With every high comes an equal and inevitable low.
I’m laying in bed looking through foggy eyes writing this or else I won’t sleep. Tears are drying on my face and I can’t be bothered to peel away the bits of hair that are stuck to my wet cheek.
Why am I upset? I wish I knew. I never cry and I feel like I am the happiest I have ever been recently.
I think it has something to do with yesterday.
I went to a rope workshop. I met a friend there, and spoke to many new people. I was feeling confident and proud of myself for mingling.
I enjoyed watching people doing their thing, being suspended and tied in all sorts of ways. You can tell those who are well practiced in rope bondage, but it’s the ones with a connection I find the most fascinating to watch.
There was a couple, or at least they looked like a couple to me. I watched him weave a web round a petite dark haired girl. She was content and he focused solely on her. He held her and wrapped length after length in intricate knots that appeared completely improvised but the finished pattern was perfect.
He followed the rope with his fingers, tying as if he was blindfolded. He pulled on her hair and stroked the bare skin on her arms. As he untied her he let the rope stroke the sensitive indents that weaved across her body. They were in harmony. He reacted to her every breath, she responded to each movement. I could see her chest moving and her face had a faint smile of bliss.
Afterwards he held her close in a little ball. Still letting a length or rope brush her skin as he stroked her hair.
My eyes followed him around the room as he chatted to friends. I found myself drawn to him. I wanted to ask about what he was doing, but I couldn’t. I caught his eyes a couple of times and for some reason convinced myself that he wouldn’t want do the same to me. I had regressed back to being in the school playground, sulking a bit because the cool guy would never be interested in me. So I got a friend to ask instead.
What happened next I cannot describe. I have been going over and over it. I have tried to work it out in my head and failed.
We sat on the floor. He started on one wrist and wrapped my arm around my chest like a hug. The rope continued around my body and he followed it over and under my breasts and knotted it around my leg spreading my thighs. He let the rope touch sensitive parts of my body with the tension. He rolled me to one side and passed a length under me so it sat against my pussy, then dragged the free end across my neck… where he went after this I cannot recall.
I looked down at my chest, the rope was pulling the fabric tight and my nipples were standing out through my vest top.
Inside something was warming up. I could feel my body reacting as if I was being touched. I didn’t know what was happening and I tried to control it. I was embarrassed. I was in a room full of people socialising around me. I was confused, and the strain was all over my face. I hid under my hair.
On one pass of the rope his wrist watch accidentally brushed my erect nipple. I remember uttering ‘Oh god, Oh god’ repeatedly under my breath because I could barely contain myself. I was holding in my voice in case I drew attention to myself.
My body wanted to come and I could barely control it.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to smile. I wanted him to just hold me. I wanted to be in a dark quiet place, just me, and him, and the rope. I wanted to come. I wanted to cry.
I held my breath, bit my lip, gritted my teeth and held it at bay.
I have spent the last 24 hours reflecting on this experience. I didn’t know things could work that way. I didn’t know my head could work that way. I didn’t know my body could work that way.
I laid there with my head in his lap as he coiled each length of rope into a neat bundle. Even when I got up, I didn’t need to ask, he just didn’t leave my side for ages after. He could tell I was struggling, but I didn’t let it get to me too much at the time. I chatted and laughed my mind and body to distraction. But all that did was save it for later. Now there is no one here, and I think that is why I am crying.
It’s the emotional confusion of something completely unexpected.
Can you make a connection like that when you don’t know someone? Can I come without being actually touched? Can I let myself go completely and enjoy my body for the wonderful feelings it gives?
The emotional strain of trying to deal with the shame of everyone around me. They could all see me but I never lifted my head to see who was watching. I was having a very sexual and intimate experience in a room full of people and he was my lifeline. Now he’s not here.
And cursing my own naivety for not understanding the full extent of what I had asked for. Damning myself because I have been so careful to avoid putting myself in a position that could leave me feeling this lost.
I wish I could tell him how I feel right now. I wish he was here to wrap me up again in his arms. I wish I could stop fucking crying.
But I wouldn’t take back the experience for anything. It was sublime.