Our forefathers were probably drafting the Declaration on the 3rd...
The hemp is rougher than I'd expected. Looking down at it as he lays it round my ribcage, I see tiny wee shakers just waiting to be rubbed to dust. If I focus, I can feel them individually. But that takes me too far from now, and now is new and worthy of being fully experienced.
He tightens the first loops beneath my breasts and, mainly to be difficult and see what it'll net me, I inhale. Second loops above my breasts, he tightens... and then curses quietly at the slack in the first. That eye turns on me, one brow raised. "Breath games, Luca? Do you want my knee in your back?" He's smiling, though, so I know he's remembering the occasional ornery-horse-and-loose-girth-strap comments. There's hope. He unwinds what's been done and I exhale to a decent point.
He tightens just past it.
We both know where we stand now.
I smile quietly as I stand, holding my hair out of the way. That was the look in his eye I've been looking for. And this is enjoyable.
God knows how long it takes to tie the whole pattern. What would've been a chest harness becomes karada, with the knots nestled peacefully over my chakras--and I wonder if anyone else ever noticed that? I'm still as a tree with my hands in my hair, flowing with the tug and constrict, and very aware of every breath I take. Breathe into the chest, feel the ropes like his arms around the ribcage--this far, no further; breathe into the stomach like your choir teacher always wanted you to do, feel the ropes press gradually into those soft layers of muscle and tissue, press like his hand at the small of your back--steady now; steady. Exhale, feel the slack. Exhale further, see how much more slack you can make. Enough room to slip the rope through for one more variation? Enough to admit strong fingers? Fifty feet of virgin hemp hums and slides around itself around me, and I'm quietly getting stoned on it.
By the end of it, my thighs are anchored to my torso. One ankle is anchored to its thigh; the other floats free for balance. My arms are free, but the rest of me is trussed like a roast.
The last time I felt this good was when I got my tattoo.
Like the tattoo, I want more of this.
And it hits me: tomorrow's Independence Day.
Yes. Afterward, there were indeed fireworks.
He tightens the first loops beneath my breasts and, mainly to be difficult and see what it'll net me, I inhale. Second loops above my breasts, he tightens... and then curses quietly at the slack in the first. That eye turns on me, one brow raised. "Breath games, Luca? Do you want my knee in your back?" He's smiling, though, so I know he's remembering the occasional ornery-horse-and-loose-girth-strap comments. There's hope. He unwinds what's been done and I exhale to a decent point.
He tightens just past it.
We both know where we stand now.
I smile quietly as I stand, holding my hair out of the way. That was the look in his eye I've been looking for. And this is enjoyable.
God knows how long it takes to tie the whole pattern. What would've been a chest harness becomes karada, with the knots nestled peacefully over my chakras--and I wonder if anyone else ever noticed that? I'm still as a tree with my hands in my hair, flowing with the tug and constrict, and very aware of every breath I take. Breathe into the chest, feel the ropes like his arms around the ribcage--this far, no further; breathe into the stomach like your choir teacher always wanted you to do, feel the ropes press gradually into those soft layers of muscle and tissue, press like his hand at the small of your back--steady now; steady. Exhale, feel the slack. Exhale further, see how much more slack you can make. Enough room to slip the rope through for one more variation? Enough to admit strong fingers? Fifty feet of virgin hemp hums and slides around itself around me, and I'm quietly getting stoned on it.
By the end of it, my thighs are anchored to my torso. One ankle is anchored to its thigh; the other floats free for balance. My arms are free, but the rest of me is trussed like a roast.
The last time I felt this good was when I got my tattoo.
Like the tattoo, I want more of this.
And it hits me: tomorrow's Independence Day.
Yes. Afterward, there were indeed fireworks.
posted by ~*Luca at 1:16 PM
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