Shibari: Almost a Love Story

Author's note:

This is a story about ropes, trust and openness, relationships, self-exploration, gender and its fluidity, personal growth, sex, consensual induced change of body image, and being neurodivergent with ADHD and possibly other things as well. And it might possibly be about love, as well.

This is a slow burn that is more erotic than sexual and is not intended to be a steamy story from start to end. Be assured, though: we do get steamy, in the end.

I have also, for the purposes of story, compressed what would normally be a longer process of introduction, exploration and negotiation of desires, boundaries and consent into one afternoon. I do recommend taking things a little slower than portrayed here.

# ~ # ~ #

The first time I met Ella, I was at a party. That was a little unusual for me, but it was hosted by a couple I love, we had several mutual friends and I had enough advance warning to psych myself up for it.

Most importantly, Gitte had sent me a pointed question about how she was going to see me there, wasn't she? Gitte is the only person I allow, in fact welcome, to bully and mother me. She had earned that right.

There were several of my friends there, including Gitte and her partner, the spiky-haired, disarmingly grinning, torn-black-jeans-wearing Peta, who was new on the scene but who I was finding a surprising and very welcome kinship with. For a start, they were the only other person I knew who identified as non-binary.

I got fierce hugs from them -- very welcome -- and an introduction to Ella, a rather pretty, slightly wary and faintly cynical friend of Peta who did not have Peta's lean height but, I realised when she stood up, was still on the above-average side for a woman. She was polite, shook hands and raised an eyebrow at Gitte's emphatic "Phelan is good people" after Peta introduced us (Yes I'm non-binary, but in a vague way that means I've never attached enough importance to pronouns to use they/them).

I didn't think much more about her after that -- or see much of her. Gitte dragged me off to demand an update on how I was going, then other friends arrived. Given the size of the parties Frances and Stewart usually put on, the people I knew were comfortably in the minority and I stayed with them.

It was pleasant enough. I wasn't drinking alcohol because I was riding home later and I wasn't drinking much by those days, but the music was good (Stewart's choices always were) and it was a very pleasant warm night.

Nothing noticeable happened until about 2 hours in.

I was sitting on the edges of a group a couple of my friends were in, idly chatting and with a bottle of ginger beer dangling from my fingers, when someone I didn't know laughed and mentioned handcuffs.

I hadn't heard any of the conversation before that but so far, so unremarkable. Take any group of women, I've found, let them drink and chat and someone will find an opportunity to slip in a reference to being kinky.

Maybe that's just the people I know.

The difference at that party was that someone else I didn't know actually recoiled, looking like they'd just seen something foul in their drink, then thrust themselves forward again and said, "don't joke about that! It's wrong!"

Now, I have known people who take a highly simplistic approach to human interactions and link domestic violence to mild BDSM, advertising, eating meat and (the reason I "have" known people) "the trans lobby". I thought that's what we had there.

Another woman laughed. "Oh, come on, a little bit of..."

"No!" the complainer cut her off, aggressively. "It's sick. All bondage is! It's not right!"

It would be laughable if she wasn't so clearly earnest and so obviously upset.

For some reason, on some bizarre impulse, I said something.

I wouldn't normally. I don't usually get involved in arguments with people like that. I don't see the profit in it for me. If someone is asking questions (and not "just asking questions", a classic tactic of bad faith), I will happily discuss. But I rarely jump in. This shames me -- not because I think bad ideas should be challenged, but because I know there may be people watching who are hurt and I should be doing something for them.

But just then, I was obviously in a fey mood.

"You know, people in BDSM relationships have better mental health than the average," I said.

That got a reaction. Some stared at me. One or two actually gave a bark of laughter. The complainer (I never did actually learn her name) rounded on me.

"How can you say that?" she snarled. I was pretty sure she had been hurt in a relationship, but I had started so I pressed on.

"BDSM relationships," I repeated. "Not abuse. It's the difference between after-dark street racing and the Gold Coast 500. BDSM is not abuse by definition because it is founded on consent. The research has been done. People who are in the BDSM community have better mental health than the community at large."

I think my comment about abuse gained me a little time, so I pressed on while I could.

"I mean, it makes sense, these are clearly people who know what they want, are prepared to pursue desires society has very judgemental and usually wrong opinions about, they are often in committed, loving relationships and they know more about consent negotiation than anyone else on the planet..."

"It's not consent!" she shouted.

"Consent is at the core of BDSM, and if you don't know that, you don't know enough to criticise it," I shot back at her. "You're just talking from ignorance and if it's from bad experiences, I'm really sorry for you."

"Well, who fucking asked you," she snapped, an admission if ever there was one that she had no argument. She may have been badly hurt before. But fuckwits will use any tools they like and call it what they like. I was not going to apologise for trying to educate her in public when she said something in public.

"You did, when you cast aspersions on my friends," I said. Not strictly speaking true: I could name any number of friends who weren't cisgender or heterosexual, or who lived outside the monogamous norm, but I couldn't actually name anyone who was into kink outside myself -- and my interests were hardly well-formed enough to defend.

She chose to storm off to get another drink. Looking back, it may have had something to do with the look my friend (not even Gitte, who would cheerfully have taken her to the cleaners) was giving her.

I chose to be diplomatic and move away, ending up giving Frances a hand in the kitchen. Everyone who knows me knows my skill with knives.

An hour after that, I found myself suddenly face to face with Ella.

"Thank you for what you said back there."

I blinked. "What..."

"About BDSM. I was trying to suppress the desire to punch her."

Ella didn't look like the type, but I could see the potential in her expression at that moment.

"I think she's been hurt. But I've seen what can happen when that hurt isn't dealt with," I said, which wasn't really a response.

"People turn into fucking bigots," Ella said, slightly more calmly than I was expecting.

"Exactly."

Ella put her head on one side with a faint smile on her lips, the first such expression I had seen from her. She didn't quite have the resting bitch face I tend to get, but she did perhaps have resting bored face. "So, are you into anything, or just defending friends?"

I had to think about my response to that. Clearly, she was supportive of kink, but I also didn't know her and I wasn't in the head-space to think hopefully about being flirted with.

"Kinbaku," I said. I've met lots of people who know what shibari is and have rough opinions about it, but I was expecting that if anyone knew the term kinbaku, they probably knew more than just a little bit.

She actually blinked. I wasn't sure if she was surprised, or was trying to hide ignorance.

"I've got issues with most of BDSM," I said, "I mean, I'd dip my toe in, but I'd have to be so selective about what was going to happen that it'd stop being fun. I find it safest to not identify with the lifestyle. It'd prevent tedious conversations."

"You mean you just haven't found the right partner," she said with what was almost a smile.

"True, and likely to remain so."

She raised her eyebrows. I was to discover that Ella had extremely mobile and expressive eyebrows that do most of the work for the rest of her face. "You have trouble finding, or trouble committing?"

"Oh, I'm an inveterate fence-sitter. I don't commit to anything. Sexuality, gender, politics ... I hate surveys, they demand simple answers to complex questions. I try to educate myself about problems and I end up seeing too many complexities," I said, flippantly but perfectly accurately.

"Too many potential problems."

"Yes."

"And yet, Gitte tells me you ride and that's your bike in the driveway and I've seen it, so I know it's something exotic built into an adventure tourer, so you've chosen how many problems?"

That threw me. I don't expect to randomly run into other motorcyclists. "Oh, I might face them, and prepare for them, but I will find myself identifying them. I'm not a very brave or skilled rider. I'm way too careful."

Her lip quirked. "So, do you jump from relationship to relationship, trying to find someone to meet your standards?"

That definitely sounded like a taunt and it was a justified one, but I wasn't sure it was delivered as one.

"I... put relationships to one side about two years ago, and haven't really picked it back up again. I've been busy."

Ella blinked again. Not a regular blink, but a definite taken-aback or double-take blink.

"I'm sorry if I touched anything," she said.

"The standard I would be looking for is: how much can I really trust you to respect me," I said. "Right now, I'm in the mindset of thinking I don't have time for fucking about wondering. Maybe one day I'll meet someone I'm prepared to risk everything for. But I don't think I ever really have, and..." I shrugged.

Two years ago, Gitte helped me recover from a relationship so epically bad I seriously considered taking a vow of celibacy for the rest of my life. It was also true that I not only had serious reservations about trusting anyone else ever again, but I also had an almost terminal inability to tell the difference between flirting, friendship and friendly politeness. I deeply treasure the friends I already have and make new friends slowly because, with friends, I know the boundaries and don't have to think about them.

But that story would come later. I did not tell it then.

Ella was nodding slowly. "I can understand that," she said. "I have... complex relationships, but it's been some time since I've found anyone... But hang on, is that why you don't identify as BDSM? You haven't found anyone you could trust?"

Her abrupt change of subject spoke volumes, but I accepted it as evidence that maybe she did understand me, and moved on.

"Subbing? Yes, absolutely. That's a gigantic degree of trust if I'm going to consent to any forms of restraint, pain or anything that could potentially cause injury. As a dom? I don't know if I could be trusted with that degree of responsibility and do a good job. It terrifies me."

She put her head on one side again. "You know, people say that not being sure if you can do something is the best sign..."

"Yes, I've heard that," I said dryly. "Self-awareness: great. Watching yourself: good sign. Not necessarily a gold-standard guideline, though. Some confidence does come from actual self-knowledge, and so does some doubt."

Her lip twitched. "Well, true."

She glanced at my hands. "You're not drinking?"

"Riding. Don't drink among strangers, in any case. And I may head soon, I don't generally do," I gestured vaguely around us, "drunk people."

She nodded. "Oh, I get that," she said meaningfully. "Don't know how long Gitte and Peta want to stay, though. I came with them."

For a moment, I felt an unexpected, unusual feeling I should stay to keep her company.

"Speaking of," she said, interrupting my feeling, "I asked Peta about you. They say you're good people."

The best response I could muster to that was: "I hardly know Peta."

"They seem pretty sure," Ella said with a faint smile. "More to the point, they dragged in Gitte, who insisted you were good people and said if anyone fucked with you, she'd end them."

I paused for a beat. "That is not what she said," I said with absolute conviction.

"No, but I can't repeat what she did say without giggling," Ella said with a straight face.

I had to smirk. I knew Gitte and her vocabulary well.

"She also told me to check out your bike," she said. "What was it when you started?"

"Husqvarna TE630."

She raised her eyebrows at me. "Huh. Fancy."

"You ride?" I asked.

"Check your phone," she said.

I raised my eyebrows at her but pulled my phone out. I had an Instagram notification of a new follower. The name was an alphanumeric string that looked suspiciously as though it was extremely clever to those who understood it. The profile pic was someone in a black adventure motorcycle helmet with the internal sun visor down, hiding the eyes. But it looked like a woman. The account was private.

I glanced up at Ella and raised my own eyebrows. She gave me a pointed look. She was also holding her own phone.

I hit follow.

Ella accepted.

Most of it was her bike or trips with it, but none of the sexy poses you so often see on biker women accounts. I saw one attractive shot, which was showing off a new dress. Her bike shots were about riding.

"Yamaha?" I asked.

"Yep."

"XT660R with a fairing?"

"Yep."

"You could have just bought a 660 Ténéré."

"Where's the fun in that? And also no, I couldn't find one. But building up a project was more fun."

I peered more closely at my screen. "Nice tyres. You do a lot of dirt riding?"

"As much as I can. Grew up on a farm, on farm bikes. Look, are you doing anything tomorrow? Want to get lunch?"

I blinked. OK, it was not clearly an invitation to a date, we were both riders, this could be entirely platonic. Knowing Peta's friends, she probably wasn't going to be interested in me. I lacked a certain essential qualification. And Gitte had almost certainly assured her I wasn't a creep.

"Where?" I asked.

"You live in Ipswich?"

"Not quite, but a reasonable assumption. Across the river. Anstead."

"Huh. Nice. Glorious?"

I had to laugh. "Sure!"

She grinned. "Great. Midday at the café?"

There are a few cafés on Mt Glorious, but only one that bikers go to. "Sure."

She nodded. "Alright. See you then?"

That seemed to be an end to the conversation, then. I saluted her with my empty ginger beer bottle. "See you then."

When she left, I was left wondering if I should leave, or hunt down my friends to see if any were staying longer.

As I was thinking this, two of them left, which seemed like an omen.

The next person I found was Gitte.

"I know that look, you're going to leave, aren't you?" she said immediately.

"You know me too well," I said for I'm not sure how many times. "Where did Ella come from?"

"Old friend of Peta's." She gave me an amused look. "Why?" Gitte, bless her, knew every intimate detail of why I had trust issues but also never gave up hope I'd find someone who interested me enough for me to try.

"Oh, she was talking to me. Seems like a good person." I said "good" deliberately, knowing Gitte would deflate her expectations slightly, which did happen.

"She is. Don't know her well yet, but Peta has convinced me I need to and they would trust her with their life."

"Huh. OK. Yes, I'm heading off."

"Come here, then." Gitte could reasonably be termed a big girl and she's strong and when she hugs you, you know you've been hugged. You know how babies were wrapped in swaddling clothes? Being hugged by Gitte is good enough for a burst of dopamine even if your ribs creak.

Peta arrived about then and gave me her own hug, bonier but just as friendly, before I went to try and find at least one of Frances and/or Stewart to say goodbye to.

# ~ # ~ #

The next day, I gave myself the morning off before throwing my riding gear on.

I can get ready quickly, it's plaiting my hair and then making sure I haven't forgotten anything from being in a rush that takes time.

It was a hot day, so I was wearing my most vented gear and didn't bother taking more than a windproof lining in case the weather turned or we stayed out late.

I went west, to the highway then up to the dam before turning off for the mountains. I made good time (let's just leave it at that, shall we?) so I got there a little earlier than intended, but Ella was already there, lounging at the end-most outside table, her dark blue bike directly opposite in the regular parking line.

I almost had to double-take so hard I nearly made a fool of myself as I parked and put the bike on its side stand. She had been wearing a loose jumper the night before, with the quiet air of someone who knows how to appear smaller and less significant and substantially less feminine or female than she really was. It had been effective, too -- I had realised when talking to her that she was actually taller than she seemed.

I understood that, if it was her first time meeting most of those people. But there, at the table with her riding jacket over the back of her chair, she was wearing slightly baggy riding pants but a skin-tight scoop-neck T-shirt that variously hugged and revealed not just a pair of unavoidably nice breasts but also a musculature that suggested she was probably no slouch taking her bike off-road. She compared favourably to professional enduro racers I've seen photos of.

She didn't just look outright sexy -- something I am not blind to, no matter my essentially celibate existence in recent years -- but relaxed, comfortable and in her element. That made me feel a lot more comfortable about noticing her attractiveness.

She waved at me but did not get up to hug, so I just waved back and said hello as I sat down.

"Want to order before they're busy?" was her opening gambit.

Sensible. I did.

When we had settled back at the table, Ella leaned forwards. "Look, I'm sorry if I was too direct and said anything insensitive last night."

"No! Not that I can remember," I said, making a gesture of waving away.

Her top lip twitched. "Only, I got the impression from Gitte that it wasn't 'if anyone hurt you', it was 'if anyone hurt you again', and while I don't know Gitte's standards of hurt, I have known people to be hurt so badly they were turned off men entirely for about three years. So, was it a man, or..."

I had to laugh, sharp and short. "No! It was a woman, but I don't have issues with women because I didn't see it as being a woman who hurt me, it was a romantic partner who happened to be a woman. That's it. I've known too many women, had and kept and cherished too many women as friends, to fall into that mistake."

"But romantic partners?" she asked. "I'm sorry. If you'd rather not..."

"Well, you may have a point," I admitted, riding over her apology quite deliberately. Then I rubbed my hands together, then clasped them, while looking at Ella. She waited for me.

I studied her for a few seconds, debating how much I was going to tell her. Then I thought: Fuck it. I have known Gitte enough to trust her judgements absolutely, and Peta long enough to not distrust her. Let's see if Ella would make a worthy friend.

"It's not a story I open with, but it's hardly a secret," I said. "Her name was Anna. Which is really unfortunate, because there's an Anna at work and I'm having trouble with that. But anyway.

"She professed attraction to me, did most of the pursuing, we got together, had decent sex, ended up moving in together, started talking about buying a house. At some point, which I did not recognise at the time, she flipped from courting to manipulating and then ultimately got very nasty when I tried to talk about anything I had trouble with, while pressuring me to change. Then, when I finally said I couldn't go on and we would have to talk about this because I was getting stupidly, inexplicably stressed at work and was burning out, she stormed out of the room, then came back saying she'd been sleeping with someone else and if I wanted to fuck her ever again, I was going to have to win her back.