Rope gives meaning to my pain

Photo by A-Nicolas

I sometimes wonder, or get asked, why do I like to get tied. It is a difficult question to answer because I like it with different people for different reasons. I like to be under the power of dominant men and suffering in their ropes is a way to express my devotion to them. I like to feel helpless and abused and rope is a great tool for my partners to make me feel this way. I like to serve, to please people with my being. I like it when people enjoy me. 

I could go on and on about it. The reasons why I enjoy rope are ever-changing but they are always strong. Without a strong reason to be in ropes, I could not show up for my partners and this is one of the worst things, I believe, a model can do. To not show up for the scene. 

There is one reason, however, that is the strongest, deepest and most personal of all. It is so deeply ingrained in my being that I believe that, in some way, it always shows up, even if my partners use it in different ways. 

Rope bondage is my laboratory for investigating vulnerability. It is a place where I research my openness and where I look at how it behaves in case I get rejected, toyed with or when my vulnerability is used against me. Can I stay with my partner regardless? Can I bear it and keep on giving? 

It is quite easy to be open and vulnerable with the people who you know care about you. In the face of deep and honest love our hearts almost automatically open up. But what if you give yourself to someone and they take your gift, throw it to the ground and crush it with their feet? Will you retreat into yourself to start licking your wounds? Will you close yourself up to them? Or will you stay with your perpetrator, blood soaking from the wounds they gave you, but you still loving them with your entire aching heart? 

There are two ways in which one can approach hurting other people. One can hurt them because one stops seeing humans in them like it is in the case of torturers or soldiers during the war¹. They are trained to see the people they torture and kill as objects, as a means to a goal, a necessary damage. They don’t feel with those they hurt. They don’t empathize with them. They don’t feel the pain of their victims. One can also hurt someone while feeling with them. One can acknowledge they are in pain caused by oneself. One can see their pain, go through it with them and let it transform one as well. Akira Naka sensei once said that he is not a sadist, that when he hurts the model he feels with her, he feels her pain. I believe him and at the same time, I would not necessarily say that it means that he is not a sadist. I believe that many kinky sadists feel with the people they hurt. Just like masochists can be transformed through their own pain, sadists can be transformed through the pain of the other, the one who is suffering for them. But to be able to go through that, they need to see humans in the people they hurt.

When I am being hurt, I want to stay human for the one who gives me pain. I want to stay when they rage. I want to stay when they torture me. I don’t want to escape what they are doing to me. I don’t want to leave my body and go with my mind somewhere else. I want to stay for them just where they’ve put me. I want to hold space for them. I want to withstand their storm and meet them at the other end with my arms wide open. I want both of us to be transformed by what I am going through. They are making all that effort to hurt me, I don’t want it to be wasted on me hiding away. 

I can imagine that hurting people is not an easy thing to do. It must not be easy to allow oneself to act upon the dark urges that hide within oneself, to acknowledge them and let them be expressed. I appreciate it when my partners do. I appreciate their bravery in revealing who they are to me. And I want to show it to them by staying open to their actions, staying open to whatever process hurting me triggers in them, allowing them to explore the dark corners of their psyche, knowing that I am there with them, that I am receiving everything they have to give me and I will not leave them behind in their dark night. We will see the light at the end together. 

I have a history of being hurt by people whom I loved. I have been hurt by them over and over again and I was always coming back. Back then, because I didn’t have a choice. I had nowhere to go. But at the same time, I also didn’t want to leave them. I could see they were hurting as well. I could see how lost they were, unable to behave any different. I accepted that and I kept on loving them despite everything they did to me. Because the possibility of closing off and leaving them felt even more painful than whatever they were doing to me. 

Rope provides me with a contained ritual in which I can relieve those situations from my past. You could see it as unhealthy. You could say that I should learn how to get out of my unhealthy patterns and take better care of myself. But I think that its exactly what I am doing. In ropes, and in kink in general, I meet the most vulnerable, the most hidden parts of myself and I give them a voice so that I can finally see the beauty that hides inside of them. I can finally see the beauty that is in my pain. 

Kinbaku is a space where, instead of turning away from my uncomfortable experiences, I meet them with my attention and curiosity. Where I ‘see’ them and allow them to ‘play out’ without any censorship. So that I can learn how they operate. So that the most hidden aspects of me can finally see the daylight and become integrated into the image I have of myself. So that there is no part of me that I feel ashamed of.  A rope scene is a space where I meet my demons and where they invite the demons of my partners to dance. Through my pain. Through my suffering. Through my challenge, we both find peace with who we are. 

I could be bitter about the fact that it is always me who is hurt but I am not because it makes perfect sense. I’ve spent so much time in my life experiencing pain, investigating it, toying with it and turning it around that I am ideally positioned to be its receiver. Pain is my old friend. 

You could say that I am doomed but I would rather say that I am blessed. I get to explore the parts of human experience that not many people have entered and left sane. I get to be the gate for my partners to places they would never otherwise have reached. 

I am a necessary piece of a puzzle. A rarely visited but wildly beautiful garden. It might be scary to enter at first but I will guide through it the ones who have dared to visit it. Finally, there is meaning in my pain. 

¹ Scarry, Ellain. The Body in Pain: The Making and Unmaking of The World. Oxford UP, 1987.