Well maybe its not pulling strings as much as it is manipulating the ropes. Recently, I reconnected with an old play partner who I shared some kinky times with. The story of that reconnection started off innocently enough. I have a friend who lives in a power exchange dynamic full time and suggested that his Mistress might like to get in touch with my friend, who is a world-famous suspension/Shibari artist. I wanted to share his gift and so I found some old messages…and there the next chapter in a brief story begins.
Sometimes its easy to reconnect with someone. As if no time, has passed. I think that is because there was/is no expectation. Whether people realize it or not, expectation is de rigueur in almost any kind of relationship, no matter how much we try to free ourselves from it. The expectation can be as small as communication protocols to the etiquette dynamics of a date. No matter how cool we want to seem, anticipation breeds expectation like a mother birthing a child, it’s just natural.
Yet, there I was enjoying an exchange with an old friend who had once tied me up in a restaurant. Oh, did that waiter have something to talk about! In his beautiful bondage I walked down the street, following him of course, until we reached the lobby of his building, where I promptly got on my knees. I worshipped him like the charismatic Dom he is We first met at a kink conference. My first suspension. I felt like I was flying when he suspended me from ropes in from of an audience of voyeurs with pure envy and lust in their eyes. There I hung, naked and caught in a web of nylon rope, which rubbed against my cunt, stimulation from bondage. My emotions, supercharged by being a spectacle, like the topper on a wedding cake.
These were brilliant memories that flooded back and tingled, yet didn’t weigh on my mind. Him. I wasn’t yearning for him per se. Enter expectation or the lack of it. As I arranged communication between two of my favorite kinksters, I thought maybe I needed a teaspoon of that too.
High Minded Art.
Upon reflecting on those memories, its not the kink I need but rather the need to push my creativity. Sex, cooking, writing, these artistic pursuits are not enough. I don’t need more but I do need to push myself deeper into that space. There is no other person I know can artfully do it, the way he can. The way the rope moves through his fingers. Then remembering his hot breath as he closes in on me, checking in with a whisper and a command. Step-by-step he creates a juxtaposed prism of tangled, restricted movement and emotional liberation. The trademark fedora and his 5 o’clock shadow. His practice of the Japanese art of bondage, deferentially known in the BDSM world as Shibari, so beautifully fascinates even the most skeptical voyeur.
I am the voyeur now, watching his subjects on his instagram, reminiscing to the look in their eyes as the subject of this truly romantic art.
Emergence of the Inner Artist.
We all have needs we can’t articulate that are buried deep enough that it takes a special chemistry to dislodge them and allow the artist to emerge. Inspiration comes not without perspiration.
High minded art not for the faint of heart.
Music mood: Bob Dylan ” kneeling ‘neath your ceiling, yes I guess I’ll be here for awhile…”
“Temporary Like Achilles”
To learn more about this ancient art (not my friend’s website.)