poeticdesires

the life and musings of a kinky slut

Results

I started as normal, tying a harness around my chest. People looked on, friendly heckling as they liked. Music was playing, so I danced a bit as I continued to tie. I moved on to my hip harness, winding my rope thrice around my middle. I attached to the bands on my hip, and wove around my thighs. All of my usual ropes were complete.

As I tied, I had to keep telling myself to relax. buy modafinil from india online Pretend like they’re not watching. Pretend you are just at home in the basement dicking around. Breathe.
http://wilsonabbey.com/tag/manga/
But then came the hard part. I looped my lifting lines through my usual three points: one at the center of my chest and one on each of my legs. First, I attached the chest, using a different rope than normal, a longer rope. No, be brave. I took off my chest line and instead grabbed my usual short piece. I tied off to my ring and continued.

I started to lift my right leg. Wait, which one am I stronger on? I switched to my left. My left leg and chest in the air, I sat back and lifted my right leg. I was now in my basket, ready to take the fall.

A friend came over and spotted me, just in case. I was about to attempt the hardest part.

I untied my chest point and slowly let myself down. I was inverted. It felt amazing, as usual.

Okay, just do it.

Collapsing in my core, I lifted my body up, and re-strung my chest line through my ring. I tied off, without help. I did it.

I was more than elevated, more than pleased. In my previous attempts at this maneuver, each time I failed. The first time I needed assistance to physically help me down. The second time I was able to reach the floor with my tippy toes and unlock my thighs ropes. Never before had I lifted my body, held my own weight, and tied off my chest point without assistance.

I knew why this time was different as soon as my feet were on the floor again. I wasn’t breathing heavy. I wasn’t exhausted. I wasn’t panting. I was sweaty, but not as much as usual. It was obvious; the treadmill time was working.

I haven’t been exercising consistently for that long, but in the short amount I have gotten in, I’ve already seen the results in both large and small ways.

Going up multiple flights of stairs.

Quick walks when I’m in a rush for work.

Work, in general, with the lifting and pushing of heavy objects and climbing into trucks to maneuver awkward gear.

Holding up a friend while we demonstrated an awesome fucking scene.

The teeny tiny ever-so-miniscule amount of extra space in both my work pants and, sadly, my bra.

I’m not focused on the end result of this experiment; I have no specific result in mind. But the journey…

The journey’s working out just fine.


Categorised as: Big Girl

Comments are disabled on this post


Comments are closed.