the life and musings of a kinky slut

The Journey Home

My journey in rope has not always been easy. In fact, most times, it’s been downright brutal. Being around people who know so much more than me, have done it so much longer than I have, and all of them having such faith in me…It’s just so fucking intimidating. I’ve said it before: it often feels like I’m a Sophomore hanging out with Seniors.

So when I fell Friday night, when I fucked up, it hurt on more than just the physical level. Emotionally, I had lost my center. I had failed, not just myself, but the people who taught me, the people who cheered me on. I felt like complete and total shit.

But I knew I couldn’t stay there. I knew I couldn’t let that be the end of it. I knew I couldn’t get back to who I was before I fell, at least not in a day, but I could start the journey home.

Saturday I again found my grove at the event. I had my boots blacked by Her Treasure. I attended an excellent non-monogamy class. I planned a play date with a friend which is likely to be horribly hot. I experienced huge amounts of ashy, smokey fun at the cigars and boots social. I introduced myself to folks, chatted, laughed, and made friends.

With the high of cigars and boots still lingering on my skin and in my hair, I grabbed my rope bag from my room and headed down to the dungeon. I found the same rig. I laid out the same ropes. I undressed. I left my boots on. I stretched.

I rigged my Shibari ring in a way that I knew would not, could not, fail unless my webbing split and ripped apart. I tied the same chest harness, hip harness, and ankle cuff. I held onto my ring and let a deep breath out.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I sat into my ropes, let them take my weight, and swung for a bit. I didn’t dare let myself close my eyes. I spun around one way and then the other.

I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I sat back into my ropes. I lifted my right boot, and then my left, gripping onto my rope and the ring. I let myself go inverted, but my hands didn’t dare let go of my rope. I kept looking up at the webbing. I wouldn’t let go.

I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I knew I couldn’t end like this. Yes, I had let the ropes take the weight. Yes, I had gone inverted. But I still lacked the trust in my work, the trust in myself. I had to take the leap.

I sat back in my ropes. I threw my feet up.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I slowly let go. My hands rested on my lower back. My ropes, my work, took my weight. I breathed. I smiled.

I sat back up. I landed. I brushed my face against my ring. I felt like I was home again.

Slowly, deliberately, I unwound each of my lifting lines. I drug the chords across my body. I threw them to the floor. I took apart my ankle cuff, ran the rope across my skin, and flung it into the pile. I untied my chest and hip harnesses. I smelled their aromatic hemp flavor before letting them join the others. Using a chair, I reached up and let my webbing down. I sat beside my ropes, smiling, happy.

I recoiled each rope, placed them all back in my bag, and packed my things away. My clothes back on, everything ready, I departed the rig, pleased that it was no longer a scary place. I had learned.

As I wondered around the other play spaces, my smile could not be stopped. As I watched people play, and remembered the fun I had had earlier, I felt like me again. I felt free again. I felt like I was home.

Categorised as: Emotional | Fear | IMsL | PoeticVaca | Rope

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