The Play Partner Manifesto

When I started thinking about writing this post, I had strong feelings that I would not mind connecting with another person as a regular (non-sexual) rope-specific play partner.

And now, I finally have a few moments to write it and….

The notion doesn’t seem so shiny.

It’s an inconclusive state – do I want this, or don’t I?

And I think that the answer is that on some level, I do – but what’s lacking is the sense that the type of person I’d want to do that with is someone already known to me. So, without having someone in mind specifically, it’s hard to really imagine how it would work.

Type of person – that’s not exactly right. The person doesn’t meet a type – it’s the supposed connection we’d have that is a type.

But, allow me for a moment to process a couple finer points on this desire. Words like “benefit” and “exploration” and “free time” come up. Like, “I believe I could benefit from the exploration of a connection with another rope top during my free time on weekends.”

There are things about that statement that bother me.

I don’t want to use a person as a distraction. To connect with someone on the level that I like to connect in rope, they have to be more to me than “something to do on Saturday night.” This type of connection I’m envisioning would be one of friendship, trust, and mutual enjoyment that goes beyond “I don’t have anything better to do tonight, wanna tie??” The idea that this relationship would “benefit” me feels selfish. A vibrator benefits me because it gives me orgasms when my partner is unable to give them to me. I do not want the “vibrator” equivalence of a person to just give me what I want when my partner isn’t around. I don’t like the idea of treating people like tools.

And yet –

I wouldn’t (probably) mind more rope in my life, but I come back to that question of connection.

After I fell in love, my connection with the other people who used to tie me on occasion changed. I became strikingly aware of the difference between the connection with someone who actively wanted to tie me – who would reach out days or even a week in advance to ask if I’d be interested in a rope date; and the connection with those who would show up at the same party I happened to be attending and think “Hey, I’ve got a spare hour. You’ll do.”

That’s not really what I think they were thinking, but …that’s how it felt.

So I shifted a little – to avoid feeling that. I set a “new rule” that I would avoid last minute/pickup play scenes. That if someone wanted to tie me, they’d ask in advance.

And …well, those proposals were few and far between. Until they were so rare and sometimes felt like “Yeah, couldn’t find anybody else. Is your body available?”

It still felt like it lacked connection.

This is no judgement on anybody I’ve played with past or present, or those who do pickup play or have asked me recently if I could bottom for them. In fact, both people who have asked me recently – I’d have said yes if I legitimately didn’t have other things going on those evenings.

Bottoming for demo or practice isn’t the same as a play partner.

A play partner (to me) is something more. It’s a friendship that exists outside the confines of rope. It means meals together or movies and laughter and conversation that has nothing to do with rope . It’s connectivity on multiple levels. There’s a level of care, consideration, and enjoyment of time spent together.

There’s a tenderness to it. There has to be, because I like mean rope – so there has to be tenderness on the other side of that.

It’s a relationship.

Minus the sex.

You know, like marriage.

See, the right type of person – the right type of connection – would have laughed at that joke.

Anyway, this isn’t a statement of intention to go out in search of this connection. This is a public declaration of my motives for considering it. Much like my state of being prior to meeting the man I now love – I am in a good place in my life where not much is needed.

But if someone who happens to connect well with me were to come into my life and have an interest in pursuing this….I’d probably, carefully and slowly, give it a chance.


Rope and Photo by @mister_bacon_, my first ropey play partner. ūüôā

A Tale of Two Women

I recently made the acquaintance of a young woman at an introductory rope event. She’d watched the instructor perform an exercise by tying a single column tie around my wrist and then spending the next two minutes wrapping the rope around me without knots. The purpose of the exercise was to allow for more free-form and feeling in the tie, rather than the strict following of a specific pattern. After some encouragement, the young woman agreed to try doing it herself. I was offered up as the bottom for her to work with.

This young woman was what a very high percentage of the population would call “hot.” I couldn’t describe her to you in detail now if I tried, but to say that she had long straight hair, a young, lithe figure, and big soulful eyes. She was a very attractive person.

She could not stop apologizing.

For everything. From the moment she began tying the single column tie on my wrist until the timer went off after 2 minutes it was a constant sea of “I’m sorry. Sorry. Oh. Sorry.” After two or three times of telling her she had nothing to be sorry about I gave up.

I could tell she was really bright. Like, there was plenty going on underneath the remarkably pretty surface, but it was masked so much by insecurity. I asked her why she wanted to learn to tie, thinking if I could understand her motivation, I might be able to adapt my bottoming technique to make it easier for her to achieve her goal.

Her answer was that she just liked to learn things.

Of all the reasons I’ve heard riggers talk about why they tie, that’d previously not been one of them. There are elements of control, connection, creativity, exploration, expression…. but not just “I wanted to learn for the sake of learning.”

It’s not a wrong answer by any means, but I realized that as a bottom, there was nothing more I could do for her. She could as easily have the experience by tying the leg of a dining room chair, and she’d be less likely to continually apologize to it.

This was a little while back now, and over the few weeks that followed that evening, I thought of her a few times. Truth be told, I think of her in terms of “girl” because she so didn’t yet embody what “woman” means to me.

What made me think of her today was a different woman.

Having finally gotten fed up with the jerk-around Home Depot has been giving me with regard to my appliances purchased the week before Thanksgiving and now delayed for delivery TWICE, I decided to show them my cards. I don’t like being one of those customers that threatens to cancel an order unless I mean it…

…so I went to Best Buy. There were two associates working in the appliance department, but one seemed rather newish and the other was handling three different customers at once. Once I stated my business, the newish one asked me if I could wait because it’d have to be be the other one (department manager, as it turns out) to help me.

I’ve already waited over a month with the Home Depot clowns, so I figured I could give Best Buy a little leeway here. When the department manager finally was able to help me, I was really floored, and very pleased, with her level of professionalism and knowledge about the products and procedures on how to price match my order. She knew her way around that Point of Sale system like I know my Doxy in the dark.

I couldn’t tell you how old she is. She mentioned having a granddaughter, but honestly, she looked way too young for that. I’d have pegged her at about my age.

She did not have the most fortunate genetics when it came to physical appearance. She was overweight with quite a bit of dark facial hair, oily skin, and stained teeth.

But this woman had confidence, at least in this environment. She was good at her job – even managed to upsell me on a dishwasher and cooktop while saving me money on the range hood. The whole time, she was answering questions from her colleagues on everything from how to swap the way the door swings open on a washing machine, to how high a pedestal had to be for a dryer, to how to run a price check for a warehouse only item. I began to relax and trust that my needs would be met and my wants would be addressed. She made me feel comfortable, like I was in good, capable hands.

It’s the way I want to feel when I’m being tied.

Bottom line – looks matter for shit when you want to feel safe. Or something like that.

Confession Time

Coulrophilia is a sexual attraction to clowns. People who have coulrophilia, known as coulrophiles, may find themselves spending a lot of time thinking about clowns or having erotic fantasies about clowns. They might also seek out clowns as sexual partners or prefer to dress as clowns themselves during sexual encounters.

–from kinkly.com

I have a confession to make. ¬†Ever since Halloween, when my partner dressed up as a scary clown and we had a very intense scene involving rope, a hog tie, a dildo, and a really hard cock behind a really thin, colorful jumpsuit, I’ve had a thing for clowns.

Well, not just any clown, but him as a clown.

Since Halloween, he’s brought ol’ bozo by my place a couple times. The first time it was an unannounced surprise. It was hot as fuck.

The second time was last night. This time, it was planned. ¬†He’d had me perform a “clown summoning” ritual all week long. This entailed my paying tribute to the clown by having orgasms in public places. ¬†Not like, in front of people. ¬†Just in private, like in the work bathroom or in the elevator.

For tasks like theses, it’s very convenient that¬†I am highly orgasmic. But, I digress.

The night before, he and I had attended a rope event. He was …he¬†is sadistic. I was tied in some form of pretzel shape, complete with predicamental neck rope (shut up, it’s a word now) and with thin, scratchy coconut rope futomomo¬† as the icing on the hurty rope cake.

I was squirming in delicious agony. I couldn’t see what he’d done, so I asked him: “Is it pretty?”

He nodded, and then looked lovingly into my eyes. He melts me when he says and does things like this. ¬†I’m there, mostly naked, bound and vulnerable, and he stares into my eyes and says, “but I keep getting distracted by your face.”

(d’awwwwwwww!)

After he untied me and I was rubbing at the rope marks on my legs, I looked up at him. I knew the clown was coming out the following night. ¬†“Is the clown going to hurt me tomorrow?” I asked.

His expression grew wide-eyed and innocent. ¬†“I don’t know,” he responded. “You’ll have to ask him.”

And so began the little game where he’s Peter Parker to the clown’s Spiderman. ¬†He knows how to summon him. But he’s totally not him.

As he walked me to my car, I asked him “Will I see you tomorrow? ¬†After the clown?”

“Yeah, I may come by after he’s done.” he smiled.

When he arrived last night, I was up in my room, preparing.  See, the clown summoning ritual summoned more than just the clown.  Apparently, it also brought on my period, a few days early.

Ah well.  So I lay some towels on the bed, and some baby wipes and a trash can by the nightstand and waited for his instructions to come via text.

I’m not going to go into the details. It was HOT. It always is with him. ¬†I mean, the clown.

Afterwards, we went to separate bathrooms to clean up. ¬†I mean, I’m not usually one for gore, but the insane clown thing combined with day-one of period thing was kind of …you know, on the nose in a poetic sense.

When I came back down after a quick shower, he was there, wearing his street clothes and looking handsome and gorgeous with his regular, beautiful face. I kissed him hello.

“Listen, I may as well tell you now,” I started. ¬†“I’ve decided to just embrace it. I’m going poly.” ¬†I paused only for a second. “I’m totally fucking the clown.”

I smiled. ¬†He raised his eyebrows. “Is that going to be a problem? Do you want to talk about it?”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ¬†“Well, fine then,” he responded. “Go ahead and fuck the clown. ¬†Do what you want.”

I love this man.

The Punishment

“Ugh,” she cringed. “This really isn’t necessary, Sir.”

“Shut up,” he answered as he sat on the bed beside her restrained body and ran his fingers along her thigh from knee to hip.

“Aren’t there better ways to punish me?” she asked.

“Not really,” he couldn’t help but chuckle. “You love all the other things I could do to you, and you don’t respond well to being ignored.”

“You could make me write lines.”

“I could,” he leaned down and sank his teeth into her fleshy inner thigh. She moaned and strained against the rope.

“Please,” she begged, her face horrified as he lay on his belly between her legs. “Please, not this. I’m sorry I fucked up, Sir.”

“Shut up,” he growled, as his mouth made its way toward the source of her dismay.

“But, Sir, you’ll get tired of it and I’ll feel bad. It takes too long this way. At least let me go wash up. I just feel so….,” She didn’t get to finish before he stuffed her discarded panties into her mouth then returned to his previous position.

“I said shut up. You earned this punishment. Now relax and take it like the good little slut you know you can be and maybe I’ll feed you my cock later.”

He’d finally found a punishment he loved to administer that she hated to receive.

Emotional Power Exchange

(Originally posted on FetLife on 4/27/2015)

I am in a power exchange with my emotions.¬†If I let myself, I can access the pain from every disappointment I’ve ever experienced.¬†These days, I have the upper hand.¬† I am in control.

Anybody who knows me knows how much I fucking love being in control.

(Those who don’t know me – the answer is “not so much.”)

Wait, what?¬† The empowered princess doesn’t like to have control?¬† But what about all those rules? All those limits?¬† All the hoops you make people jump through to pull down the granny panties you wore ’cause you were pretty fucking sure nobody would clear the edges?

Those are my armor. Some people put up walls around their emotions. They don’t want people to see they are vulnerable, scared, angry, hopeful.¬† I don’t do that.¬† Take a look, you’ll see everything.¬† I’m an exhibitionist in person and on paper, and I don’t hide who I am from anybody (except my parents).

My walls may be transparent, but they are still there.¬† People who aren’t paying attention will bump into the glass while I sit from the inside shaking my head, getting a manicure, and watching for the next prince to give it a shot.

I get accused of “topping from the bottom,” but I don’t think people who say that understand what I’m doing.¬† I’m establishing where the bottom is. Setting the ground rules.

Because once I give consent, it gets very difficult for me to say the word “no.” It becomes way too easy for someone to add to that emotional pain bank that I can withdraw from when I let my emotions top me back.

My walls protect them as much as they protect me.¬† They say they want to hurt me, and they do.¬† I’m fun to hurt in the fun hurty way.

But when they hurt me in the way that doesn’t get erased with a hug and a little bruise balm, it’s not pretty for either of us.

I’ve had people tell me how they want to make me cry. It’s the same answer every time.¬† You can’t make me cry from physical pain.¬† I’ll endure it until I call yellow, but I won’t cry from it.

I cried during one of my scenes this weekend. Not because of the pain, which was delicious. Not because of the people watching, because I enjoy that.

It was because he started untying.¬† Because the scene would soon be over.¬† And in that moment of not being in any sort of control, I accessed that disappointment and every disappointment I’ve ever experienced in my life – and I cried.

Last night I started to hear the noise in my head again. The one that sounds like a lonely girl in a large empty house. If I let myself, I could have dropped.  I wanted to drop.

But I’m in charge of my emotions right now. And I refused to let it happen.¬† Instead, I posted a status update:

I love my life.

And I do.