Once upon a time in Barcelona
Somewhere an old man plays tennis naked. The sand clings gently to the wet skin of his calves, kicked up by the impact of his running. He moves like an avalanche, swings wide, misses. You are transfixed.
You go to sleep late and wake early. Your days are dictated by the petty desires of others. Another round, more food for the gaping wound of your stomach, a hug that lingers on the edge of discomfort. People keep asking you what you do for a living. You tell them you’re at work.
The cat is physically well kept but emotionally neglected. The young man asks you about motherhood and you realize you have become your mother. She pretends to have cancer to get your attention. Wives and mothers are impossible creatures. What is left for women?
The music feels like a stroke. Words exist but lack meaning. Color fades out of a picture taken on a gray day that never rained. You imagine paintbrushes and bootheels and rhymes, but for what purpose?
Life is a series of mysterious happenings. You owe the government money somehow. You pause to smell the lilac bush, and a gust of wind comes to fill it with movement. It bows towards you like a Japanese businessman. He asks for a glass of hot water, which is annoyingly complicated to fetch. This is an allegory.
Life is a menu and you insist on ordering something different. The bartender makes it regardless. You pass the time imagining terrible cocktail names. You sit but without resting. Your mind is a blank canvas, stretched and ready, but imposing.
You find new intrusive thoughts to ignore. A hand you must hold to not slam it accidentally on the ticket spike. A hand you must trail against the outer wall of the circular mall to not throw yourself into the atrium. A woman you ignore, but you picture her naked. You desire pain.
You remember strangers with a fondness unfitting. Hairpiece from the train. Two muffins from the cafe. Bagelman. Coat. Your fingernails have been unpainted for a century. You wonder if they would avoid being caught in hinges if they were battle red. You hinge at the waist in a desperate stretch.
The treadmill bores and complaces you. This too is an allegory, but a hopeful one. Not about running and getting nowhere, but about the gradual improvement of your body. Breaking and building are two parts of the same momentum. You grow tired of the taste of apples.
I recently had the chance to go through Betty Martin’s Wheel of Consent with someone new. Which I always think is a good first or second date activity – not only because it helps you get on the same page as your new flame, but also because it impresses their therapist. (a totally normal thing to want, btw) Seeing it new through the eyes of another, I was again reminded of the power of the Take / Allow axis, and how neglected it is by mainstream society.
The take / allow waters are the ones we often find ourselves swimming in during the exploration of D/s or S/m. And learning how to take without guilt was a powerful tool to add to my kit as a top.
Getting good at taking as a top is also a great way to honor your own needs and boundaries.
I recently had a chance to tie with my lovely friend FavoriteBlanket again. The nature of our evolving rope friendship has found our desires more often aligned than disaligned, which means I don’t have to spend much energy on holding myself back from crossing a boundary of hers. While having this alignment is not a requirement by any means to have a good rope scene, it allows for a freeness and fluidity that simply makes it less emotional labor.
One thing I think is especially true for female tops, is that we have been conditioned to Give (also called Serve in the above graphic) much more than we have been conditioned to Take. And anyone who develops skill with rope knows, it is very easy to slut a little too close to the sun and find yourself feeling like a carnival ride for a dehumanizing number of eager rope bottoms.
At least for me, life got a whole lot easier when I realized I simply dont have that large of a capacity to Give, especially not to strangers. But tying in line with my selfish desires? Yes please!
It isn’t always easy, in fact, to be in touch with your own desires. This is especially true when the desires are deviant – that I want to hurt or expose the beautiful woman in front of me. When I don’t know what to tie, however, this is what I go back to.
Instead of following some recipe or pattern, I add an element, step back, and really try to see what I want. Do I want to touch her? Do I want to hurt her? Do I want to take off her shirt?
I let it build, following this intuition. I watch for a response, and try to follow the ones I like. And of course, I back off when the intensity gets too high.
As you tie this way more and more you can find that certain impulses get magnified simply because they are louder. The desire to sit back and watch, or give my partner endorphins and a gentle stretch are there too, they just have a quieter voice. But as we transition from a peak of pain and intensity, I want to make my partner feel strong and admired. Life is about balance afterall.
And after all that, sometimes all you want to do is play!
Big thanks to FavoriteBlanket for so expertly leaning in to all my bad ideas. And thank you to Pinchinawa for the use of his space, and shooting these lovely pictures ❤
boshai 