I crossed to the center of the room and sat in a throne like chair. Again, she knelt beside me, but this time she touched neither the cat nor me. The cat, I remembered, its gentle “purr” was reassuring. So much I didn’t understand; so many questions and, seemingly, nowhere to start. Well, the journey of a thousand miles does begin with the first step, “First, ‘one,’ how shall I know you? By what name? Moreover, you speak of being a slave. This is America, and it is 2001.  Nearly one hundred and fifty years ago, there was a little disagreement in this country about slaves. One of the results of that conflict was that slavery was declared illegal.”
 
When in doubt, retreat to the pedantic… somehow, these words seemed so trite and empty here, in this room and at this time. I was beginning to really feel foolish, and the cat stirred at my indecision and ineptitude. Her response was not what I expected or imagined. Eyes still averted, she reached to me, handing me her leash. The cat purred, again. As I took the leash she knew, the cat knew, most importantly, I knew that I was taking possession of her.

Slowly, I rose and tugged gentle on the leash, “Rise and come with Me to the ‘X’ frame,” I ordered. The cat and I led her to the polished wooden frame near the far wall.

She stood before the frame, her back to Me and hands grasping the upper reaches of the “X.” her hair was luxurious, flowing over her shoulders, and silken red, gliding toward that place just above her waist, just below the curve of the last rib.
“Yours, Master. i need to give You pleasure. i need to feel Your lust and need of me.  Please, Master, tell me how i may serve Your needs, Your cravings, Your desires.  Please, i need to feel the Pain of the cat,” barely audible, she whispered her words.
With the attached leather bindings, I lashed her – hand and foot – to the frame and stepped back. My hand, My arm, My body began to tingle as the cat came alive and screamed its hunger as it reached out and clawed her back and ass for the first time – drinking deeply of her as the blood began to flow. Her first screams joined the cries of the cat in a song that sent My lusts, My passions careening out of control.

Still holding the empty leash in My right hand and the cat a part of My left, I felt my universe shift. I accepted that I had arrived at the end of one long, life journey. I “knew,” that another “Life,” and a new journey had begun…

W/we three were to take this journey as O/one.