Rope slut

People often talk about triggers for fetishes and I have one for my rope fetish which happened when I was about eight years old. I remember playing by myself in my grandmother’s backyard and I think it was cowboys and Indians because I’d also made a tepee by pegging towels all over my kiddie-sized hill’s hoist. So inevitably the cowboy captured the Indian and decided to tie the captive up with some horrible plastic covered rope I’d also found in the shed. I remember tying my ankles together and then passing the rope up between my knees to my neck and wrapping it around there before making some slip knots in the ends to put around my wrists.

It wasn’t very elegant and I distinctly remember pulling too tight and nearly choking myself, but it felt somehow ‘good’.

I wanted to take that piece of rope home with me when it was time to go, but I couldn’t figure out a way to sneak it into the car without anyone finding out, so I left it in the garden shed and from then on I used to spend an inordinate amount of time playing up the backyard behind the bushes.

From that little bit of rope I went to scarves and belts, pieces of wide elastic and it took me many years and several relationships before I finally got chains and cuffs and then that big momma of them all, shibari-style suspension.

While I was in Melbourne, M arranged for me to have a suspension experience at a bdsm club. I’d never had the chance before and my only experiences with shibari at all up until that point had been a little bit I’d taught myself and a couple of simple hojojutsu-style ties I’d been on the receiving end of courtesy of other people.

All in all I ended up being suspended twice at the club and again a couple of days later as a rope bunny at the advanced class for the Melbourne rope dojo. I also had the lovely experience of being trussed up in a…I don’t even know what to call it…hogtie of sorts? at a play party about a week later.

It was all…glorious.

I think I understand a little better about M and his boot fetish now. Now that I’ve had my rope itch scratched, I just want ALL THE ROPE!!! ALL THE TIME!!

The first suspension was a yoko tsuri like this one below except I had my lower leg straight and the upper leg was raised up and I wasn’t so close to the ground:


I was butt-naked in that crowded club and when my rigger spun me around, everyone in that place got an eye full of my hoohah. Strangely enough I wasn’t embarrassed or overly anxious and the only thing I was thinking about was keeping my back straight (that’s what I’d been told in the short briefing I’d had beforehand) so I just tried to lose myself in the moment and it was…relaxing. M said I had a blissful look on my face.

The second suspension of the night came after we’d had a bit of a session with M’s new paddle & crop. He worked my botty up to a nice shade of red while I was in a pair of stocks then it was time to be hauled off the ground again. This time for the suspension I was suspended vertically with ropes around the top of my knees and my arms behind in the usual takatekote. This position was actually quite stressful but also good in its own way.

After the suspensions were over my lovely rigger asked me if I’d like to come along to the advanced shibari class on the following Monday as his usual rope bunny was busy and couldn’t make it. I could barely contain my squeee!!s of joy and said I would be there with bells on.

The class was not what I was expecting at all and it was full off the famous rope-types in Melbourne. It consisted of each rigger and bunny ‘performing’ in front of the class and then getting critiqued by the other students and the sensei. There was a lot of focus on the rigger’s movements (economy of, fluidity, naturalness etc.) and the contact/energy between the rigger and the model as well as the aesthetics of the ties. It was both totally intimidating and fascinating to be a part of at the same time. So I had another suspension there which we were both complimented on and then there was a little practise of some hojojutsu (prisoner ties) and the two-hour class was over and done.

My final rope experience was back in Perth at a play party following a weekend-long rope workshop. I offered myself up as a bunny and got thoroughly trussed up ala this type of thing below and then I was summarily lowered to the floor, flipped over and hogtied as well!



Unfortunately, I don’t have any pictures of my experiences. Cameras were not allowed in the club and there were no photos at the rope class (actually M couldn’t even come as spectators weren’t allowed…lol.)

I loved it all. Every minute of it. The riggers were wonderfully talented people and the equipment was all very safe and thoroughly tested. They always checked to make sure I was ok and there wasn’t a time I didn’t feel completely relaxed.

M knew how important losing my shibari suspension virginity was to me and he arranged it in the best possible way. I’m eternally grateful that it was such a positive and rewarding experience.

It still makes me smile thinking about it.

She’s the man

I’ve often wondered if I have a little too much testosterone for my own good. Actually, I know I have testosterone levels on the high-side thanks to my fantastically acne-prone skin and oligomenorrhea (that’s infrequent and light menstrual cycles to you and me) but I wonder if having too much of that stuff in my system does other things to me on an emotional level?

See, I’ve often felt like ‘the man’ in relationships I’ve been in. I tend to be the one who stays aloof and emotionally detached with a heavy-side of commitment phobia and I find it hard to express my feelings towards to the other person, especially face-to-face. In a strange coincidence, I’ve also tended to be the main breadwinner and I’m usually the person who has to ‘get shit done’. I also generally like to be in control and don’t trust other people to do things ‘right’ (preferring to do them myself so I know they get done the ‘right’ way).

Sounds a lot like a traditional ‘man’s role’, doesn’t it?

I was thinking about this last night as I chatted with M (yes, he’s back to being called ‘M’). We were dancing around the topic of what we should do about our living arrangements. The lease on my current place finishes on 28th August and I have to make a decision about whether to stay for a little longer or find another place.

This place is perfect for one person or a couple who don’t mind living on top of each other (probably two fantastically active people who do nothing but come home to sleep), but for an introvert who needs space and a mostly retired homebody who doesn’t have a lot of outside interests, I don’t think we’d last too long before we wanted to kill each other.

Ideally, we’d like to be living in Melbourne, but because my work is here and I’m not too keen on looking for another job in the current economic climate, we’ll be living in Perth for the foreseeable future. In terms of a place to live, I’d like a little more living space and a second bathroom (must have a bathtub!) in the CBD that’s not opposite construction, within walking distance of shops and restaurants and that we can afford.

After spending the last few weeks obsessing over the available places to rent and going to a million viewings, I’ve decided that what I’m looking for is the HOLY FUCKING GRAIL.

In an interesting twist, I may be able to continue renting this place at a lower weekly rent than I currently am and it does have two bedrooms so theoretically we could live here (until we killed each other) but I’m in cut-throat negotiations with the owner so I’ll see how that works out.

He has been saying that he would come back here September-October-ish after a slew of family & friends b’days and anniversaries are done with and I made the comment that I just wanted to get ‘our shit sorted’. He wanted to know what I meant by that. Well, he was actually fishing for me to say that I missed him and wanted him back here as soon as possible so we could get the kitten and Master show 3.0 back on the road.

He can quite easily say and has said to me on numerous occasions that he wants to be back with me as soon as possible because he loves and misses me. But me, in all my testosterone-filled beauty, just can’t say it. I do the coy, ‘You know what I mean by getting ‘our shit sorted’!’ thing and quickly change the subject back to whether I would be happy living in a flat over a dumpling shop open until 3am or the black-hole that is East Perth.

In my mind I feel like the stoic man who enjoys having an emotionally slutty woman. While I like and need to be told constantly that I’m loved and receive positive affirmations about everything from my wardrobe choices to my cooking skills, I find giving the same expressions of love or affirmations to be akin to having teeth pulled.

Maybe I need to start a new meme #likeaman


Lost & Found

Someone recently told me that I should stop apologising so much. I’m one of those people who apologises for everything – “Oh, sorry, am I in your way?”, “Sorry, I can’t make it.”, “Sorry, I’m not what you want me to be.” I’d usually start my first blog in many, many weeks with a, “Sorry, for my absence…” but instead, I’ll try something new and not apologise.

(Although I’m itching now to apologise for not apologising….lol.)

A CRAP LOT has happened these past few weeks. To be honest, I’ve started writing on a few separate occasions and just didn’t know where to start; it’s all a bit overwhelming and confronting and…well…just difficult. I’ve been coming home and instead of putting my writing cap on, turning on the television and zoning out. It’s much easier and less threatening.

So where to begin…let’s go back a few weeks….

Remember that last blog I wrote about the unholy trinity? I wrote it in a weird state of mind. A lot of my motivation was wanting to show off. I wanted to seem really cool like I had all these guys floating around me like a posse of stallions. So I wrote the blog in my usual humorous, self-deprecating way and didn’t post it for a week. I just sat on it, pondering whether it was an appropriate thing to post and all the while thinking that I hadn’t posted anything for ages and then finally in a fit of, ‘Oh, crap I really need to post something or I’m a shitty blogger!’ I uploaded it.

Then shit hit the fan.

But before shit hit the fan, I’d already decided a few things:

My trinity in reality was dysfunctional and made me feel cheap and stupid. I’ve never felt comfortable or confident about my body or personality (not fishing for comments here, just laying down how I actually feel about myself) and when I was getting some attention from guys it made me feel like less of an ugly, old hag and more of a woman who maybe wasn’t a right-off. I didn’t particularly click with any of the guys I met and in fact, some of the interactions I had were hurtful, but I guess when you get low, there’s nowhere else for you to go and so you just go along with it, hoping for a bit of sweetness.

Then I had an epiphany or two – I don’t need to have negative influences in my life, regardless of whether they are sugar-coated and may seem innocuous and tempting on the surface and that I should value myself.

So I quietly backed away from the trinity and my dating adventures and started taking stock of my situation. I was coming to realise that none of it was making me happy. My ‘new’ life had shaken things up a bit and I’d had quite a few new experiences and crossed things off my bucket list, but it wasn’t fulfilling me on any deep level. I felt used and not particularly pleased. I was still numb and wanted desperately to be understood and loved.

I came to these realisations during those few days when I was sitting on my blog. The thought that I shouldn’t post it ran through my mind but I thought, “Fuck it.”

So coming back to the shit and the fan…the day after I posted the blog, I got an email from Mark:

“I’ve read your blog. Have a nice life.”

Yeah…that was like a bullet between the eyes.

Of course my next reaction was anger that he’d said he would never read my blog again and that I was free to post what I wanted without ramifications. I had trusted that he would do what he said, but then again, why should I be surprised? I’ve had a lifetime of men disappointing me enough to create a bevy of trust issues. Why should this man be any different?

We had a marathon Skype session that afternoon that involved a lot of crying and shouting. He told me I’d hurt him more than I could ever know. I did a lot of apologising. I also did a whole lot of explaining about why I’d written my blog and how my feelings had changed since I’d written it. I was scared, terrified in fact, that I had really lost Mark, that I’d pushed him away that little bit too far.

Love is a very rare thing. Unconditional love even more so. I realised that I didn’t want to lose it.

During my week in Melbourne (which is another whole blog post or two in itself) we did more marathon talking sessions and there was a lot more crying – mostly on my part. I shared a few more things about myself that I’d never told him. I think they were the last few things that I’d been keeping from him and that meant that my walls were totally stripped away.

As a result of all our talks, we decided that we are going to move down a path of reconciliation. Over the next few months we’ll be making preparations to live together again as something…I’m not quite sure what the labels will be…but at least we’ll be together.

I miss him. I love him. And I’m sorry.

Maybe I just can’t stop apologising after all. Maybe that’s who I am and I shouldn’t have to change who I am for anyone.