It’s been months since I’ve really felt the pain and pleasure of rope, perhaps longer. Mr. Texas is frustrated, to say the least. He’s clever, capable, a quick learner. He’s done some amazing bedroom bondage and predicaments – and he’s only really learned the basics. But rope to me is strange…it’s a shadow of a memory that I love but that triggers me towards others. (Plus I’m not finding a rope community here still for Mr. Texas and I to be comfortable in.)
[jwplayer mediaid=”7163″] When my friend Yuè Lǎo took this photo, I thought of Type O Negative’s song, Christian Woman.
A cross upon her bedroom wall – from grace she will fall
an image burning in her mind – and between her thighs
A dying god-man full of pain – when will you cum again?
before him beg to serve or please – on your back or knees
No forgiveness for her sins – prefers punishment
would you suffer eternally – or internally – ah
I am a switch, a fact that’s been glaringly obvious since my divorce. Sure, I tend towards the bottoming side, but every so often I have the urge to hurt, to bite, to tear into, to beat upon his body like a canvas where I leave my mark that he is undeniably mine and will be left with the physical reminders of me for days to come.
Having the time to enjoy his reactions, to experiment and try new things, to explore this other side of me, is what the weekends are all about.