After my flogging fun with Old-Timey Guy, I put my PJs back on and found a spot to stand and watch everybody play. I hovered near a rope-acquaintance of mine, who happens to share a name with the most vexing character on this blog, so I’ll just refer to him as HempRopes. I’d watched him before in rope class and admired his style, and earlier last Saturday night he’d offered to tie me up if he got time.
HempRopes was spotting a young man who was doing self-suspension. People who do ropes on themselves are my heroes; I’d really like to learn that for myself someday.
I was hoping I might be next after HR’s spotting task, and I was!
He gave me the option of clothes or not clothes, guess which I chose? I left my little pajama shorts on but of course opted for toplessness.
HR is kind of my type, stocky and vaguely nerdish. He had very warm hands as he basket-wove the ropes around my thighs. My favorite part of getting the harness on was when he said “Put your arms around my neck” and picked me up by the thigh ropes to make sure they were adjusted properly—I squealed.
I kept getting distracted watching Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl playing, so I asked for a blindfold. I was surprised to want one after the fainting time. He had a nice leather one that he bucked on loosely and I started to feel all soft and safe.
For weeks and weeks, my brain has been in a state of constant chatter; lesson plans, homework, discipline problems, all of the cerebral, not-sexy stuff that’s really important but can take me out of my body too much. As HR worked the ropes onto me, as his warm hands wove hemp gently around my chest, I heard something strange and wonderful in my brain: silence. Ahhhhhhh, relief.
He was apologetic whenever he had to adjust the ropes between my legs, but I told him he didn’t have to be quite so polite. When he was finished putting the harness on me, he put me in a chair and got to work doing the rigging on the suspension frame. It took quite a while. People strolled by oohing and ahhing about his work, and I felt like I wasn’t there, in a good way. Once the rigging was done on the frame, he came back over to the frame and tied on some comfy ankle supports—it felt like a one-column tie. then he picked up the ankle supports and led me over to the suspension frame.
In order to get situated on the frame, he had to tie me at my heart first—I liked the feeling of that first support rope pulling up from my heart, it stretched me out in a new way. When he was getting my back supported, I had to lean back a couple of times to get the rope into position. Then it was time to lean back all the way and I was suspended, just a few feet off the floor. It felt wonderful, like a cradle. He tied giving me a head-support, but that felt too choky, so my head just hung down, not-unpleasantly.
He rocked me. I felt warm and contained and cared-for. I’d heard other bottoms talk about feeling like they’re in a safe little bubble and I felt what they meant. The bulge in his pants was now friendly against my shoulder every time he rocked me back. I liked the way that it felt sexy but undemanding—kind of matter-of-fact.
Next time: I heart the knife.