A Shibari Neighbor

Mister Yokoyama was, for the most part, a quiet neighbor. He was kind, of course, and said “Hi!” whenever he found someone on the street. But he rarely left his house, except for buying groceries. He must have been fifty-something, but he was still a strong man. He used to work for hours in his garden. There was also some kind of barn on his property, and he used to spend several hours there, although nobody knew exactly what he did there. Little did I know I was going to remember him as my Shibari neighbor.

When I arrived in the neighborhood, I was in the middle of high school. My life was a mess, and I frequently had problems with my mother (my dad had left us). She insisted on me studying in a religious school, which I hated, especially for the ridiculous uniform I had to wear.

Once, I was obsessed with going to a concert of a boy band whose name I won’t tell. I had no money and my mom wasn’t willing to buy me the ticket. I was desperate. That’s when my friend Jennifer told me that I could make a lot of money helping Mr. Yokoyama. I had no trouble working in the garden; it was heavy work, but I was a tough girl. However, when Jennifer said “And don’t forget to wear your uniform!”, with a sassy smile, I wondered what kind of work I was going to do.

It turned out Mr. Yokoyama was a Japanese bondage master with an obsession for girls in school uniform. He paid good money for allowing yourself to be tied, and even more money if you agreed to be suspended above the ground. That’s what he did in the barn!

I know it’s kinda weird, but, back then, I saw it as easy money. After all, I didn’t have to do anything, just be patient and endure the long time it took Mr. Yokoyama to tie me, delight in his work, and untie me.

That’s the story of my Shibari neighbor.