Hung up in those ropes, I felt relaxed in a special, extra consent-y way. Technically, I know I am supposed to negotiate things before the scene starts, but I think I was still capable of looking in my heart and knowing I was a yes.
“I could be really mean…” said HempRopes
“Well, not TOO mean, but…how mean?”
“I could get out the knife…”
Knives have been in my maybe pile for a while, and I felt safe enough to try it, so I said sure. I knew that Sweetie would furrow her brow in concern and confusion, but I also knew that she would support me. I gave the knife the go-ahead.
There was the old-fashioned swish of an opening switchblade near my ear. I was still blindfolded so I didn’t know where it would touch me first, or whether or not it would hurt. I felt a light stinging move up my leg, toward my knee. It didn’t hurt much, somewhere between a sting and a tickle. I liked it, of course—what’s not to like?
When I said I’d play with HR, I knew from classes that he was really good with the ropes, but I’m not sure I would have guessed that I’d be quite so turned on by him. But when the knife grazed the top of my breasts, I couldn’t stifle a sigh-moan.
The ropes felt tight on my chest so he lifted me up and held me by the back of my harness. It was a flashback to babyhood, warm and rocked and cared for.
“Where did the knife go?”
The thigh-ropes were holding my legs up and apart, the perfect position for him to graze the knife around my ass, my thighs, and up the middle of the wet crotch of my pajamas-oh. That’s the moment I keep going back to, you know, during personal time. The knife grazing my clit through soft fabric. The pleasure of an almost-stranger doing such very-personal things.
He held my head and pulled the back of the knife gently across my neck—it reminded me of Bill and his tries at breath play, which is an admittedly odd thing to get wistful about. I wondered if I should stop and tell him about being protective of my throat, but it felt fine.
When I first wrote this installment down in my notebook last week, it felt like it might be the end of the Kitten Calendar story. That Saturday night, I felt like I’d come into my own. I felt empowered by the fact that I could go out and get what I needed, that getting what my body is asking for doesn’t necessarily need to be about romance—there was a deep fulfillment to playing with Old-Timey Guy and HempRopes, despite the fact that I don’t know what bands they like or even—gasp!—who they are going to vote for. I trusted them with my whole self, my whole body, and they thoroughly came through. That really means a lot to me. I spent a little time feeling like a triumphant Casual Girl, but that didn’t last long—that’s another story, though.
It only took a few minutes for HR to take me down. A friend I’ll call Bubbly Sub had been not-so-patiently waiting and watching for her turn for at least fifteen minutes—I don’t think I’ve ever been watched quite so closely.
“Can you stand on your own?” HR asked, and I found that I could. He helped pull me up and then took me over to the wall to take a picture of my pretty harness. Couples who were playing around us stopped to smile and watch me get my picture taken. We hugged goodbye and he said he would play with me anytime I wanted. I hugged Bubbly Sub, who was already stripped down to her undies and tape) goodbye, and after a few minutes of clearing my head, drove home.
I am really proud of how strong I was that night, how much I got to experience just because I put myself out there. I’ll keep posting adventures, of course, but at least for that night, I felt like the quest was complete, like I’d gotten myself where I needed to go.