Here we go again on one of those dammed introspective benders; the good news is there is bondage involved. The bad news, well here I go AGAIN! A few weeks back I was oiling and caring for some of my hemp rope. You could say it’s because I take care of my stuff. Which is true but am I as diligent as I am solely for that reason? There is something different that changing the oil in a car, or polishing the family silver that the rope represents. Something about that care and maintenance brings me as close to inner peace as just about anything.
Over the last 6 or so years I’ve been playing with rope “seriously” but in the last 9 months it’s taken a back seat to other things; some old, some new. Some tied to changes in my life (I really am going to write my “the elephant in the room” post as soon as I get it all figured out) and relationships, etc. However since tearing apart my own views and staring at them in painstaking detail is almost as much fun as being rough with others I woke up this morning wondering who owns who when it comes to rope and me and where does it all fit in? Do I use it as a tool to serve my kinky purposes or does it own me with its constant demands for care and attention?
Where this all began…this time anyway. The sun was fading into the horizon and once it’s wonderfully a cool summer night, no humidity and I was spending a little time chatting with a friend. Hell I even loosened up a bit and had few beers, neither of my phones rang and I only answered a handful of work emails that night. The friend was inevitably asked about a con I’ve wanted to go to for forever (or about 6 years). It’s the same one that of late I’ve been trying to convince LR & Alice to join me and a date to be named later at. After a bit of discussion we moved on to other equally pleasant conversations. Of course that’s all well and good, the topic was just a subset of a great night and for most normal people that would have been the end of it. Enter OCD boy! That last line is probably best read in your cheesy 1960’s Batman TV series announcer voice and picture me however you see fit. I strongly recommend against the visual of me in tights dressed a super hero though.
Part of their answer came back to me later that night and made me think quite a bit more on the subject of rope bondage. Where it fits in my kink, and to put a very fine point on it am I really a “rope guy”. If you based the answer on the fact that there is by the Blonde’s definition “way too much of the stuff around the house”, that tying people up for pain, pleasure, or decoration seems like a perfectly normal activity, andthat a basic affinity for the stuff exists somewhere in my primitive brain. The answer would be yes. See nice and simple when it comes to bondage I really am a rope guy, unless you look a little deeper.
Then there are the possible detractors. I’m no purist and never will be as discussed here in (Hemp vs MFP). Ask about traditional Shibari ties and I’m conversational and occasionally do my own fucked up interpretation of the them. I could spin myself as more progressive after all moving beyond boy scout knots and ties I learned from rural family member (farmers and tradesmen) that were part of the work day. It’s easy to point to “bad” rope and my early bondage for sex type play transitioning to more of an art form beginning beginning with Midori’s book and moving on to others including the Two Knotty Boys who style resonated more with how I played with the Chesty Blonde. All of this led to eventually going to rope themed things time and again, rope friends, additional play partners and incorporating it more into my own other kinks. Still it doesn’t answer the question of when it comes to Bondage am I really a rope guy?
Looking deeper my style is as much or more about decoration than it is actual restraint. If I want to take you down and subdue you quickly Zip Ties would be my choice, after of course using my large frame to take you down like a quarterback getting blindsided. I continue to obsess about colors against skin tone and as part of the setting when all too occasionally shooting pictures. It’s an aesthetic element as much as part of the whole.
Looking deeper. Why did I start doing more rope? Because the Blonde kinda of liked it. She only kind of likes me too so that’s as good as it gets as far as an endorsement but sometimes the body betrays the words spoken which is certainly the case with her on this one. It became a way for us to play in a more subdued way, a result of fine you don’t want to wear crazy lingerie for me put on a pair of heels and just show up. Pawing at her, moving her, and wrapping her in my ropes was a very fun compromise. Life became wrap, tie, repeat…. Then add in some for restraint, some good hot fucking, and on occasion add in some others to the rope mix.
As I think back restraint as part of sex has been a piece of the hot dirty mix long before a girlfriend introduced a pair of hand cuffs handcuffs to things. I know how cliché and 1980’s. Still the phrase “Hold my hands down and fuck me like you mean it” comes to mind. Oh sure I kicked around all other kinds of crazy thoughts, walked down memory lane recalling silk ties, scarves, and just about anything that you secure a person to something or in some way with. So with that said I may not be a real rope guy today, hell I may never be and that’s just fine since the one thing I can say for sure is I am a real bondage guy and have the pedigree to prove it.
As for does the rope own me? Some people meditate, knit, sharpen their knives, and do other repetitive things as part of art or to calm themselves. It’s familiar and comfortable but unlike polishing and restringing my guitars I just need to be sure no one’s coming over before breaking it all out for routine maintenance. After all even my friends look at a room filled with so many guitars as a bit odd I can only imagine their reaction to a giant pile of colored rope in the middle of the dining room. Of course unlike my touching my instruments I’d be only too happy to teach them how to oiland recoil a few lengths.