It’s like floating for the first time. You feel your body become completely surrounded by the stamina of the water. You let yourself relax and find trust in the small movements of the waves. Then you finally let go and you’re free. Your mind and body are at peace.
The rope smelled so sweet; I noticed it’s dry scent lingering around my bound limbs and up to my anticipating brain. A smell I’d never smelled before and have only smelled that day, now haunts me in my bed as I write this. I pray for a crisp breeze scented with that lustful dryness or the chill feeling of my blood stressing beneath it’s pressure.
The world was wiped away from me and I wiped away with it. “Can you stand” his sinister yet caring voice called from beyond. I swung my arms upward, or what I hoped to be upward towards him. My fingers met his strong, concrete figure. He was so sturdy, so stable compared to my limitless reality he put me in. In my world there were no statues, no buildings, no hard shapes or rough edges. Everything was soft, fluid, easy. He was the only mountain, the only thing made up of anything around me. Everything else lacked shape and composition itself. My near limp and sweaty body felt a pull. My back arched as I stumbled to find my feet right beneath me.
Feet.
I had forgotten that I indeed had two feet to situate me on this earth, that there was even a need to stand in the first place when it felt so good right where I was: in the sub space. “I can stand” the words fell out of my mouth as if from someone else. As if I was in another place entirely and my body stayed behind, reacting to the world, attempting to walk forward with or without me. “You say that as your tilting back and forth” he chuckled pulling me closer. He was right. I was in no condition to stand but somehow my body was acting on autopilot. A kind soul came towards me, from where I do not know. He held out shoes and a robe for me to wrap myself in. Now I understood where my body was and where my mind was in comparison. I felt no shame nor need for professionalism as I instinctively grabbed his flexing forearm. I hadn’t realized how loose I would be after this shoot. I guess since I had been watching these types of videos I always thought it was a performance. I often thought about how I might act in front of him. Would I make as much noise as possible? Would I giggle innocently drawing his ever so dominant energy in closer? I never realized that for years I had been watching real reactions and was now having one of my own.
I was effortlessly and genuinely in the sub space. I wouldn’t try to pretend I wasn’t nor would I try to control it. This didn’t feel like I could even it if I wanted to. It was like a beautiful symphony in which it wills you to feel explosive emotions, it takes you on a journey without even realizing you left. It is so powerful and overflowing I still can’t truly explain in words how gracefully addictive the sub space is. I can say that in overflowing my body and ensnaring my mind, I was free. True freedom is difficult to explain. How could I feel free when I was bound this way and that? But it wasn’t about physical freedom. No, this was about freedom of everything that is not physical. See I learned more about myself that day than I had in the past few months. I was allowed to freely discover parts of myself I had only dabbled with before. I, with out shame or fear, felt free to let my body feel. I could almost see the new synapses in my brain firing away with ambition and pleasure.
It’s funny, looking back I wish I could fully remember every second of it. But I can’t. I wish the memories of his touch and voice lingered in great volumes. I wish I had a book or movie in my head all for me to relive every second, every touch, every feeling. I remember little bits and pieces, particularly heated moments where I forced my body to cum on his command, or felt so overstimulated that the only thing I could feel was the concrete strength of his arms wrapping around me. No one tells you how powerful the sub space is during the pleasure, or how powerful the pleasure is of the senses. Although every inch of skin and hair on my body stood up with ample attention the second he whispered my name, it all blurred into one big Monet painting: wonderfully beautiful to the senses, and complicatedly undefined to the mind.
Mystic River 