In 6 days from now, I turn 30.
Think on that, 3 decades of being alive. Well, 'alive.' I've wasted plenty of years being alive without actually living. Addictions are like that, but that's a story for some other time.
30.
When I first got into bondage, rope bottoming was pretty much a young girl's' game. I remember the looks I got when I told people I was 25- the somewhat saddened pity. The "Ah, you're a late-comer, that's so sad," nod of 'understanding', knowing that, in a few years, I would be obsolete and that Moco would likely trade me in for someone youthful, someone more meant to be bottoming. Piled on top of that were a plethora of no good feels: I'm not the thinnest, or most in shape, or most beautiful. My elbows didn't touch. I was a tragic mess of a rope bottom who only had a shelf-life of 4-5 years tops.
I remember thinking, "If only I could stay 25 forever! People will want me in their ropes! Turning 30 is going to be the tragic end of my rope bottoming career and I've only just started!"
Times, they are a-changing.
Granted, rope bottoming is still (mostly) a young girl's game, but I've seen it grow and expand. There's a fair mix of all genders bottoming in rope. and of all ages. and I'm not obsolete. Far from it.
I'm still not the thinnest (not that I care to be), the fittest, the more flexible (my elbows still don't touch), but I'm also not the oldest rope bottom. Which is fucking cool. Knowing that I can age gracefully, suffer-faced, and body contorted, is a warming thought.
Besides, I think I'm making 30 look pretty damn good. Check out these awesome pictures from Morpheous' Bondage Extravaganza. Thanks to the awesome photographers Twisted View, Dom with Lens, and iambic9 for the amazing images!
