I was looking at the photo galleries on a friend’s rope bondage site today and was reminded of what is so beautiful about what we do and why some of us choose to breathe in this world. If you’re really into rope, send me a note and I’ll give you the link.
The other day I saw a client I hadn’t played with in more than a year. We talked for nearly an hour, catching up on life, before the scene began (though, really, the scene began before he even walked in the door…). I pushed him up against the A-frame and whispered “Today, we’re going to play, ‘Naked Guy in Distress'”as I uncoiled a length of rope. I tied him tightly. Neither of us could stop grinning.
Last night I saw STS, my own beautiful masochist. Every other week or so, he comes by, we talk for a while over a glass of good red wine and then I undress him, tether him to the A-frame or suspension frame and whip him. It’s a sensational whipping, the kind that I love. Nearly all singletails, save for the warm up. Once he brought a friend to watch us, once I did: both women spoke later of the palpable electricity, the energy in the room. His friend called me “a ballet dancer with whips.” He can feel the heat from my hands before I even touch him. I can’t explain what happens when we play. I just know it to be true. And that’s another beautiful thing.
There are times that the ugliness of “The Scene” eddys into my world, muddying the waters. But I find when I focus on the beautiful — be it photographs of passionate bondage, my own exceptional clients, my dominant friends that I choose to be a part of my journey, the players I know who are here with intensity, honesty, and a love for S/M — then the waters clear and again I’m reminded of why I am here and why I love this work.