Twist Me by Mia Monroe
Mitsu
“Do the rope colors have meaning?” Grey asks as he settles on a pillow close to where I work.
“No. Some riggers just use natural rope, but I enjoy the vibrancy that the colors bring.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Gray.”
He snorts. “Are you just saying that because it’s my name?”
“No, although convenient.” I wink. “You’ve seen my living room. I like gray. I think it’s soothing, but if I were to pick a different color, I love blues and greens like the ocean.”
“Those are good colors.”
I grab a length of turquoise rope. “I’ll use it today in your honor. Even though your name is Grey.”
He laughs again, tucking a lock of that gorgeous hair behind his ear. He watches me silently for a few minutes, the two of us sharing sweet glances.
“Does it feel powerful for you?” he asks. “Tying people up?”
“I don’t refer to it as tying people up. That sounds so, I don’t know, kidnap-y.”
Grey laughs again, and I’m quickly becoming addicted to the sound and the desire to be the one to cause it.
“I call it binding, rope play, securing.”
“Those are good words. Do you ever call it bondage?”
“Depends on my audience, but yes. Many of the people coming today may refer to it that way, especially if they're interested in the more sexual aspects of it. Today I will teach Shibari, but for my advanced groups, I teach Kinbaku.”
“What’s the difference?”
I kneel in front of Grey, focused on his questioning eyes and parted lips. “Classes like today’s for the uninitiated, I teach the basics, rope handling, safety, consent, communication. For advanced groups, private lessons, or…” I pause, noticing how his breath deepens, “with a lover I practice a deeper version. I teach them how to connect, how to feel what their partners need, and how to intuitively give it to them. The ropes take on their own energy, guiding the top to bring his bottom to places they never imagined.”
“You can do that by…” His eyes flutter as he searches for words. “By b-binding someone?”
“If we have a connection, then yes.”
“You could do that for me?”
“If you would give that part of yourself to me.”
“What part?”
I put my hand over his chest in the center. His heart beats rapidly but slows as his eyes flutter closed.
“This part, Grey. Trust.”
His eyes open, startling me as his pupils nearly drown out the color of his irises. His cheeks are flushed pink, his breath gently lifting my hand up and down.
“I’m scared.”
“I know. Maybe the longer you know me, the less fear you will feel.”
“I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of having a bad reaction.”
“I won’t let you. That belief will come with trust. Once you know, deeply, that I would never allow harm to come to you, then you can let yourself go. You can let me guide you.” I move my hand to his, gripping it. “In your own time. There is no rush or deadline. If you never decide to do it, that’s okay too.”
“Is it? You wouldn’t, I don’t know…” He shrugs. “Be disappointed with me?”
“Would you be disappointed in me if I didn’t like Doctor Who?”
“No. A lot of people don’t, but that’s just a show.”
“A show that’s important to you.”
“This is your job. It’s part of you.”
I study his face, noting the etched concern on his otherwise delicate features. He’s so worried I won’t like him if he doesn’t want this. How can I convince him?
“I can only tell you what I know.” I exhale, smiling. “Your presence in my life, my desire to spend time with you, my desperate wish to kiss you again, is not at all contingent on your participation in this. That is the honest truth.”
I see the flicker of insecurity linger before he blinks it away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I kiss his nose.
Shortly after, Grey moves to a chair in the back row while students file in. It’s a small class of six today, which suits me fine. In this type of session, I bring up volunteers to do scenes with so they can get the tactile experience, since many of them have done no more than be tied to the bedposts.
After an introduction, I start with a glossary of terms, referring to various items in the room. I take a volunteer—a petite and eager blonde woman—and begin some basic knots, explaining as I go. Unlike the last time, I manage to keep my focus on my student and not the stunning man with velvet lips and ocean eyes studying my every move. I would be lying if I said I don’t want him in my ropes, but consent has always been the most important part of what I do. I would just rather he decide it’s not for him than avoid it out of fear.
The class winds up ninety minutes later and, as the last guest leaves, I return to the garden to find Grey stacking the folding chairs in a corner.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Wanted to.”
I walk over to him, resisting the desire to pull him close. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I don’t want you to leave yet.”
“I don’t want to leave yet, so that’s good.”
We both laugh. “I don’t have food prepared. Can we order in?”
“Definitely.”
As I finish hanging my ropes, I notice Grey standing under my frame, dragging his hand over the smooth wood, looping his finger through the hooks, pulling slightly on the metal ring hanging from the center. I’m fairly certain he’s testing the strength of it, which makes me smile internally. He’s curious, and curiosity is good.
“Is there a way to start off easy?” he asks, not looking at me as he speaks.
“Of course. Whenever you want to try, you just tell me.”
He continues rubbing the wood column, obviously working through his thoughts. I give him space, sending him the energy I feel when he’s near. I want him to know he’s safe here. He’s desired. Wanted.
When he turns to me, his expression is pure determination.
“I want to try.”