Dreaming’s All I Do

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Lately, in my head, has been a man. And he is quite insistent. Not going anywhere. His hands are tied behind his back.

Tied with rope. That’s odd for me. Not handcuffs. Not duct tape. Rope. Rough, tight rope. Tight and firm enough to make his muscles bulge as he tests its strength.

I have to imagine all this you understand. Finding any kind of representation of what is in my head outside of the barrier of my skull just isn’t happening.

This is partly ’cause I am very specific and partly ’cause I am continually and, yes, still, frustrated by the persistent idea that tied up women are some kind of default in kink. That if an image is of someone tied up it is always – always! - of a woman. Like here, here and here.

A lot of times you see the idea that women tied up somehow ‘works’ better. Like women are more flexible, more aesthetic, more sexily helpless. Such bollocks. Men faced with a clumsy doof like me need any number of layers of bondage to make them helpless. And bondage enhances the male physique so much better than the female. Hands tied behind the back makes arm muscles flex. (Remember the bicep? The man muscle. The let me see how big your muscles are so I can assess how long you can fuck hard for muscle).

Hands tied behind back also enhances that beautiful triangle. It pushes the chest out and makes the shoulders wider. (Not that you’d ever know this unless you get a man an tie him up yourself. Or look at gay porn or prodom sites until you cry about how excluded you are from your own sexuality)

I propose that for one week only - how about the first week of May? - every picture posted on the internet of a person tied up should be of a man tied up. Right there in the mainstream. Not only in the gay and for-pay ghettos. Let’s do that. See if the fucking world explodes, eh?

Fucking, *fucking* kink. Thinks it’s so fucking liberal and is so fucking obviously only about the pleasures of men. (and sometimes the pleasures of queer women, but really, that’s just a titillating side order to the pleasures of men. (And don’t think I don’t know that most submissive men are so self-hating/gender confused they would rather look at pictures of tied up women too.))

And I, meanwhile, get nothing. Nothing ‘cept the pictures in my head. It’s nicer there.

His hands are tied behind his back. And he’s gagged. Gagged in a lazy brutish way with a wadded strip of white material. (Gags aren’t really about preventing speech so much as humiliation. That’s all they’re really for. Putting something into someone’s mouth they can’t get out. That’s just a little power kick. And, anyway, I like talk.)

His gag could be a large handkerchief, tea towel or – in a different fantasy – his own tie, but here it’s a strip torn from his shirt. And he’s still wearing the shirt. Mostly. It’s unbuttoned and fallen half way down his upper arms. And it’s destroyed. Not just the strip ripped off for the gag but also the back of it is shredded. Cut to ribbons.

He has facial bruising, a cut lip, a black eye. He’s being supported by two more men, because he can hardly stand. He’s looking at me, eyes flashing evils.

And I haven’t laid a finger on him. But he knows who I am, what I am, I’m the person who could make it stop…

And I’m lazy. I’m like Pilate. I’m shaking my fucking head, baby.

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Filed under You can never have too many tags, beauty, bondage, butch, bzzzzzz, confinement, everything is broken, feminisation, feminism, handcuffs handcuffs handcuffs, how to be a sadistic bitch, making him vulnerable, making porn out of coconuts, masculinity, oral fixation, ridiculous amounts of whipping, ritualised punishment, sadism