I first met her when she was blindfolded and naked between the sheets.

It was only supposed to be a one off encounter, but the voodoo energy released that day, ensured it was merely the first of many adventures.

Not long after our initial encounter I began learning shibari. I thought she would like to be tied before I took advantage of her helplessness.

Not only did she like it... she loved it and rope became an integral part of our play.

Tequila, rope and rough handling became or ritual. I would mix up margaritas, tie her and fuck her as the outside world revolved around us.

I thought our dynamic would last for eternity but alas, we hit the skids and my world imploded. It was a sad day, when I met her in the parklands to formally dissolve our dynamic.

That day I presented her with a RED, untreated jute rope. I kept an identical rope for myself.

In the proceeding months I tied many girls. I used various colours of rope, but never red. I wasn't ready to use the red rope. The colour had taken on a significance I could not shake.

It was many months later when I received a message from her telling me she had found her rope and had become overwhelmed with emotion.

And a few months later she informed me she was single.

Not long after, she once again sat blindfolded in a hotel room waiting for me to open the door and claim her. I tied her with both my red rope and her red rope. The voodoo energy was still there.

A new understanding was agreed:

I could tie other girls as long as I didn't do any new ties. New ties were reserved for my lover alone. I was not to tie any other girls with red rope And that's how things continued for the best part of a year.

Until we had a falling out...

I still haven't tied any other girl with red rope. And my rope, embalmed with the essence of my lover remains folded in its bag.