Monday, July 31, 2006

What happend to all my rope? Pt1

You know how in the movies when a rope breaks it is this long, drawn out suspension building event? The fibers of the line fray and untwist in slow motion as the camera jump cuts between the hero and the failing rope. Well that, dear readers is bullshit invented by pulp writers to sell tickets. When rope breaks, it breaks with sudden and explosive force. A thick enough line, under enough tension can cut a person in two when it snaps.

This is why good riggers know that there comes a time when you must retire your rope. Hemp, like all things, when used and used hard breaks down. The fibers, strained from too many trips through a carbineer begin to show the tell tales signs of wear and if not dealt with, possible failure. Now for most folks, a well cared for set of ropes will last them years, decades if they are not putting the rope under too much stress (ie, non-suspension use) however for those of us who lean toward the more dramatic aspects of rope bondage and practice suspension responsibly, well we are always inspecting our rope and when the time comes, destroying it when it has passed its safe working life.

Yes, destroyed.

My personal rope kit's time was close at hand. There is no fail-safe method of knowing, no gem in the palm of your hand that will one day blink crimson when it nears the end. No it relies more on experience and ones own personal paranoia about such things. After months of hard use, my suspension kit was due. Frayed and unraveling in spots, this rope had served me well and deserved better than just being discarded. What better way to send it off to bondage rope heaven than destroying it in one final scene? Call it a Viking funeral of wax and rope where, when completed, the only way to release the bottom from said rope would be to cut them free of it all.

So, how does one destroy almost 600ft of custom-made bondage rope?

All little Alex knew was that the scene would involve the destruction of rope, lots and lots of wax and would require her to take the next day off from work. (For those of you who might be confused with me swapping between feminine and masculine when writing about Alex. Alex is a “factory equipped” female who chooses to, when in service to me, be treated and addressed in the masculine form, aka as “my boy”.) You can imagine his worry when we entered the WetSpot on Saturday night and I was immediately set upon by the director, Allena Gabosh, “I trust you Monk, but if you set off the fire sprinklers tonight I’m going to KILL you!”

Taking a hard point away from the center of the space, and as far away from any of the fire sprinklers are possible, I set Alex to task getting ready. Laying and taping a tarp down so that any stray wax that missed his body would not get inadvertently ground into the carpet by my boots. Covering my boy in wax is one thing; getting the director of the best play space in Seattle on my bad side is a whole other matter.

Once the area was secure and all the watching monitors warned about what was to happen, see they tend to like it when you let them know about scenes involving fire and the use of a switchblade knife. Oh did I say knife? More on that later. Where was I? Oh yes, area secured and ready, I laid out the rope for it’s final performance. Coil after coil of violet and black hemp that had served me well was now facing its last scene.

more tomorrow, I promise.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Would you buy a used car from this man? I wouldn't.

2 dye kettles running, playing phone tag with suppliers and working on a press release for something very cool. So yeah, busy ass day at the Abbey. However, last night I was doing some research on human-animal transformation play (i.e. pony and puppy play) and found this great short film. A funny, mostly work safe, documentary on the plight of furry streetwalkers. Enjoy Pet Tricks.

Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Ah.... I just love blog porn, especially when I am one of the characters in the tale.

Redsneaker tells her tale of the "Sweaty Lesbian Fuckball".

Tuesday, July 25, 2006

All the pretty colors

Some random items requiring feedback. First off, here is another color mix that I finished. I was experimenting with blacks and reds as well as perfecting the new dye process. I’m not sure just what to call it and if folks would even want a rope in this color mix. I’m contemplating adding another rotating color to the mix and offering a new “Twisted Color” every 6-8 weeks in addition to our usual color of the month.

So first question would be, would you all like to see more limited run, mixed colors like this for sale? Much like our color of the month, these would be one-time color runs that once sold out, are sold out for good.

Then there is the matter of next month’s color of the month. I’m thinking lavender. We were going to do it in July, but then there was that whole nasty business with the fire and all that. I’ll announce the new color here first, so watch for that.

In other news, our new bed is done!

Here is a shot of the completed headboard. We are hoping to have the beast installed this week.

Oh one last thing. I have a friend that needs some math help. Anyone out there a good college level math tutor? 100/200 level and pre SAT stuff mostly. Someone in the leather community, or at least kink friendly would be a plus; of course I need someone local to Seattle.

Monday, July 24, 2006

My weekend can whip anyone of you bastards!

While I try to avoid writing a “and then I did… “ post, this weekend was just too full of events and I’m as of yet unable to distill any really good stories from the sheer mountain of fun experiences, yet. Till such a time as the muse does visit me, suffice to say that this weekend found me stag.

My darling wife, Tambo, was off to Vancouver to take Midori’s rope dojo with a friend. While this would be her second Midori Dojo, she was still quite exited about the whole endeavor, I’m also betting that the fact that most of the fun Seattle rope people were also to be in attendance might have also had something to do with it too. Anyho, after kissing her farewell on Friday it was…
Alex’s first boot black training with Henry, who by the way is a wonderful and generous teacher. Shinny, shiny boots make Monk all sorts of happy (and evil).
Saturday, well there was some work to be completed at the Abbey, thankfully there were also long stretches where I sat at my favorite café, sipping ice tea and reading some thought provoking stuff by Pat Califia (just sitting and reading a rare treat for me)
Scooping up Nerdy and taking her out on the motorcycle, we did our best to avoid cooking alive and sought out decadent treats to beat the sweltering heat. Dropping Nerdy off, I dashed out to a midnight rendezvous with Dancer. A trip to the local art house movie theater would mark a whole new chapter in our relationship. See, you can share many things with someone you love. However the sharing of a bad movie fetish will either be a bonding experience or end in tears. Fortunately for us it ended in uproarious laughter and extended conversations regarding the prevalence of transvestitism in early Hollywood and the joy of truly terrible dialogue.
Sunday, a long and glorious day with nothing to do but adore the wondrous shape and delightful company that is Dancer. Day spans to night and night spans to a late morning with a woman who, in all honesty, should come with a warning label due to her addictive charm.
And I am covered in bruises from it too.

Monday? Lingering as long as we dare, I leave her so she can set about to meet the challenges of her day while I mine. Thankfully Nerdy and Sprite are on the job today and the Abbey is running like a well-oiled machine.

Eventually Tambo will return home from her adventure north of the border and we swap stories and kisses. She even brings me back a present. Two actual, one a gift from our dear Midori herself and the other? An original, vintage leather Muir motorcycle cap to match my new boots.

Tomorrow we will take the morning off do a bit of lingering ourselves.

My life, it does not suck.

Thursday, July 20, 2006

Confessions of a shoe fetishist

I’ve forgotten the unique pain and agony that goes along with a new pair of boots. Clunking about in my new cycle boots has me longing to ditch the their stiff leather form and slip into my well-worn pair of doc martins and give my poor sore feet a rest. Alas, that is not the case. Boots must be broken in, a painful ritual, a rite of passage perhaps for the wearer to bond with said footwear.

I still say it sucks. For the past week I have been lumbering about in these damn things like a toddler wearing his father’s wing tips, I teeter about and trip over nothing. Gone is my usual confident stride, or as Dancer would describe it... “that tiger-ish, shoulder-hip stalk of yours”. Oh well, soon these boots will bend to my will and form to my shape. Then, then I can swagger in them. You see, dear reader, one cannot, when wearing 17 in high motorcycle patrol boots, simply walk into a room. No they must swagger, just a bit.

On a lighter note, my shoe obsessed wife, Tambo, has found this process far, far too funny. You see, over the now 2 decades that we have been together I teased her for her ever-growing collection of footwear. Seems like right before any event we attend, she is finding yet another new pair of shoes. However, she staunchly denies having a shoe fetish. Insisting rather that I do.

Her rational?

“You see it is like this. I’m a shoe aficionado, a fan of shoes. I find shoes that go well with outfits that I already have. You, my dear, are a shoe fetishist. You bought a pair of boots and are now planning an entire wardrobe based on said footwear”

Well maybe but in my defense, one must cater to such boots. I mean you can’t just tuck these bad boys into a pair of 501’s and call it good. No, you need jodhpurs and maybe a Sam Brown police belt (complete with a shoulder cross over belt) and …

Oh dear I think she might have a point?

Perhaps these demon boots will behave better after getting their first propper polishing at the hands of little Alex. Nothing like nimble, polished stained fingers to coax the stiffness from new leather.

Tuesday, July 18, 2006

Poly need not always be hard

Tambo once told me that when it came to my fondness for tying up pretty girls, the playing didn’t bother her. Heck, she has helped find me victims! Rather it was seeing someone else trussed up in the same rope I used on her. “It is like seeing another woman at a party wearing the exact same dress”, she once explained.

If you stop and consider it for a moment, it makes a lot of sense really.

While rope is a very utilitarian toy, a tool that can be wrapped and knotted into a variety of uses, it is also a very personal thing. Soaking up the sweat, tears and energy of those bound in it as well as the one doing the binding. Tambo and I have shared many, many intense moments together with our rope. Seems pretty natural for her to want to want to place a boundary there.

Ah the joys of being poly, finding boundaries you did not know you had.

Thankfully, some poly problems are easy to solve. See I know a guy who makes really awesome hemp rope. My current rope kit is due for retirement, (actually it is scheduled to be fabulously destroyed as part of an upcoming scene with Alex) so I’m in the process of building a new rope kit. Now seems like a perfect time to craft her something unique and one of a kind (much like the woman she is).

And so here it is, rope that will only touch her sweet skin and only to be put there by my loving hands. This is the first piece of rope to be made using our new multi-pass dye process. Seems only fitting that she get the very first piece, she was tied up in the very first piece of rope I ever made after all.

Monday, July 17, 2006

TwistedMonk.Com Exotics Sale!

The summer harvest is near and that means that we here at TwistedMonk.Com need to start making room for new shipments of exotic ropes from all over the world. In order to make room, we are putting all of our exclusive, exotic rope on sale.

Italian “Cashmere” 6MM Hemp. The new harvest is almost ready and we need to make room. Our remaining stock of this rope close out priced at .75 a foot. That’s 50% off the normal retail price. Hurry, we only have a TINY bit of this left in the shop.

German “Bavarian Blonde” 6MM Hemp. Due to the popularity of this ultra premium, very rare 4 strand hemp, we have been able to secure an extra shipment of this much sought after rope and pass the savings onto you, our valued customer. For a limited time, this rope is on sale for only 1.50 a foot. That is 25% off the normal retail price.

Hurry, this sale ends on August 1st and is only valid for rope on hand. No rain checks or back orders.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

We inturupt this blog with the following important message from Monk.
Oh sweet baby Jesus, the new Muse album is SO kicking my ass today!

Its like the multi headed love child of Rufus Wainright, 80’s era Yes, Queen, Pantera,Depeche Mode and a dash of the Moody Blues (for just that extra kick)

Commence with the head banging and dancing about the Abbey.

We now return to your regularly scheduled blog.


The following are bits of conversations that I have had this week. Strange, but fun

At a house party on Saturday night, sitting amongst friends watching J one of his lovely suspension scenes and chatting with some new friends.
New Girl: “He is going to hang her up from that ring with rope, isn’t he?
Me: “Yeah, it is called suspension bondage. Its really fun, ever see it done before?”
NG: “Um…Once, at the wetspot a few weeks back. This guy in a boy scout uniform hung a girl up and then shaved her head. When he brought her down, she licked his boots!”
Me: “Um… that was me… in the uniform”

At the same party, just after Dancer finished teaching a friend how to do urethral sounds on her boy.
Dancer: “Ok, who is next? "
Nervous boys shaking thier heads no
Dancer: "You know whoever is sitting closest wants to try it the most”, flashing her trademark mischievous smile at the line of horrified yet transfixed men who were watching.
Nearest Boy: “Oh no, I don’t measure my manhood by what I can cram INTO my cock!”

Discussing with Nerdy about a mutual acquaintance whom would like to do a bit more with me than just getting tied up.
Nerdy: “She totally wants you to tie her up.”
Me: “Yeah, but she wants more than just rope. I mean she is nice and all, but I really am not down with the idea of sport fucking her.”
Nerdy: “I could be your stand in fuck.”
Me: “Excuse me?”
Nerdy: “You have that custom dildo made from when you got your cock cast, right?”
Me: “Um, yeah.”
Nerdy: “You tie her up, roll her around and when she is ready, I’ll strap it on and do the deed.”
Me: “In other words you want to be my stunt cock?”
Nerdy: “I don’t see a problem with, you?”
(You want to know the REALLY fucked up bit? I’ve had this exact same conversation with someone else!)

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

The Wolf

I am of the habit of retelling stories. Some tales are too funny and perfect not to share again and again. Now while I am certain that I have probably told this tale to some of you before, I promised someone that I would sit down and commit the tale to electronic paper and share it with all of you.

In 2004 we made our first trip to the Folsom Street Fair. At the time this would be the largest event in the company’s history, it most definitely was not the last. It would also mark the turning point for it as well. From that point on things went from busy to insane. From a guy working out of his garage with some help from his friends to where we are now. This event lit the fuse on the rocket ride that has been the last 2 years of my life. But this, this is not a tale of that ride; rather this is but a moment that took place at said event.

For those who have yet to experience Folsom St on the last Sunday in September, well then you will just have to close your eyes and imagine a world where anything is possible. If you can eroticize it, then honey put it one and parade it about! Drag queens, leather men, hippies, furries, modern primitives, nudists, pony girls with carts and half naked tourists by the tens of thousands take over a few square blocks of downtown San Francisco for the day. While I’m certain that every conceivable fetish paraded past our booth that afternoon, one that still kicks my ass is the wolf.

It was late in the day and the swirl of people, seemed like it would never end. The flow of bodies past our small both felt like a living sea of sweat and leather. The sea however parted for the beast. Lead along on a chain by a woman, the beast wore a complete suit of leather armor. Not armor in the traditional sense. No, this was layers upon layers of finely crafted black leather that molded to its once human form that transformed it from an up right man into a hulking wolf. So complete was this costume that the only remnant of the human that lurked underneath were the eyes, kind and gentle, peering out from within the leather that muzzle that covered its face.

Lumbering up to the booth, it sniffed and pointed said muzzle at us, friendly yet cautious. We responded with a chorus of “oohhs” and “ahhs” at the intricate and obviously difficult costume. (Keep in mind dear readers, the temperature was pushing into the 90’s by now and he was under easily 50-60 pounds of black leather, being former armor wearing types ourselves we were very impressed.) Cocking its head to one side in recognition, the beast gave out a playful “ Woof!” to which we all responded with playful laughter in response.

Obviously enjoying the response, it trotted up to the booth and barked again. Being the closest, I offered an upturned hand to the creature. I guess I must have smelled ok, because the next thing I know the beast is pushing it’s leather muzzle against my shoulder and making those happy yet pleading sounds all dogs make when they want to be pet. The rest of the gang take turns feeding “treats” to the beast as I do my best to scratch the creature behind its ears and praise it.

Just before turning to leave, the beast’s handler asks me, “Can you howl?”
“Like at the moon? Sure, I grew up on a farm” I respond
“He would love that”

Squaring my shoulders and drawing in a huge breath, I let out a long and loud howl. Now the site of one man howling on Folsom street might seem strange, however no sooner had I finished my howl when the rest of the crew started howling in unison. The beast reared it’s leather head back and let out a joyful howl in response. Onlookers who had watched the event started howling as well. We howled louder and louder till for just a moment it felt like the whole world, or at least our tiny corner of it, all raised their heads in unison and joined together in one lupine song.

And then, just as quickly as it began it was over. The beast was swept back into the shifting sea of bodies and was gone.

We looked for the beast when we returned the next year in hopes of re-creating that moment. But as is the case with moments, the best ones are never to be repeated.

Monday, July 10, 2006

I just got this e-mail from a friend in Wisconsin that I just had to share.

Hey guys...

We had some bad flooding here in West Allis today... in less than 10 min the parking lot at the local grocery store was under a few feet of water in some areas. I was fortunate to move my car in enough time but and older lady wth her grandchild wasn't so lucky.

The rain was coming down in buckets, mixed with nickel sized hail. The water was well above my knees and rapidly raising. Stuck in the middle of this was an older lady with her young grandchild. After making sure my car was on high ground i waded out to the stranded van. The water was deep enough that the exsaust pipe was fully submerged. The poor kid was terrified, conviced that it was going to be "Noah's Ark". So I did what any good rope slut would do. I pushed the Van as far as i could towrds high ground.... then I backed my car as close to hers as i could with out risking getting stuck myself. I then tied my emergancy rope to her under carriage and then did the same on my end and truied pulling her out... the rope snapped instantly, The van hadn't budged. It was at that point that I made the fateful decision. I pulled out a 30ft piece of Monks 8mm hemp (sorry Monk) I tied that to my undercarriage using the nifty wrap around knot thingy that Max taught me and then did the same on her van. I was able to pull her out of the water but unfortunatly the rope was damaged on both parts where it strained against the rough metal of the undercarriage. Not to mention the rope is now soaked in dirty rain water and with the fraying i am not sure it is usable... but on the bright side Monk's rope and Max's knots saved the day. The lady's car was able to start after 5 or so minute of sitting on dry land and she and her granchild were home intime for dinner.

So thanks Monk for making such great rope.... and Sorry for ruining it, but i couldn't just leave the poor lady sitting there in the water. And Max, thanks for teaching me such awesome knots, who could have known they have such vanilla purposes too


Friday, July 07, 2006

Sorry for the lack of posts, this week has been ... exhausting. However on the plus side I am treating myself to three whole glorious days off. That's right. Three god damned days off!

In other news, I'm (and Max) are featured in Dancer's (aka Mistress Matiesse) weekly print column. Or you can read an interview I did with an online mag, The Dominant's View.

Or you can lust after the new boots I just bought myself.

17 inch high, motorcycle patrol boots. Yes, yes I think I have just gone "Tom of Finland", be scared.

In other news, I think I want a cage in my office, just a small one. Perhaps like this?

Wednesday, July 05, 2006

I'm not announcing this on the company website or any other locations. This is just for you, the loyal blog reader. After filling all the orders for this one time color, we have a TINY bit left. I'm not going to put this on the webstore, it will sell out too fast and there will be much confusion.


In other news, I could really use a legal copy of WindowsXP and OfficeXP for the new shop computer. Any of my Microsoft readers out there care to lend a hand and swing by the company store for us?

Monday, July 03, 2006

Sneak Peak

In celebration of our 18th wedding aniversary, Tambo and I recently commissioned a custom bed frame to be made by my amazing blacksmith neighbor. Our desire is to have a solid bondage bed that does not look like some huge, boxy monstrosity, but rather something elegant that was sturdy and featured LOTS of tie points. As you can see from some of the samples hanging from the walls, our blacksmith is a true artist when it comes to shaping steel with fire and hammer. For inspiration we gave the artist this image and told her, "this is what I what the bedroom to feel like."

The frame itself now complete, next comes the gentle arcs of steel to fill the open space of the headboard that will offset the massive strength and weight of the frame’s body.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

The lurking horror

disclaimer: this post is not in response to any specific incident or individual, rather this is something that I, as a poly person, have had stewing about in my brain that I needed process through. It is amazing how liberating the act of putting a fear down on paper can be.

There comes a point in all zombie films when the cast finds themselves making a last stand in some rickety farmhouse or other such old building with thin walls and no exits. Barring and barricading themselves in as best they can, the intrepid heroes face the onslaught of the un-yielding, uncaring, unending waves of rotting flesh that seeks to consume them. This, this is how I see jealousy for me right now. You barricade and arm yourself as best you can against the press of unwanted emotion, like so many maggot riddled limbs reaching for you from the night, you press yourself against the barricade and pray that you have sufficiently bolted all the doors and windows against the impending onslaught.

And like any good horror film, something always gives way. It never comes in through the well-bolted front door; rather it takes its entry through some forgotten or overlooked chink in the wall. The assurances that you were sure would gird you against the waves of gut ripping insecurity and fear gives way and the fetid stench of jealousy that fills the air as the corpse press upon you, forcing you to face their lifeless stares and not run screaming into the night.

As any aficionado of the zombie also film knows, the true horror lies not with the monsters lurking in the night. Yes, while they would merrily rip you asunder and dine upon your moist pink brains, the real monsters are always the people inside the house.
So who do you follow when the shit goes down? Do you flee to the basement with the paranoid guy and bolt yourselves in and wait it out? Blame the world and damn anyone who might need help or differs with you, you are gonna look out for yourself and to hell with the rest. Or do you do nothing and lay on the floor in the fetal position and blubber in inescapable fear and wait for the inevitable?

Right now the only person in the house is me, alone, terrified and filled with dread. Not dread of the monsters that wait just beyond my meager defenses, no dread in the knowledge that I am better than this. The truth is that I have chosen these monsters and that I have stood up to and beaten these monsters and worse before; heck I’ve practically gone "Army of Darkness" on them in the past.

It’s that self anger and frustration in knowing full well that you are better than this yet in this very moment not being able to rise up, take my trusty Winchester model 94 (aka my boom stick) and stare down the monsters in all their lidless horror and give them my best, “Yo, she-bitch. Let’s go” clear a path out of this dead end death trap and stay alive till dawn. That feeling chaps my ass more than anything out there waiting to eat me.

The key seems to be (at least in the movies) that if you can just hold out till dawn, then you will survive the ordeal. Stay low, keep moving and stay alive till dawn, with the dawn always brings salvation, the cavalry, or at least the end credits. The ugly truth is that the monsters don’t fade away under the bright, warm sun’s morning rays. No, they will still be there waiting for you come sunrise or they will return for you in the inevitable sequel.

Some days that fact seems the most daunting of all.

Perhaps the lesson here is this. Yes there will always be monsters and yes there will be times when you feel like you are trapped, out gunned and out numbered, in some deserted farm house, but with every passing minute that this film called life that rolls across the screen they become easier to kill? The with experience and better tools developed along the way, that shambling sack of flesh that nearly paralyzed you with terror in the first reel now seems like a passing nuisance. Quick blow to the head with a trusty cricket bat and move on, you’ve dealt with worse and lived.

Besides, I’m pretty certain I saw a chainsaw in that shed over there…