Welcome to a new month on Bella's Blog which means we start a new letter in our 'Writing; The Alphabet' series. For June we move onto 'B' which in our world is for 'Bondage'. This week I'm binging you a little insight into my world with a light-hearted tale about what happened when my hubby and I tried a bit of rope-work - I hope you enjoy it (I didn't!! lol!)
Getting
Knotted!
I’ll
give most things a try – within reason – so, of course, I’ve had my fair share
of being tied up.
When I think of ‘bondage’
thoughts of beautiful shibari or kinbaku knots and ropes draped in strategic
places across my body spring to mind, so when my hubby suggested giving it a go
I was delighted. Big mistake!
He promised me he’d studied it
on the internet so he knew full well what he was doing. Instead of beautiful Japanese silk rope he
used parachute chord (well, it’s silky and it was handy at the time – he works
for the RAF). I undressed (as you do)
and he started with my arms behind my back. My vision of melting into a tranquil state of
perfect relaxation was more than slightly marred by the sighing and cursing
which went on behind me. After a lot of fiddling and grunting he
finally got around to threading the rope around my boobs (no mean feit when
you’ve got one boob distinctively bigger
than the other), and then it went to the back again. After a while the rope became uncomfortable
around my boobs and I got cramp in my arms.
He assured me that he was making beautiful knots behind my back and it
would all be worth it in the end.
About half an hour later the
rope came back around to the front again, threading around my waist. I watched as he knotted then unknotted then
knotted again, tutting in frustration as the rope slid undone and didn’t do
what it was supposed to, and in the end he settled for a reef knot and carried
on. By the time he was getting to the
good part (!) I was tired, aching, had cramp in my arms and legs and had
totally gone off the boil. He was
frustrated, fed up and not at all ‘in the mood’. We decided, on balance, that perhaps this
wasn’t for us and eventually conceded to give it up as a bad job.
Then he went to untie me. Oh
gosh! The knots were so intricate
that it took ages to thread the rope through.
The rope was far too long anyway, so pulling it through each hole took
forever. Then there came the knots which
didn’t quite go to plan and ended up as real ‘knot knots’ which he couldn’t
untie. His frustration got worse, as did
my cramp. Eventually he gave in and got
a large pair of scissors with which he snipped away all my bonds.
My body ached for days after
that. I laughingly complained to him
that I had marks on my body left by the rope – “It’s supposed to be bondage not
bandage,” I told him. He told me to “get
knotted!”
I swear - if he ever suggests trying it again I'll take that rope and show him the real meaning of 'well-hung' - ie. not being able to slide your finger between his neck and the noose!!!
Join me again on Friday when my guest for 'Meet the Author' will be Jane Wallace-Knight. Until then I hope you enjoy the rest of the week and have fun with whatever you're reading and/or writing.
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