Attache-moi! (Tie Me Up, Tie Me Down)

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When I returned from San Francisco, I decided to become a bondage expert. I wanted to manipulate rope and be the dominant one – the “rigger”, as they say in the jargon.

I joined a rope group for female riggers called Hitchin’ Bitches. It was taking place one Sunday afternoon per month in a dodgy pub. The rule was: men allowed but only for being bunnies (being tied up).

I showed up for my first class, positively excited. I turned my head and spotted this girl across the room. She was tall, athletic, boyish, with a short hair. I instantly sensed she was gay. I instantly sensed I liked her.

She was teaching the class. Bondage Professor. She had a boy name, and cherry on the cake, she was American (I have a fetish for American girls). The topic of the day was “pelvis harness”. I discovered she was one of the top international people in rope, which is a fairly small community. She’s so good that she even creates her own knots and name them.

After class, I went to her, and I took her contact to get private lessons. Yeah. “Private lessons”.

A couple of weeks later, I found myself in a girls only Play Party in a dodgy sauna. Dodgy is fun. I turned my head, and there she was. Bondage Professor was randomly standing in the same room as me. My heartbeat accelerated. I knew that if I was playing it well, the night would be awesome.

I slipped my way to talk to her, I slipped my way in the sauna with her, and I slipped my way to tell her that if she needed a bunny for the night, I was her woman. I scored. She said: “Shall we do that now?”

She took me to a private booth. It was the size of a fitting room, with an Amsterdam Red Light District lighting, a mattress on the floor and some kind of beam for suspension.

One of the most intense and troublante intimate experiences of my life began.

She took out ultra-sophisticated equipment, like only a surgeon of bondage would have. Ropes of every size, colour and texture, wooden sticks, clothes pins and other things that I can barely remember or describe.

We kneeled on the floor face to face and she explained the rules. I was wearing my magical silver bikini, the one in which crazy things always happen (such as this or this), with a zipper on the top as an invitation to explore.

She first checked with me if I had any body injuries. She insisted that the communication had to be clear : it is crucial not to play games in the verbal communication, like saying “no” for “yes” and vice versa, cause safety can be at stake. And it is important to express any discomfort or pain for the same reasons. And she added: “Remember. There is no “supposed to”.

I agreed and before I could finish my sentence she grabbed my wrists with authority and I found myself in seconds with rope handcuffs. She instantly took the power over me. Oh. My. God.

I discovered that night what complete surrender means. I really was her thing. I let her manipulate me like a doll, do whatever she wanted with me within complete trust. It was a new stage of my life, because I find easy to let go at… 82%, but I have a hard time letting go at 100%. I went beyond that in no time.

She was putting me in overelaborated pauses, twisting me, stretching me, suspending me, and she could go really creative because I am hyper flexible. “Go for it, I am a dancer”. When she was finishing one creation, I was finding myself in a crazy position that was yet comfortable, so we were taking a break to talk. I was chatting her up completely under restraint, and we had casual first date exchanges: what do you do, why did you move here, how did you get into bondage. Surreal.

There was a strange contrast in how shy she was in the talk and how dominant she was in bondage. It felt like she was almost autistic and rope was her only true mean of connecting with others.

She was restless. As soon as she was liberating me from a position, she was getting me into a new one. Her creativity was endlessly stunning. She even tied knots with my hair.

As hours were passing, it got more intimate. She got the call for the zipper on my bra. I was surprised that she asked me. “Can I open it?” What a question. “Yes”, I said.  

I don’t know many hours we stayed in there, probably close to 3 hours. But time was suspended, just like me. We created a very special timeless dimension in a minuscule physical space.

Close to the end, I really started wondering if she was ever going to “do” me in a “traditional” way. At some point she removed all the rope off my body and gave me a giant hug, she held me super tight and I could feel all the intense emotion that we had both put in that moment finally releasing.

The only violence that night was to go back to the outside world. Inside the bondage cocoon, everything was incredibly soft and respectful.

A question was burning my lips though, I really wanted to ask her “Why? Why didn’t you fuck me?”

But I suddenly understood that she did, in a way that no one had ever done before. Bondage Professor fucked my brain.

The title of the post is a tribute to my adored film director Pedro Almodovar

 

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The Underworld (Play Time)

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My last day in San Francisco was a Saturday.

I reached the town centre by my own means – which is always an adventure in California as the public transportation is fairly nebulous.

I wandered in the city alone and aimless (my usual way to travel). San Francisco is quiet, colourful and laid back, and has some Mediterranean charm in the air. Maybe the bougainvillea?

I took a coffee at the Four Barrel, another coffee in the sun, talked to a Buddhist monk, to a French artist, to a homeless saving for weed. I spied through gates to admire secret gardens. I walked up and down the hills of Hayles, tried on crazy attires in vintage shops (I save you the pic of my butt in a tiger dress.)

When the sun started going down, I went back to Oakland. The way back was scary. I got lost in dodgy areas with no living soul. But I only got told that I had a cool jacket.

I met β³ at his place. We got ready for my first ever Play Party (Sex Party). In the car, he asked me if I was anxious or if I had any questions for him. I didn’t have anything to ask but I was anxious indeed, just at the idea of soaking with the perv’ and feeling like a virgin. I couldn’t imagine one second that this could be healthy. But I had a strong call from my darker side to be set free at the time, and I am grateful that β³ stood on my energetic path at this precise moment to help me satisfy the urge. He held my hand into a world of desires and it felt like earth opened under my feet to reveal a strong part of my universe which I had been ignoring all this time. 

The party was taking place in a private 2 floor loft, warehouse type. Huge space. The theme of the night was “Games”. We were about 150 people. Upstairs was buffet, dance floor, social space, neutral room (no sex allowed in there). Downstairs was “Fucking zone” (floor covered with cushions, hot tub, bed, BDSM equipment.) The space was punctuated with Angels dressed in white. Angels are resource people you can talk to if you feel bad, confused or lost, or if something goes too far. It can be easy to feel strange or very lonely in such an environment. Better to go when you feel fulfilled and are on a strong ego phase, otherwise it can be quite damaging. It won’t fill your inner void.

Of the few parties I’ve been, this one was by far the best. The first half an hour, I was feeling like Mylène Farmer in the clip of “Que mon coeur lâche, and all of a sudden, I felt home and I spent an extraordinary night full of magical encounters.

We started with an ice breaker game, to meet people and open up. We had to go in pairs trying to explain what our expectations for the night were. For some people the answer was straight forward, and for some others, like me, it was an abyssal metaphysics research. I wasn’t clear even to myself: what urge pushed me to accept coming here? And what unknown force made me feel irrationally excited about it way more than scared?

We did some exercises in order to express to someone else a desire we could have for them ; and accept the proposal or decline it in a non offensive manner. The ABC of desire : expressing yourself/saying YES/saying NO. Such a shame this is only taught in the Underworld and not at the surface, I mean, why do you have to join the “scene” to learn the basics of human connection like that? Why don’t we learn that at school? It is fundamental. First revelation of the night.

I teamed up with this guy and when I asked him why he was there, he replied that he was going to be off sex for a while. Me: “- Why is that?” Him: “- I am going to jail for 3 years in 12 days.” Drug deal. What could I possibly reply? “Make the most of it?” Poor guy. Everyone had so unique and different paths. People were generally way more interesting and respectful than in a “normal” party or bar, because the rule of the Underworld is to always check in the other’s consent before doing anything. This is obviously not the case in the regular world.

I had fabulous conversations with a social worker guy, with a painter, with a pretty girl who had thrown her own “Hedwig and the Angry Inch” festival (one of my most cult movies). I wrestled with guys who wanted to kick my ass. I watched the most improbable couples-for-the-night fucking. I received a beautiful kiss from a questioning hippy girl. I got my first bondage lesson with β³. I tied up a woman in her 40s. When I started restraining her with rope and going dominant, something triggered in my brain. An animal signal was flashing in my head, saying “THIS IS THE TRUE NATURE OF YOUR EXISTENCE”. Second revelation of the night. I whipped too, but I didn’t like it. I can’t possibly be serious doing this. I’d be a disastrous Dominatrix, cause I laugh all the time and I make jokes that ruin the fantasy. 

At about 5am, one of the male Angels started hitting on me. He lent me his phone to do my online check-in as I was flying only a few hours later. Energy started fading away, but there was still some action going on as dawn was breaking. He & I talked for a while with moans in the background. He was a Burning Man aficionado. We had a cool talk. He gave me a lift to the station with my massive luggage. I went straight from the Underworld to LAX airport. I can’t recall any of the journey back from San Francisco to LA. I was in a secondary state for hours (maybe days?) because of what had just happened. A lot of my representations, certitudes and preconceptions had shifted in my head.

San Francisco deeply altered some aspects of my life.