Up until a few months ago, the extent of me being tied up was with something (a belt, a tie, a scarf, I don’t know) tied around my wrists. Too tightly. And it had to be tight for me to remember it because that was 5 years ago..
And then I met [ex-bf]. Fast forward through all the interpersonal bullshit that I went through with him- it matters not. What does matter is that he’s the first person to use rope on me and from there I’ve been hooked. Sure, he had only started learning to tie, but I didn’t know anything about it anyway… so as long as I had the restraint, I didn’t care. Not being able to move? Hot. Why? I wish I could tell you. Maybe because I’m so assertive/aggressive in many aspects of my life that it feels good to step outside of that and be at someone else’s mercy for once.
But even when nobody else is around, and I wrap rope around myself for self-portraits… it’s comforting. It’s almost as if I’m being held, but without all the complicated emotions of having another human being hold me. When graydancer was tying me up at the Inferno a few weeks ago, I remember just feeling a sense of calm rush over me as he secured my arms behind my back. While it seems like the appropriate response would be to panic, I have the exact opposite feelings.
Last week when my face was bound and I was basically blindfolded and gagged by rope, again, it was bizarrely comforting. I almost feel as though some of my anxiety comes from visual responses, and I expel that anxiety by talking (usually using humor)… but I couldn’t see and I couldn’t talk, and all of that kind of melted away.
I have a feeling that I’m going to be discovering a lot about myself as this new found “hobby” continues on, and I’ll definitely keep you updated on my all-important self discovery. All I know is that my ass is getting tied up tomorrow evening and I cannot fucking wait.
She should be arriving here at my house any minute…