“I just wanted to say thank you for creating the bamboo rig and encouraging people to play on it. That was the first time I’d self suspended at an event in a year. I’d had an incident before which left me skittish. That tie felt like a breakthrough for me. So, thank you.” – Monday afternoon
It was late Sunday night. Not quite the end of open play. Maybe two or three hours before the dungeon was to close.
I was somewhat tired. The past few days of Shibaricon had taken its toll. But I wasn’t exhausted. I still had some steam left in me. But what to do with it?
I thought maybe I’d drop into my voyeur headspace, roaming around the dungeon, watching scenes.
And then my friend Meliffica approached me.
“Could you self suspend? This guy created this awesome rig and all he wants is for people to use it.”
I turned, stepped closer to it. It was a larger structure made from bamboo and lashed at the top. It looked similar to a swing set, its triangular middle triggering memories of my childhood. On its sides were two smaller triangular areas. These seemed perfect for small, intimate ties.
I thought about it for a moment.
“Okay, I’ll go grab my rope.”
I switched out my bootblack kit for my rope bags in my room. I then threw on a pair on panties and headed back down stairs.
I rested my bags by one of the smaller triangles. I took a breath. The nerves had already come.
I happened to glance right and saw Gray tying. I glanced forward and saw Dov playing. More nerves.
I stopped. Closed my eyes. Took another deep breath.
I dumped out my rope bag. Picked out five 30s and five 15s, four red and one black of each. I placed them within arms reached of where I would hang. I took off my hoodie. Stripped down to just my bra, panties, and boots. I pulled out my gray flag and rested my safety shears on it.
I stepped inside the triangle. Rigged my ring.
I took off my necklace.
I breathed again, eyes closed, head rested against my ring.
This is for me, and no one else.
I opened my eyes. I began tying.
As my hemp adorned my body, my hands remembered my standards. Swiss seat on my hips. Three bands across my chest. Ankle cuff to the right boot. A short length to lift my hips. The long tail on the ankle cuff to pivot me.
I sat in my Swiss seat, raised the tail of my right ankle’s tie, and looped it through a carabener. Slowly, I raised my leg. Pivoted my body. Went inverted.
My left hand found my left boot. My right hand held my right leg’s line. I rested in my body.
The rest of the world melted away.
I existed in the pressure on my lower back, which held most of my body weight. The swimming sensation in my head as the blood rushed towards it. My breathing. The slow turn of my body as the ring held me just above the floor, yet high above the world.
I let my left boot go and allowed my hand to skim the floor. To feel the delicate sway as I moved ever so slightly in my ties. It was if I felt the ebb and flow of life in my fingertips.
I allowed my right leg to come down, raising my body to a horizontal position, and locked off the cuff. Reaching down, I grabbed a 15. Larks head to my chest. Ran through a carabener. Locked off. My left leg tucked above my right. I closed my eyes. Lazed in ties.
Again came the gentle sway. Small movements as gravity played with my rig.
Coming back, I reached down, this time for a 30. Ankle cuff on my left boot. Through a carabener. Down behind my head. Locked off. Neck support, yes, but my whole body weaved into my ropes. My hands laid on my stomach. I relaxed.
Did I want to try going sideways? Practice the new knot I learned on Friday? Do something with my arms?
I was in my happy rope place, but I also wanted my floor time.
I released my head. Lowered a leg. Then the other. Loosed my chest and hips. And I sat on the carpeted floor. My lines still attached to my body.
My right ankle cuff became a futomomo, as did my left. As I tied, I remember Wykd_Dave’s words on how to tie. On tension. On being present in every inch of the rope. My chest line wrapped through each futomomo and attached back to itself, pulling my torso down. I felt an urge, and went with it. I reached out, grabbed my leather cuffs, and put them on my wrists.
I sat. I breathed. Eyes closed. Taking in my body. My breath. My being. Sinking into my flesh. Melting away life. Letting everything else besides my body and my breath not exist in this moment. I found my Zen. I rested in that space.
Centered in myself. Centered in my ropes. I sat.
When it was time, I released my chest line, keeping tension, feeling the movement of my hemp throughout my being. I untied each futomomo with concentration, running my rope with as much intention as when I put it on.
As I lived in my headspace, someone who had looked on came over and asked if I was okay.
It felt like a window had crashed in. It was gone. My center. My Zen. One sentence and it was gone.
I gave them a head nod and a yes.
I continued to untie, but my love felt sullied. Too many thoughts and emotions came rushing in. Too many of the no-good-very-bad thoughts. All the things I didn’t want to think about or feel in what was to be a time of happiness.
I had opened myself up. Exposed my being. And with one sentence, the light, my Zen, was gone. Whereas before I swam in soft calm, now my mind was a tempest of darkness.
I shoved my rope into my bag. Took down my ring. Threw my hoodie and my skirt on. Gathered up the rest of my things.
I couldn’t bring myself to put my necklace back on. It went into a bag. Trying to stem the tide of emotions, I instead tied my gray flag around my neck.
I rushed upstairs.
I dropped every thing and grabbed my netbook. Made my way to the lobby.
Opened a new file. Named it ‘Emotional Diarhea’. Started typing.
It was 2:30am. I didn’t know how long I would be at that table writing, but I knew I would not finish anytime soon. The storm in my mind ragged.
But then, thankfully, not thirty minutes into my emotional expulsion, I was invited to tacos.
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