Bondage vs. restraint

I like bondage. Okay, I love bondage—ropes, chain, ace bandages, pantyhose, leather body bag, scarves—whatever. There are times when I just want to be tied-up and teased, tortured, beaten and fucked while a top has his, or her, sadistically wicked way with me, because giving up control and being tied-up by someone who knows well how to please me, and enjoys using me to please them in return, is just plain hot.

But there are other times when I just want--no, I need, to be restrained. It just isn’t the same thing.

Bondage is about control, yes, but it is also about sex, and fun, and the top/bottom connection—restraint is ALL about control and bringing that control to a chaotic mind that is in desperate need of centering.

I am not a person who needs order in all things. I seem to exist in a constant state of chaos (which I suspect I create in order to stave off boredom). The problem with this is that successfully balancing chaos is difficult for even the most focused of minds, so I am pretty much screwed.

Most of the time I do okay—the barbarians may be at the gate but their constant pounding is more background music to the soundtrack of my life than full-blown musical score—but every once in awhile they come crashing through and it takes something beyond me to beat them back down.

This something can take several forms—a hike up the steepest hill I can find, dancing for hours—but nothing compares to the havoc-calming, chaos-controlling release of being completely bound by a person I trust and being able to focus long enough to tame the hamsters that have invaded my brain.

When I am in that space I am protected, but more than that I have permission—to let go, to not take care of anything, to not be anything or anyone but that woman in that moment, to just be.