Rope as Fetish and Passion
Everything about rope fascinates me.
It always has, I just didn’t fully understand or appreciate it until fairly recently.
The dawn of the internet happened when I was in middle school. I remember the fascination I had with typing things like “ass” into the search bar and drooling over Cyndy Crawford in her little string bikini. I grew bolder, searching for erotica to read when my parents were out running errands. I found a website dedicated to “dirty” stories, and within it I first read the acronym “BDSM”. From there, I was a goner. But rope--bondage--was always front and center.
In college and throughout my twenties, I loved rock climbing. I learned how to belay (holding the rope so as to catch your climbing partner if they fall) and how to tie myself into a harness. I loved feeling the rope between my fingers and the way in which it held me when I leaned backward from a rock face on the way down. As I grew into young adulthood, I became increasingly fascinated by how rope could be used as a medium of art, as a platform for displaying the beauty of the female form: its flexibility, its vulnerability, its femininity.
I see rope almost as an element similar to water. The shape that rope takes is dependent upon its contact with something solid. Like water, it can be simultaneously soothing and potentially deadly. And much like a powerful stream or ocean tide, I am drawn to the unharnessed potential that rope provides.
When I became fascinated with mandalas and fractal images in my studies in college, I began to see how rope was like a fractal. Each strand wraps around itself, creating a larger duplication of the smallest part. Then, as knots are tied, rope expands even further. To me, all styles of bondage are works of art that celebrate this beauty.
If it isn’t already evident to you: rope, specifically in the context of shibari, goes well beyond a fetish for me.
I was told early in my kink journey that my first scene should not involve any rope. Or at the very least, it should not include restraints or being tied up. I was told that actual bondage should come after I’ve had a solid amount of experience and developed trust with the person doing the tying. While I definitely appreciated the importance of safety, trust, and consent, I yearned to learn and to experience bondage first-hand.
I was satiated a bit, just prior to the COVID-19 pandemic, when I had an all-too short shibari lesson. I clumsily made some basic knots and ties under the tutelage of a patient veteran kinkster. When they offered to create a body harness on me, I readily agreed.
I struggle to find the words that would accurately describe my experience in that beautiful period of time.
I had felt rope across bare skin before, but never in the places it was now caressing. The rope was softer, less coarse than climbing rope, and it was turning me into a horny mess. The rigger continued to tie, as the rope began to tighten ever-so slightly with each additional knot. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to concentrate on how the rope came alive, snaking itself around my form, conforming to the curvature of my body, gripping tightly (and sometimes biting a bit grumpily), until it found a resting place. It lay itself across my shoulders and ribs, lifted my torso and caressed my breasts. I felt safe and secure.
This may sound like hyperbole, but I felt almost as though the rope was a part of me that had been missing and had been returned.
When the lesson was done and the knots loosened, I felt strangely vulnerable and almost sad to see it fall away from me.
It’s strange how the manifestation of a desire can be so overwhelming. Fetishes come from deep inside us. To move those thoughts and feelings into reality is unforgettable.
About the Author: SubtleShadow is a queer, poly, sadomasochist and playful kinkster with an insatiable curiosity about the world and a desire to explore all of it.
