Rope Tricks

Postby sarobah » Wed Apr 01, 2009 7:29 pm

The Tie-up Chronicles

This version is different in some details from the original, Escape Artiste. In that one, I gave the impression that I devised the stage act just for the excuse of getting tied up in public. Now that I’ve thought more about it, I realize that it was the other way round. It was my experience and expertise with the ropes that gave me the idea for the stage act.

4. Rope Tricks

I’ve always been a show-off.

I’m sure that being the centre of attention is at least part of the attraction of my tie-up games. When you’re watching a movie or television show, or reading an adventure novel, who doesn’t sit up and take notice when the heroine is captured and tied up by the villain and his henchmen? (Okay, I’m talking about a specific genre here, but I think you get the point.) When the gang gets together and is having a god time, and someone is set upon to be hog-tied, or wrapped in duct tape, or bound to a chair or a tree, who is the star of the action? It’s a no-brainer, really.

With this in mind, I continue the chronicle of my tie-up adventures.

In my late pre-teen years, I had a brief and unspectacular showbiz career, as part of a song and dance troupe. We performed at neighbourhood fairs and school fêtes, at shopping centres and malls. We began to make a name for ourselves and I acquired a taste for the limelight. Unfortunately, my budding avocation as a showgirl was torpedoed by a complete and embarrassing lack of dancing skills (rather odd because my mother was once a champion ballroom dancer – genetics are funny things). By the age of twelve, I was a washed-up has-been hitting the skids on the road to nowhere.

However, one of the talents I did manage to develop during my misspent, precocious adolescence was to become a rather gifted amateur magician. I have always been fascinated by illusions and mysteries and puzzle-solving (which is how I got my passion for astronomy); so in the course of trying to decipher the tricks of the stage magician’s trade, I became quite the expert. Once I figured out how an effect worked, I tested my theory by trying to reproduce it, and then improve on it. And thus was a star born.

I perfected my craft in the ideal setting, the birthday party. At first I wasn’t very good in public. There’s a big difference between being technically adept and being entertaining; but it’s marvellous what you can get away with when everyone’s full of ice-cream cake and fizzy drink (and the average age of your audience is in single digits). Yet from this modest beginning, over time I expanded my range of venues to include school variety shows and the occasional fête... nothing big-time, but gratifying enough for a show-off like me. I also developed an extensive repertoire of stunts and illusions; but the highlight of my act was the Escape Artiste.

At about the time that my chorus-girl ambitions were tanking, I read a biography of Ehrich Weiss, aka Harry Houdini, the famous escapologist. I was fascinated not just by his amazing skills but also by his side-line, debunking phony psychics and spiritualists. His unrelenting search for truth, his skepticism and his powerful analytical ability made him one of my scientific heroes. So out of this came my brilliant idea, to combine two passions into one pursuit – science and tie-up games. Would that not set any young girl’s heart aflutter?

The skill of a successful stage magician lies in the art of misdirection. My forte was the trick-gone-wrong. I would gull the audience into thinking I was inept and then pull off the big illusion that left them breathless and applauding. It’s not an easy routine to master, because if you don’t get your timing spot on, it looks like you really are an incompetent who just managed to get one right. So I threw out a hint by making the deception begin right at the opening. I had a male assistant who would come onto the stage in the traditional magician’s outfit – tuxedo, tails and top-hat. I would then make my entrance. Prancing about, squeezed into my tiny sequinned leotard, I was of course mistaken for the assistant.

(Most people don’t understand the role of the assistant. She – it’s almost always a she – is not just there to hand the magician his props and look glamorous in a barely-there costume. Part of her job is to divert the audience’s attention, because many of the illusions are really quite simple.)

So the crowd would get a kick when I took over the performance. This was the cue that there was something not quite right about the act, and that the audience should ditch their preconceptions and expect the unexpected. Thereupon, once they were primed, I’d wow them with my awesome comedic and conjuring talents. And the climax of the show would arrive when I was tied up by an audience member. I would struggle frantically in my bonds, looking helpless, before making my last-minute escape, Houdini-style.

A couple of times I performed the famous gypsy rope trick, but mostly I stuck to a straight-forward get-tied-up-and-escape routine. I won’t explain how it worked, because a good magician never reveals her secrets. I will say only that it comes down to how the ropes are applied. I always chose a reluctant volunteer, someone unfamiliar with bondage techniques – and let’s face it, most people are not that experienced at tying up other people. So my assistant would help out with useful instructions, and I think you can fill in the blanks. (Of course, on a couple of occasions the “dupe” would prove more adept than I anticipated – but that was okay. If I failed to escape, it just became part of my botched-trick act and it heightened tension when I tried it again. I had this all worked out, you see.)

The Escape Artiste had its origins one Saturday afternoon when I was breaking in a new partner, Jasmiran – Jaz, we called him. He was a gorgeous guy, part Sri Lankan, part something else and – like me – mostly nerd. We were classmates and study buddies; we played chess and I introduced him to the wonders of astronomy; but we were not boy-girlfriend. He could have been my first one true love, but that’s another story...

Up until now, my brother Alex had been my regular assistant, but he was getting tired of being the “flunky” and he began trying to steal my thunder. My prima donna ego couldn’t tolerate being upstaged by a minion, so he had to go. Lucky for me, Jaz had caught my show and mentioned how impressed he was, so I recruited him.

On the Saturday in question, we were rehearsing for an upcoming show. It was to be one of my biggest gigs to date, and we had been practising a couple of weeks – all except my pièce de résistance, which I had been planning for a while but was still just a vague concept. We ran through the routine; then Jaz’s eyes sort of popped when I began taking off my clothes. I stripped down to a one-piece swimsuit. He must have thought I was about to seduce him. We were in my living room, and he was no doubt wondering where the devil my parents had gone. I soothed his anxiety (or quelled his excitement) by explaining that this was the sort of thing I wore on stage, so he’d better get used to it.

I mention this only because it led to my inspiration. I was amused at Jaz’s reaction at seeing me in my skimpy outfit, and I thought it would be fun to have him tie me up. That this led to a crystallizing of my Houdini act was really just a bonus. I excused myself and left him standing alone, looking perplexed. His eyes bulged a second time when I returned and dumped a bundle at his feet – a pile of scarves and coils of rope. I outlined the basic idea, and explained that we would improvise the details.

“Now you have to take control,” I told him, as I took control. I guided him through the steps, the moves, the ties. At first he was nervous, trembling slightly as he fiddled and fumbled.

I put my hands behind my back and crossed my wrists. I explained how to loop the cord around and between my wrists, and fazed him by immediately slipping out of his carefully knotted bindings. We gradually built up the inventory – elbows, knees, ankles, culminating in everyone’s perennial favourite, the full hog-tie. Yet each time, I escaped within seconds. Jaz was becoming increasingly frustrated and mystified. For dramatic effect, at one point when he thought he had me at his mercy, I wriggled and writhed; and he even said, his voice quavering, “Are you okay?” just before I flipped onto my back, contorted my body and handed him the ropes. I then invited him to blindfold and gag me, which he did with no more success.

Jaz was so relieved – he must have started believing there really was something to this magical stuff – when I apprised him of the mistakes he’d been making. Mainly, he was following my instructions. That “you have to take control” spiel was the clinching misdirection. So I changed tack now and began teaching him some genuine, albeit basic, bondage. I was hardly the expert; I had no formal training; but for two years I had been observing what worked and what didn’t, what was fun and what wasn’t.

When he bound my hands behind my back and secured my ankles this time, I described how to cinch the knot so I couldn’t work my feet and hands free. I explained that like most novices, he tended to leave the ropes too loose because he didn’t want to cut off my circulation and had no idea how to make them both tight-fitting and comfortable. Thus enlightened, he tried out a couple of variations of the hog-tie, and he proved a quick learner. As revenge for my earlier deception, he left me squirming and puffing and grunting for longer than he needed before releasing me. For once I was actually a bit embarrassed. Who’d have thought?

The expression on Jaz’s face showed that he was starting to enjoy the game, even if he was still quite baffled by its provenance. So I teased him. I had him blindfold me again, and then apply a strict elbow tie.

“Harder!” I demanded, as he pulled gently at the ends of the ropes. “I can do cartwheels in this.”

He tugged forcefully, and my arms and shoulders jerked backwards. I gasped.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

I ignored the apology. “So now you’re getting it. What sort of effect does this have?” I quizzed him.

“It makes it harder to move your arms,” he replied.

“Well yes, but what else? Look closely.”

From the direction of his voice, I could tell he was standing behind me, studying his rope-work.

“Try the front,” I said, exasperated.

After a long pause, he offered, “It makes your boobs stick out.”

“Good call,” I said. “Nobody’s looking at what’s happening at the back. Lesson to be learnt – distract the audience.”

I guided him through a halter-tie, chest harness and crotch-rope. He looped the cord about my neck and around my breasts. Then he ran it down my torso, between my legs and up over my backside to my bound wrists.

“What’s the lesson here?” I asked.

He giggled nervously, as I struggled and my bonds tightened in interesting places.

“That you’re weird?”

“Well yes; but in terms of the performance.”

“Build dramatic tension. Have the audience rooting for you to get out of it but also being turned on by it.”

“Congratulations. Here endeth the lesson.”

I was so proud of my protégé. Another young soul corrupted.

Jaz untied me and we went through the entire routine again. We experimented with a few techniques and positions that were not part of the act, just for the “experience”. After that, except on stage and in rehearsal, we never played any more tie-up games. Eventually his girlfriend became anxious that we were spending so much time together, and with great sadness we dissolved our partnership.

In the meantime, the revamped act was a hit. Jaz turned out to be a slick performer, and I hammed it up, making the magicks in my skimpy, sexy showgirl costume. An unsuspecting member of the audience, always a guy, would be called to the stage for the pleasure of tying me up. It was hilarious, from the spectators’ point of view. The volunteer was usually self-conscious, especially when applying the chest-tie and crotch-rope, so polite and careful to avoid touching anything too private. This allowed Jaz to guide the action with his “helpful” instructions. I would strain against my bonds long enough that the audience believed I was utterly helpless, and then – viola!

After Jaz, I went through a succession of partners. I conscripted my boyfriend Matt once, but he suffered a mild case of stage fright. In all, I performed the Escape Artiste routine maybe two dozen times. Probably the high point came at the end of my schooldays, when I was invited to perform at the seniors’ farewell concert. What made this occasion so memorable was that I drafted from the audience a teacher on whom I had a bit of a schoolgirl crush. It was a thrill to have him tie me up in front of the entire school assembly. I was almost tempted to flub my act so he could have the honour of untying me as well, but professional pride prevailed.

I have now retired the act. It’s become rather passé. Also I’m very busy these days; and in my chosen future career discretion is the key to success, so I now keep the kinky stuff to myself. Still, one day I may return to the spotlight; and I have lots of other tricks up my leotard.