Chapter 82: Monroe
Mastering the intricacies of rope was much like mastering the nuances of Angel. And tonight, he discovered that no rope on earth compared to the touch of her lips against his skin.
His nose rested in her hair, his arms held her close while she slept. For the first time in years, he sank into memories of his past.
His parents had little time for the odd child that shied away from a mother's embrace. The best doctors, psychiatrists, and therapists made little headway past the walls that kept the world out of the workings of his mind. Medical professionals bandied diagnoses and tried different therapies, but Nathanial, from his earliest memories, felt he stood on the outside looking in.
His nannies and tutors bragged about his brilliance in every subject, but his parents wanted a normal child. Nathanial Jason Monroe would never be normal.
When he was ten years old, a stodgy British bodyguard by the name of Stephens put a length of rope in his hand. The braid, perfectly woven from small filaments, told Nathanial a story. He studied the rope for hours, unfurled the strands, and then tried to reconstruct their original form. He wrapped the cord around his wrist, liking the feel against his flesh. It wasn't cold or warm and felt nothing like human touch. But, for a young boy caught in a void, the rope was alive.
A few days later, a book of knots was smuggled into his room along with more rope. He studied the book and practiced each instruction for hours until he could tie them with his eyes closed.
One day, Stephens put his hand out and invited Nathanial to tie his wrist and show what he had learned. For the first time, he voluntarily touched another human being. Focusing on the intricate knot formation, he stroked Stephens' skin and admired the way it compressed within the strictures of rope. He looked up.
Stephens smiled. "You learned well."
Nathanial rarely spoke, but he needed to communicate too badly at that moment. "May I do another, sir?"
The bodyguard's eyes brightened, his smile deepened, and he nodded.
Nathanial double looped the rope and then wove the next knot. He asked to tie another and then another.
"I made my own knot, sir. May I show you?"
"Yes, lad, show me your design."
The knot was a combination of several, and Nathanial closed his eyes and let his fingers construct the picture in his mind. When finished, he looked at the weave covering Stephens' lower arm.
"You have found beauty in the rope."
It was beautiful and much more alive than when he practiced on the bedpost.
Stephens put his other hand into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded knife.
"It is important that you find a way out if the rope becomes stubborn. My knife is sharp and will cut deeply if misused. Can I trust you to be wise and use it only in times of trouble?"
Nathanial nodded.
Stephens did not raise his voice. "I wish a spoken answer."
Nathanial did not hesitate, "Yes, sir."
Stephens placed the handle of the knife into Nathanial's hand.
"Now cut the rope and see how sharp it is."
Nathanial didn't want to slice the beautiful creation and Stephens understood.
"I must know you can use the knife. There is more rope. I will provide whatever you need. It is important that I know you are practicing safely."
Nathanial sliced the threads, allowing the dull side of the blade to run across Stephens' skin. The rope snapped free and Nathanial looked up in question.
"Very good, young sir."
Nathanial smiled.
More books appeared in his room. Within a day of each gift, he could master the knots with little more than looking at the pictures. Then the book arrived that completely changed his life-a large coffee table picture book of Shibari. The kimono-clad men and women fascinated Nathanial.
He went to Stephens and asked to use him to practice some of the designs within the book.
"I cannot allow that. My job is to protect you, and I must have at least one hand free and not have my movements restricted, but... I have an idea."
After dinner that night, Stephens took him to the kitchen. Marguerite, their cook, was cleaning the last of the dishes. She seemed unsure of Stephens' request at first, but then agreed to have her hands bound. Nathanial had known her for years, liked the cookies she baked, but especially liked that she never tried to touch him.
Her skin was different than Stephens'-softer, with no calluses, and it reddened more when he wound the rope around her hands and arms. She remained stiff while he wrapped and knotted the cord. He rarely noticed the feelings of people around him, but when he looked up, he saw her worried expression.
"I will not hurt you," he assured her with a calming smile.
"S? Se駉r Joven."
"I shall be quick and then you may join me for milk and cookies."
Marguerite laughed, and their ritual of bondage and milk and cookies began.
Stephens' next gift was a collection of kunai, Japanese throwing knives. He taught Nathanial to handle them with incredible accuracy. They practiced for hours, but Marguerite promptly turned him down when he asked to use her for a demonstration of his newly acquired throwing skills.
"No estoy loco," she said with conviction.
He knew she was not crazy, but he thought it odd that she reacted so vehemently. He would never hurt her. His unusual bond with these two adults changed his world. They accepted him as he was.
He attended college shortly after his sixteenth birthday and began learning about the complexities of human nature. Outside of his studies, he watched the mannerisms and intricacies of relationships, trying to understand society's need for interaction.
At twenty-one, and only a few months away from earning a master's degree in bioinformatics, his parents died in an automobile crash. He never quite understood the concept of death. In his early college years, he took classes on religion and metaphysical analysis to try to gain insight into something that made no sense. His curiosities about death went unanswered until the finality of his parents' passing. He experienced grief for the first time and their loss created a need he did not understand.
Nathanial finished college and then made a life-altering decision. He always admired Stephens' military training and without a backward glance at his many job offers, he joined the Marines. The structure formed a world in which Nathanial excelled with little effort. His accuracy with any and all weapons placed him in the sights of the military elite. His standoffish behavior became a commodity. He was twenty-three when he killed for the first time. He settled the feelings surrounding that death in the far reaches of his mind. The man had murdered innocents and needed to die.
His participation in the BDSM community evolved through his quest for sexual gratification with as little human contact as possible. He became known for his artistic rope work and allowed several photographs of his designs. He examined the pictures, but they left him cold because they did not convey the correct precision of his work. He built a studio in his childhood home and started controlling all aspects of his gift.
Through his BDSM club associations, he was introduced to Mistress Melody Charles, a world-renowned photographer. Though more than fifteen years his senior, she became his first long-term lover. A kinky switch, she taught Nathanial a more diverse dominant roll.
She got along with Stephens and Marguerite, scheduled models, and when their relationship shifted more to friendship, she found male and female submissives that interacted within the confines of Nathanial's needs.
Years later, he rescued Zachery and yearned for something he never before desired. Maybe it was seeing Zachery bound in a tangle of messy rope work or the look in Zachery's eyes as he waited for death. The young soldier made Nathanial crave that elusive bond that was stronger than rope... love.
Through Zachery, Nathanial found Angel, and for the first time he had a family that accepted him as he was. Now, after one kiss, Nathanial realized he may have changed their dynamic forever, and he feared things would never return to the way they once were. Nathanial pulled Angel closer, trying to shake his troubled thoughts from his mind. He had no idea how to fix it however even if he did, he had to go away.
Hours later, he felt the bed dip as Zachery joined them. Angel's body shifted slightly away, but Monroe held on. Zachery's leg settled between hers, and Monroe finally closed his eyes and let the world drift away.
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