Decadence, Metaphor, Metamorphosis

Decadence is a word usually associated with over-indulgence, over-satisfying, over-eating, over-feeling.  Too much of a good thing.  The erosion of morality.  The erosion of a sense of what is natural and, therefore, what is right.  The idea of decadence challenges the preconceived ideas of nature and "what God intended."  As if we could know what God intended.  As if we could declare "right" and "wrong" based on earthly nature -- the most varied and sparkling array of colour and celebration on Earth.

I wear Tasdron's collar and it is a big, thick, black, studded, manly awesome phenomenon: it is an over-collar, there is no question.  Obvious and evident, over-satisfying and decadent.  I know a collar doesn't mean much to some people in Second Life, and it is to be expected -- a collar means as much as a person wants it to mean.  It feels incredible when what it means to one is the same as what it means to other.

The collar, to me, is a metaphor -- and more than a metaphor now that I have no power over locking or unlocking it.  A metaphor in literature has two parts: the tenor (the original subject) and the vehicle (that thing you compare the subject to, when you use a metaphor).  "Rose-red lips," is a metaphor, and the tenor is the lip while the vehicle is the red colour of a rose.  It is as if the person does not kiss a pair of lips but, rather, kisses a rose instead.  The vehicle is what we remember in the metaphor, in other words; the vehicle is what lingers.  The metamorphosis is immediate, in language, as immediate as you can command.

My collar means everything to me.  I had put in a request for a particular kind of collar -- I wanted it to be big and bulky, obvious on my slender neck.  Black!  Not something one sees everyday.  And Tasdron got me something beyond my wildest hopes.  We speak the same language, in the heart as well as in the head, and we have the same sense of the too-much, the over-good.  The decadent and how we both move towards it.  In our world, though, decadent means something more.  (Of course it does.)  Decadent brings with it a sense of nature, changes what is natural (read: what is approved by the mainstream) into something super-natural, over-natural, perfectly-for-us natural.  Decadence brings with it art, display, revelation, exploration, curiosity, and the vastness of the never-ending.  Decadence brings with it human potential, different ways of looking at ourselves, different ways to hold a mirror to our expressions of love.  Self-gratification and other-gratification, and new ways of gratification (the way the man can tie a knot is its own religious experience).  Nature changes; the righteous or sinful nature of people being what it is, my collar represents a whole new nature, a whole new righteousness.  I have learned so much of what I wanted to learn, and now I want to put it into practice.  I feel good.

Bondage Part Two: Ropes

There was a time, a long time ago, when I was introduced to the idea of bondage.  It was a gentle introduction.  I played along, completely new to the very concept of someone deriving pleasure from binding me and teasing me sexually.  Bit by bit, I grew to understand the subtle, nuanced urges that developed as a result.  My tastes were trained, in other words; the grooming was successful.  I wanted the rope (as much as I wanted the leash).  I wanted the challenge of describing, virtually, what my skin, really, responded to with every new position.  With every new knot.  With every new touch.  She who introduced me is never far from me in my memory and imagination.  Closer than I believed, in fact.  She who introduced me, I carry with me always.  And now I want Him, He whose chair awaits, to continue the lessons.  (I don't know who He is.  I will know for certain, eventually.  I have no doubt He exists.  And I am in no rush... I still have too much to learn before offering anything.)  Nice chair, though, right?  Only the best for my imaginary owner and Master.  And the best comes from Maxwell Graf of Rustica fame.  It is mesh; and I love mesh; and I love everything Sir Maxwell creates.

If I were going to groom a girl to develop her taste for Shibari, I would make sure I kept a diary of all her expressions, all her reactions, all her slightest hesitations and eager presumptions.  I would make sure the diary was close to the suspension rig so that very little need interrupting as I recorded her personal growth.  I would make sure there were flowers nearby; lavender or roses.  Aroma is hypnotic.  I would want her focused and aware, distracted only by sweet fragrance or arousing rhythm.  I would make sure, then, the rhythm was arousing... Drum beats.  Percussion.  The sound of distant thunder.  I would make sure the only voice she could hear was mine.  I would make sure the only walls she could feel were mine.  I would make sure the only hands she could feel were mine.  Until such time as it was necessary to let other hands sample that beauty which I owned.

The ropes demonstrated in this pose are from Netsui Kigo; the very ropes on which I was trained, so long ago.  Misao Nakamura is a true artist: her poses are superb.  The ropes are good on their own (nadu and tower postures, or hog-tied and little-wee-package postures...) or with a suspension rig (delivered on command anywhere anytime with a click) or with the kinbaku rig or any other contraption available at the store.  But her poses really are quite stunning.  And the fit of her wares is very convenient.  There are many sizes available.  I enjoy being able to mount a suspension rig anywhere in my house (or anywhere on the grid that allows me to create objects) and just hang around like a tarot-character.  The ropes are RLV-enabled if you wish; and they are owner-activated if an owner is set.  Or, they can be set to public access if you're in the mood and do not necessarily have access to RLV set-up.  Miss Nakamura has considered everything.

In speaking with Sir RB about ropes, yesterday, it got me in the mood to reclaim my yearnings and secrets and knot them all together in a string of fantasies that feel safe and sound because they are tied to something strong in me.  My submission now reminds me of a growing vine, winding and encircling, like nature's rope.  My submission is in the pages I keep; it's in my seeking; it's in the never-ending search for high-quality items of comfort; it's in the never-ending quest for perfection in image; it's in the ever-present feeling of someone incredible looking over my shoulder even if I cannot see; it's in the waiting and the sure demonstration of patience.  My submission is channeled into all of this.  "Why do you submit," someone will ask me, someday.  I will answer, "because, my Master, to you I am so bound."