Sweetie’s Knack for Ropes Part Two: Nice Safe Room

Getting ready to go out to the rope class and play party last Saturday night, I wonder if Sweetie and I were nuts for going to a play party together. Though we’ve been expanding our repertoire lately, we’ve always treated each other pretty gently in bed. Even a good marriage accumulates its share of sadness and anger, and until recently we’ve been over-careful of keeping hurty or aggressive aspects out of the bedroom. We were both worried that doing a public scene might make us cry.

Also, I was superscared of running into Fireguy and Varga Girl, Varga Girl especially—I know there’s absolutely nothing I can do about her hating me. Sweetie said she would protect me, but I knew there was really nothing she could do, nothing they could do either, for that matter. I wanted to get back out to a party before the fear built up too much, see if I still had a place there.

Packing up my suitcase gave me a little boost of confidence, a little swagger. Especially since I’d packed my favorite fluffy blanket and a pack of fresh socks. Back when he and I had possibilities, Fireguy balked at the idea of me bringing my own blanket, but I think I always will. Only having to depend on Sweetie and myself was comforting and empowering. As I was curling my hair, I declared:

“Know who I’m collared to? This girl.” And pointed to myself. I’m not sure if it’ll be that way forever, but it will for at least a little while.

My fears were dispelled as soon as we walked up the stairs to the banquet room where the party was being held. Sometimes when I walk into a play party, I feel the stress just whoosh out of me, and this was one of those times. There were various pieces of furniture for spanking, tying up, and suspending people arranged all around the room, but to me it just felt peaceful. I walked in and knew Fireguy wouldn’t be there that night, and he wasn’t.

The rope class leader was at the welcome table doing the release-signings. There was a thing on the release saying I couldn’t write about the things that happened there, but he said I’m okay because I don’t use party or person names. Otherwise, I guess Sweetie and I would’ve had to go home and play. Another release, another membership card. I put my mom down as an emergency contact, and so did Sweetie. People looked at us funny for that, but really, if I’m hurt, what’s my mom gonna care where I am. she’d probably just be glad I was there with Sweetie. But also maybe ask me what she used to ask me during my high school mosh pit days—“Why do you like hurting yourself?” Still a good question!

Anyway, The party/class leader is an ex-Marine, but an easygoing, down-to-earth guy’s guy. His energy kind of reminded me of my brother-n-law’s. His partner/bottom, (one of them) a gorgeous brunette about my age, promptly stripped down to her body stocking to help him demo.

There’d been homework that Sweetie hadn’t gotten to work on, the Somerville Bowline knot, but she picked it up quick enough. Most people were suing their own leg to practice on, but I stuck out mine for her. Next to us, not on the same knot, there was a Domme with a very subdued guy for her bottom. She kept tying and re-tying him in different configurations. I heard two words out of him the whole night: “It pinches.” and she responded harshly “I’ll get to it in a minute.”

There was a cute switchy couple practicing their knots on their own legs. Some couples weren’t practicing at all, just snuggling. As I’d seen at other parties, there was a range of ages and sizes—what most people had in common was the fact that they were making lovey-eyes at each other.

When there wasn’t a task at hand, Sweetie looped the ropes around me, practicing. I held out my wrists together and she wove them together looping and pulling through over and over to make a loose and very pretty cuff.

One part of the lesson that I liked was when the teacher said “One thing I always tell you is “Don’t break your toys.” Well, you know one thing that won’t break? Her mouth. You fuck up, she’s telling everybody.”

I don’t know why, but I found that comforting. It made my bratty heart sing.

Next: Our Pretty Pink Scene

How I Found Out I’m Kinky Part Four: Best First Date

This was the dreamiest song that Bill sent me:

But here’s what I was listening to when I came around the corner the night last December and saw him:

Nobody brought out my inner Ke$ha like this Bill did, and videos of parties where something bad might happen always remind me of him. For the record, my first date spot isn’t a “dirty free-for-all,” it’s a pretty gelato place.

When I first saw him he looked…awkward. In his profile picture, he looked mustache-y in a Seventies Dom kind of way, but in real life he looks kind of like a grown-up version of Kowalsky, the bully from Glee. He sure did have some very flashy-scary blue eyes, though!

There was money awkwardness, too. His wallet looked very empty and young, and since we just ordered hot chocolates he had to get an emergency cookie to get up to the minimum amount on his credit card. Some dumbass gender fear stopped me from just buying us both gelatos as if it were the 21^st century. I was new to guys and scared to death of emasculating him.

It was just the most awkward conversation ever. He’d told me that he hated Sheldon from Big Bang Theory: “That whole quasi-Aspergian thing is just not cute,” but he is by far the most quasi-Aspergian of all the quasi-Aspergians I’ve dated.

He told me things that made me feel like he was on a job interview and failing badly at it, but also endeared himself to me by talking about how he used to take care of the horses at the zoo. He told me he’d recently moved back in with his parents, and that gave me pause but not too much.

I told him that right before I’d gotten ready for our date I’d pulled a Tarot card and got The Devil, reversed. He said, “Oh, wait, I know what that is…like a catalyst.”

I decided I liked him enough to go for a walk. It was right after Thanksgiving and the downtown streets were all bedazzled and romantic. He mentioned that his picture is out of date, so I took one with my phone. I asked for his number so I could send him the picture, and he looked inordinately satisfied about that.

I linked my arm through his and he took my mittened hand and squeezed it tight. Then he held it up to his mouth and bit it, not hard, just enough to make me impressed.

He said “Allright.” and pulled me to the side of the sidewalk and gave me one of the best kisses of my life. His mouth was just so perfect for mine, forceful but deft. And! He! Was! Pulling! My! Hair! Oh man I would just kill to be able to kiss him again. It was every push-shove-swoon fantasy I’d ever had in one kiss.

When he pulled away I said “Good JOB!” and he shushed me and said “You have a kissable smile.” and kissed me some more. Then he held me out by the shoulders in an appraising-approving way and I said “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We went to the park at the center of downtown and sat down on a bench. It was chilly, but not too cold for December. I was wearing my favorite bright red trench coat. The trees were hung with white spheres of Christmas lights. He just had the happiest, most satisfied expression, like he’d really accomplished something. And he had!

We made out on the bench like teenagers. He scratched at my neck and played with my ribbon necklace. He pushed on my trachea a little, but not so much as to block the breath. He bit my nose like a big goofball. He pulled my hair so it hurt and I felt like I couldn’t get away. I just wanted him to devour me and he seemed inclined to do so.

It didn’t take long for him to start making grabs for second base, not sneaking along the side boob like a normal adult but just grabbing, the way boys did at the community pool when I was first hitting puberty. I liked the feeling of trying to fight him off, but not trying too hard.

We walked down to the river (“That’s where I’ll show you the moves,” he said.) and made out some more. More perfect kissing, more creepy-thrilling grabs. He said “Yep, I’m gonna masturbate tonight.” and I felt free to say some dirty thing back.

As he was walking me back to my bus stop, he expressed regret at being “all lame and unemployed,” and I stopped him. I said “I don’t need anything. I’m a grown-ass woman. I have a job and a wife who has a job. But you may have to give me a lot of attention.” He agreed to that.

When we walked past the building where the Mayor of Kittentown works, I pointed it out and he said “Yeaaaaaah, he makes more money than me.” I told him for the first of many times that it’s not a competition.

All the way across downtown, we kept kissing. He pushed me into some walls, as my OK Cupid profile asks guys to do. I got on the bus all stubble-burned and dazed and immediately texted my friend Adorkable: “Sweet Jesus, I may have found my top.”

Coming up: Second Date Bruises, I’m a Greedy Little Brat