The Dance of the Rope

I have two deep dark bruises on my arms, and a long cut on the side of my neck. My back hurts, despite all the stretches, as if I’d been tortured on an old-fashioned rack. I’m dealing with the expected sub drop by cuddling under the blanket, drinking port and watching some silly TV. But it’s all worth it. Last night, I got to dance with her and her teasing, playful, dominating and sometimes cruel, slithering over my body and leaving me in gasps and shivers, rope….

Rope, by the way, is yet another example of N(ot) M(y) K(ink) that has with time and exposure become a burning desire. I had my first experience of being bound and suspended at Fetfest, by the amazing Murphy Blue (I had no clue who he was at the time, either). I loved the feeling of his rope against my skin, when he slid it over my naked body and tied me into shapes I didn’t know my body could make. The first time, seeing I had no prior experience, he was particularly gentle and careful, pausing to ask if I was doing ok, and making sure the rope didn’t bite too much into my flesh, that the position didn’t strain my joints. It was very technical, and yet, I saw the subtle dance of his hands as the rope glided and almost tied itself into knots on my body, and lifted me off the ground, limb by limb. I went into the scene awaiting a result, but it was the process, the rhythm, the beauty of his movements, the tactile sensation of the rope that got me hooked…

And so, last night, in a class on kinesthetic rope with Midori, I thought I knew what to expect. I knew already that for me being bound is an act of domination that forces me into a different psychological state than spanking or sex. Being tied and, especially, being suspended transforms me into an aesthetic object, and the state of becoming art, while still a state of submission, is more akin to being elevated than being broken and forced to submit. The limitation of my movements is also different with rope than being held down or cuffed to the bed – while I can’t move on my own, I become a marionette, a puppet whose body can be set into motion by a pull of the string. In a way, the rope becomes my dominant, the rope moves me. When I was suspended by Murphy Blue, he pushed me, gently and let me feel how the motion continued by itself, as I spun around slowly, almost deliberately, until he stopped me with just one finger. And then, of course, there was the feel of the rope: the fibers scratching or soothing, gently restraining or biting. The second time he suspended me, he let me feel some of the rope’s cruelty, as he tightened it around my body with sharp pulls, letting it cut into my breasts and my waist, eliciting sharp sighs of pain and pleasure.

 But last night…. Last night managed to surprise me. I was wearing a sweater, and couldn’t feel the texture of the rope as it circled me. And yet, its movement, slow and lingering, fast and sharp, the rhythm of its dance as it slid over my arms and between my legs, so sensual, so erotic… In a matter of moments, Midori managed with a few barely visible movements to get me out of my head, throw me off-balance, de-center and draw me into a dance. I started as a shy and somewhat stiff participant, unsure how to react and what was expected of me, and before I knew it I became part of a conversation, struggling against the pull of the rope, tugging playfully at its tail, then gasping as I was suddenly yanked back and down, my body forced to the floor, flattened out, immobilized without ever even being touched. In less than ten minutes Midori brought me into sub-space, something that’s fairly rare to me, and as I previously thought, impossible without an intimate connection and deep knowledge of your partner. And then, still only using the rope, she made me crawl to my daddy, who took over the reins and took care of me.

I felt like I’ve been made love to in the most physical, kinky and sensual way. And there was not a single knot tied the entire class. 

This is NOT a (sub)drop...(?)

I had a wonderful week, filled with hard work and many emotional (and physical) rewards. I had a very stressful and overwhelming, but ultimately gratifying Wednesday, because I managed to accomplish everything I set out to do. And then, I had an unforgettable evening/night/morning with my daddy, who took care of my tired body and let me vent, for hours, about everything on my mind. And then there was the sex…. I was so happy Thursday morning. But by the time Thursday night came around, I was falling apart – I was sick (physically), emotionally exhausted, incredibly down and doubting my abilities, my strength, and my desire to keep fighting for the things I want. I was on the verge of crying, and nothing, not even my daddy’s kind and loving words could calm me down. I didn’t know how to deal with the sadness that was overpowering me, and worst of all, I felt I was being extremely ungrateful for all the good things in my life, and I kept trying to bring myself back up, unsuccessfully, of course, and to my incredible frustration.

By now, I am used to having a sub-drop after events or playdates; I am not sure if they will ever get any better, but at least I know enough to recognize them and deal with them appropriately. With enough experience, we all learn: this is to be expected, and we can even prepare – take a day off in advance, stock up on chocolate, make sure we have a good book to read and the time and privacy to read it. After an event, we can spend some time online, connecting with the new friends we made; after a playdate, we can do write-ups, give each other feedback, or simply revel in the memories of the night – or the anticipation of the next meeting. We know a sub-drop is a chemical drop, as well as a result of so much energy spent, and so much new experience for our minds to digest, and so we don’t waste time in empty wallowing or self-pity, but usually go directly to the cure – whatever it is for us. This is something everyone learns, I believe – either through experience or research, with the support of the community (Thank you, fetlife!) or, eventually and gradually on our own.

So how is it that our entire lives don’t prepare us for the drop that follows every achievement, any exceptionally good day, a surprisingly happy experience or passionate love-making? These highs are no different from those experienced in the BDSM lifestyle, and the lows that follow should be just as expected for they have similar causes – chemical, emotional, and psychological. They should be similar to deal with, as well, since the practical tools we pick up in our BDSM experiences can be just as useful in our everyday lives: a good book, some extra chocolate for that chemical drop, a bath to relax those tense nerves, all preceded by the same level of self-awareness that tells us to expect a low after a high, and deal with it instead of trying to prevent the inevitable.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I should’ve known better and prepped myself for the drop, instead of fighting it until 2 in the morning.  

N(ot) M(y) K(ink)

Having my hair pulled has never been my kink. Ever. In fact, it was always on the list of my hard limits: along with being yelled at and humiliated. And then, at a recent kink event, I saw a very attractive, playful, and confident girl, a little exhibitionist slut (just like me) being pulled by the hair, by her boyfriend, in a very loving and sexy manner – and suddenly, I was turned on, my juices flowing, my cheeks flushing…. Before I knew it, I was asking my Daddy to try the same – and when he did, it led to one of the steamiest sex scenes (on the bench, middle of the meadow – remember darling?) that I have ever had.

So I have been wondering since, how do other people’s kinks become my own? And not just the ones I have never been exposed to and suddenly see and recognize as manifestations of my vague fantasies, but the ones I was aware of but never excited by?  How is it that seeing people I find attractive or socially adept doing things that never used to turn me on – or were even beyond my hard limits – in the right setting, can make me change my mind? If sexual desire were so easy to turn on and off, how many problems could we as society have avoided! And, personally, why would anyone ever choose to be on the margins of sexual normativity, if they could choose to be aroused by more mainstream things?

Now, I know that female sexuality is notoriously more easily susceptible to social pressures than male sexuality, at least in the way it’s expressed.  According to one study mentioned in Sex at Dawn, while women may get physically excited by certain stimuli, they often don’t recognize their excitement if the sexual stimuli they are responding to are not socially acceptable. This makes me question: these kinks that I so easily take on, could it be that they were already my own, but I didn’t recognize them as such until I saw them approved by my community?  Or, do I take on these kinks precisely because I am conforming to the community that okeys them, and to the social pressure that tells me that “all the cool kids are doing it,” while these kinks are not inherently my own? And does it matter?

The difference, as I see it, should be between how my body responds to something and how my mind views it, and it can be an important one – I either receive pleasure, or I endure the kink for the sake of pleasing my partner and satisfying communal expectations, not losing my cool, not showing my fear. And if it’s not for my pleasure, do I diminish myself somehow by taking it on? Or is it ok to play along every once in a while in order to please others? Where is the line?

In my slippery slope frame of mind, I keep thinking of a rather silly film I once saw, with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts (No, not Pretty Woman): The Runaway Bride. One of the recurrent conversations in that movie turns around how Julia Robert’s character likes her eggs for breakfast – and it turns out that with each fiancé she eats them differently. At the end of the film, when she returns to Gere after leaving him at the altar, she tells him: I finally know how I like my eggs. It scares me to think that with kinks it too can be a subtle slide from “I can do this to please my partner, while I don’t particularly want it” to “when I do this, my partner is happy, and so it doesn’t really matter what I want,” to, finally, “I don’t have a clue what I want.”  By taking on other people’s kinks, could we be losing ourselves and silencing our self-awareness?

 In Sex at Dawn, I liked the explanation of bonobo sexuality – that sex is used not just for procreation, or to secure pair-bonds, but to relieve stress, to encourage sharing, to resolve conflicts. So why is it not ok, then, to use human sexuality not just for personal pleasure, but all of the above – for the good of others, for community building, as methods of compromise? In our feminist society, we look down on a woman who wants to please others – it is seen somehow as a weakness, as buying into and perpetuating the hated patriarchy – but if it’s not taken to an extreme, is it really that wrong? If it’s consensual – and informed – isn’t it just an intelligent way of life? And yes, the gender inequality is there – guys don’t compromise (as much), they pursue their desires (more openly, or, at least, despite the social obstacles). But can’t this be a feminine strength, then, on an otherwise unleveled playing field -- our ability to use our sexuality in so many different ways, to form or solidify bonds, create a sense of well-being, unify a community, and yes, receive pleasure and get our way?

And all along, I still wonder – if it is not truly my kink, why does even just thinking about it make me so excited and wet?