CarnalNation

The Golden Gate Bridge is busy, enormous, clattering, and often enshrouded in fog; it is a welcoming sight, a morning ritual, a symbol, and an icon. A rust-colored system of cables and girders, perpetually repainted and crowded with commuters and tourists, the Bridge is a practical but sometimes tragic route to a city legendary for its colorful inhabitants who include queer activists, unionized sex workers, nude-beach regulars, and practicing perverts. San Francisco promises acceptance, diversity, and a safe place to fully express oneself. I fell in love with it the way John Steinbeck fell in love with Cannery Row in Monterey: the setting is just as much of a character as the people that occupy it.

Aside from its romantic qualities, the Golden Gate Bridge is a fantastic place for a fetish photo shoot. A fairly epic location, it really stands for so many things I, an L.A. expatriate, wanted out of my life. Aside from the occasional unfulfilled craving for matzoh at 3 a.m., I feel much more connected to San Francisco than I ever did to Los Angeles. In my first 24 hours as a Bay Area resident, I saw a man barrel down a steep street riding a shopping cart, and I fell in love. It’s the kind of place where I can find an employer who doesn’t mind the fact that I happen to enjoy getting tied up and photographed. I can talk about proper fisting techniques over some good Ethiopian food and the only raised eyebrow I get is from a prospective date. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to take my very own picture with the Golden Gate Bridge decked out in a corset and bondage. It was after all the very reason I came to this city.

The plan was to take some high-art bondage photos. On rare sunny winter’s day and with this wonder of construction stretching out across a gorgeous view of the bay, we couldn’t go wrong. I had picked out an incredible gingham underbust corset, and as luck would have it, I found a pair of matching pasties. With all the makings for a fine fantasy, we set out to our location and prepared to shoot.

As far as that particular outfit goes, the pasties are what 'cinch' the look. It wasn't until we were well on our way that I realized that I had forgotten my spirit gum back at home. We could have done the shoot without the pasties, but they were pretty important to me. I insisted on wearing them. So we made a quick stop at a gas station hoping to find something to improvise with for the shoot. All too aware of our tight schedule and the limited availability of daylight, I made a hasty decision that I would soon come to regret.

This is the part of the story where I try to explain a poor decision without seeming like a complete moron. What I am about to describe to you is a situation that has most people wondering how someone could do something so extraordinarily stupid. I'm going to do my best to rationalize things, but I knew better. I assumed it would end badly, and I did it anyway. I shall accept all mockery with whatever dignity and grace I can muster.

The best thing I could find at the gas station was a patch kit with rubber cement. We all remember rubber cement, don't we? I looked back fondly upon the often-used glue of my childhood and figured that it would work out just fine. This was the very thing I used to make collages and homemade models of the solar system. Maybe it would sting a little, but how bad could it really be? Surely it couldn’t feel worse than a single-tail whip or wintergreen alcohol applied immediately after a play piercing. I would use the rubber cement; the crisis would be averted; the photos would have my pasties; and everyone would be happy. It's not like I was going to be completely comfortable at a bondage shoot anyway.