We wanted to go out with a bang, but this was an unexpected turn of events. Once we arrived to Oakland, California to visit a friend, our adventures started with a cemetery overlooking the city. Huge tombs were sprawled out on the hill. Some had pyramids, huge pillars, and your traditional tombstones. But there were many that were the size of a room that were filled with families.
I was permeated with curiosity, so I began looking into a window. At first, it looked as if someone had been trapped inside the grave room. Holes were left in the glass. Then it dawned on us, grave robbers. Damn! The glass must be shatter proofed. I peeked into another window, and there lied death. How fitting, a squirrel died in a tomb already meant for that. Realization hit me as I stared down at the lifeless body. These all were filled with that, bodies.
Onward, to the next agenda, rope bondage class. The beginnings of it felt like a class that could be taken in school. We learned the history, what kind of rope to use, and how to take care of it. It was filled with much information in such a short time.
Then the fun began, tying each other up. Couples were scattered on foamy mats awaiting instruction. We used the hemp rope and worked on a few basic ties.
Once the class was completed, it was time to watch the professionals play.
They had such fluid movements together. It was sexy, no doubt, but its beauty was overpowering. The eyes became transfixed onto the two, never wavering. It was as if you were watching a dance with their motions, and the energy exploded throughout the air. It is definitely an art form that has been lost to many. This intrigued me! I was left in amazement!
My husband and I now waited at the San Francisco subway station to get back to Oakland. We were just minding our own business, and out of nowhere, a guy came up behind me and punched my man in the face. He dropped to the ground, and instantly I jumped on the guy yelling in fury, “What’s fucking wrong with you?!” The guy just stood there staring down at my husband. In a blur, I got off and my husband was up. Many local San. Fran. People helped disperse this fight. I was a bit surprised. My adrenaline was pumping rapidly and once we were apart, I realized I had drawn my knife. I was ready. But the locals helped ease the tension.
The guy stared at my man from a far, unflinching with an intense stare. I looked back at him with hate in my eyes. But his eyes never left my husband. The strange man never said a word the whole time. His white polo shirt and pants looked clean, he didn’t look dirty in the least. So we came to the conclusion that he must have been on drugs.
It reminded me of Fightclub, when the main character wanted to destroy something beautiful. My husband became that kind of target.