Identity Crisis!

... well, not really ;)

I haven't done many rope suspensions in the last few months because I've been ill, or I've had other things to play with, and it seems people are starting to forget that suspension is my Thing(tm).

Anyway I miss rope a lot, and playing with it a little last night at Chains reminded me that it's my Thing(tm) for a reason.

Need to do more of it.  I feel at my best when I'm doing rope.

Now I just need to find more bunnies to do rope on.

This has been a boring short entry.  :)

Enormous Sunday!

Less philosophizing, more about real life, yes?

So on Sunday I had a couple of awesome photographers come around and a bunch of models, and we set to work pulling together something of a portfolio of my ropework for my up and coming website. We did some portrait shots before we got started (and thus before I got all redfaced and sweaty) and then I set about tying folks up.

I tied up I think about seven people that day, and was thoroughly exhausted after it all. I was frustrated we didn't have the time and/or energy to keep going, actually, I had so many great ideas.

But, there will be more, which is great. Because if nothing else I need more male models (I only got around to tying up one of the two men who came around for photos).

What does make me happy is the wide variety of women I tied up, all their different body shapes and styles and personalities. I get tired of a lot of bondage photos all featuring very similar bodies and types of women. Rope is fun for everyone, and everyone should feel represented. (So on that note, if you're an awesome freak and want to get tied up and have pictures taken, contact me :P).

One thing that was interesting and fun is that tying for photos is so completely different to tying for sensation or tying for suspension. You have to be a lot more aware of loose ends and symmetry and all sorts of things. It's a really fun challenge.

A lovely woman has offered me a space with a suspension point to use for more photo shenanigans, so there will definitely be another photo day. And that makes me hella happy, because spending all day playing with rope is pretty ace.

Anniversaries & Sex & Tumblrs

Yesterday was my fourth anniversary with the boy, which makes this officially the longest relationship either of us has had. Probably doesn't sound like that long, but I am only 25 and boy is only 26, so the ratio of relationship to life lived is pretty good, I think. :)

I have pretty poor luck with anniversaries; it started with my first relationship, where my first anniversary ever was spent in tears as my boyfriend dumped me on that day (poor timing on his part, much?). Since then all kinds of disasters have occurred on anniversaries. But I keep celebrating them stubbornly.

Yesterday wasn't much of an exception; first I forgot my ID, which you kind of need in casinos. Then later in the evening, we got evacuated from Crown cinemas and didn't get to see our trashy gay ass film because there was flood damage!! Flash floods in Melbourne were determined to make a farce of our anniversary. But that's okay. Farces do tend to be funny after all :)

The two really good bits of our anniversary was first, the sushi train we went to (which has now lead to boy calling me Sushi Cat, because I am blue (true) and fat (true) and defy physics (less true). Secondly, the great sex we had before bed. Which was good, because we haven't had a lot of time or energy for sex recently. Something we should probably both work on.

Sex is a tricky issue - in the last few years I've been discovering that I can feel completely fulfilled without sex. Which is actually kind of a problem because it lowers the priority of sex in my life, and that's not what I want to happen. But, I have plans in place for improving my sex drive and finding the time to spend plenty of sexytime with the boy in the coming months.

Finally, just a quick note about tumblr (a service that really needs to buy a vowel) - I've started a tumblr to act as a sort of portfolio for my ropework. If you're interested it's over here: ropebyerinkyan.tumblr.com/

Thoughts, Mostly about Hooked Up

Forgive a blathery sort of entry, I feel the need to think into text, but have little idea about the actual direction I'm heading.

My mind was drifting back to Hooked Up a few weeks ago. I've already written about how I find hook events to be profoundly spiritual, a place of connectedness and community that is just delicious and warm in sensation.

I was pondering about the pull I took part in, and what the others involved in it have said of it. Particularly the puller, and the heavy spiritual things that pull meant for him, what it meant for him to succeed and what it meant to even take part in it at all. Now that it is some time later, I am finally in a place to truly consider what it all meant to me, as well.

It's not that I don't know these things when and directly after they happen, simply that I am someone who likes to move slowly. I like to think about things a lot before deciding on how I feel about something. I was heady and ecstatic after the event, euphoric even, and continued to feel a strange fuzzy joy and elatedness for weeks after it.

I am extremely susceptible to my own brain chemistry. While my body has a resistance to most drugs (something which can be very annoying in a hospital, let me tell you!), when shifts come from within my own biology and chemistry I am more very vulnerable to them.

I actually enjoy this; it means that when I have a crush, I can spend weeks floating on a cloud of euphoria (as I did when I first began seeing Princess). It means that when I love someone, I love them with a fiery, painful passion. And while, yes, it means that heartbreak and depression also hit me harder than they might otherwise, they are valuable experiences that I try to appreciate.

Being so vulnerable to my own chemistry means that my tendency to move slowly serves me well. It gives me time to let the chemistry return to normal before I go making decisions or shooting my mouth off.

So in this vein, I have finally settled enough to think about Hooked Up in a meaningful way, that is not coloured by euphoria.

Oh, where to begin.

When I was a child, I fancied (like many children do) that I would grow up to be a rock star sort of person. In the spotlight, the centre of attention. A brilliant thing that others would behold. As I began to grow up and become the person that would become who I am today, I began to accept that this was not actually where I was headed.

No, I seem to do best a little behind the scenes. Not in the shadows, by any means, but not in the spotlight either. I am the supporting character, so to speak, or even perhaps the stage manager in some cases.

It's been a strangely difficult journey coming to accept that. Part of me still wants to be a rock star.

But, the show doesn't go on without the stage manager. The story cannot continue without the supporting characters. I would never feel satisfied feeling like a cog in the machine, but then again, that's what I am best at. A large, sparkly cog, perhaps, but a cog nonetheless.

When I guide, this is also my strength. I do not often simply tell people things. I instead ask them questions, and let them find the answers themselves.

At Hooked Up, this was definitely my place. The ground, to hold everyone steady. The one who keeps an eye on the others. Protector. Nurturer. A few steps back from the spotlight, making sure there was enough room for those who are supposed to be there.

And I didn't mind, at all. I felt that I was happily in my place.

There was a moment at the beginning where it was revealed (to me, perhaps it was obvious to everyone else) that I would be rigging pretty much the whole show. Even the cord that went from the hooks to the rope to the pulley system to the woman in rope was my responsibility. It was me that directed those around us to keep back or come forward.

And in my hands, two people. The literal life of one in one hand (the woman being suspended) and the health if not life of the other (the puller, with steel through his flesh, who could be jarred or injured by a wrong move).

I spent most of the pull squatting or kneeling on the floor, just between them both. One hand up to steady the suspendee, so she could watch and feed energy forwards as was her role. My eyes flicking between her and the beast pulling her up, watching for signs of fatigue, weakness, or just a general vibe of "I'm done".

Giving off as much of my love and calm and care for them both as I could. Keeping my senses alert and sharp. Watching. Waiting. Letting them have their moments.

Being the first one to start, examining the rig and preparing my gear before hooks even went near flesh. To say, yes, I can do this. Being the last one to leave, still coiling my rope and watching others talk and smile and congratulate and cheer.

And I was so terribly, terribly happy.

I feel that this is very much a large part of my role in my life, not just in D/s, but in everything. I have written before that I am very much a nurturer. Always that has had a certain innocence, or simpleness to it. Nurture is affection and food and somewhere to sleep.

But at Hooked Up it took on a much, much more powerful tone. To assist in a journey, to help make it possible. To literally guard over people's lives and the health of their bodies. To lubricate a challenge, an experience, to make it just that little more possible, that little bit more enjoyable.

And in return for all this, I received such joy and beauty and euphoria, the likes of which many people spend their whole lives chasing. To be part of something so great, so incredible. Truly, I am the one who got the better end of the deal.

When I was younger, I was convinced that my gentleness would somehow make me less excellent as a dominant. The more I grow and learn, the more I realize that that gentleness is part of what makes me an excellent dominant, and person besides.

One of the most important things any man does is decide what kind of man he will be. It is clear that I am a gentle man, one who loves and nurtures. I could not be more pleased by this. Not only do I consider them good traits for a man to have; but in a society where masculinity is so frequently measured by aggression, I have the opportunity to present a different kind of masculinity. Neither more nor less legitimate, but merely an example that there are as many kinds of masculinity as there are men.

Ropey Pony

As you may remember, this year I had to cut rope off a bottom.

Since then I've been left with bundles of cut rope not quite long enough to salvage even for much shorter useful lengths. Due to being both a bit of a hippie and dirt poor, I abhor waste.

So I'm recycling.

I'm using this rope to construct a rope bridle for pony play. I'll probably use it to make a tail as well, and anything else that I can think of that can be made with what I have - which I'm sure will be something. I firmly believe that rope can do anything.

Life and Death

BDSM is dangerous, squeals the media.

BDSM is safe, squeals the kinksters.

The truth is that both are correct.

Last night, after performing suspension totally safely and without any hiccups for years, I had my first emergency.

It was nothing I did wrong. Everything went fine, until the bottom became overstimulated, perhaps a little motion-sick, and had an endorphin dump, and became nauseous, light-headed and dizzy.

When this happened, everything continued to go fine, in the sense that it was under control. A couple of wonderful bystanders helped hold the bottom while I cut the ropes and we lowered her to the floor. We cut the ropes off her, checked her responses, let her slowly recover before giving her some water and a cookie.

Fortunately, she was fine. All that was damaged was the rope I had to cut. But it reminds you, doesn't it?

There are risks to what we do. Sometimes, even if everyone involved does everything right, things go wrong. When they do, it's best to know what the hell you're doing... and also to know when you're over your head and need to call an ambulance.

In a sense, I'm grateful for last night, because it reminded me that I am paranoid about safety for a reason. My paranoia has almost certainly helped me avoid being the type of dominant that has frequent emergencies. And it also reminded me that there are risks to what we do... and that sometimes even if you do everything right, things might go wrong, so you had better be prepared.

Rope

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.