SFF had jetted off back home, and I wasn’t allowed back in
the clubs without some sort of “chaperone” to care for the
non-Japanese-speaking, wide-eyed new girl. I asked him for names of people who
might oblige…
So there I was again, waiting on a street corner for a random
French guy. Of course he was late. When he finally arrived he was tall, fairly
handsome and obviously French. He bent, in courtly fashion, over my hand for one
suspended minute of formality, then began talking ten to the dozen and haring off
up the hill towards the club where he taught Kinbaku classes.
Again, I was
whisked in, signed up and taken upstairs in seconds flat, and soon found myself
sitting in a quiet room with white silk walls and low, padded sofas, 50s music
playing in the background, a small rope stage with tatami matting and crossbeams
for suspension points, one corner of the room displaying various beautifully
tied chest harnesses on plastic models, many of them signed by the greats of
the rope world, piles of practice rope heaped at the edges. It was small and a
little tatty, but the atmosphere was soothing and focused and some people were
already seated cross-legged on the floor, learning basic knots from the other
sensei.
The first part of the lesson was fairly uneventful. I was
fully clothed, and several of the learner guys tried out chest harnesses on me.
I loved the feel of the rope, but I didn’t slip into any kind of a state of
bliss – they were too awkward and fumbling, bending almost concaved whilst
tying me in order not to touch me unnecessarily. They hadn’t got over their
Japanese discomfort with touching strangers yet. They reacted with wide-eyed
“this is too good to be true” disbelief every time they were told they could
practise on me, and only a few dared flirt a little through the rope.
At one point Chatty Frenchie used me to show them how a
chest harness should be done. He was
strong, tactile and dominant, holding me by the throat, pressing the rope
against me and pushing me around, yet at the same time his movements were precise,
almost mathematical. I let myself start to slip into that trancey state that
rope takes me to so easily… and then I was interrupted by a loud round of
applause, and came back to myself. “Sorry,” CF whispered in my ear “but it is a
lesson.” Then they all came up to prod me and check the tension of the ropes
that sensei had just done. I was a human package.
About 4 hours later, I finally took a break and went
downstairs for a coke. No alcohol, because under school rules, nobody who’s had
alcohol is allowed near rope. I was tired, my right shoulder was aching from
being forced behind me for several hours, and even the other sensei was
impressed by how many times I’d been tied. Of course, this was when CF chose to
suggest my first suspension. Of course, I accepted instantly.
It was a simple suspension, one that CF later said he uses
whenever he suspends a new model for the first time, because the stress on the
body is evenly placed and it’s straightforward to get in and out of. First a
chest harness, then a harness around my hips, both tied into the suspension
point, then he lifted up first one leg then the other, so I was fully suspended
from the ceiling, face down, spinning and rocking in the air. He checked I was
ok from time to time, but otherwise was as dominant and efficient as ever.
I
had slipped into that relaxed rope state that comes to me so easily within the
time it had taken to tie the chest harness, so I was mentally elsewhere, in
flow, more connected to myself physically and yet at the same time better able
to bear pain and discomfort. Still, I registered surprise at how much strain I
felt at being lifted, and I had to get him to adjust the ropes around my hips
so they didn’t pinch. Imagine a pinch with your entire body weight behind it.
Yeah, ouch. But other than that I let myself drift, allowed it to hurt, felt
that feeling of my own weight disconnected from the ground, let go and gave in
to myself turning in the air. When it was over, I was exhausted but all glowy,
and I still wanted more. I always do, it seems.
I’ve been back several times since, and I learn something
each time, about how to stay safe, or comfortable, or the language for the
things that I’m doing. I learn as much as the students do, and of course I get
the feeling of that rope against my skin, no matter how nervous the student may
be. I’d love to teach them a little about how to touch a woman. Maybe when I
know more Japanese…
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