RopeShare Redux

I went to my second RopeShare Sunday. The outing was supposed to be a date with Crush Girl, but her dog ate a huge hunk of cheese and she was worried he was headed for an Orkney Extra Sharp overdose. So I went stag.

The class was taught by Master Mike and Tyutumi at Glint. I love Glint. It feels like a haven of hard edged magic. This class was all guys and one very hot transgendered rope student. We learned two column ties, one column ties, and a basic harness, which without another class I will never be able to replicate.

Rope is so much about the rope. I found myself lost in the texture of my new Twisted Monk hemp. "Cinch with gusto", Master Mike told us beginners and I did. I joyously finished my harness with a looping handle that traveled up my rope buddy's back. I see the allure of the rope top. But in the end, it's all about the rope for me. I don't connect to top sex. I'm all about the bottoming. I need to take a yoga class...

I missed Crush Girl. I wanted to come away from class with a friend to practice with and instead I watched the Jets blow the playoffs while I did solo ties on my ankles and thigh. She called later to ask me to dinner if her dog was better, but he was belching Bree. So I ate take out and wrote about longing for a playmate. It'll happen. Meanwhile, I'm out there, making new friends and putting myself where I think I'll feel uncomfortable, but end up feeling at home.

Dance With Me Through This Rain

These days I call my wife every morning despite our separation. She's been diagnosed with ALS. I've talked about it a little in prior posts. She's dying an excruciatingly horrible death very slowly. She's terrified. This morning she was sobbing about the depth of her tragedy and then all of a sudden stopped. She blurted, "I probably shouldn't tell you this." Oh come on, I said, what?

She told me about the college senior daughter of friends of ours who had been an intern in my office three years ago. College Senior is a very smart, ambitious, lovely young woman who I had just the other week had lunch with and talked with about getting a job in the legal field so she could get practical experience before going to law school.

During her internship College Senior had become BFFs with a former employee of mine. Former Employee, a seemingly cool woman, and I had also become extraordinarily good friends. I told Former Employee almost all my secrets. Suffice it to say, Former Employee knew all about my kink.

Former Employee moved back home last year and College Senior interned with Former Employee's new office and lived with Former Employee last summer. "She was like my big sister", College Senior told me over lunch.

Anyway, enough backstory. Wife says this morning that Former Employee (let's just call her Asshole) apparently told College Senior about my bdsm proclivities. My wife knew this because College Senior was so freaked out that before meeting me for lunch to get my take on the job market, she had confided in an adult friend of ours, one of my wife's BFFs, and mother of one of College Senior's best friends, that College Senior was weirded out to be having lunch with a pervert.

Suffice it to say I was enraged at Asshole Former Employee and sent her a text to that effect. I probably shouldn't have. Asshole Former Employee denied telling College Senior I'm a perv and then blamed College Senior and I for creating drama in her already stressed out life.

Is that just breathtaking or what?

Asshole Former Employee tells 20 year old College Senior a secret and confidence I trusted Asshole Former Employee with, lies point blank about it, and then blames College Senior and I for complicating her life. I suppose I have one less so-called friend to worry about.

I often wonder what I might do if my blog was discovered by my wife. Or discovered by the New York Post. Or I somehow got publicly outted. I like to think I'd just own it and say it's something I love, am proud of and is private. I hope I'd say get a life and move on. But telling a 20 year old kid who didn't ask to be burdened with the private confidence and doesn't have the life experience to process it just seemed the height of deeply flawed judgement.

People who aren't us don't understand us. Liberal, consenting, sophisticated adults don't understand us. Why would you out a friend to a kid? I suppose it's a reminder that so much of the world views our thing as such a dirty little secret that we truly do have to be constantly vigilant about who we confide in.

"Cause we all have a darker side
A place we keep where no one else will find"

First Date of the New Year

So tonight I'm seeing my new crush girl for the first time in almost a month. Our last date was a quiet, what-are-you-looking-for Advo kind of affair full of promises to see each other before she left NYC to go home for the holidays. Yet despite all the potential we failed to share even a quick cup of coffee and this was not for lack of trying on my part, or for that matter, on her part. But I can't help searching between the lines for a message though.

So last week I got an announcement that RopeShare returns and I asked Crush Girl if she wanted to go. I was very careful to tell her to say no if she had the slightest apprehension. Gotta say though, RopeShare is about as vanilla a true kinky experience as one can have.

First, I think rope bondage is the Scout's Honor merit badge activity of kink. Safety, knots, combination ties, plotting physical predicaments. Almost algebraic...

Second, it takes place on a Sunday afternoon in a brightly lighted space with everyone dressed in loosely fitting schmatta clothes.

Finally, it's a class about the rope. It's only sexy if you take it home to the bedroom or out to the dungeon. Otherwise it's like a Learning Annex class on home plumbing. Very cool home plumbing with nice, fun, interesting, attractive plumbers. But a session it ain't.

So I was perplexed that Crush Girl chose not to respond at all to my invitation. Not yes and not no. Just nothing. Then she asked me out for tonight, Tuesday night. Not exactly date night.

So I'm thinking she's gonna tell me she likes me but just wants to be friends. The dread "F" word.

We'll see. If I'm right, I'm saying no. Me no friend you after you bite my cheek. But maybe I'm thinking too much. Check the comments for the skinny. Jeez, I don't need even need a good one. I'll take a bad romance.