“In my beginning is my end […] In my end is my beginning.”
(First and last lines of T.S. Eliot’s poem “East Coker” from Four Quartets)
Barbie lies naked and chained to the four poster doll bed. She is spread out with Playmobil plastic cuffs fixed around her wrists and ankles and with a collar around her neck. The tiny metal chains are perfect for her capture, and they make a clinking sound when the bed moves. She is surrounded by a group of naked Kens who stand looking at their bound toy: their fixed toothy smiles taking on a predatory edge. They form a line and get ready to use Barbie as they please. Rough. Hard. Dominant. Barbie wants it. She loves it.
Lately I have been reflecting on the concept of beginnings, on where something starts — and especially on the very important questions: What prompted me to begin my rope journey? And why do I (continue to) want to be in ropes? In the words of Natasha Nawataneko: what is my personal intention?
Rope and kinbaku are first and foremost an inherent part of my bright and shining perverted kinky sexuality. For me it is the perfect container for fulfilling my core desire to be captured, bound and used. It is also a space for connecting, caring, bonding and exploring — on several different levels — with my husband and rigger. I am also a masochist, and kinbaku is where my desire for pain mixed with pleasure finds its most profound experience.
I know this about myself now, but in the beginning of my kink journey I didn’t know anything. In the beginning there was only a sense, a feeling, an idea of rope bondage as being what I was looking for and desired. I knew that I liked being restrained during sex — held down by hands, put in leather cuffs, metal handcuffs, ties or belts — but there was always a pull towards something more. And rope seemed to hold that possibility.
So my husband and I found a rope class with a talented and lovely educator and decided to start. In the beginning it was very difficult to find a rhythm, and it was neither fun nor satisfying. Everything was challenging. Especially for my husband, who — understandably — really struggled with the technicalities of tying. There was a lot of frustration, tears and disappointment. We could have given up many times. But we kept on going because we still sensed that there was something to be discovered, something to be found, in the ropes. It got better, though — we got better. Slowly we found a rhythm. We had some good experiences — even a couple of truly great ones — but when our educator needed to leave, and the class came to an end, we sought new training grounds.
Now fairly confident that we were pretty good at tying, we signed up for a TK workshop at Rebstudiet. Entering that space we once again realized that we knew nothing. It was a very profound experience to attend this particular workshop because it became an entirely new beginning — born from the end of another. And this time it felt like coming home: coming home in the actual space, coming home in the people there, but most importantly coming home to myself in rope. I have a picture of it actually; me sitting in seiza in the TK; all flushed, a bit shocked and so devastatingly at peace. We felt it ripple through us both, my husband and I, and there was no going back. It was a completely life-changing moment in my and our rope journey.
That was nine months ago now. And we have immersed ourselves in the practice of kinbaku in the style taught by the teachers at Rebstudiet. It has become our second home, our dojo, our playground and our classroom. But it is also the place where I have had to dig deep into the exploration of my why. Because I have struggled with feeling unworthy, worthless and not good enough: comparing myself to other rope models and finding myself lacking in every aspect. Being challenged, being confronted with myself on both a mental and physical level, being laid bare and letting go of all pretence, suffering, surrendering, opening — and failing — all of it is hard work. I remember a particular workshop where I just couldn’t do the tie. I couldn’t handle being in it. And everyone else could. I cried the entire way home. And I have had more than a few days following a “failed” session where I honestly considered giving up and ending my rope journey. I was struggling to find my footing. So I started to really ask myself why? And it brought me back to my beginning.
The girl opens the Fisher Price Doctor’s suitcase and the plastic hinges snap and rattle. She picks up the collection of elastic bandages and assesses the patients imagined injuries: A head wound, a broken leg and a broken arm. She wraps the bandages with care, concentration and control. Then she ties the patient to the bed, so they can’t hurt themselves while healing. After, they switch, and it is now the girl’s turn to be wrapped in bandages. There is nothing quite like it. The feeling both soothing and exhilarating – heavy and settling.
I went back to the earliest bondage-related memories that shine clear and bright in my mind. They have never been hidden or forgotten, I have kept them with me and cherished them always – they have even become part of a book – but looking at them this time around made me realize how deeply ingrained the desire for bondage is in me. That it has been a part of me since the very beginning: as part of play, as part of exploration, as part of my desire and fantasies and as part of caring for another person and being cared for. I suddenly understood that I had forgotten — perhaps in a way lost — myself in my rope practice. I had gotten too far away from me. It was a revelation to go back to the beginning and these memories of my favourite ways to play: chaining up Barbies and applying bandages/having bandages applied. Remembering the feeling of having all the time in the world and simply just be. Present and and open. Playful and curious. Happy and content (and horny). It allowed me to see this truth: that I need to do it for me. Do it my way. I will never be the best, the most beautiful, the most flexible, the sexiest or the most accomplished rope model/bottom but I will be me and that is actually quite alright and pretty fucking exciting.
I sit in seiza on the ishidaki board. The mean triangular wood is cutting into my shins like knives. My hands are tied in a TK that is secured to the bamboo above me. I am completely helpless. Completely at his mercy. I whimper. Uncontrollably. It is not loud but it is so genuine and pure. I try to shift but it makes it worse. My face is contorted in pain. I meet his eyes. Pleading. His smile widens. His eyes sparkle with something I have never seen before. He really likes this. I see his cock hardening in his pants. He rubs a hand over it. It makes me wet and I whimper small babbling pleas. He moves around me, looking at his toy. He praises me. Telling me what a good girl I am. Letting me know that he is going to fuck me. Rough. Hard. Dominant. When I have suffered a little more for him. I want it. I love it.
“In my beginning is my end […] In my end is my beginning.”
This blog post could not have been written without the inspiration from: T.S. Eliot’s poem “East Coker”, Natasha Nawataneko’s book Somatics for Rope Bottoms: Chapter 01 “Intention”, and the many wonderful conversations with my Butterfly <3
Disclaimer: TetheredFeathers has complete autonomy in her writings and is not under editorial supervision from anyone other than herself.