Tying Up Men and Why That’s Fun

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Teeny edit to say: The TV show with me in it is on tomorrow (i.e. Tues 11th Dec) on Channel 4 at 10pm

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Now I have a new “career” as a “scientist” I am newly “interested” in the whole realm of kinky “education”. You know the “workshop” “scene” kind of thing:

10am Scary bloke in leather waistcoat tells you how to tie knots and makes unfunny jokes usually involving the word bound – e.g ‘She’ll be bound to please.’ God, no stop, Master Bator… my sides, they are *aching*. It’s always she, btw, in those jokes. Women are for bondage. Bondage workshops/books/instructional videos are always about tying up women.

11am The sensual and ancient art of saying the gracelessly unsexy word ‘pegging’ without laughing.

12midday Bitchy Jones’s Crazy-assed male submission “science” “project” with a Bunsen “burner”. Lab coats on, “safety” goggles donned… Who says I never dress to impress? But, anyway…

But fuck that. Enough funny and flip. And enough quotation marks (for now). Those kinds of workshops have got it all wrong anyway. For all their puff about how to do ick, spanko and blee they never teach anything really useful. Like, how to carry on being mean to someone for fun after you fall in love with them.

I love Pan and I love Jack. It’s a little different. Pan cares far less to crawl and be called filth. Or at least, he does not want to do that more than he wants to sit and watch Dragon’s Den with me and accuse the would-be entrepreneurs of ‘having stiffies’ when the voice over says ‘but James Khan has noticed something the other Dragon’s have missed about Timothy Hoopla’

Jack wants it more, pushes me, has to. Because the more I fall and fall for him the less I want to push him away from me into a place where he’s down there and I’m up here.

Oh, of course, it’s hot not to let him use the furniture. It’s hot to have him sleep on the floor. But there’s always a moment then where I’m on the sofa or under the covers all on my own, and the point of being in love with someone is kind of to press against their heated skin and feel the realness, the sticky sweat and beating heart.

For all I dream of pony boys (or, god, stallion men – will someone please *fix* the language. I don’t have a “boy” and probably never will), a pony’s not as much fun as a real laughing man who - when I get cross from teasing and shout that, okay, fine, I will *never* give my opinion on *anything* *ever* *again* - gets out his phone and starts timing me. (Four minutes).

D/s is about pushing yourselves apart from one another. When all I want to do is come closer.

D/s is about pushing someone into the dark places inside of me when all I want to do is protect them.

I love tying Jack up so many ways. But I can never do it for very long. I miss him. I miss his hands on my skin. I like him touching me.

Last night he was twisted up on the floor with his hands in my rigid cuffs and pulled back through his legs. He hates this position because he doesn’t think he looks good like this. That’s a hard place for him. In some ways he doesn’t. He doesn’t look human. He can’t move at all. He’s tied up, curled up, like a shell. A spiral. I lie next to him and watch him struggle. Not physically struggle – those handcuffs are too painful. Just struggle with himself. Struggle to stay with me.

I have never seen sub space. I don’t really know what it is or if it exists. But sometimes Jack is soft and quiet. Sometimes he shifts inside himself when he is ashamed. But he never leaves me on my own.

I did prolonged bondage with my X. I felt lost. I don’t know what to do when I leave my partner tied up and go look out of the window – so much d/s stuff seems defined by loneliness. By isolating yourself from the person you want to be with more than anything.

So maybe it’s not possible to have a relationship like mine. With love and dirt in the right combination. It’s just a fantasy.

The real me is really no good at this. Soft and weak like I’m the one in fucking sub space. Fragile and broken, awkward and ashamed of what I want.

I have never really been in a proper sub/dom relationship. This is as proper as I’m ever going to get. I am never going to get as proper as calling myself a femmme dommme or hypnotising Jack for behaviour modification – or as one rather delightful hypnodomme (oh, google it, I don’t have time to go into dominant women “hypnotising” men and this cauldron full of scorn hasn’t come to the boil yet) website called it: brain poisoning.

But, I ask you, “brain poisoning”? Isn’t that the absolute apex of where submission and stupidity intersect? That’s what I like to do to the men I love – poison their brains! Rawr, I am the Dominasty! Don’t know about you, but what sexual dominance means to me is liking men who are dumb and dependent. And with poisoned brains. Oh Christ.

Except that maybe brain poisoning is what’s actually required to keep a d/s dynamic alive.

Because I’m in love with Jack. When he teases me and times how long I can keep my opinions quiet it’s because for all my might and bluster, he knows I am soft inside. We can role play a little (insofar as I can) but I can’t make him lower status in my mind. He’s seen every part of my insides. I don’t really have it in me to believe.

But I still love to tie Jack up. Tying up *men* is of course the best – for all that the world of kink likes to make out like tying up women is the last word in righteous pervery, the only point of bondage is to restrain someone who could over power you otherwise.

Jack sent me a text. It said:

One of the things I really like about you tying me up is that it makes me feel dangerous. Like my masculinity is too frightening not to be restrained.

He pushes me. He has to.

He reminds me why this is meant to be something I do for fun.

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