Baby’s first harness

Not NSFW or anything, but maybe a bit TMI.

Connor’s journey of queer self-discovery continues.

I went shopping in Soho today. To a leather/fetish/sex shop. I wanted to buy a leather harness.

Why?

Well, for a number of reasons:

  1. As I mentioned above, London Connor is on a journey of queer self-discovery and a bit of bondage gear seems basically compulsory to achieve that.
  2. Men on the kind of sites and apps I frequent, seem to really like when men who look like me wear leather straps and chains and collars and the like.
  3. I like stripes. I know that in this context this sounds nuts, but I do. I love stripes. I find a man wearing a stripey t-shirt automatically sexier than a man in a not stripey t-shirt. I love striped clothes, striped carpets, striped tablecloths. I just like stripes. It’s one of the reasons I like braces and ties. They add stripes to the man. And a leather harness adds stripes to a man’s torso.
  4. London Connor is all about being brave and doing things I’ve never done before.

So here I was, standing outside the shop. It only took me about seven minutes to work up the courage to go in. I’d been in sex shops before, but only to buy jokey presents for other people, never to buy anything that would require me to try it on and to interact with a shop assistant. Oh Brave New Connor!

I walked in. There was a man chatting to the shop assistant. They were talking about their masturbation habits. Out loud. As if they were just exchanging gardening tips or something. There was also a young male/female couple in the shop, maybe 22 or 23, from Japan or Korea. I’m not sure they realised it was a shop mainly directed at the gay man.

I went to look at the rack of leather harnesses. I was completely bewildered by the choices available.

I walked up to the counter and interrupted the masturbation chat. Oh my god. The shop assistant had a t-shirt with a slogan about fisting. That’s right. Fisting. He was also wearing leather trousers. He spoke with a Northern Irish accent. I wonder if his mother knows where he works. Or if he wears his fisting t-shirt when he’s at home in Northern Ireland.

I told him I was interested in a harness but I couldn’t figure out the sizing.

“Let’s try a few on ye,” he said, leading me back to the rack of harnesses.

He told me about H-front harnesses and Y-front harnesses and X-front harnesses. He showed me where the various straps and buckles went. We brought two different types of harness to the changing room.

“You can try them on over your shirt or take your shirt off. And I can put them on you or you can put them on yourself.”

I took off my shirt and said, “It’s probably easier if you put them on me.” Because those are the kinds of choices I make now.

Well, if this isn’t a London Connor moment, then I don’t know what is. There I am, in a bondage-wear shop in Soho, topless, while a man from County Antrim wearing a shirt celebrating fisting, straps me into a variety of leather harnesses, being careful not to catch any of my hairs.

The harnesses didn’t all fit, but I didn’t expect them to. And the strap that’s meant to sit across the middle of your pecs is actually way above mine, because my moobs are fairly pendulous so my nipples are surprisingly low, but nonetheless, I love my new harness. It’s black leather with red edges and I look like the bomb in it. I’m sure I’ll post a photo to Instagram before too long.

Now I just need to find the right occasion to premiere it at.

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