Word: roped
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...suspend them if the rest of the world was okay with it. I would be happy to do that as my ability to be artistic. I can’t draw. I can’t sculpt. I suck at a number of other artistic pursuits. But, you know, rope bondage—my mind works that...
Freshman year, before he perfected the art of bondage, Mark was just beginning to build up his arsenal of SM paraphernalia. He bought leather shirts, floggers—shorter, thicker versions of whips—and 25-foot strings of rope. He even strung his own cat-o-nine-tails out of parachute rope. All of these items he hid away in the closet of his room. The closest SM/Leather retailer to Harvard is Hubba Hubba on Massachusetts Avenue, but Mark puts his money elsewhere, calling Hubba Hubba “ridiculously overpriced...
...glass. In a small study of 72 boys and girls ages 8 to 11, English and Welsh doctors found that a combination of increasing calcium in the diet and exercise--specifically, drinking three glasses of milk a day and participating in a vigorous activity such as jumping rope or playing tag--was the best way to strengthen bones...
...into my right index finger, which has since curved to the right slightly more than it should. This memory ran in repeat in my mind as the bullriders told me to sit down, then back, then up, then place my hand, no the other way, tighten, release, hold this rope, open again, hold another rope, sit up on your hand, ok. The bull is still but for the vague vibrations of muscle and bone, and sitting on it feels like straddling the back of a suede couch with a massage setting and, incidentally, horns. My nerves boil over into panic...
...bull flings its head back and my body follows. The momentary relief I feel at no longer being on the bull dulls the pain of impact but is instantly replaced with the realization that I’m still fucking tethered to the thing. I scramble to unwind the rope from my hand as I’m dragged through the dirt inches away from the bull’s hooves, like pistons pounding the ground, in moments that feel like hours...