A Whole Bunch of Firsts, Part Three: I Heart the Knife

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.

A Whole Bunch of Firsts Part Two: Suspension!!

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.

Maybe Not A Fetish Ball Kind of Girl, But There Were Highlights (Part Two)

I’ll do a list of highlights and a list of lowlights, fun stuff first:

1. Sweetie looked so cute all dressed up in a tie, suspenders, and a fedora—I definitely want to encourage her to be draggy more often.

2. I loved getting a chance to show off Sweetie’s rope art. It took a while to get me into the corset and harness, but I loved standing near the entranceway in my pretty tiara, sparkly black dress, leggings, and heels, with my arms up, her hands pulling and adjusting the rope this way and that, with my friend Switchpoet and lots of strangers watching nearby. She finished with a heart at the back of the harness, in pink and purple ropes as you’ve seen; I really am the Hello Kitty of rope bottoming.

3. Even though I was mostly a failure at it, it was fun to get to lead Switchpoet around on a leash. He was a really good sport about how ineffectual I was. When we first came up with the idea of me quasi-topping him, it kinda captured my imagination, but I just couldn’t make it convincing. Still, it was fun covering him in glitter and commanding him to go get drinks for me and Sweetie. It’s funny how I can be the bossiest person in everyday life, but I just drop the ball if I try to take a dominant role for fun…

4. Remember the couple I had a good date with, back when I was trying for unicorn practice? Painter and Ro-gan? They came to the ball and we got to catch up. They said they even would’ve set me on fire, had such a thing not been disallowed. They watched me play with Sweetie, which made an awesome thing more awesome. Painter was all dressed up as a doll, with big sproingy hair (She makes spring wigs herself!) and silver eyelashes. They took Ro-gan’s pants at the door because he wasn’t dressed kinky enough, so he had to walk around in just his Star Wars underwear, T-shirt, and Doctor Who scarf. I got to hear a little bit about their adventures at kink camp, but it was really too loud to talk.

4. Speaking of Dr. Who, while I didn’t get to realize my dream of getting tied up in a TARDIS, Sweetie and I did get to make out in one—what a nice place for aftercare! I didn’t mind the little dude in steampunk glasses who kept peering in the windows at us.

5. The kneeling bench we chose had shackles at the bottom of its front legs, so I couldn’t lift my head all the way up while Sweetie was spanking me. If I wanted to tell her something, I had to kind of just wait for her head to come down to me. (Did I mention it was really, really loud in there—couldn’t even hear myself getting spanked!) It made her feel unintentionally rougher than she really is, and that was exciting.

Plus, there was a beautiful suspension going on right next to me, the woman just looked so blissed out and happy as she got ropes tied to her middle, her ankles, her wrists-she looked so well cared for. She had these gorgeous long Amazon legs and pretty pinup heels. I always said I didn’t want to do suspension, but surprise, I do!

As an added bonus, tada!--Painter wants to learn suspension and says I can be her practice bunny. (Yes, I’m having a conversation with myself about calling myself a bunny. I think I’m okay with it…)

6. Added to my list of things to try: fire flogging. The guy doing it got shut down before I could try it, but not before it gave me an I-want-to-go-to-there.

But now for the bad stuff:

1. I hate the aspects of kink life that feel like high school. The girls at the door were mean to me. I was coming from another event so I just walked in in a regular pretty dress, and you should have seen the judgmental stares. They didn’t believe me that Switchpoet was right behind me getting my suitcase of goodies searched. I felt vindicated after I was dressed and roped up and the ticket-taker guy said “Okay, you win.” My rope-enhanced cleavage has that effect on people.

2. Maybe it was because the music made communication impossible, but there was something empty about the (crowded) ballroom. From the fashion show (With the cheesy announcer saying “If you think they’re hot, let them know...”) To the silvery alien girls in the same tutus and silver bustiers, to the fact that I couldn’t hear myself or my fellow players, I just felt disconnected from myself, from Sweetie, from the room. The spiritual aspect of things was missing. It really helps me to appreciate the intimacy and authenticity I’ve felt before at smaller parties.

But heck, I got to dress up, get spanked, and make out in a TARDIS, so I’d call it a win, even if it wasn’t the most edifying one.