Being bound gave me the most exquisite thrill. An inner trickle of a tickle that traveled from behind my eyes to past the tips of my toes and outflowed into the dank dark of the basement playroom. To become osmosed by stranger's sight. You, too, are a stranger, looking fixedly at my form, focusing on special pieces and parts of me, surveying my bodily virtues, reducing me to aesthetic data, inspecting me with one admiring and one envying eyeball.