Workshop calls Scout’s honor into question

Midway through my first class on the erotic joys of tying up a sex partner, I thought to myself …

Wow. Things can’t get much weirder than this.

Then the naked man burst through the front door.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

As my teachers used to tell me, “Doug, you can never be too old to learn something new.”

Well, actually, what my teachers mainly used to say was: “Clark, take your smart aleck mouth out in the HALLL!”

But that’s beside the point. The point is that I was fit to be tied when I saw the press release advertising an adult seminar on “sensual rope restraint.”

The workshop was called “Knotty Lovers.”

“I’m there,” I told an editor.

So last Friday I drove to the Browne’s Addition Wellness Center, a refurbished older home at 2013 W. Fourth.

The Wellness Center was started recently by a therapist I shall refer to only as Naomi.

Why? Two reasons.

First, Naomi has another job. And second, as she reminded me, the last time I put her entire name in my column she was almost booted out of college.

That was about 11 years ago. Naomi was getting her psychology degree at EWU and running a side business as a topless maid.

After reading her ad in a local shopper, I talked Naomi into letting me watch her clean some dude’s house.

Naomi wore only a thong, a frilly apron and a lace choker.

I have the best job in the world.

Anyway, Naomi didn’t teach the Knotty Lovers course.

Those duties fell to a lanky young man who introduced himself as Mr. Johnson. Mz. Kitten, a raven-haired woman, was there to assist.

Mr. Johnson set up a computer monitor and laid a briefcase on a table.

Nothing strange about that.

Then he popped open the briefcase. The thing was packed with neatly looped bundles of white and black rope.

I’d hate to explain that in an airport security check-in line.

Tying up a consensual partner is not about being hurtful, Mr. Johnson explained. This is about experiencing the sensations of sensuous bondage.

According to Mr. Johnson, 40 percent of couples experiment with “some sort of restraint in the bedroom.”

I can totally relate. My editors are always trying to restrain me in the newsroom.

The first couple arrived at 6:08 p.m. They left in a huff about three minutes later after discovering I was there.

On his way out, the thirty-something guy groused loudly about the intrusive media being there to take notes on this highly sensitive subject and then exploit it “the next day.”

What a cheap shot. I told the guy it would be Tuesday before I got around to exploiting this.

Eventually, Mr. Johnson had seven curious students to instruct, at $3 for singles and $5 for couples.

Lark’s head. Bowline. Japanese loop. Trucker’s hitch … That Mr. Johnson sure knows his knots.

Mz. Kitten stood up at one point. She allowed Mr. Johnson to tie a rope above and below her breasts. The snug white cord made a stark contrast against her black shirt.

I must have missed this session at Scout camp.

Speaking of which, Mr. Johnson was happy to see that I brought along my deck of Boy Scouts of America knot flash cards.

Even in bondage situations a good Scout should always “Be Prepared.”

So we were about 45 minutes into this freak show when the naked nut job made his appearance.

I have no idea what motivated this fool. All I know is that the front door opened and this scruffy streaker ran in hollering through the room with one hand cupping his junk.

(Modesty? What a disgrace to the streaking tradition.)

The idiot ran past me and leaped over a chair before disappearing out the back of the Wellness Center, which, based on my visit, should be renamed the House of Loons.

The craziest thing is how matter-of-fact everyone reacted to this.

After a moment of wide-eyed shock, Mr. Johnson just went back to droning on about knots and ropes.

“I prefer cotton because if you wedge it up between somebody’s legs and it gets sweaty you can wash it.”

Call me fussy, but you’ll not catch me recycling used crotch rope. That’s what incinerators are for.

A bit later, Mr. Johnson passed me a book called “A Common Sense Guide to Kinky Sex.”

The back of the book had a few sample questions that were presumably answered in the text.

My favorite was, “If your husband likes to wear your panties, does that mean he’s gay?”

Heck. I don’t need a book for that one.

The answer’s easy:

Your panty-wearing hubby’s not necessarily gay. More likely he’s a Republican legislator.