Monday, January 31, 2005

How To Wear a Kilt
Let it be known that a ultilikilt is quite possibly the most effective tool for the attraction and eventual bedding of the opposite sex ever created. Yes, that’s right. A kilt, properly used, will bed you more lovers than any car you drive or job you have. That said, there is a however. It must be properly worn. You see, like any well-crafted weapon, a kilt worn incorrectly is like putting a finely forged blade in the hands of the village idiot and expecting him to stand against the invading hordes. Nope, there is a skill to wearing a kilt.

And what is that skill you ask? Simple, you just don’t “wear” a kilt. You WEAR it. Unlike any other garment, a kilt is not something you just put on and it fades into the background. No a kilt is a statement, one that requires you to stand a wee bit taller and walk proud in it. The trick to this? It’s all in the footwear. Sure you can wear just about any kind of shoes with your kilt, but a good pair of TALL lace up Doc Martins or John Fluevog boots are what you need. Boots that say, “Yeah, I’m wearing a kilt, if you look at me cross-eyed I’ll ram this boot up your ass”

The combo of tall boots and a kilt scream confidence and that confidence brings forth a certain swagger in the wearer. Now that swagger… well that swagger, dear readers, is what turns the girls heads. Confidence, and a great set of legs, is sexy. Follow my advice and wear your kilt with pride.

Don’t follow my advice and you are going to look like some guy in a khaki pleated skirt.

P.S. To those of you who have written to me regarding entering the contest. Now why on earth would you need to be scared? This is supposed to be fun, remember? Trust us, we are professionals after all. You will be in very good hands.

Sunday, January 30, 2005

Yes, yes I do in fact tie up boys on occasion. I’ll be honest and say that I don’t do it often and probably should do it more; you know to keep my skills up... not that I’d enjoy it or anything like that, no purely for the academic aspect. Really.

Now pardon me while I deftly attempt to change the subject.

One of the more daunting aspects of moving into the new studio space, aside from having to have thousands of dollars of custom work done and still needing to produce rope while the space is being made ready, was that the space was filthy. Having started out life as a light industrial space in the late 1950’s, I swear that every surface was covered in an inch of grime. It can be pretty daunting, knowing you have so much work to do and yet you can’t even touch any surface with out having your hand covered in filth.

Yesterday I, along with the brave and helpful combo of Galahad and Griffin, pressure washed the space. It took us damn near the entire day and enough water to float a battleship, but we got the place looking fantastic. It was however not with out its moments. At one point, as we were washing down the loft space, we all watched in awe as the walls literally bled black with filth. I think it was Griffin who commented, “Damn, this is just like that scene in Evil Dead”
To which Galahad replied, “yeah, I’m waiting for that eerie voice to go ‘I’ll suck out your souls…’”

Thanks guys, I owe you one.

Saturday, January 29, 2005

The Contest

The ever devious and delightful Mistress Matisse and I have a little something in store for you all. Read all about it here on her blog.

Friday, January 28, 2005

Well it is Friday again so you know what that means. Yep, I’m half awake and walking funny from my date last night with Dancer. Funny, you would think that once we started actually spending the night together these unbelievably late nights might slow down. Not a chance buck-o, last night we called it quits sometime after the sun rose. We did however take some time out to shoot a bit of video. Oh and this one is not to be missed. We have something ever so devious in store for you. With any luck that will be up tomorrow…so stay tuned.

Oh and you guys are scaring me with your in depth debate on the proper way to boil someone alive. All I can think of is the bunny scene from Fatal Attraction.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

Since the shop has been on the forefront of my brain this week;
5 Really Cool Things About The Abbey You Might Like To Know.
1) I have custom made burners en route from England that can get 10 gallons of water from zero to scalding boil in less than 10 minutes.
2) When fully online, we plan on being able to produce over a mile of rope… a month.

3) In addition to the two multi ton machine hoists, there are at least 5 more fixed suspension points.

4) Two Words, Zen Room

5) Two more words, Web Cam. Well maybe… it’s not too “late 90’s Dot Com” is it?
Now if you will excuse me, today I need to get 700 feet of crimson dyed, 700 feet of black dyed, review the custom metal work being done, bill clients, start whipping the ends of the 2400 feet that is now dry, and make it to the florist before my date with Dancer tonight. I belive the video camera is coming out tonight so I best make sure my new kilt is clean too.

Wednesday, January 26, 2005

The rope demo

So I'm standing there doing my thing. It is a local event so I’m entertaining the folks, answering questions and trying to make the sale when this girl walks up to me and says that she knows me. She claims that we met a couple months ago. Hmm, quick flash through the mental Rolodex... Maybe… but this girl is much more attractive in the flesh than the one I *think* I remember.

We talk for a minute about the rope, she seems cool, sexy, and gives off that "I'm open to more than just the sales pitch" vibe... So I decide to step up my attention. “Care for a demo?” I ask. A rope demo is a great way to flirt; I can get close to someone, touch her wrists a bit and get a feel (as it were) if she is interested in more than just my rope.

Hands are a safe place to start. Not too intimate, you can get closer with out invading their personal space, just enough to see how she responds. Does she smile when you wrap the ropes, does her eyes take on that glow? So far so good.... Hands now bound, I ask if she has ever had her hair bound? With a huge grin she eagerly nods her head in approval. Hair, on the other hand is much more intimate. You get to pull it back and expose the soft nape of the neck. She gives a shiver as I do this, always a good sign. When I tug the line tight I can feel her body pull into me a bit. Not so much that the casual observer might notice, but I… Oh I can tell she is really enjoying this. A quick check on how she is feeling, “want some more?” I ask. Next comes the face, about as intimate as you can get, short of removing clothes. It was in that moment, as the lines passed over her cheeks, we are close, face-to-face, that I can tell. She is really enjoying this. I whisper little words of encouragement as she opens her mouth to take the line between her teeth like a bit.

She seems disappointed as I remove the rope from her. I am too, but I know that this is as far as it should go in this space. Not here, not yet. Anything more will require her to come to me later and ask for more. As she gives me a hug to say thank you, I whisper to her, "E-mail me and let's talk about doing this again"

As she walks off I admire the shape of her retreating form and wonder if she will.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

Ass deep in setting up the new shop. Did you know that natural gas, when setup wrong will kill you? Hmm, I think I’m going to leave this bit to an expert and focus on getting this massive order out the door. Speaking of orders, if you are considering giving the gift of rope this Valentines Day, best be placing your orders now. We are mid way thought a massive 3000ft order in addition to our normal queue of orders. So orders placed now should be done in time for delivery by the 14th.

So let’s file this one under “interesting problems to have” shall we? I recently was invited to a gang bang… again. Last year I wrote about the gangbang I was invited to here and here. Seems my friend is looking to do it again for another one of his lady friends and wants me there for my… ahem… special talent. Those would be talent with rope people! Damn, you guys have a one-track mind!

Now the idea of spending an afternoon in a seedy motel room popping all manner of bondage cherries to some cutie has some potential. However there is the slight issue of when. I’m already over booked and seeing has how I have been giving out rain checks for play dates since, um say November, I may have time for this in say August?

Now pardon me, by day’s end I need to have 600 ft of burgundy over a thousand of natural and another 600 of blue dyed and in the dry racks... as well as not get killed by my students tonight. Oh and thanks everyone for your feedback on the advertising. I’m still exploring it and other venues


Monday, January 24, 2005

Brief post today, we are dragging in the new plumbing into the shop today as well as trying to complete a couple of huge orders.

Question, I’m considering purchasing some banner advertising on However I’m not fully sold on how effective it will be. Do you frequent this site? Do you even pay attention to the banners?

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Random secrets

As Tambo and I move about the house getting ready to go out to a party tonight, here are 5 party related things about Monk you probably never wanted to know.
1) My hairdresser has only one name, “Niko”
2) I’m addicted to San Pellegrino mineral water; I usually have a tall bottle in my hands all the time at events.
3) Thanks to Tambo, I own a pair of tight red velvet pants. Women love to touch them.
4) The correct time to arrive at a party is exactly 90 minutes after the official start time.
5) I never wear underwear at parties. Ever.

Friday, January 21, 2005

Clips and Phrases

Its been a while since I wrote about swinging a sword, hell it feels like it has been too long since I took up a blade. The body starts to long for it after awhile, you feel this sort of tug on your person when you walk past a rack full of weapons.

The spring is when we start to build the fights that make up our summer shows. While many in our troupe are satisfied just going out and performing a quick improvisational fight, the really dedicated build their fights. A well built fight can dazzle the audience and push the performance beyond simple “guy swinging a sword”, into an amazing ballet of armor and steel. Now in order to build a good fight, you first approach it as a series of phrases or verses. Each phrase consists of a series of moves that you and your fight partner build together. Starting slowly at first, you exchange blows to create something that flows and looks natural. Once you have one solid phrase built, you move on. Creating a larger fight around it.

Tambo took some footage of Nedia (the surliest elf) and I doing just this. Here we are rehearsing the opening phrase of what should become a crowd pleasing fight. (11.6 MB Quicktime)

Thursday, January 20, 2005

The e-mail was titled, “Minks Are People Too”

Dear Monk,

I've been dreaming about buying your rope for a while now, but one thing is holding me back. Mink oil. I've been reading your blog and Matisse's for a few months now, (love them both, thank you both immensely) but when I read that mink oil is part of your conditioning process, I was devastated. I am assuming your mink oil comes from real minks, i.e. minks farmed for their fur. I did a bit of checking online and found that the mink industry is not as bad as it used to be, but it is still far from ideal and not exactly consensual sadism.

Can I hold out a ray of hope that there is such a thing as synthetic mink oil? Or that you could make your fabulous rope without the mink oil? It would be a great joy to a compassionate budding kinkster like me, in need of good rope like yours, but not wanting to think of the pain of captive minks while I'm trying to enjoy my own captive / pain experience.


Well, hmm… ya first off I would have to say that I sorta feel sorry for all the kinky vegans out there. I mean it really must suck to be part of a community that identifies itself with the wearing of dead mammal flesh? Leather is integral to the identity of most kinksters and somehow wearing naugahide just does not seem as sexy.

So why do I use mink oil on my rope? The last stage of processing and conditioning the is a light coat of mink oil, rubbed into the fibers of the rope. This does several things. First off, it relaxes and softens up the rope. Next, it provides a protective coating on the rope against rot from moisture and lastly it gives the rope that nice luster. But why use mink oil and not some other oil? There have been countless discussions about this on-line and it boils down to this. Non-animal oils like hemp or almond oil will eventually go rancid and your rope will STINK. Oils like tung may contain additives that could be caustic to human skin. Mink oil does not rot or harm skin.

Still want some rope but refuse to have anything to do with the milking of minks? I have made, on request, rope with out any mink oil added. We just skip that final step all together and the customer accepts that the rope will not be as soft as my normal rope. Now the rope will eventually relax, however they will need to use it several times before it takes on the usual softness associated with Twisted Monk rope. Also they accept the fact that the rope may dry out sooner if left unused for long periods of time. If the customer chooses they can try to oil the rope using a petroleum jelly or Vaseline, however you mileage will vary.

Still not convinced? What if I told you that we only used oil harvested from hardend, criminal minks? Minks who, upon receiving a fair trial from a jurry of thier fellow minks, refused state ordered rehablitation. We are talking, hard case un-repentant criminal minks who would surely lead other younger, more impresionalble minks into a life of mink related crime? That and they never called thier mothers on mother's day and were litter bugs.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

My creativity is slowly coming back online. Slowly. I’d say I’m about 75-80% better. Not really good enough to plunge headlong into my insane pace just yet, but thanks to some well timed help by some very good souls (you know who you are, bless you) I should be able to keep things rolling and meet the production demands as well as begin moving into the new space this week.

I was, however, feeling good enough last night to do something for Tambo that I have never done before. I read to her while she lay next to me in bed. I never thought that it would be a comforting thing to do till Dancer, when I first started to get sick, had done it for me. Funny thing about being poly, we tend to focus on who is sleeping with who and how to address the issues of jealousy. However there are so many other facets to having multiple, intimate relationships. So many things you learn. Tiny lessons taught by one lover, only to be passed on to another. When I lay sick and feverish, Dancer read to me. I’m not sure how much of the story I retained or if I could even tell you the name of the author. However I do know that it felt good to hear her voice, calming. While she could do little to stop or even slow the sickness as it bulldozed it’s way though my immune system, she made it a little better by sharing something very intimate. A story, told in her voice to a body that could only lay and listen.

By the time my voice had gained enough strength, I sought to share that same feeling with Tambo. Propping her up on pillows with the covers up to her chin and a warm kitty by her side I opened up the book and began to read aloud. When Tambo finally drifted off with a smile, I said a silent thank you to Dancer for sharing this gift with me so that I could in turn share it with Tambo. Knowing that Tambo will teach me a thousand more tiny lessons that I in turn will share with Dancer someday.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

So, how ya feeling?
It seems that when you are sick, those are the first words out of everyone’s mouth. Normally my response to this would be to do my best Night of the Living Dead impersonation by shrugging and let out a dull, mucus tinted “MEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRPPHHHHHH” Of course after the first dozen or so times even this got a bit boring. So here is a short, and not all that conclusive, list of responses I have given today to folks when they have asked me “So how you feeling?”
“Like the Mayor of Icky Town”
“Like Crap, dipped in butter”
“You know that once scene in Alien, when the thing pops out of the guys’ chest?”
“I’m Phlegmdar The Barbarian! Take me to your tissue paper.”
“Two words, microwave poop”

Saturday, January 15, 2005

I’m sick... Again.

This makes what, the fourth or fifth bout of the crud in as many months? One of the drawbacks to the pace of my life I guess. Please forgive my lack of creativity while I kick this thing’s ass… again.

Friday, January 14, 2005

Oh man has it ever been cold in the shop this week. Part of my shop is unprotected from the elements so I have spent more time that I care to admit to standing in sub zero temperatures trying to coax giant kettles of water to boil. At one point yesterday I looked down at my hands and noticed that my fingers were blue. “Funny that, I thought I was making a batch of crimson… oh fuck!”

So to say I’m exited to move would be an understatement. I have complained here a lot about having to stand in the cold and wet to make rope, but I will miss my tiny garage shop too.

I’ll miss working outside on a summer day wearing nothing but a kilt and an ipod. Pausing to pull fresh radishes and tomatoes from my garden for lunch while my dog lays out in the warm sun.

I’ll miss the smell of hemp in my home. Watching all my rope slut friends walk in the door, take a huge whiff and get that glazed look in their eyes.

I’ll miss knowing that even when in uber crunch times, I can tuck my dearest Tambo in bed, lay next to her and watch her fall asleep, and then rise and head back out to finish my work.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

With #6 You Get Egg Roll!
Twiddlybits, who has an ass I want to eat sushi off of, wrote me to say:
I have something to thank you for! Dangly & I got into a discussion about introducing some light "S/M" stuff into our relationship. I told him that I discovered that I like to be bitten on my shoulders (and sometimes elsewhere) back when I was 20 & my then-boyfriend introduced me to it (also hot wax - I told you it was "light"). Well, Dangly has made an effort to try biting me & has discovered himself how much I like it - it can really throw me over the edge in the middle of making love & he enjoys that! I don't think we would have had that discussion (as I'm happy without the biting, too) if he hadn't seen that I was infatuated with you & asked me about it.

Well first off I must give mad props to your partner, Dangly, you know you have a good lover when they are willing to indulge your kinks even if they are not sure they will like it. Dan Savage calls that “Good Giving and Game”. Of course I’m extra delighted to think that I helped a bit in this push over to the kinky side.

You know we get points for very convert to kink we make? Sorta like Amway but with better prizes.

Personally I don’t think there is such a thing as “light SM play” To my knowledge there is no international standards and measuring committee who, upon doing every kinky thing possible to another person, have established a scale of what exactly is “light” vs. “heavy”. You might think me taking 2 needles in my chest as, heavy SM play. However compared to Liss’s 30 plus needle scene I look like a total lightweight.

Rather, I like to think of kink like the menu at my favorite Chinese place.

This place is located in the heart of Seattle’s Chinatown and it is pretty easy to find me when I eat there, just look for the ONLY blue eyed blonde boy in a packed restaurant. Anyways they have this huge menu. The first few pages are your basic, easily identifiable entrees. Stuff that you probably have had before as well as some that, while similar, contain a few new ingrdients and exotic spices. Paging further into the menu you get to dishes that most folks probably have never heard of until, at the very back, the entire menu is in Cantonese.

Now if I were to take a date to this place for dinner, I’m comfortable ordering from about the first 2/3rds of the menu. We would order a nice mix of things both familiar and adventurous. However, when I go eat there with my sister-in-law who is from Hong Kong (and speaks Cantonese fluently) she orders for us both, from the back 1/3 of the menu. I blink and nod in agreement as she and the waitstaff converse in rapid fire Cantonese. When our meal arives it is always fantastic. An amazing mix of colors and flavors, stuff I never thought possible, I make a point to try a bite of everything. Some items I’ll make a note of and try to remember to order again. Other items? Well other items I’ll just put down in the “gee that was different” category and leave it at that.

When it comes to kink, well all sex for that matter, we are all ordering out of the same menu. Today you might only like to eat items from the first page or two and that is just great. Good for you. Six months from now you might want to try something from deeper in the menu.

A lot of it has to do with whom you are dining with. If they are more fluent in the language of sex and you trust them, then you might be more willing to give the more exotic dishes a chance. The trick is to trust your partner and always be willing to at least try a bite.

Now if I may make a suggestion, try the #23, Monk’s Delight, With Extra Burgundy Rope.

Wednesday, January 12, 2005

Random Catch-up Stuff

So, who remembers the gratuitous photos of my wedding tackle in a novelty mariachi hat? Well the votes are in and I won the contest. Rather than the planed prize, the ever-naughty Ms Woo has succumbed to my …um…charms and will be joining me for an evening of “strong drinks and stronger flirtation” this Friday night. Wish me luck; I’m wearing my new +1 kilt of feminine attraction, just in case.

Midori is in town this weekend and teaching a rope class at Toys In Babeland. That of course means they are asking for a ton of rope for that event, so guess who is busting ass to fill that rush order? She is also in town to help raise money for the Aids Lifecycle by hosting a killer hot women’s only party at the WetSpot. Dancer, Tambo, Silk and just about every other female in my world are going to that party. I think Galahad and I are going to go do something… macho that night.

It is official! We signed the lease on the new shop space yesterday and take possession next week. There is a LOT of work that needs to be done before it is operational, but TwistedMonk.Com is moving out of my tiny garage and into a killer 1500sq foot shop and studio space. Complete with two ceiling hoists, a private loft/office, and a kinky lesbian blacksmith for a neighbor. Right now I’m thinking of calling the space "The Abby”. Tambo has some sneak peak photos on her photoblog.

Oh and to the reader who hooked me up with not one but two mix cd’s of Punjabi MCs and other bhagara sounds, dude that shit is great! Been in heavy rotation on the i-pod this last week. Thanks!

Tuesday, January 11, 2005

The kanji symbol for the word “monk” consists of thirteen unique strokes. Dancer’s hand pressed a scalpel across the exposed skin of my chest for each of them. Laying my naked form in front of the fireplace, she would consult the design, a drawing of the kanji provided by Kitten (complete with copious notes as to the various nuances of each stroke), and turn her attention to me. My chest was already awash with marks and bruises from our previous lovemaking, save one spot about the size of a book of matches… in “the sweet spot” as she called it. High on the muscle and close to my heart.

When I got my first tattoo the artist, one of my wild-eyed surfing buddies, paused just before pressing the ink to my flesh and said this. “Remember this moment. This ink is not just art but it also serves as a marker. A reminder of who you are at this moment, remember this moment.” I can still look at the ink on my bicep, faded from years of sun and misadventure, and recall that rainy afternoon and who I was when it happened. Our bodies are roadmaps littered with such markers. Scars from childhood misadventures, scars from the narrow misses with any number of swords, daggers and even a critical piece of armor failure. Makes sense that I should mark this moment, remember it with a scar of my choice. A scar given to me by a lover.

Monday, January 10, 2005

Snow Day

Snow in Seattle is a rare thing; we can go several years with out seeing the stuff so when it does happen the whole city seems to slow down to a crawl for one day. People don’t drive in it, shops close for the day, everyone just seems to take the day off from their everyday routine and enjoy the rarity of the event.

Pale white light seeps thought the shades above where we sleep. “What the fuck time is it anyways?” I think. Last thing I remember was her collapsing in my arms as the sun just started to creep into the sky… three maybe four hours ago? I can hear voices in the house, her primary and his lover are stirring somewhere in the huge house. Perhaps I should get up and say hello and be sociable? Acknowledge their presence at least… no, the pull of her warm body next to mine is too great. Somewhere across the city, Tambo is kissing her lover goodbye as snow starts to blanket the city. As I curl myself around Dancer’s naked form I wince in pain, the thumbprint sized cutting on my chest burns hot as I press it against the flesh of her back.

Confused? Last night started out simply enough. Dancer’s primary partner, Sir, had a play date scheduled that night. Jumping on the chance to spend another night with my lover, I set about planning a date with Dancer for that night too. But what of dear Tambo you ask? Well as fate would have it, Tambo’s lover, The Crush, was in town that weekend and free on Saturday night as well.

I stir again, this time to the sounds of kids playing outside, racing against the sun to take advantage of the scant few inches of snow before it all melts away. A quick peek out the window tells me that the sun is soon to win that race. Dancer stirs and opens her deep brown eyes to me; even just waking up she is magnificent to look at. Grudgingly we rise and leave the warm cocoon of the bed. The house is empty, save a note passed under our door that reads, “Kisses, (not to you Monk, you only get hugs *smile*), out to breakfast. Sir”. The clock reads 1pm as we wander downstairs to the kitchen

I place a quick call to Tambo as Dancer makes me some coffee. I sigh and smile as she answers the phone. That first moment of re-connection is always the sweetest. That moment of reassurance and gratitude for their love and trust. We give each other the briefest of reports about our nights.
“Have fun?” I ask.
“Tons, you?” She responds with a giggle.
“Oh man did I ever.” I respond.
“So… did you get cut?” She asks with exited curiosity.
Taking a deep sigh I tell her, “Yeah, I can’t wait to show you the scar. Wow just wow…”

Just as the coffee is ready Sir and his lover walk up the drive, hand in hand. Tambo will soon be joining us at the house too. She is greeted with hugs and smiles as we all lounge about the living room, not yet wanting the moment to end. Over coffee we laugh and compare notes. Sir’s lover and I compare marks, she has me beat hands down. Talk about a high capacity girl. Tambo asks in wonder for Sir to explain how he made one of them. With a chuckle he obliges.

The snow is now almost completely gone as we make our way to the car. Hugs swapped, and promises to e-mail exchanged, we all part ways. Tambo and I will now make our way to our favorite little Mexican place and talk for hours about the events of our night, but before we do we kiss and thank each other for being so damn cool.

I tell folks that being poly is not for everyone. Having multiple lovers means lots of work and sometimes-painful emotional lessons must be learned. However, when it works…when all the pieces seem to click, well it is a thing of wonder. Much like looking outside after the first snowfall. That magical moment when the time just sort of slows down and the sun shines a bit brighter outside, the details of the everyday world lay covered (if but temporarily) in a seamless blanket of white.

p.s. I’ll talk about the cutting tomorrow. Right now I just want to cherish the moment a wee bit longer.

Sunday, January 09, 2005

let's talk about my weekend... tomorrow. I'm just too tired right now from a night out till 5:30 am, covered in bruises and admiring my new scar.

Saturday, January 08, 2005

Monk’s Week Off Blog Project: Final Day

And so, dear readers, we come to the end of this little project. I opened this series of postings with a dispatch from my oldest and dearest love, Tambo. Now we close the week with something from my amazing secondary partner, Dancer. If life is nothing more than a series of moments, then she has brought me more unforgettable moments in the last year than most people will experience in a lifetime.

We're lying in bed, in a pleasant post-coital languor, when Monk raises himself up on one elbow to regard me intently. "Tell me what you need right now, sweetheart," he says, gently stroking my body with his free hand. "What would you like? What can I do for you?"

Is it any wonder I think he's sweeter than double-chocolate fudge and just as addictive? And it's all the more delicious because it wasn't what I expected. I was initially attracted to Monk because – well, to be blunt about it, because he was handsome and because he made me laugh. He's definitely got that performer thing going on. What is the male equivalent of a diva? I wondered. Divo? Whatever it is, he's it. And he does it very well.

So when we began our courtship dance, I thought the dynamic would be: he would entertain me, and I would applaud him. I anticipated being perfectly pleased with the arrangement. Since I have to be on a lot in my daily life, in private I am often happy to let someone else take center stage and be on for me.

The night of our first date, Monk showed up on my doorstep with a bottle of champagne and a bouquet of flowers. When I opened the door, he smiled his thousand-watt smile at me and said, "Hi, beautiful!" In short, he was on, and I prepared myself to enjoy the show.

But the evening didn't go exactly as I though it would. As we talked, Monk made me feel like nothing and no one else existed but me, and that his only purpose in life was to make me happy. He clearly enjoyed having me focused on him, but he wasn't content to simply bask in my attention. He listened as much as he talked, he asked me questions, he made me feel like I was the most beautiful, fascinating creature he'd ever encountered. That feeling was far more intoxicating than the champagne. One thinks of divas as being all about themselves. Monk was all about me.

And he managed to be all about me without ever making me feel like I had to perform, to live up to, shall we say – the mystique? Because let me tell you, that glamorous-persona thing? It gets tiring. Yes, I do enjoy being a diva sometimes, and I love it when Monk and I get to be divas together, that's great fun. But I am actually not nine feet tall and bulletproof every minute of my life, and it's such a pleasure to have a lover who understands both sides of me.

Other people this week have talked about how Monk is charismatic, Monk is outrageous, Monk is daring and spontaneous. That's all true, and those are some of the traits one sees right away. However, as they say on those infomercials, "But wait! There's more!" One of the things I continue to be struck by is how generous Monk is with his time and energy. I've never asked Monk for a favor that he didn't immediately say, "Of course, sweetheart, I can do that for you. Be happy to."
"Are you sure?" I'll say. "Because if you're too busy, it's okay."
"Honey, for you, I will bend time and space," he'll reply. Not exactly the response of a typical diva, is it?
I think I got lucky with Monk – I picked him for his style, but what I would up being really knocked out by was his substance.

Friday, January 07, 2005

Monk’s Week Off Blog Project: Day 6

I have told tales of The Mom, shared with you the joy that she has brought to my world and how she has opened my eyes to many, many things. She is dearer to me than my own blood kin; I thought you all might enjoy hearing her side of the story.
You all having a good time?

As I was coiling the *several* pieces of TwistedMonk rope this morning ~grin~ I was trying to figure out what to post. Realizing what was in my hands made the decision so easy. The many ways Monk has touched my life. I'm a 24/7 slave (3 years) to Master Talan and I'm the one known as "the mom". Let me say that I love Monk very, very much. when we were driving around Seattle and he was asking me "What is it about BDSM that you like?" (everything!) "Do you ever feel like it's not OK to enjoy pain?" (NO!) That was at the beginning when he had long gorgeous curly hair at the time, the kind most women love to put their fingers in. LOL

Then there was that fateful night when Master and I were trying to decide what would be a good gift for this up-and-coming Lord Master Nut Sack. Master suggested the Midori book on rope bondage and the rest is history, mostly because of his "I'll try anything" mindset. It's a little surreal being bound in those wonderful reds, blacks, blues, and greens and Monk made this with his own two hands and is now providing me a great gift....the erotic feeling of the rope against my skin, the smell of which promises a very sensual (oh, heck....sexual!) experience is yet to come.

Then there was the time that he and Tambo took me "toy" shopping and he obliged me by "trying out" a flogger on my ass in the store. And the time he used me as a rope bottom to teach Galahad a couple of things (what a cutie he is! Don't you love "improper" thoughts?), and I'll never forget the photo shoot he and Tambo treated me to....making me look so awesome and feel like the queen of the world. One of my visits with Monk and Tambo included a chance to meet and chat with the beautiful Mistress Matisse. She kindly gave me a tour of her dungeon (I wanted to take up residence!)

Master and I were able to experience the joys of the San Francisco "community's" events surrounding Folsom Street Fair with Monk and Tambo and some other fabulous friends of theirs (Hi, Silk ~blowing a kiss~). The absolute highlight of that trip was at the Leather Women's Ball where I was introduced to Fetish Diva Midori. What a gracious and lovely lady! We had a wonderful conversation bragging about the Monk and his rope (She adores him too) and how it all began. (I didn't realize that I hadn't been breathing during the whole conversation!) Without Monk, Tambo, and Silk it never would have happened.

I didn't find my true path in life until I was well past my 40s so each experience I have shared with you holds much more significance than I might have been able to express. I have grown in so many ways because of the loving influence and sharing from both Monk and Tambo for which I'll always be grateful.

I'm going to admit something....that if our "vanilla" relationship (Monk and me) was different, that he was just this really cool guy that Master approved of me being with...that I could be on the receiving end in a scene and maybe even suspension at his hands. He is so charming, full of life, loves my Tambo, and is one fantastic cook!! More importantly and above all else he is simply "my Monk". ~soft smile~

Thank you Sweet Boy.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

Monk’s Week Off Blog Project: Day 5

Of all my friends and allies, Silk is the one person I know who will be the first to tell me when I’m acting too big for my britches and I adore her for that.
Today I'm finalizing the paperwork on the new studio, taking a sweet girl out for a birthday lunch and then it's off to the Grind with Dancer... to break in the new kilt.

Ah, Monk. How did I actually meet this crazy, lovely man? Kreig and I were at a motorcycle show. After standing at this one booth for about 45 minutes talking to this guy, who LOVED his Ural and was also tired from a New Year's party. He leaned into Kreig and asked, "Are you the guy in the kilt?" Yes, we were at New Horizons for the same party, but with 300+ people there it is hard to remember everyone. Luckily, Utilikilts weren't that common then.

This started a wild ride of friendship that cannot be tamed. Not that I would want to. Though I think there are times when Monk wished that he carried a gag on him when I am around. My job in life is to taunt tops. Don't ask me why I think it is fun...I think it is my version of an extreme sport.

I find that we share a refreshing honesty with each other. It is a rare friendship that allows you to one minute cruelly mock each other and turn around and support each other the next. But Monk also knows that he and Tambo are in the small group of people that I would actually consider bodily harm to anyone that hurt them (without permission of course!) They inspire that kind of loyalty in their friends.

Monk and I have one thing in common. Our spouses are afraid to let us be alone together in public. It seems we have this tendency to become bigger than we already are around each other. And without Kreig and Tambo to rein us back in....I mean we got kicked out of a sex store. The one place we thought we were safe. There was some discussion about us being in SF together with no supervision. We did fine...and only freaked out the people on the streets a few times. A record for us.

I think my favorite thing about Tambo is the fact that she laughs at my jokes. No really, it is that she shows an innocence in the SM world that I find so welcome in the community. I mean this girl has done more and seen more that I have but she still looks at it all with a wide-eyed wonder. It constantly reminds me that the day you lose the fascination and curiosity in any aspect of life you may as well just give up and become a telemarketer.

Glad to see Monk took a week off. Sleep, my friend, you are so gonna need it!

Wednesday, January 05, 2005

Monk’s Week Off Blog Project: Day 4

Galahad… where do I start? If you have been reading this blog for any length of time then you have probably heard his name. My sword swinging, show tunes singing, bondage model buddy who gets more than his fair share of teasing about being my “bitch”. I must admit that if I were to butter my toast on that side of the bread, he would make an excellent catch. Strong, loyal, tenacious and honest, he is a force to be reckoned with and an invaluable asset to have on your side.

Confessions of a Gnome / Galahad Interrupted

Several weeks ago I got a request from Monk…he wanted me to write a guest post for the blog while he took a week off. Now I know what you're all thinking…what a lazy bastard…taking the week after New Years off. What happened to starting the New Year with a bang? Fact is, it's long overdue. Monk has done nothing these past 6 months but bang (not that way…well, ok, that way too). From my point of view, I figure he needs at least a week to pull together his loose ends and regrow the brain cells he's fried from hemp dust, coffee, concussions and lack of sleep. So, while he's huddled up in his room listening to Enya albums and rocking back and forth, I figure he's in no condition to stop me from writing my story here. Tambo likes to say that Monk doesn't let the facts get in the way of a good story. So today, it's just the facts, I swear.

On a cold morning in early September of 2003, my partner, Kitten flew to Japan for 10 months. That pretty much accounts for her for the last year. Moving on…in the wake of that departure, I was left shivering and disoriented in Seattle. Enter Monk. I've been doing the sword thing for several years, and I very vividly remember meeting the crazy new student who shaved his head and ran around with a rubber skull on a stick. Every week I saw this guy at practice…and ever week I asked him "So…how was your weekend?" I would get a slightly raised eyebrow…"Do you really wanna know?" This was the basis of my friendship with Monk and Tambo. You must understand, that at this point, TwistedMonk was just starting up, and Monk as you know him didn't exist.

Despite what you may think, TwistedMonk is not a twenty-person operation in a shiny factory, or even a basement. Monk does not stand on a platform proudly overseeing his gnomes as they toil away on fresh strands of rope. Nope, TwistedMonk is a home-grown endeavor, and as the business has grown, Monk spends more and more of his time pouring over rope in the garage, consuming thousands of dinosaurs worth of natural gas and decimating the vast northern mink herds as he turns out coil after coil.

So as I got to know Monk, I got to see him less and less. He was always showing up with that slightly crazed glint in his eye…and he always had whacky stories. Remember…never let the truth get in the way of a good story. While he might be a bit obsessive, excessively horny and more than a bit fanatical at times, he has earned a great deal of trust. While one can't put their finger on it, it's not the charisma. I think it's the sincerity. Monk has the ability to put aside all the manic craziness and all the performance in a heartbeat and look at you deadpan and ask how things are going...and he really is ready to listen. Macho guys don't hug...but if we weren't both VERY macho...we'd probably even hug once in a while.

When the blogging started, and I remember wondering when I was going to get a role in the blog. I can't describe to you how strange it is hearing an event that you've participated in retold through a storyteller's mouth. If I had to sum up Monk quickly, I would say that he is foremost a storyteller and to go beyond that, I would say he is driven. In many ways, his drive for most things seems to stem from his love of the story. I once asked him what scared him the most, and he told me that among his greatest fears was that someday, with Tambo long gone, he would be alone, forgotten and diminished (I didn't think that it was the best time to remind him that women typically outlive men). The Greeks and Romans used to say that immortality could be yours if you lived on in myth, story and memory. Monk tells his stories because in their way, they throw a bit of himself out into the world, a bit that may never be forgotten. He pours himself into his business so that somewhere in Australia, someone knows his name. When he stands in front of a crowd he is not just another face…he's Monk…or The Mad Monk…or Sergeant Marcos…or any other flavor of the day. At that moment he is larger than life and he lives forever. And I think everyone loves the touch of immortality on their cheek.

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Monk’s Week Off Blog Project: Day 3

When I originally hatched this idea, I wanted to gather a number of different voices. Voices that both know me intimately as well as voices that only know a limited part of me. With that I sought out the aid of a regular reader, one of the very early readers in fact. This reader has consistently made interesting and intelligent comments here as well as her own blog is always a delight. So while I go and pick up my new kilt please enjoy, direct from Laramie Wyoming, The Nerdy Girl.

Notes from the Nerdy Girl
On 12/1/04 Monk wrote: I asked you because you do not "know" me in the flesh. Part of this project is, in addition to feeding my ever expanding ego, is to give readers a look at my world from multiple viewpoints. You have a unique viewpoint. You have been reading since almost day one. You own my rope and have communicated with me like this. I'm curious to see what your take on the whole "Monk" thing is.

My take on the whole "Monk" thing…goddamn writer's block. Strike that: goddamn end-of-the-semester blues. There have been at least a half-dozen possible posts forming in my head, but this has got to be good—we've gotten used to Monk's amazing ability to translate the most outrageous or the most mundane into pure blog gold. I'm just the Nerdygirl, it's a good week when I remember to post, and normally that's just the latest academic obsession.

Alright, so how did I stumble upon this mine of swinger / bdsm knowledge, humor and the occasional recipe? Believe it or not, that annoying "next blog" button which normally delivers the unfiltered, misspelled thought flow of high schoolers or something in German, actually landed me right on the front step at this post.

"Ohgoodgoddamn," I thought, "this is going in the blog file." Part of my studies center around the blogging phenomenon so I pick up at least a couple new sites a week—this was one of the few I started reading on a daily basis. When was I hooked? This post, partially because I loved the introduction and partially because it's the best mac and cheese I've ever made. Oh, and Monk in the kilt didn't hurt either…

Then there was this post, or this post. "God save us from the "Self Important Male Top" has almost gotten me in trouble a couple times, and also given me a way to open up about my own kink. On really bad days when I haven't finished the seven projects, three papers and the customers are all but braindead, I go back a read old posts from a handful of blogs. "It's like they all went to the Capitan Kirk School of Topping. "You…WILL…sub…mit. KAHN!!!" " kills me ever time to the point where I have to explain to my co-workers what I'm laughing at.

"So, what are you reading?" they invariably ask.
[short pause]
"Well, Monk works in Seattle making rope, and happens to be part of
the bdsm community."
[Either long pause where they then say, "Ah, that's nice." or shorter
pause where they ask what the rope is for or "What exactly were all
those letters again?"]

Seven months, 135 feet of envy green hemp, and a handful of e-mails later, Monk's still surprising. He has this disarming blend of nice guy and sadist; "nature's protective coloring" he calls it. One day he's devoted lover and humanist, the next he's pondering the most devious scene. This is perhaps what I like most—Monk shares with us not just the sadist badass top but also the knockabout guy. It's a combination that's helped me put down the Nerdygirl persona and let hrough a bit of the Bisexual Double Threat, as my lover calls it.

Monday, January 03, 2005

Monk's Week Off Blog Project: Day 2
Now when it comes to long term relationships, the only other person who has known me nearly as long as Tambo would be my friend Dave. He and I have seen a lot of life together and have proped each other up on many occasion when the winds of change have tried to blow the other one over. Enjoy this while I spend the day paying Tambo back for her months of patience and support.

To paraphrase Voltaire, if there were no Monk, it would be necessary to invent him.

Some sixteen years ago, as I fumbled awkwardly, still newly adrift in the world, I might have imagined an optimal friend and companion. After creating base compatibility by envisioning someone as intelligent, inquisitive and tenacious as myself, I would add some qualities I felt I lacked: Charismatic, street-wise, daring and spontaneous.

Fortunately, fate dropped him in my lap.

Now, at first, I wasn't so sure about Monk. He was several years my junior, and looked like, well, one of those people that listened to "Rock 'n' Roll", or whatever the weirdoes called it. (I never would have guessed that we shared relatively similar conservative Christian upbringings.) But, with time, conversation, and a trip or two to the Wendy's salad bar, Monk dragged me kicking and screaming into the grown-up world of complex moralities, personal responsibility, and girls.

Monk is personally responsible for a number of firsts in my life: Finally moving out of my parents' house, learning to appreciate music not found on Top 40 or Christian radio, my first - date/kiss/girlfriend (All in one night, I was making up for lost time), losing my virginity, falling in love, proposing to the woman who is now my wife and, most recently, Kink.

It is simply impossible to summarize my relationship with Monk over the years. But suffice it to say the good greatly outweighs the bad, I have a lifelong love and respect for a deeply complex and profoundly alive individual, and I would not give up a single moment of it. In the course of our exploits, I learned a vast array of life rules, some of which are likely more applicable on a day-to-day basis than others. A few are:

* When a friend sets you up, discretely inquire as to whether she is supposed to be a one-night-stand, or serious relationship material.

* While there is a varying scale of quality, there is no such thing as bad tequila.

* The Corvair was a thoroughly under appreciated vehicle.

* Some things should never be mixed with vodka.

* There is such a thing as too much looking, and not enough leaping. Leap.

Sunday, January 02, 2005

Monk’s week off blog project: Day 1

Today marks the fist day of my much-needed vacation. For the next week I’m going to do my very best to not make an inch of rope. In addition, I’m taking the week off from this blog. Don’t worry; I have something cool in store for you. Over the course of the next week I have lined up a number of interesting guest blogs. These will be uncensored and unedited dispatches from my friends, lovers, and a few surprises as well.

Tambo, my dearest lover and best friend, tells her side of what it is like to be my dangle toy.

The rope is coming out of the bag. I lay out water and snacks for later, while he works the ladder and the suspension point. We cross paths and caress while we anticipate our play. "Hi honey", I say. "Hi gorgeous," he returns.

He lays rope gently over my skin. He runs the rope through his hands and feels it lay across my skin as he places the lines gently and lovingly under my breasts, over my breasts and over my shoulders. More rope, he places with care around my hips. I breathe in the smell of the hemp and feel the vibration of it as it moves over my skin. The rope is the extension of my sweetie, his arms wrapped around me to protect me and love me.

The once loving hug of the ropes are now squeezing tight - initially taking the air out of my lungs. I'm acutely aware of every place tied in rope. The intense squeezing, pulling, digging... that bastard is hungrily exploring my skin to test its limits. Push, pull, tug. I can't touch the ground with my toes. It's only an instant, and I'm off the ground, suspended. I cry out in surprise and intensity.

Uncle Fucker
The intensity increases in my chest as the harness is lifted higher. I hear him ask, "What's that? What did you call me?" I yell, but the sound is muffled by the bit gag, and he laughs while pulling on the ropes. Struggling against the ropes, I wiggle and try to get close to him. I'm hoping for the moment where I can reach him with my leg... but the wiggling only manages to cause me to swing a little. Not enough where I can reach out and grab him. Maybe surprise him for a change! I laugh at the thought, but is cut short while he moves my hips higher. Ug! The pain in the hips is dull but extremely tight.

Lord Master Nut Sack
I'm not struggling anymore. The rope is part of my skin, pulls up to the ceiling and back down to my body. I feel the tension and pulling, but the initial intensity is gone. He's right in front of me. Looking at me. Smiling. He knows that I'm with him, but the rope and the girl are one. I'm glazing. The feistiness is gone and I'm getting high.
"What's my name now?" he smiles. "Here, let me help you..." reaching out to move my jaw,

Mon Petit Chou
I see my hair fall before my face as I lower my head. The floor is spinning. Higher than a kite, I'm free-falling in my head and everything is good with the world. There is no tomorrow or yesterday. There is only now. Now with my lover, mon petit chou. He lets me fly and holds onto the tether to bring me back....

...down to the ground. The ground is hard. My body is heavy and my limbs are weak. I quiver as my lover gently touches my skin and removes the rope. There are deep rope marks marking where it touched the skin. I already miss the feel of his rope, but welcome his caresses as he takes me into his arms. I breathe in the smells of sweat and hemp as I
draw strength from him.

Thank-you my honey, sweetie, bastard, uncle fucker, lord master nut sack, petit chou, and lover.

Saturday, January 01, 2005

If you want the skinny on my New Year's celebration go check out Matisse's blog. I'm still recovering and have a metric fuckton of 4mm to get packaged up before tomorrow's class. Oh and if you are like living on Mars and have not heard about the class, go here.