Nureki Chimuo Archive

Looking at the sixty small, business card sized black and white photographs published in “Yoriki, Doshin, Jitte Torinawa” makes me feel an overwhelming lust. Seeing photos of fresh-faced, seemingly innocent young women, who don’t look like professionals, with their arms placed behind their backs, wrists crossed and bound together with rope, warms my blood, makes my heart race, and, embarrassingly, causes an erection. I get so aroused I can barely stand it. I truly am a rope fetishist. However, this method of binding the wrists is actually quite loose, lacking a tight, restrained feel. It’s a type of tying I find deeply unsatisfying. One could say it’s full of dissatisfaction. Overall, it just doesn’t have enough tension. But I feel it. She makes me feel it. That young girl’s anxious looking, terrified-seeming, startled expression, while trying to trust the doctor who tied her, that delicate scene is what I love. Nothing about it is fake. Current bondage photographers are too forced. They don’t even understand the essence of SM, yet they try to create everything themselves. They’re consumed by notions like “this is SM” or “SM photography should be like this.” That is why their photos lack the appeal that excites fans. They chase only the form, losing the soul. The young woman isn’t faking at all. She isn’t acting. Only her soul is being expressed. The idea that she’s dressed as a prisoner, for the doctor she deeply respects, obediently with her arms held behind her back while bound with rope, this scenario (which is only my fantasy) is amazingly good. Ahh, it sends shivers down my spine. Art truly comes from the soul, not the form. The day after discovering this book, “Yoriki, Doshin, Jitte Torinawa,” I showed it to a young editor at a certain magazine, and with great enthusiasm said: “Hey, hey, you’ll like this, you can feel it. This photo!”

Then, that editor, let’s call him A-kun, turned the page with a bewildered look, “What are you feeling, exactly? Most of her body is covered by that white kimono. Only her face and wrists are exposed, aren’t they?” He had the nerve to say. Dammit! I should have known. I shouldn’t have shown this photo to such an idiot! I was hurt. I knew exactly what this editor would say, and I showed him the photo anyway. “I see. So in your imagination, it’s not bondage photography unless you show her breasts or crotch, huh?” “Of course it is. If we put such bland photos in our magazine, it will not sell.” “Is that so? Don’t you feel any allure in this photo?” I recall how this editor, on the set of a recent shoot, had inserted two thick vibrators into the model’s crotch, and one into her ass, telling the photographer to capture it. He boasted about it, calling it “Triple penetration.” A month before that, he had the photographer capture a scene where he spread the model’s labia with two clothespins while she was bound spread-eagle, pulling them apart with a string. The photographer became engrossed, “There, there, lift it up higher. Oh that’s it, I can see right into your womb. Yes!” He yelled non-stop and kept taking pictures. I find it amazing how young models can strike such an unnatural pose with such composure, not flinching at all, obediently, with a perfectly calm expression. But seeing labia pulled apart with clothespins? I don’t find that amazing. I don’t feel any eroticism either. Labia, after all, are just labia. Unless some human emotion stirs within it, the scent of eroticism will not emanate. Rather, the colors, the shapes, the very existence of the labia are all removed from the feeling of eroticism. In the photographs of “Ancient Rope-Tying Techniques,” the young woman is clad in a loose white prison robe, yet from the hidden cleft of her thighs beneath the robe, an eroticism steeped in shame emanates and feels the air. (I’m terribly sorry for my forward expression, but this is how I truly feel. Please, Doctor, forgive me and don’t be angry. There are people like me in the world, people with such foolish fantasies.) From the depths of the delicate body of the young woman bound hand and foot behind her back, I sense an aroma of intense eroticism wafting and flowing, more potent than a professional model standing naked with legs spread wide.

Rather than the sight of labia exposed, pinned open with clothespins, and forcibly pulled apart, the enthusiast (though not only the enthusiast, I suspect) feels eroticism in imagining the crotch hidden deep beneath the white robe. Even I, nearly eighty, find myself irresistibly aroused and overcome with lust. Enthusiasts are a breed, who given the slightest hint or clue, can expand their fantasies into such a dazzling array. That is the “talent” of the enthusiast. “Nureki Sensei, are you serious? You really get excited looking at this plain photo?” A-kun looked at me and said in disbelief. “Plain? Not at all. These are rich, vibrant that lavishly use time, space, and energy.” “Really? Do you really feel that way about this photo? You’re kidding, right Sensei? You’re just showing off, aren’t you?” “I’m not trying to look cool. Do you really think I need to start now?” “Hmm, is that so?” And yet, A-kun still doesn’t believe me. “Honestly, I get more excited, more aroused, more eager to jerk off looking at this tiny black-and-white photo than seeing a hundred books lined up in front of me filled with beautiful, full-color bondage photos exposing every inch of a naked woman’s body.” Of those 100 lavishly bound bondage photo collections filled with beautiful color photos, I was probably responsible for the “bondage” at the shoot for 90 of them. So what I am saying is contradictory. Noticing the contradiction in my words, A-kun looked at me with a half-amused, half-exasperated expression, “Sensei, you’re a pervert!” Those words surprised me even more. “Eh? What did you think I was? Just another normal, serious person you see everywhere?” “Not that I think it’s normal or anything…” Editing SM magazines is difficult these days. Bondage isn’t just for enthusiasts, so it’s tricky. SM, pseudo-SM, and mainstream erotic content, all must be included. After all, it’s a commercial magazine, and has to sell no matter what. A-kun has his own struggles. In today’s world, the most luxurious and enjoyable task is likely taking photographs like those of the “Ancient Rope-Tying Techniques” at a leisurely pace, with no deadlines.

Yes, tomorrow I’ll try tying the “East-Flowing Peasant’s Rope” while looking at the doctor’s book with Rakka-san. (I thought, and looked at the photo again.) Eh? Eh? Eh? Did officials really tie such elaborate, intricate knots on peasants who committed crimes during the Edo period? It’s hard to fathom. Was it really necessary to tie them in such a complicated and time consuming way? Honestly, I just can’t believe it. Really, if I’m not careful, it might take 30 minutes. But, let’s give it a try. Everything’s a learning experience. Still, before this “peasant rope” is completed, Rikka-san will probably faint halfway through and collapse sideways. (That pose of hers, too, is incredibly agonizing, charming and erotic, and I absolutely adore it…) I doubt she’ll be able to hold out until it’s finished. I doubt she’ll be able to stay upright…. She’s quite sensitive to ropes. As I mentioned last time, she’s not comfortable with photos, so I’ll report the results in writing. Whether the “peasant rope” works or not, it’s enjoyable either way, of course. What’s enjoyable isn’t the “completion” itself, but rather the “process” of it.