I am a rope top. I flag grey on the left whenever I am flagging.
I am spiritually, emotionally, psychologically connected to everything I do. Rope is not unusual in that capacity.
But with rope...
Rope feels like the serpent swallowing its tail. Rope is the red string between lovers' pinkie fingers. Rope is strength and ugliness and beauty and it's a gladiator pacing in their cage as the crowd screams for blood.
Rope is an extension of me. Rope flows from me in ways that I cannot describe, ways that people do not believe until they see.
People see me when I use rope. They watch my hands and my face and they feel everything that is happening. People talk to me about my rope work more than anything else. People ask about my rope work more than anything else.
People ask to be beneath my rope, in my rope, between my rope... more than anything else.
Rope is my martial art, the one that has replaced karate.
Rope flows from my feet and my chest, rope gives me control over every situation. Rope is hard, soft.
There was a beautiful moment once, when I was to bind a submissive, and I had the choice between handcuffs or rope. After a moment's consideration, I chose the rope, because I knew it would be faster.
Rather than mess with buckles and keepers that are so delicate and precise, I throw my rope. Two seconds, bound arms behind the back. Safe, secure, and with more precision than I could ever wield a buckle.
I know my rope.
Tomorrow I have a suspension. Tonight I went over my rope, laid it out, ran my hands over it. Checked each and every part of it, so that it's ready for tomorrow.
I know my rope as intimately as my own body.
I know every piece. I know how long it is, just by looking at it, even in a messed up pile on the floor. I know how old it is, and who treated it, just by touching it. I know which pieces are are safe for suspension, and which pieces can only be used for simpler ties. I even know which piece was used on every body it has ever touched, whose body it was, where the rope lay.
I own a lot of very high quality rope. My rope collection alone runs my toybag value to about $900 Australian. I have amassed it over time, ever since I was eighteen years old.
I often wish I had less expensive tastes. My tastes run to hemp. There is nothing 'better' about hemp, or jute, or cotton, or nylon, or any type of rope. It is all about preference, and what speaks to you. I still remember picking up my first piece of hemp. It was love at first touch, and I knew nothing else would ever compare.
I still have my first piece of rope that was bought purely for bondage. I often wear it as a belt, keeping it with me at all times, so that I am always prepared. It is not hemp, it is a nylon rope, bright red in colour, ten meters long. I keep it braided in such a way that should I need to use it, I pull one of the 'threads' and it comes undone in a flash.
Rope is my soul.