I have a secret, and a confession. It started off as just a little experimental fetish. I don’t like to be bound by others (I have trust issues stemming from long years of abuse by the hands of many) but I really enjoy binding myself. It started off innocently enough, a little rope work (thanks Home Depot for not blinking an eye when a girl buys fifty feet of nylon rope!) to enhance what pleasures I sought. I enjoyed myself, so I looked up special cotton rope, practiced various weaves and knots, and started wearing it around the house. The dogs always thought I was a bit peculiar so this was no surprise to them. The subtle tightness, little tugs, and caresses of pressure kept me on the verge of something delightful as long as I was bound. One would think that there would be the temptation to release that savory delight as many times as one could manage, but I found the anticipation to be much more delicious. The longer I waited the sweeter it got, until, like the sight of a fresh creamy cheese cake or sloppy glaze still melting off a hot doughnut, you can no longer hold back the hunger. 

One morning after feeding my babies and sweating through my meager exercise routine I was getting ready for work. My ropes were hanging from the bathroom door and I got an idea. Just the idea alone was enough to put a fire in the oven but I did not have enough time to bake anything and still get to work on time. I left the ropes hanging with a clear goal for the morrow; least to say my mind was not all there at work. As a call center dealing with the financing woes of the over extended and victims of the crash most of my day revolves around callers who are not the most happy folks. In general I need a way to let that poison go not only at the end of the day but during the day as well. Most of the time I doodle (sfw things causes I don’t think the ultra conservative normal suburbanites would understand… all of this), or read, I read a lot, a lot a lot, too much a lot.

The next day I showed up to work in a nice thick sweater and heavy skirt. I was a combination of paranoid, enthralled, delighted, confused, and on the edge of the messiest orgasm I ever felt brewing. The call center is cold, I read somewhere they keep it that way so folks don’t sweat, or if you believe the interwebs and its lagoon full of fecal posting, the temperature is set the male body’s comfort level. Which on a side note I think is utter horse manure, because the men show up in sweaters as often as the women. Personally I think someone got it into their head that 68 is the human body’s ideal comfort level. Suffice to say that despite that little voice in my head telling me that everyone could see the rope lines under my sweater they could not. Long story short, I took a half dozen trips to the bathroom that day to swap out saturated feminine products…

This all sounds like sex, sex, sex, and of course it obviously started out that way. I didn’t wear it every day at first. Maybe once a week when I was feeling like I needed to be a sexual deviant under the guise of a polite, shy, heavily disfigured cyclops. Yet the sexual aspect of it turned into so much more. Wearing it gave me confidence birthed by the fact that I held a secret before the eyes of all yet they were all blind to it. The change was visible to some extent in the way I smiled and conversed more freely with my white-bread co-workers (I don’t judge, they could all be just as kink as me out of sight and behind closed doors, I just like to color them as see them ;) ) I began to wear it a few times a week rubbed with lavender or sandalwood wax. People commented on my pleasant effervescence and asked where I got my perfume. They’d tentatively ask about the gaping hole in the side of my face and then shower me with sympathy and pity (ug there is nothing I despise more than pity) and I would give them a mousy smile and sip my tea. The ropes no longer bound me to enhance my sexual experience, they now seemed to harness those ill thoughts and poisonous emotions. I began to feel safe with the ropes about me, on my high anxiety days I do a simple wrap like the one in pictured to retain my calm. 

This is my body, awkward proportions and all. This is my favorite bind complete with fancy knots (they lay relatively flat against your skin). This is my boy’s head in all its beautiful glory (RIP my love <3 <3 <3). This is me.