Shibari: Almost a Love Story

"I walked out. Quite literally. Without saying anything else. Just turned my back on her, grabbed some clothes, jumped on my bike -- not that one, that's new -- sent Gitte a text asking if I could talk because she had been getting worried about me and kept ordering me to call her if I ever needed her, and spent the night at her place while trying to talk her out of, and I quote, 'calling up some of the lesbian mafia and going to sort the bitch out'.

"So, collecting all my stuff wasn't a problem because Gitte organised a truck and some friends. We had been renting but it wasn't entirely coincidental that the lease on that place only had a month to go anyway, so I just paid the last month and told Anna that was the last thing I would be doing. As it turned out, I had enough saved up to get the house I wanted -- which was not the house she wanted -- by myself. I found it that week. So Gitte let me stay until settlement. I can not believe how fucking lucky I was that Anna was not financially savvy and had got me to organise our shared stuff. I sent her half of our shared account, which was more than she had put in, cancelled every service with my name on it and said goodbye.

"But staying with Gitte meant she had time to give me third degree and I thought, hell, why not, and opened up, and by the time I had worked over how Anna had been behaving the past year, I had a new and in-depth understanding of the terms 'gaslighting', 'manipulation', 'emotional blackmail', 'psychological warfare' and 'fucking cow-faced bitch-ho skank'."

Ella had been listening to me with her mouth open and eyes wide, but she couldn't keep a straight face when I got to Gitte's most rarely-used and highest-level insult.

She struggled to contain herself, shoulders shaking and biting her wrist as I drained my glass of water.

"Laughter was probably the only thing that kept me sane," I said.

"I'm sorry," Ella gasped, "but I can just see Gitte's face when she said that. I haven't known her long enough to hear it, but I can just see!"

I nodded. "I saw it quite a lot."

I spread my hands. "So, upshot is, I'm OK with it, it's in the past and this is not the me that I was. But I haven't really seen myself getting into another romantic relationship. I meet lovely people, I sometimes meet someone I think might actually be interested in me, but either I don't meet anyone who is both interested in me and assertive enough to say so straight out instead of expecting the 'man' to do the work, or I put off such an intense friend-zone vibe that nobody's asked. I suspect I really am just that bad at recognising any sort of overture less overt than 'I want a date with you', or 'can we fuck?'"

Ella had her head canted to one side and was giving me a thoughtful look. "Do you get interested in people? Sexually, if not romantically?"

I sighed. "I still have a sexuality, and I've become much more aware of what it even is since I left Anna and felt free to explore. That was when I discovered I even have kinks. But I haven't explored with anyone else, no. The desire for sexual contact has not over-ridden my distrust."

"But do you ever look at someone and..." Ella pressed.

"Yes," I said, drawing the word out to ride over the rest of what she was saying. "I do sometimes get the hots for someone. I can look at people and appreciate that they're beautiful, or hot, or gorgeous, or sexy, or went to a great deal of effort and did it well. But I missed the part of growing up where people raised as male tended to get some sort of sense of entitlement to getting access to that."

Ella just nodded.

"Besides, I'm in the best shape I've ever been, I've probably got more actual libido than ever before, but..." I shrugged.

"But if somebody did come up to you and say 'hey, want to fuck'?" she asked with a half-smile.

"I'd thank them for the compliment, ask what they were into, and stress it would be strictly a one-time thing."

"And if they wanted more?" she pressed.

I could be forgiven for wondering where that was going.

"I would take it glacially slowly, and say no a lot more, and negotiate with every request, probably."

"Healthy," she said.

Our lunches appeared.

We had sated our hungers before I asked: "So, why did you want to meet?" Her questioning had been stewing at the back, and even front, of my mind.

"Thought you seemed like a possible friend," she said, a little too casually.

"Thank you, I'll take that as a compliment," I said. "And?"

She scowled at me, but clearly wasn't putting any heart into it. "Look, I don't meet... anyone who's nice and rides the same sort of bike I do." She took another mouthful of food and spoke through it. "And is into shibari."

"Ah," I said, instantly almost wary.

"Because," she said, gesturing at me with her fork, "you said 'kinbaku', which is the sort of thing that someone says when they know that lots of people have heard of shibari but they probably only know that term if they actually know what they're talking about, and you're saying it as a test. Or a dodge. Either way, my first point still stands."

"Gold star," I said.

"Thank you. Anyway, I asked Peta if they knew anything about your kinks and they asked Gitte, who said she had no idea but knew you were kind of bisexual and basically gender-queer, which... what does that even mean? For the record, I'm pansexual."

"It means I don't know if my sexual attraction is more about a certain body type," I began while marking out boxes on the table with my hands, "or a certain personality, or... 'femininity'," I dropped the air-quotes into place, "or 'women', or a set of personality traits that society or other factors deem 'woman'." I paused, looking at my hands on the table by the plate. "I think that's it. So, if I think about all the people I've been sexually attracted to, there are men but the men have been 'feminine' but some of the women have been quite 'masculine'. And I'm attracted to female bodies that are deemed masculine and even masculine male bodies if they're cute. And if I think of the people I have had sex with, they were all, with one exception that didn't really work, cisgender women -- I think -- but if I had met those women in male bodies -- I probably would have been more than happy to go there. So," I shrugged.

"And for gender, it means I don't identify as a gender, I hate the concept, I hate the social rules, I find some women's clothing very nice. I don't really identify as male, either, but I'm pretty sure I'm not trans, so I just say I'm queer because this meat suit of a body is OK but I'd like to experience life with a female meat suit. I look for opportunities to feel feminine. But I don't really care enough to stand up and challenge things by wearing makeup with 'men's' clothes, or a dress in public. Except for goth clubs, but that hardly counts."

"OK, now, that... You know, I have never been to a goth club, but I keep having people be surprised by that."

I looked at her T-shirt, which was black and featured a half-skeleton zombie cute girl with a machete, and raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

She laughed. "I have no idea what goth even is!"

I shrugged. "Neither do I, really, but I seem to fit in."

"You seem fine with telling me all this," she said.

I shrugged. "No point in waiting to freak someone out. Let them know up-front what they're in for. I've gone through too much to not be open now."

"Good point."

"So: spill," I said. "Quid pro quo."

"Ah. Right. I'm a pansexual woman who has never in her life tried to be feminine but sometimes it just happens. I have very specific desires and kinks and trust requirements. And I'm not interested in a relationship for the sake of it, but I might be if it fulfils all my other boxes well enough, so I have people I play with but not anyone I would describe as a partner, but I get reasonably regular sex." She spread her hands then clapped them and rubbed them together. Almost a gesture I had already made.

Then she folded her arms and rested her forearms on the table, pushing her empty plate back so she could lean on them, looking up at me from under eyelashes that, like mine, were long enough to make her entire face seem more feminine.

"And, I'm a rigger."

I froze.

"When I said I have people I play with, I mean I know some rope bunnies I scene with, not just practice tying. It's very satisfying for both of us and for some of them, it goes beyond sexual to actual sex. But only one or two. The rest aren't looking for that. One even offered to let me if I wanted to, they didn't mind, but I'm not looking for that permission, I want desire from both of us, so: no. I've been practising for about seven years but properly, with actual proper equipment and instruction -- there are courses available around here, and I've done workshops with visiting Japanese instructors -- for five. I'd like to think I'm pretty good. I can make up ties and do it safely, and nobody has ever been injured in my ropes."

I stayed frozen, listening.

She sat back, picked up her glass of water, sipped it. "What about you?"

I found my tongue. "I'm entirely an amateur, exploring his own sexuality," I said. I had to take a swig of my own water. "So I haven't had any instruction. I know there are studios around, which I have never been to. I've been self-taught off tutorials because I've never made the time for anything else. It's how I learn most things. I like the thought of being a rigger, and binding someone, but the responsibility of it also terrifies me." I had to take a deep breath. Honesty was one thing, but we had suddenly become very close to soul-baring being relevant, which was a different thing entirely. "But I mostly want to explore the bunny side of myself." There. Said it out loud.

Ella didn't react with glee or guardedness. She examined me steadily. "What appeals to you about it?"

"Ooh, that's going to have to be a complex answer, I'm afraid," I said, which was not, I promise you, stalling for time. She nodded.

I held a finger in the universally recognised counting gesture. "So, one, I just love the aesthetic. I adore seeing people in ropes, suspended or not, mostly constraints and restrictions, but also just patterns on skin. Male or female, and we really need more male bunnies shown, instead of just using rope as an excuse to show off more conventionally attractive female models. And I like the thought of looking like that. Also, I've always found specific tight clothing nice. I tend to wear belts slightly tight. It's... reassuring, I think. Sexually, I like pressure, I like restraints, it can be erotic without being sexual, but it also just feels... nice. Look, do you know about pressure vests?"

"No, is this a circulation thing?"

"No. Weighted blankets?"

"Heard of them, but not really."

"Many people with autism find that tight clothing helps with focus, emotional stability, comfort. Weighted blankets serve the same function. I've never been formally diagnosed as autistic but I am ADHD and I'm sure as hell autism-type neurodivergent to some degree. And I find specific types of tightness comforting, although I get very warm in bed so I haven't tried weighted blankets. For comfort, I like tight clothing. When I tie myself, even if it's just a practice cuff or a ladder on one leg, it feels... good. I've found that practising ties on myself is a great de-stress strategy without being in any way erotic, but when I'm in the mood, it's intensely arousing. So, there's that."

"I have had people tell me I'm on the spectrum," she said. "Never felt it was something I needed to look into."

"Birds of a feather," I said. "We really do tend to find each other."

Her lip quirked.

"And are you naturally submissive in bed?" she asked, so seriously the question was clinical.

"No," I said, bluntly. "I'm happy to lie back and let someone do the work if they insist, but I can't deal with only being on the receiving end. I have to be forced to let someone take care of me. I get actively guilty when someone does things for me. Gitte once had to chase me out of her kitchen with physical threats because I couldn't just sit and let her clean up.

"I can't relax and let someone lead because then I feel guilty. I have to know I'm giving pleasure. I have to be active. Actually, no, I feel guilty about not paying back, but I don't have to be active, I need someone to be active, I can't cope if one of us isn't taking charge, so it becomes me by default."

Ella actually looked intrigued by that. "You need the presence of the dynamic," she said.

"If you're talking sub/top, not sure about that. I'm never not restless and I need something happening and I can't cope when I'm with people and everybody agrees we should do something and nobody commits. So if I'm in bed with someone and they aren't deliberate, I will be."

"Huh," Ella said. "Huh. But you're not... dominant?"

"I'm scared of the responsibility of actually being capital-D Dominant and having responsibility for someone's emotions," I said bluntly. "I'm nervous of the responsibility of using potentially dangerous toys and I get actively sick at the display of master-slave role play stuff, so, basically, I like all the tools of BDSM but not the actual power dynamics. And I can be receptive, but I'm not sure about submissive. And I can be in charge, but not properly Dominant. It's just that most women I've been with have assumed I'd want to be all manly and, looking back, Anna was just a textbook example of playing up to stupid, toxic fucking masculine assumptions.

"So no, I have no problem with the thought of handing myself over to someone who wants to tie me securely and take charge if that is their jam."

Ella was nodding thoughtfully but seriously.

"But the level of trust I require..." I let that hang in the air, as well.

Ella nodded more emphatically

I raised my eyebrows. Challenging without saying anything.

She smiled faintly.

"I enjoy relaxing and letting someone play with me," she said. "And I come and it's nice and it can be great and I won't say no if I like them, but I do actually, actively get a real thrill out of being in charge. Not dominating, absolutely not sadism, not master-servant role-play, not having somebody submit to me but having them put themself in my hands and I take them and take away all their freedom of movement and control, and I give them... whatever they're looking for. Subspace. Bliss. Comfort. A long, still moment. The experience. Orgasms. Whatever. When I'm tying, sex is a tool for me. If I'm invited, I'll participate. If it's desire, I'll use it. But tying is another entire world for me that overlaps with sex but isn't a subset. Can you see that?"

I nodded slowly. "I can imagine it. I..." I was about to say I had never done that, but a memory struck me, clear and sharp and painful. It had been early in my relationship with Anna. I hadn't felt like sex, I had been too tired and a little depressed, but I had wanted to give her pleasure, but she had insisted she wanted "me" -- meaning my penis, meaning me having her -- not just my attentions. It had unsettled me at the time.

So, yes, I knew what it meant to use sex as a tool without participating. Having no interest at that moment, but wanting to make someone feel good.

I nodded again. "Yes, I can understand that."

She gave me a searching look for my moment of flashback but didn't push it.

Instead, she abruptly changed tack. I thought.

"What's your opinion on aftercare?"

The question took me a little by surprise. "Fundamental?" I said. "Fuck, I need to cuddle after normal sex, let alone scening. I can't imagine how terrible it could feel to not have aftercare. It's one of the things that makes me nervous about topping. Letting someone down would be devastating."

She smiled, for the first time since she started talking about herself. "Hold, and reassure, and be protective and be there for them in their own time," she said. "I've had a foot cramp when giving aftercare, and it was excruciating, and you have no idea how much she laughed about it when she was feeling better and I admitted it. That's how I approach tying. It's all duringcare. Fuck, that's how all sex should be."

She broke off, frowned, looked around. The café was filling up, the table closest to us occupied, noise rising, and it was getting harder to talk quietly. "Look, would you like to continue this back at my place?"

I froze for a second. As someone male-presenting, I would never make that offer about my house, or request to see hers, this early in a friendship with any woman. I was as much moved by her trust, given the nature of our conversation, as I was surprised by the offer.

I also wondered just how far this conversation was going, because it seemed pretty clear even to me. But... Why not? I was shocked to discover that whether or not I felt any attraction for Ella -- there is a part of my mind that deliberately shuts off that assessment while I'm talking to people, and actively suppresses it if I do think they're attractive -- I trusted her. I had been open to challenging her to begin with, and then because she began to earn my trust. We were taking fairly big steps, but behind it all was my trust in the friends who had recommended us to each other.

"I can offer you very good coffee," she said.

I wondered if Gitte had forewarned her. "I have to tell you, I have very high standards for coffee."

She gave me a smug look. "I can offer you very good coffee," she repeated with more emphasis.

"Sure. Where do you live?"

"Ah." Her hands moved like describing a racetrack. "I'm sort of..." She gave a "way over there" wave, then hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "About 10 minutes that way."

I stared at her.

"Yeah, sorry, I made you do all the riding."

"Oh no, I have to ride up Glorious, how will I cope," I dead-panned.

"In my defence, I was hoping I would feel comfortable inviting you back," she said.

I was nearly derailed by the revelation I really had just passed a highly significant test. But... "You live on Mt Glorious?"

"Well," she said with more hand movements, "it's more sort of... over... yes."

"How? Did you inherit? You don't live with your parents, do you?"

She laughed. "No! I bought it, with my money, it's mine. But you'll understand how when you see it."

"Ah. I suspect it'll look something like my house. Alright, then. Shall we?"

# ~ # ~ #

I half-expected Ella to bolt down the road, even on her very dirt-capable chunky tyres, and make me push myself to keep up. But she almost kept to the speed limit.

We turned off the main road after a couple of kilometres, then turned at a fork, then onto a road cut out of the side of a hill that was so narrow two LandCruisers would have had serious trouble passing each other.

Ella's house was off that road and up a steep driveway. I was surprised and impressed that although its garage, carved out of the hillside, had only one door, there was comfortably enough space under the house for both our bikes next to Ella's battered old Subaru wagon.

"It was never really finished," she said as we stripped off our helmets, jackets and boots to leave behind her locked roller door.

I could see that. The garage/workshop had been finished to the minimum possible standard necessary to get the door operating -- it was manual, not automatic -- and the lights safe.

The same theme was continued upstairs, in the house proper.

"How are you even living here?" I asked.

"Oh, it was certified, but I think it was done on sufferance," Ella said. "The bathroom -- right there -- is complete but it's shit, the kitchen is complete but it's shit, there are two rooms I'm happy with. I do most of it myself, learning as I go. I've stripped a lot of it back, so it's technically no longer legal for human habitation. Don't tell anyone."