The Long Road Back

It’s funny the things that trigger us. The other day I was at W’s, working from home.  It’s been so long since we’ve been kinky, and so long since I’d felt any rope on me, that I asked him to tie me a bit.  Yeah, I asked him. We are in such a weird place right now that I do have to ask him to do things to me; I have to suggest I wear his devices; I have to ask him if he wants me to dress in my slutwear, or even wear high heels.  And when he did start tying me it was like…he was doing it to someone else.  I was actually…just sitting there typing, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.  What the fuck is wrong with me, with that picture?  But then, at one point, I felt the rope slide across my skin, and I got goosebumps, and it was like waking up.  It was like I suddenly realized we were sitting there tying me to a chair with me not even truly engaged.  The intensity of my disconnect was such that I couldn’t tell you if he was engaged or not, although, when I pointed out my visceral reaction, and I heard him chuckle, I knew that he was not completely unmoved.

That’s probably not an entirely fair assessment of things though. It’s all trial and error right now, and him being very careful to evaluate every minute how much tolerance and endurance I have, just as a good top should, and as someone that genuinely cares for his toys–and loves his partner–should. But of course for me it was that the headspace wasn’t there.  It had been driven by me, and that just doesn’t work for me, so…there I was, in the middle of being tied and yet not feeling tied up, not feeling that power exchange, at all.

And yet…there were those goosepimples on my skin as I felt his hands on me, as I felt the slide of the rope. Triggering memory, triggering desire. And there was the answering chuckle from him, and the stroke of his fingers across my collarbone.

He’s been so very very careful with me. I appreciate it, and I know he has to be, we both have to be, but then there are times…when I want it to be like it was before. I want the ferocity, I want him in charge, I want (our few) rules back, I want hours of being tossed around, tied this way and that, used and abused. I want to feel subjugated again, damn it.

I know, I know–and I am so very grateful that he cares enough about me to be careful, and sensible, and responsible.

But…sometimes I worry…

…that it will never be that way again.

And when I read posts about people playing for hours and days…of that feeling of being just so overwhelmed, “drained and battered,” so fucking deep in submission and subjugation the time is a blur and all there is is you and him and him and what he’s doing to you…I just want to beg him, please please please can we be there again????  Please will you do those things to me again? Please will you make me yours, will you beat me down into submission, will you leave me “battered and drained” again???

I am just so fucking sick of vanilla I could puke.

And then…he takes me upstairs and he puts rope on me.  And yes, it is very careful, and he is checking in with me the whole time, and it is slow and measured and goddamn but he is good at what he does, the technical part, you know?  I never get to really appreciate that too much, because usually my head is not paying attention to what he’s doing technically, lol. And yes, what I want is the non-technical…but as the rope binds, as I feel him and his rope, I start to slip quietly into a space that isn’t that space, but…it’s something. And he is there and I am there, and we are engaged with each other, with what we are doing.  I feel the rope and I feel him…and I feel myself again, just a bit.

Maybe it isn’t that other space (yet) but it’s…somewhere.  It’s a start.

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