At the bondage workshop, I sat quietly while the instructor went over the syllabus. We would learn the overhand knot, he said, followed by the square knot. We would avoid the granny knot and embrace the half-hitch. We would favor loops and bypass tangles. Later, we would apply our knowledge to a classic "wrap-around" that would not go slack, no matter how much our bind-ee squirmed.

Everyone, we were told, had to pair up, so I asked the woman sitting in front of me to be on my team. I didn't expect her to agree, but she did, probably because she, like me, was alone. All of the other women were there with their "masters," or "jousters." And even though all the single dudes seemed nice, I just didn't want to get ropey with them.

My teammate told me her name was Jenny. It was probably a pseudonym, but it wasn't as flagrant as something like Sub-Kitten, so I didn't mind. "Hi, Jenny," I said. "Do you come here often?"

She said she was a Yale-trained geneticist, but had switched to business consulting. I saw that she had a no-nonsense, short-shag haircut and was wearing a wool suit-pants and a jacket. So the consulting part of her story seemed true.

Our instructor announced that eventually we would have to switch roles. I liked this idea, because I wanted to be on top. I wanted to bind Jenny, and I knew I'd get my turn.

"So, who's going to tie first?" I asked.

"I will," Jenny said.

I wasn't worried. I'd have my moment. So I posed obediently while Jenny knotted a loop behind behind my neck, passed loose ends under my arms, and crossed strands over my stomach. I didn't flinch when she pulled the lines through my crotch and hitched them over my coccyx. I stood serenely while she did more wrapping, then finished her cinching.

"So," I asked, "are you planning to practice on men or women?"

"Both," she said.

Ninety minutes later, I was still standing there while Jenny puzzled over her circles and twists. I was beginning to think I wouldn't get my turn. I also was becoming bored out of my gourd.

"Time to switch!" the instructing angel commanded, and I jumped to attention. I picked up the hundred-foot, inch-thick, crushed-nylon coil and went to work on Jenny.

"So," I asked, "have you ever been tied up before?"

"Not often," she said. "But once I went to a party thrown by a dominatrix, and when I got there, she said, 'You're the decoration!' I stood there like a coffee table, or a lamp pole, for hours."

I wanted to ask if her Yale dissertation adviser had known about her human-furniture behavior. But I didn't ask, because I didn't have much time.

I wove my "Willie web" fast. I whipped my rope around Jenny's shoulders, then X-wise across her chest and around her waist, frontwise through her wool-pantsed crotch, up across her buttocks and around her wrists.

"I can take this only for about four minutes," she said.

I loosened her wrists but tightened her elbows.

"Your regular bottom partner is going to get worn out quickly," she said.

How did she know I had a regular bottom partner? I wondered. Then I guessed my status was obvious-I looked like I had "tied the knot" with someone.

One of the workshop tops came over and asked, "Isn't this wussy web a bit too tight?"

In answer, Jenny flexed her puffy hands.

The jouster dude took out a pair of medical shears. "They're sharp but blunt," he explained.

Before he started snipping, I began unwrapping.

The workshop ended all too soon. Before I left, I picked up a bibliography of knot books and a handout diagramming the advanced Far Eastern, full-suspension web. I carefully coiled the rope I had used and returned it to its rack.

"What's next for you?" I asked Jenny.

"I'll apply for an intermediate class," she said. "Eventually, I hope to become domme certified."

We parted with more politeness than probably was necessary.