Right. Picking up from where I left off on yesterday, I continued chatting with some folks and eating cheese puffs. I probably consumed over half the platter of cheese puffs alone. Then we gathered around the perimeter of the lounge as someone got out a shop vac and a giant balloon. Apparently Mina was going inside said balloon. It was highly amusing watching this whole process, and then a friend of hers joined her inside, and clothes started coming off. I took a couple photos (yes, I brought my D60 with me, took tons of pictures of the Museum of Sex too) of Mina dancing around inside the balloon, but after the second girl went in, I think I just kind of ogled at them for awhile. Oops!
Conversation started picking up again, with the giant balloon-encased girls as the centerpiece for the lounge. Then the original person who set the thing up duct-taped the shop vac to the balloon, and warned us that there was going to be a loud pop. Everyone scurried away from the expanding balloon, fingers in ears. I tried to grab my camera, but it popped before I could get it out of my purse. Ah, well.
So by this time I was getting a little restless, not sure what was going to happen. I went over to the snack table, but there was no more food left. Then Dov, the Shibari rigger that Mina had told me about, came over to look for food too. I commented about the empty plates, then introduced myself. We talked for a bit, but I still couldn’t ask. Damn my shyness! I ended up getting to know one guy there really well, who seemed especially interested about my own experiences and philosophy on kink in relationships. We had some good discussion (as good as one can have with loud bar music thudding in the background) about whether kink can truly be introduced to someone who’s “vanilla.” I also found out that he is a swinger, which I found fascinating. Not as fascinated with the persistent strobe light above that made me grateful I wasn’t epileptic.
From where we were sitting we could see Dov starting to tie Mina up, so I perked up and took a couple shots with my camera, then concentrated on the chest harness being tied. It seemed pretty similar to the one I’d learned (or rather, been tied up in) at Bound in Boston. Once Mina was bound and being attended to by others, I made a passing comment to the guy I was with about whether he would want to tie me up. He offered to ask for me, and soon Dov was beckoning me over.
Talk about the biggest fucking highlight of that night. After looking me over and having me hold my arms behind my back in a few positions, Dov opted to do the same sort of chest harness with me, with my hands folded behind and touching opposite elbows. I just stood there and let him do his thing, enjoying the slither of rope across my body. I turned a little inward in the process, though a few times I looked over to see what shenanigans Mina was getting up to. She looked like she was enjoying herself thoroughly in the chest harness.
I was soon all tied up, and of course the first thing that I thought was, I wonder if I can get out of this tie. I asked permission from Dov to try and get out (heh, I was already basking in his dominant aura, I guess), and wriggled until my hands slid free of their bindings. With my arms free, it wasn’t hard getting a few of the loops of rope free, but I was stuck with the knots of rope higher up my back. Dov helped me get untied, untangled his hemp, and told me he would try something else. This time my arms were straight out behind me, palms touching, and he made loops of rope cuffs up the arms (as near as I can tell given that there were no mirrors), and then just as I was relaxing into the process again, he bent down, slid the rope between my legs, straightened up, and pulled up on the rope. I jumped in surprise, which made him laugh, and he pulled the rope around and made a corresponding loop around my other leg.
He pulled the crotch ropes tight, attached them to my wrists, and pulled down. My back arched and I squealed again. My shoulders strained back, and my knees bent from weakness as the rope pressed the crease of my jeans right up between my legs. It was either straighten up and increase the pressure on the rope, or keep my back arched. I could feel my face start to flush, and was glad for the noise in the bar and the dim lighting to cover that and my shallow breathing. Dov finished off the tie, stood back, and just grinned.
This is when it got interesting. I felt something come loose inside, something that had been holding me back. Suddenly, inexplicably, I felt…playful. Partially it was Dov, egging me to try and get out of this tie. I twisted and turned, trying to loosen the ropes around my wrists. To make things easier for me, Dov started tickling me, and I jumped away, still trying to get my hands free. As I struggled, I saw him take one of the few balloons that had escaped death by humping, pop it, and take the ribbon in his hands. He stalked me around the lounge as I scuttled around, and when I tried to get past him he grabbed me by my ponytail, which brought me to a halt.
In a fluid movement he had the balloon ribbon in my hairtie and pulled it down until I was on my knees. I wriggled around, though at this point it was mostly just a front. I was in heaven. Then he started tickling me again, and I jerked away, rolling around on the floor. All inhibition was gone. We were all laughing, and I was still trying to get myself free. At this point though, my hands were getting pins and needles, probably due to the knots tightening from all the movement. Dov slid a few ropes lower down my arms to relieve some of the pressure, checking to make sure I could still squeeze his hand. I learned that as long as I could do that, I would be okay.
While he adjusted the ropes, he took a piece of extra nylon rope off the seat and looped it around my knee. I discovered that I was quickly losing a lot of free movement of my body. I might have let out an indignant “Hey!” but he wasn’t fooled. I worked my way out of the ropes around one knee before he could get to both, but at this point I was losing hope of getting free. I finally admitted defeat, and he untied me.
As I worked the pins and needles out of my hands, the friend who’d asked Dov to tie me came up and showed me what he’d been working on – a noose made from one of the free pieces of rope floating around. He put it around my wrist and showed how it tightened as I pulled. Dov showed him a lark’s head loop, which he put around my other wrist. I heard him tell my friend, “You go this way, I’ll go that way” and they tried to get my hands behind my back again. I resisted, they tickled, and we somehow ended up on the floor again, a mess of rope around my body.
We got sorted out, but not before more tickle torturing from them, and I was exhausted and flushed by the time I was untangled again. We all chatted for a bit, then moved over to check in on Mina. Dov and I talked for a bit more, I talked with my friend a bit more, though I was getting sleepy. My friend had me lie on my stomach and gave me a long, luxurious massage. Afterwards, we watched a bit of the show being put on at the front of the bar, before Mina came to say she was ready to head out.
I gladly left with her and another friend who was also staying over, ready to pass out on the floor of her place. That happened 2 hours later, after we talked more in her room and I listened in awe at all the events they’d attended. Summer Camp? Winter Fire? TES Fest?
I am so hooked.
My favorite home atmosphere is this exact kind of early spring night, when the air is still nippy and the songs of peepers and wood frogs ricochet off the trees. It is an amazing and beautiful chorus, and impossible to ignore, even in the city if you live within a mile of a vernal pool or source of water. Their song is the clearest, most direct music of love and courtship – a dazzling aural display – and you have to realize how potent that song is when you compare the size of a peeper’s vocal chords to its vocal radius.
I had to write that just now, because I needed to honor the season of the frogs, and one my favorite earliest companions on muddy spring days. I had been meaning to write about it earlier, as I was taking in laundry hanging outside (nothing beats air-dried laundry) and stopped to soak in the chorus that reverbrated the air around me.
And if I didn’t do it tonight, it would never get out, because I am already bursting at the seams trying to process and write about my experience at Alphabet Soup last night.
Alphabet Soup being the kinky gathering at DTox that I mentioned before. It’s an event to gather all the different circles of kink/glbt/polyamory/swing into one big orgy – well, metaphorically speaking, of course, but it wasn’t too far off at times.
But I should start at the beginning. Which was when I was walking around completely lost trying to find the damned lounge at around 8:20pm, no bearing at all on where I was supposed to be going while rain kept drizzling down until my socks in flip flops were waterlogged (yes strange footwear, long story short I had fabulous heels that were fabulously painful). I dipped into a couple subway stations looking for maps to redirect me (how is it that some stations don’t have those maps?! Or only past the kiosks?! Feh.), and finally, tired, wet, and footsore, stumbled into DTox.
To say that I was intimidated would be an understatement. Not only do I not bar hop, I’ve never been to a gay bar, or a kinky munch. I had images of looming, muscular guys wearing leather harnesses and holding whips, staring me down through latex masks. Basically a mixture of all the images of deviant behavior that has been fed to me through the media throughout the years, and from bad porn. Freaks. Sexual deviants. Everything that represents the collapse of moral integrity in America today!!
Well, maybe not. But, ah me. Thank God I went and got my head set back on straight. Because just as with the Bound in Boston workshop, I entered expecting to find people nothing like me – people so outside my own reality as to have utterly nothing in common – and walked away with an even stronger confirmation that these are the kinds of people I need in my life. Like a big smack across the forehead, I realized how deeply ingrained I was with the average American judgment of the kink world (much less of poly, swingers, transgendered…)
It did take a huge effort, regardless, stepping into the bar and heading to the back lounge where it seemed the group was meeting. At least, there were snacks out, so I put my dripping stuff down on a cushioned seat and tried to find the hostess and introduce myself. I asked one woman if she was Mina, and she said no, but pointed her out to me. Seeing her already in conversation with others, I made my way instead to the snacks. Yes, great plan. Stuff food in mouth, prevent having to socialize. Mid-stuff, Mina hurried over demanding introductions, and then pulled me over to each person to introduce them. The ice was broken immediately, and when I got to meet and chat with Sinclair of Sugarbutch Chronicles fame I was hooked. I hid my awe of meeting a well-known sex-blogger in the flesh pretty well, I think, and we chatted for a bit about jobs and careers and where to move to for a better scene. He mentioned still adjusting to being “out” as Sinclair, while Mina told me she actually legally changed her name to Mina and is pretty much completely open. I was envious of her not needing to juggle the two lives of sexual and “daytime” lifestyles.
There was much socializing for the first hour or so, and I was starting to enjoy myself. I realized that I still didn’t have a place to stay in the city, and would have to leave soon to make it home via train at a reasonable hour. I asked around, and finally basically invited myself over to Mina’s place. She, the gracious and amazing woman that she is, offered to give me a roof over my head for the night, and I called back home to check in about my plans.
And then it was back to meeting this wonderful group of people. Mina was busy introducing a new fetish of balloon popping via humping to some friends, and I hit it off spectacularly with maymay, talking about the history of front-end web development and standards compliancy. I wish I could’ve geeked out with him more, but my knowledge is still rather spotty and self-taught, and he was leaving with Sinclair and co. for pizza.
I kind of hopped back and forth between grabbing handfuls of cheese puffs and joining people for conversation. I met an Oberlin grad (always mentally noted as the school I almost attended) and computer programmer – so many techgeeks! I’m not quite sure when it happened, but something finally clicked during that period of socializing, and I realized that I’d found my community.
I had mentioned the Boston bondage workshop I had attended to Mina during our introductory chatting, and she said that there was a Shibari master coming that I should get to know, and that she had brought plenty of rope. I perked up at that suggestion, wondering if I would be able to get up the nerve to actually ask to be tied up by a stranger.
Oh dear. And I have run out of time for tonight, so I guess I’ll try to finish this up in a second post tomorrow, sometime after my trip back north. Tales of being tied up, escaping ties, human-sized balloons, and more to come!
It’s been awhile since delving into fantasy writing, and I am definitely rusty. I think I’ve lost the rhythm of this one…so I am inviting you, my dear readers, to write your own ending! Feel free to finish the story off in a comment or via my contact form. I would love to see how you’d end the night!
Sitting in the living room, legs tucked under and a book balanced on an arm of the sofa, she tried not to notice the faint but unmistakable tick as the digital clock beside her showed ten o’clock. She knew what ten o’clock meant; it struck deeper than just everyday routine, firmly embedded in her biological clock.
Of course, it hadn’t always been that way.
She pushed away the mild irritation she felt at having to stop midway through a chapter – had to stop mid-sentence, even. Because as soon as the clock turned ten, she knew his eyes had looked up from his newspaper. Knew it, but did not acknowledge that awareness. Instead she slid her bookmark into the crease of the open book, closed it, and slid the book onto the table beside her. Only then did she raise her eyes to meet his, to see expectation and anticipation alighting within them.
She got up to walk over to him.
Even in that short distance her knees wanted to bend, to feel the floorboards along her calves. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself or, more importantly, him.
He got up as well, silently took her hand, engulfing it in his long, callused fingers. Together they moved towards the bedroom.
To say they walked together was not altogether accurate, as she could already feel herself – that is, her whole sense of self, which did not always align with the contours of her physical body – shifting, shrinking, expanding, to beat in sync with him, becoming an extension of his will.
It started with a simple white ceramic bowl. It was one they had picked together, for its simple beauty and minimal flowing lines along the rim that let the bowl disguise as bedroom decor (for polite company). He led her to the side of the bed, picked up the bowl, and left to fill it with water from the kitchen. In his absence she finally let herself sink to the floor, positioning herself with practiced, fluid movement.
He returned, bowl filled halfway with cool water, and set it down in front of her. Straightening up, he smoothed back her hair and cupped a finger under her chin to tilt her face up. From the other hand he revealed a thin collar. She felt as if some internal metamorphosis had completed as the leather slid across her throat and around her neck.
“I’m going to take a shower. Drink up.” And with that he disappeared into the bathroom.
From her kneeling position, she leaned forward, placed her arms on each side of the bowl, elbow to palm pressed against the floor. And she started lapping.
It really was not a sensual experience. It was hard to get much water by tongue lapping, and slurping was noisy and messy, which embarassed her plenty without his presence. Water dripped down her chin, strands of hair fell into the bowl, and, once the water got below a certain threshold, it was simply difficult to maneuver her face down to lick off the remaining drops.
She was fully aware of her ass raised high in the air, of the heat slowly coalescing below her waist, most of all of the warm slickness radiating its own heat from between her thighs. By the time she had licked away the final stray drops of water, she could feel the sporadic tremors of arousal coursing through her body. And just in time – she heard the shower being turned off and the door sliding open. She dared a glance upwards, and saw him standing there, towel around his neck as he dried his hair. Looking at her with approval. And lust.
“Good. Good girl.” He placed the empty bowl back on the vanity. Then he went over to her and pulled her slowly up by her hair. He kissed her roughly and leaned her back into the bed, all lust and hard flesh now. His hands pulled her thighs apart, dipped knowingly between the lips of her sex – lips now swollen and glossy from her arousal. Her obvious lust made him groan – a low, throaty sound that only heightened her senses. His hand grasped for her collar, and he pulled her body into his as his cock sank inside her.
Last weekend I attended a rope bondage workshop near Boston. As nervous as I was the first few minutes of getting in the car (exasperated by my getting on the wrong highway in my distraction), I felt increasingly more excited as I neared my destination. I had no idea what to expect, no idea if I’d enjoy it or feel completely unwelcome.
When I entered the function room that had been reserved for this event, there was already one woman tied in a chest harness chatting with the few dozen people scattered around. I got in line to pay the class fee, and was greeted warmly by the man who organized the event. He had remembered my name from my RSVP and e-mailed me prior to the event reassuring me that the workshop was focused on education, with no sexual tension or pressure. I felt visibly more relaxed after I talked to him, paid the fee, and sat down to wait.
It was indeed a very laid back and welcoming atmosphere, though I didn’t approach anyone and introduce myself, in my typical stand-offish way. I was content to just watch and wait for the class to start.
Once the ropes came out and I was partnered up, though, I was more talkative – mostly due to my partner never having touched rope before. I tried to help him out as much as I could, listening to the rigger and figuring out the knots and ties with him. Once it got to tying arms around the back, though, I couldn’t do much.
I will say, though, that as I watched the main rigger and other couples making the chest harness, I felt a surprising desire to be the one with the rope in my hand, making the ties and beautiful ropework I was seeing around me. At the same time, the feel of the rope against my body and feeling the resistance as I moved my shoulders and arms calmed and centered me, and I began to float off into my own little world. This was especially evident once the chest harness turned into a full hogtie that had me lying flat on my stomach. I was so quiet that a few people asked if I was alright.
That is part of what I enjoyed most out of this workshop – the attention to safety, the stress on communication between top and bottom, the discussion on how to use the rope responsibly. At no time was I worried about my safety.
And, of course, I enjoyed the challenge of trying to get out of the ties.
All in all, a positive experience that reconnected me to rope bondage. I’m glad I didn’t chicken out at the last minute, which would have been all too easy to do given my nervousness.