“But…but why do you even have all that?” She waves her hand toward my backpack.
I stare at my feet as I try to think of the right words. I don’t want to scare her more than she already is. I need to say something calming and relaxing, but no suitable words form in my head. I don’t bring rope out until I’m at Gym or participating in private play somewhere, and I’m not used to having to explain myself.
I also don’t want to lie to her.
“It’s just a hobby,” I finally say.
“Rope is a hobby?” She clearly doesn’t believe me.
“Sure,” I say with a smile, “there are lots of hobbies involving rope. Sailing, macramé, weaving hammocks—the possibilities are limitless.”
“What the hell is macramé?”
“It’s an art form,” I say. “You make things out of knotted rope.”
“And that’s what you use the rope for?”
“Uh…no.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I wonder if she’s getting marks on her back from the railing. She has herself pushed so hard against it, it might just break.
“Do you sail?”
“I have but not regularly.”
“So why do you have all that?”
I take a deep breath. Maybe just being completely open is the right way to go. I know plenty of people who are very open about their lifestyle, but I’ve always been a little more private. Given the circumstances, maybe I just need to let go and spit it out.
However, there’s a little more to it than just telling her.
As I glance over at her, I can’t deny that I feel attracted to her. I also feel like a complete heel for never really noticing her in high school, and recognizing that I never paid attention to her, at least partially because of her looks, makes me feel even worse. I don’t like to consider myself that shallow.
But it was also high school, and we’re both different now.
I take a mental step back and try to forgive myself for being superficial in the past. Holding on to those thoughts won’t get me anywhere. Right now, I have to figure out a way to tell her about my rather personal hobby in a way that doesn’t frighten her and doesn’t make me sound like a freak.
Is that even possible?
I ask her to sit, and when she reluctantly does, I sit down on the floor close enough that she can see me but not so close as to make her nervous. I fold my legs under me and lean forward with my elbows on my knees before taking a deep breath.
“My hobby is rope,” I say. “I like the feel of it in my hands, and I like the sense of control it gives me. I like to meet up with like-minded, consenting adults and tie them up. Having the rope with me at all times gives me a sense of security and power, and it’s also handy when I’m in a flooded library and need to pull someone up out of the water before a tornado brings in a frenzy of sharks.”
I smile, hoping it looks friendly and reassuring.
Kas’s eyes widen again, and she pushes her back against the railing again.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I say. “That railing has to be a hundred years old, and I’m not sure about it’s stability. That’s why I used the banister to pull you up.”
Kas glances behind her before shifting her body a couple of inches away from the rail.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Kas. I swear. The rope is just a hobby I enjoy, and I only used it to help you.”
“You like to tie people up?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Is it like…is it a sex thing? Like, BSDM?”