And then there was the deep basement.
The deep basement is where my father would retreat with his radio, his beer, his peanuts and his workbench with tools of all kinds in a wonderful workshop. There was a toy room where there were floor to ceiling shelves containing all our toys. There was the laundry room with a huge washer and dryer (there were seven of us in the house, laundry was constant). And in the center of it all was the post.
The post was a round metal tube that extended from the center of the floor, by a drain pipe, to the ceiling. It was painted brown. It was always cold. I am assuming it was a support of some sort to the house.
We had an older dog who would be incontinent sometimes, so if we were going to be gone for the day, my mom would chain the dog down in the basement to the post. There was a dog bed there, nice and comfortable and warm with a blanket for her to nest in, a radio with music playing to soothe her, a water bowl and a bowl of dog food.
Imagine my delight when, one day, I realized that the dog collar, still chained to the leash, which was still chained to the post, was the perfect fit for my neck.
This started a long love of spending hours in the basement. I dreamed of being a captive to an evil king who kept me thrown in his dungeon, only being brought up to the bright world above to be beaten and used for his pleasure. I didn't really know what sex was at such a young age but I knew that SOMETHING happened between a man and a woman and the thought of being kidnapped and having whatever the heck it was done against my will made for many hours of pleasurable escape.
There were other fantasies, too. Some of which actually were acted out in my later years. More of that later.
The day came when the dog collar no longer fit around my throat. Luckily, I realized the collar would still fit around my ankle, although that was not as satisfying as the fit around my throat. What is it about the delicate, tender, vulnerable throat, being the focal point of your bondage? I still love wearing a collar to this day, and being leashed by it.
After our vacation to Florida when I was ten years old, in the winter, my parents decided enough of the cold. We would move to Florida. I was thrilled! Ecstatic! Jubilant! I hated winter and because I had only been to Florida for two weeks and experienced balmy 78 degree sunshine every day, I thought Florida was always like that. I couldn't wait to move. I told all my friends and bid them farewell and gave them toys I didn't want to take to Florida.
There was only one problem.
Florida is basically a sandbar. There is something called the aquifer that runs all throughout Florida underground. The water table is very low. Meaning.....
There are no basements in 99% of Florida.
My beloved basement. My beloved pole. Gone. Forever.
But it was worth it. If we never moved to Florida, I never would have met Carn.
