Back in the Saddle

“Lead with the left and brace the right” kept ringing in my brain as I climbed the ladder to inspect the hard point. Just shy of 6 weeks have past since the accident and this would be my first return to throwing a public rope scene. The grind last night was packed as we started to lay out the ropes and gear. Curious onlookers, eager for the spectacle, started to gather around the perimeter as well as a few concerned friends, their brows furrowed with a “should he be doing this yet?” look on their faces.

Should I? Good question. Truth be told I was probably more nervous than Alex as we stretched and centered ourselves. Its just rope you say, how hard can it be? Besides, you’re the top you are the one dealing out the damage, not the other way around, you are probably saying to yourself right now. No, dear readers not the case. Anyone who has seen my play knows that I am VERY physical when I play, throwing my partner about, using my mass and muscle to deliver an exhausting experience for us both.

My motto, It is not a good scene till I’m also drenched in sweat and panting.

Thing is, six weeks with no play. No rope running between fingers, six weeks of not getting to hear the exited yelp of my bottom as I pull their feet from underneath them and let them dangle, safely encased in my ropes. That is torture, dear readers. Sheer and pure hell.

And so, last night… After swearing to both my partners that I would be very mindful of my recently broken bone and reassuring my boy that at the moment my shoulder started to even begin to hint at being done, I would call the scene, I set out to have some fun with my favorite boy. Alex greedily took all the punishment I could deliver and like the little rock star he is, begged for more.

While my flow was a bit off, having to pause here and there to switch hands so my stronger, more flexible, left could tie off a line or to re-adjust the figure 8 brace so that it kept things solid and in place as I set about to devour my prey.

And devour I did.

At one point, as my sweet Alex hung from the ropes like some kinky marionette, limbs akimbo and legs bound open, clothing in tatters from my blade and howling in that mix of glee and terror that makes my heart sing with affection of the boy, and the jodhpurs of my now sweat soaked uniform uncomfortable with desire. I gave out a healthy roar of approval and laughed, “Having fun boy? Daddy sure as hell is!”

Eventually the shoulder (and Alex’s gasping form) would inform me that perhaps we had reached our limit for one night. Yes, the greedy side of me would have loved to keep going, but a promise is a promise. This morning, aside from the usual, damn I stayed up too late last night feeling, the shoulder feels great.

Lock up your daughters (and select sons) America, Monk is back in action.