When I was nine, I started fourth grade and my older brother started middle school, which meant that he had to take a bus to and from school instead of just walking a few blocks to my elementary school. Since my brother took the bus, he and my mom usually got home about an hour after me, which gave me a small window of time to myself. I took full advantage of that window by getting dressed and tying myself up in front of the mirror.
By that point, I already developed my obsession with clothes. Since a really young age, I grew to despise wearing dressy clothes or any kind of shirt with a collar that buttoned. I don’t think that I found wearing the clothes uncomfortable though. What I found discomforting about dressing up was the attention my mom would give me whenever I wore something nicer than a sweater or oversized t-shirt. As a Chicanx woman, she is very expressive and affectionate, so she always made a big deal about how handsome I looked on the few occasions that I’d let her dress me up, which really embarrassed me. I always found ways to rebel against wearing collared shirts up to high school when I was a metal head who only wore black band shirts; however, I always had a secret infatuation with collared shirts.
I always found myself being obsessively drawn to the exact type of clothing that I hated. My mom would collect hand-me-downs from family members and friends, so I can have something nicer to wear whenever I absolutely needed it, but I never touched any of those shirts as far as she can recall. Whenever I got to be alone or find a good hiding place, I would try on the plaid button downs and uniform polos just to be and stare at the little boy in the mirror who didn’t have a problem with wearing those kinds of shirts.
Even though I didn’t realize I was queer until high school, I think the boy in the mirror, who was somehow different from me, symbolized the kind of guy I’ve been drawn to — someone who was attractive and confident enough to take pride in his appearance and accept compliments. This became apparent when I was going through puberty because I’d find myself drawn to boys my age and grown men that would dress nicer, especially when I imagined them bound and gagged. For some reason, well-dressed man and getting tied up always went hand-and-hand for me. Before I began primarily fantasizing about other guys in dress shirts being kidnapped, I fantasized about being kidnapped on the day that I left the house in a collared shirt. This fantasy is what lead me to standing in front of the mirror, not only in a collared shirt, but also tied up and gagged.
With my new alone time, I got to put my two fascinations together. This was about the time when I got to tape my mouth shut with duct tape for the first time, which I found exhilarating! I loved staring at how the otherwise smooth surface of the tape creased where my lips were and feeling the strong adhesive cling to my skin, sealing my mouth. When I’d look in the mirror with a button down on, the attractive boy on the other side would finally be captured and muzzled like in my fantasies. As time progressed, I tied myself up in so many different shirts, gagged myself in many different ways, and began tying myself up with belts and other articles of clothing. After moving away for college, I bought fifty feet of thick, nylon rope. With this rope, I tied up my boyfriend at the time once, but he wasn’t into bondage. What is more significant about this rope is that I used it primarily for tying myself up, which is something I became rather good at.
As I started meeting people with similar interests, I never quite understood the fascination some guys had with my skill and interest in self bondage. I assumed, since they were like me, that these guys got off on tying and gagging themselves in front of the mirror as well, but that wasn’t as common, which is what made me peculiar to them. I also assumed that the fascination came solely from the quality of my self bondage because it exceeded just gagging myself, tying my feet, wrapping a belt around my torso and arms, and putting my hands behind my back to pretend that they were tied, but I don’t think that got quite to the bottom of it either. This is just my take, but I believe that it has something to do with my intense desire to be tied up, which is a quality that I find insanely attractive, paired with whatever is appealing about a man who is self-sufficient and determined.
In my mind, I always assumed the submissive role, but I tended to primarily attract guys who wanted to be tied up by me because something about my drive for self bondage indicated dominance to them. I found myself submissive because, unless I was fantasizing about a guy I liked getting tied up, I was usually the subject being bound and gagged in my fantasies. Not to mention, I rarely ever fantasized about being the one to tie up the guys I crushed on, but imagined some third party being “the bad guy(s)” to do the kidnapping and bondage for me. I was also the one who got tied up during my self bondage sessions because, you know, it was me doing it to myself since I really wanted to experience the sensation of being tied up and gagged. However, I never really acknowledged how I was also the person who was determined to tie someone up, who was gaining experience with rigging, and who wouldn’t let the minor inconvenience of not having a bondage buddy stop me from doing what I wanted, which are all pretty active traits that I overlooked.
The epiphany that self bondage is, and kind of has to be, both dominant and submissive lead me to realize that it’s a way of experiencing the best of both worlds. Although it would be much more convenient to sit tight while another guy restrains me or to be the one doing the restraining without the hassle of tying myself up to pose for a picture, then let myself loose to view the picture and try again, self bondage is an excellent way for someone to be in control while still being restrained at some capacity because I literally call all of the shots. Since I obviously knew what I was into, the way I dressed reflected how the men I was attracted to dressed, I made the facial expressions and muffled noises that I wanted to see and hear in bondage porn, and I didn’t have to explain any of it to a boyfriend who thought I was a freak (in the most pejorative use of the term) or necessarily appeal to anyone else’s male bondage aesthetic. Furthermore, this epiphany concerning the duality of self bondage lead me to realize that it kind of allows me to split myself into two people.
Like when I admired the unfamiliar boy in the mirror, whether he was just dressing up for an occasion or being kidnapped by an admirer, self bondage allowed me to be different people: the innocent victim and the diabolical villain, the straight-laced pretty boy and the disheveled perpetrator, the unknowing subject of a predatory gaze and the voyeuristic predator. It’s difficult to explain, but this is kind of why I haven’t considered the obsession with my reflection to be completely narcissistic or vain because I don’t necessarily get off on how good I think I look. I mean, when I tie myself up in a nice button down that’s tucked into tight jeans with a blazer and Oxfords, I believe that I look good; however, what I masterbate to is not necessarily my own reflection, but a series of artifacts that I find arousing with my body as the canvas. Similar to how drag queens compile all kinds of gendered artifacts (wigs, makeup, dresses, high heels, etc.) with effeminate mannerisms to create feminine characters, I compile menswear, bondage, and a kidnap story to play the type of character I would like to kidnap. Afterall, since most of my fetish involves fantasy, I would only ever kidnap a character instead of a real person.
Comments