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, and fucked while a top has his or her sadistically wicked way with me because 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 sex, and fun, and the top/bottom connection—restraint is ALL about letting go and control and bringing that control to a chaotic mind that is in desperate need of centering.

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 than full-blown musical score—but every once in a while 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, deep cleaning my space, 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.