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About Traditional Art / Hobbyist Ed Storm29/Male/United States Group :iconcaptive-centrale: Captive-Centrale
Bound, gagged, and no escape!
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EdStorm
Ed Storm
Artist | Hobbyist | Traditional Art
United States
I am eloquent in all internet occasions requiring a black tie, and always accompany my snobbery with a strong undercurrent of self-deprecation. I love over-the-top DiD bondage with thick strokes of humor, as well as said gargantuan chunks of hilarity by themselves. I love weird fiction, heavy metal, folk music and mythology. I'll drink a beer with anyone here as long as the fire is one to admire, and I typically start rhyming far too late in a paragraph to look as clever as I'd like. I inject 3000 mg of whimsy into my orange juice every morning and spend the rest of the day snorting derisively at anything remotely ironic or sad.

Are you still reading this?

Fine, go look at the pretty pictures.

-Ed

COMMISSION STATUS------
as of 10 May 2014

CLOSED
Interests
I came across this little bit of interesting-ness in my internet wanderings today. Frances McDormand talks (and, interestingly, mmphs) a bit about being a feminist and being bound and gagged in 'Darkman'. What she has to say may surprise you.

www.usatoday.com/videos/life/m…

I've had problems recently embracing the damsel. Lots of personal circumstances make this so, but at the end of the day I think it's also due to a fundamental creative problem with writing a story just to get its female characters tied up. Which, at the end of the day, is what DiD is really all about. As I get older I find I'm looking a lot less for kicks and a lot more for substance. In short, I think this fetish which has been a constant throughout my life is on the wane. It's still here - indeed, I don't think it'll ever be gone - but I think it has become ingrained in the everyday routine.

If, like most seem to agree, your love for DiD began early in childhood - as mine did - you'll remember very easily and clearly what it was like to experience that strange attraction. Indeed, it's easier to remember that than most other things about childhood. In the early '90s, the internet wasn't in every home yet, and when it was accessed it was generally under parental supervision for young children. I don't think I even saw an internet page until I was about ten. If you wanted a particular movie you had to rent or buy it, and as far as I can recall, most TV shows weren't even available to own. If you were hoping to watch something you didn't have, you had to check TV Guide or the newspaper for it.

Am I really going all 'when I was your age...' on you? I'm not even 30 yet.

The point of the above is that DiD scenes just weren't something you saw every day back then, especially if you were a kid. They were rare, popping up seemingly out of nowhere in a brand new movie or TV show you hadn't seen before - and once they were there, you were riveted. I recall many times being rapt with an embarrassed fascination on the face of a gagged heroine on the screen, simultaneously trying to memorize every detail and circumstance of what was happening to her, and also trying to appear like I wasn't abnormally interested - after all, and I still don't know how or why I was able to determine this, but it was very clear that my fascination was not shared by others around me, and that talking about it would reveal me as some sort of mental case.

It was that rarity that made it truly special. With access to only a scant few instances of your fascination, most of the appreciation of it had to happen internally, secretly, ruminating on the select damsels you had witnessed up to that point, and becoming obsessed with a new scene whenever you had the fortune to see one. After a while, you begin to recognize the tell-tale signs that damselization is a possibility for a character you're watching - she's too snoopy, headstrong, looks before she leaps; she sneaks into the badguy's lair alone, she digs through files she's not supposed to dig through, she insists to her concerned friends that she can take care of herself, not to worry about her. When she's caught, she's likely to turn around, surprised, to see the villains looking at her with a smile, telling her they really wish she hadn't gone and snooped around. If you were very lucky, her investigation would end with a hand clamped over her mouth. More often than not, though, there was only the implication, before a big reveal later on - here she is, hero, our bargaining chip. Now do as we say and the worst that will happen to her will be the stinging sensation when she peels the tape off her mouth later on.

I remember being in my bedroom and hearing the characteristic female mmphs from out in the living room, and having to try and explain to my parents, who had the ending DiD scene of Universal Soldier on TV while they idly folded laundry or did paperwork, why I had suddenly run out of my room to see what was on TV. I don't remember what I told them. But I remember that scene.

With internet access later on came an introduction to the DiD community, and the voluminous collections of those who had come before me into this strange world. Suddenly I was flooded with screencaps, pouring over websites like Raffish DiDClips, Origpooh's Gagged Damsels, XO DiDs, and countless others, utterly immersed and drowning in a commodity that I had previously experienced only a few times a year, in the odd movie/TV show or in the really, really lucky instance when some girl at school got a hand slapped on her mouth for about to reveal her friend's crush, or some such thing.

For years I swam through this world, absorbing all the content I could, and creating the circumstances and characters that would one day come to life in the stories I've shared here and elsewhere. Sometime during this, however, maybe around the time I actually snagged a partner with which to indulge this, my focus began to shift. Less DiD, more bondage. Not so many TV shows or movies, more studios specifically set up to bind and gag women. Razor-thin plot, no acting, no real empathy for the damsels. Not even damsels - models. Latex, nudity, ballgags, armbinders taking the place of the everyday woman who gets roped or taped up out of some bad guy's necessity. Instant, direct gratification instead of a great, immersive reward after days, week, maybe months of patience. It's like talking to a waitress at Hooter's compared to actually being on a date with an interesting woman. Both are enjoyable, but only one of them might mean the world to you later on.

With smartphones and apps like Tumblr or Flickr, sites like FetLife or Blogspot or, yes, even deviantArt, you can have a flood of bound women in the palm of your hand at any time, any place. Enough to fill up a small SD card in a day if you were to go at it non-stop. Damsels of every type, appearance, every style of binding. Just search and in under a minute, you will find. Who needs to imagine when you can just HAVE?

And this brought me to something that only occurred to me halfway through this journal - I forgot to mention that another source of DiD indulgence in youth is your own imagination. As your attraction to the opposite sex begins to really set in, you start to imagine the cute girl at school, and, years later, at work,  bound up like the women you saw in TV and movies. Maybe you even had the good fortune to play tie-up games or handgag a female friend. I didn't, not until late in high school. So for so much of my developing life, I had to rely on fantasy and imagination to do what it does best - provide what you don't, or can't, have.

There is the crux of the thing - my difficulty in writing and drawing DiD isn't that my imagination is broken; in fact, it's working better than ever to do the same thing it's always done - give me what I don't have. What's changed is that damsels in distress no longer fall into that category. That need is being satisfied outside of my head now. The damsels with which I've been enamored my whole life have become.... commonplace. A daily occurrence. In other words, not special. Without value.

I still have a Sabina tale and the second part of Possible Futures in the works. But, if I don't make changes, I really don't know how much longer I'll be able to force myself to do this. I still love stories from some of the writers here on dA, people who clearly care about their characters and don't appear to have suffered the same burnout that I have... but by and large it isn't the DiD scenes that do it for me anymore.

I would like to reverse this process, to be honest. I want to get back to the secretive fun and excitement this used to represent, when it was part of my own little world, away from everyone who didn't understand. I don't intend to deactivate my dA, because as I said, I still want to follow a lot of you for your writing/artistic endeavors. But I'm not really sure what other steps I should take. If any of you have encountered this same sort of difficulty, by all means, share with me what you might have done about it - or share what you do, how often you access this part of yourself, what you look at, etc. (I don't need the details on what you do WHILE you look at DiD, thank you very much). I'm on the track to leaving this behind me, but I'd rather salvage it, if I can.

Thanks all for reading, and listening.

-Ed

Activity


Dr. Sabina Bowen in: Happy New Year 2016!
It's been a sparse year, but a remarkable one in that I finally completed a long-running tale, the debut of my archaeologist damsel Dr. Sabina Bowen. In the interest of saying thanks to those readers that have stayed with me - as well as the desire to attempt my first 100% digital piece of art - I decided to have Sabina help me to "say" Happy New Year. Started this last night and finished this morning; digital is indeed a miracle for artists. Hoping I can work up some more this year.

A version of the pic without captions can be found in my Scrapbook, here: edstorm.deviantart.com/art/Sab…

-Ed
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Sabina NYE Drawing without captions
For those interested in Sabina without all the New Year's Eve fanfare; just taped up in Egypt. My first 100% digital work of art.
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I wonder who is crazier; the person who comes up with a wild idea, or the people who agree to go along with it.

I'm hoping to find an answer in going back over what's happened this evening. The story really starts about two weeks ago, during the most terrifying thing that's ever happened to me. But, you'll hear about that in a minute.

Tonight's weirdness began with the broken elevator in my friend Emilia's apartment building. As a result of that, I found myself huffing my way up seven flights of stairs in my black, below-the-ankle boots with 3 inch heels. Clack, clack, clack... echoing all the way up in that nerve-racking way stairwells have. The second-loudest noise was the swish of my black, wet-look leggings, followed by the jangling of my metal bracelets, small silver earrings, and the contents of my purse. The only things on me that didn't make noise were my long, white tank and the neat blonde ponytail falling down my back. I'd spent at least an hour on my makeup alone, deep red lipstick and black eyeliner with a hint of glitter.

Yes, the plan was to go to a club. How'd you guess?

By the time I huffed my way up and through the door onto the second floor hallway, I was ready for the first of what would hopefully be many, many drinks that evening. Cursing Emilia's name before I even reached the door (Bitchbetterbereadybitchbetterbeready), I flipped open my compact and took one last look at my painstakingly-made-up face, and smiled.

Oh yeah, I'm a hottie. I rolled my eyes and knocked on the door.

I heard Emilia's voice from within the apartment; it was muffled and far away, but it definitely said "Come in!" So in I went, not thinking at that point that I'd have any reason to just turn around and leave. Yeeeah.

Emilia's apartment was a bit of a mess - it was normally immaculate, but things had been shaken up a bit. My place was kinda the same, to be honest. Rough couple of weeks, like I said.

The girl herself was down the hall; I heard water running in the bathroom, and a pop station playing on her phone.

"Hey lady, you almost ready?" I called.

"Mmm-hmm!"

Emilia's normally a motormouth, but she was obviously putting on lipstick or something. (Funny how we always assume "or something" means something normal). She sounded chipper enough, anyway. My heels clacked me into the kitchen, where I opened her fridge to see what I could rustle up for pre-gaming. I slid a beer out of a six pack, opened it, and stood up to take a swig. As the fridge door swung closed, I heard Emilia coming down the hallway, and went to meet her.

I came around the corner from the kitchen, singing "Hey, sexy thing, how are you - " and stopped dead. The beer nearly slipped out of my hand.

Now, Emilia usually IS stop-in-your-tracks-gorgeous.  She towers over me at an even 6 feet, with a thin, snaky form and creamy pale skin. She has shining, almost grey eyes, set in a thin face with full lips that I would kill for. Her hair is straight and black with a dark blue bangs, and tonight she's got it up with the sharp strands of bangs falling down past her chin.

Oh, and she's got stretchy, shiny white tape over her fucking mouth.

"Emilia... who did this to you? Are they still here?"

She looked confused. She looked around the apartment with a mischievous glint in her eyes, and shrugged. Her tape gag crinkled a bit with a smile. It was completely form-fitting, covering her face from the bottom of her nose to just above the cliff of her chin, and stretching across both cheeks to end below the outside corner of each eye.

Now I was confused. "You... did this yourself?"

She nodded fast, excited. "Mmm-hmm!"

I looked around the room for a moment, before squeezing my eyes shut and almost whispering, "Why?"

She looked up, tapping her taped mouth with one finger and humming, as though indecisive: "Mmmmmm....wmll, M gmess M shmmld tmll ymm..."

"Can you please take the tape off of your mouth to explain?"

She rolled her eyes. "Mh, mkmy." She began picking at one corner, and slowly peeled the stuff away from her face. I watched it hold its grip, but she didn't seem to be in pain. When I finally saw her mouth emerge from its adhesive prison, she was smiling.

"Okay, crazy lady, what's going on here?"

"Good to see you, too," she said, in that smoky voice of hers. Her eyelids looked heavy under grey shadow. I took a moment to look at the rest of her outfit - black tube top with sequin adornments running in a few vertical strips off to either side of her torso, and a dark, satiny blue pencil skirt above hose and black pumps. A small black choker on her neck with a silvery rose offset to one side. Yep, gorgeous. The only weird accessory had been the tape.

"So, I was thinking about a couple weeks ago - you look freakin' hot, by the way!"

"Yeah yeah, thanks, get on with it," I said, crossing my arms.

"Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, when we got caught up in the stupid bank robbery. What with talking to the police and media and everything, I can't get it out of my mind."

"That's what tonight is supposed to be about, Emilia. Going out and having a good time and trying to forget about it for a while."

"I know, but I can't. I couldn't shake that feeling of being totally helpless when that guy tied us up. So, just as a way to kind of reclaim control over the experience, I decided to slap some tape on my mouth again. I got this microfoam stuff, it's pretty nice. I put some on, then looked at my face in the mirror, and I started doing makeup around it. Then my whole outfit. And it dawned on me that this was going to be perfect for going to the club!"

You could have heard a cricket drop a pin.

"Emilia, I think you need to talk to a therapist."

"Who do you think suggested I reclaim the experience?"

"Exactly what therapist have you been talking to? Do I really have to explain why you shouldn't go to the club with your mouth taped shut?"

"No. But I'll bet you're wondering about my reasons for why we should."

"Actually, I'm - WE?!" I almost shouted. "You expect me to put that stuff on my mouth?"

"No way," Emilia said, looking slightly confused. "I'll put it on you. It's hard to get it perfectly straight on your own, believe me."

"What is this? Do you WANT us to get captured again?"

"How would we get captured? We'll be in a room full of people!"

"With our freaking mouths taped shut, Emilia!" I said, scarcely able to believe I has having to persuade one of my best friends to not gift-wrap ourselves for the first weirdo who saw us on the street.

"Stacy, think about it," she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. "Clubs are full of young, smoking hot women bumping and grinding all over each other. That's us, but we'll be the only ones doing it with our mouths all taped up. There are going to be a LOT of people keeping an eye on us all night long!"

"That's kinda what I'm afraid of," I said, wearing the sort of smile you put on your face when talking with a person who has terminally lost it. "Aren't there enough creeps out there every night?"

"Yes, there are, and now you don't have to think of anything to say to them; you won't be able to say anything! And, as an added bonus, there's no point even buying a drink that someone could potentially drug."

I gave an exasperated laugh. "It's bad enough you want me to go out into the world with KIDNAP ME written on my face, but now you don't want me to drink either."

Her face screwed up in confusion. "I wasn't going to write anything on the tape. I did think about putting lipstick on it, though..."

"You have officially gone bonkers, Emilia. I have lipstick, thank you, and I spent quite a long time putting it and the rest of my makeup on. I don't intend to ruin it just to 'reclaim the experience.'"

"Look, I promise, once you get it on, and get a look at yourself in it, you'll change your mind."

"No, I definitely won't, because I'm not wearing a gag out to a club."

"Stace, come on, don't make me do this without you! The other girls will be here soon, I don't have time to start putting on any more makeup! Please? For me?"

Now she looked pitiful, like she had when we got caught up in the robbery. A twinge of sympathy - and possibly also some latent mental illness - made me turn the idea over. I tried to shake it from my head.

"What are the other girls going to say about this?"

"Not a thing," she said, with a wry smile. "I talked to them already. They're behind us 100%."

"No, they're not, because there is no 'us.' I'm not doing it. I'm sorry."

Now a different look came over her face. It was hard to read, but it seemed somehow distant, and cold. She said, "I think you're going to change your mind."

Emilia is the better part of a foot taller than I am, and very fit. Though I found it hard to imagine her doing it, I realized that, if she decided to force the issue, I would almost certainly wind up mumbling into that stretchy white tape in no time. Her pleas had also cracked the shell of my defenses; if I stuck around, signs were pointing toward my being unable to talk for the rest of the night.

"I think I need to go," I said. I turned toward the door, my legs quivering from the stress of climbing the stairs and the nerves of opposing my gag-happy friend. It turned out, I had no idea just how enthusiastic she'd gotten.

I heard a soft peeling noise, and sensed movement, but she was faster than I anticipated. I saw a flash of white come down in front of my eyes, then Emilia pulled the stretchy, sticky stuff TIGHT over the lower half of my face. There was no tearing noise - bitch must have had a piece ready for me, stuck to her butt or something where I couldn't see it!

I spun around, and she grabbed my wrists and held them before me. But not like an assailant - more like a friend who had just introduced her bestie to the perfect fashion accessory. I didn't fight; I froze, wide-eyed.

"Whffa fmck, Emmlim?"

"Well, sorry about your makeup. Like i said, there's no time to fix it now," she said, hopping with excitement. "But I have to say, you look even cuter than I expected!"

"M cmn't bmlmmve M - Rmmlly?" I heard myself mumble. That's right - in spite of myself, I was still intrigued.

"Yes, really!" she said, pulling me down the hallway to her bathroom, where the sink was cluttered with makeup and a big, wide roll of tape. "Take a look!"

I was stunned. I have a small, round face with prominent bone structure - my family is German, after all - and the huge strip of tape actually complimented me very well. I'm smaller than Emilia, as I've established, so the tape actually would have reached all the way to the underside of my chin, had it not bunched up from Emilia's surprise attack. It made my eyes look more expressive, somehow wider, and gave me the impression of having a pretty cute little button nose.

I turned my face this way and that, with a curious "Hmm!" and suddenly heard myself release a small squeal of satisfied delight. Remaining gagged suddenly didn't seem too unpleasant a prospect, other than being unable to talk. What the hell, I prefer texting anyway.

Was being taken hostage turning out to be a sort of blessing in disguise? To think of all the time women spend worrying over our lips, when we could just slap on a slip of tape and head out for the day! There certainly wouldn't be any point to our friends and co-workers asking for a coherent explanation, either.

Emilia was behind me, her hands over her face with excitement. "Oh my God. Do you like it, too?"

With a sigh through my nose, I had to admit it. "M gmess ymm wmrm rmght, mftmr mll!" I laughed a little when I heard myself.

"This is so cool! But we've gotta get a new piece on you. That one's all wrinkled, and it doesn't stick so well once it's been unstuck. The makeup you had on will make it less sticky, too."

She peeled it off, slowly, then started preparing a new one, even longer than before. It was going to swallow half of my face. I laughed, nervous.

"This is so crazy. I can't believe I'm doing this."

"I know, right?" she cut the strip free, then took it in both hands. "So, any last words for the night?"

"Yeah," I said. "I wonder which of us is crazier; you for coming up with this idea, or me for agreeing to it."

"Well, wonder away," she said, moving the strip toward my face. "You can let me know if you figure it out tomorrow, when you're allowed to talk again!"

With it going on slower this time, I discovered - to my fluttery-eyed surprise - that my warm lips and face felt the cold press of the adhesive strip to be something of a relief. As Emilia smoothed the tape out over my mouth, I realized she was right about me "not being allowed" to talk anymore - there was no backing out. My makeup was assuredly fucked, and there wouldn't be time to fix it. I figuratively, and literally, no longer had any say in how the evening went. Emilia was in control - until she got gagged again.

She confirmed this for me, too. "I'm not bringing any extra tape with us, by the way," she said, preparing another strip for herself. "And since this stuff doesn't stick so well a second time, if you want to stay looking good, I'm afraid you'll have to leave that one on."

I ran my hands over the delightful smoothness of my gag as I watched Emilia lean in close to her mirror and carefully apply her own again. No sooner had she done so, than the doorbell rang.

My heart jumped. Emilia grabbed my hand and led me out into the living room. Our entire circle of female friends was here - what were they going to say?

Oh well, I thought. At least I don't have to worry about explaining myself!

Emilia opened the door, and we were bowled over with an excited, singsong greeting. And I realized, Emilia hadn't been kidding. She had talked to them all before. And they weren't going to say a single thing about our perfect accessories.

One by one, our club companions for the night trod into the room in their slim, skimpy club outfits and clacking heels. One by one, they gave us hugs, and affectionate, giggling kisses. But we didn't exchange a word of pleasantries.

Because every single girl Emilia had invited had shown up to her door with her mouth sealed beneath a wide, white strip of stretchy tape.

With a triumphant mumble, Emilia pointed the way out - out into the night, and the unknown.
The Perfect Accessory
This odd little bit began as an attempt to borrow :icongolavus:'s short-short story format "Damsel Dilemmas," but it turned about a little over 1000 words too long.

I'm not convinced it's up to par for my fiction - to me it feels about as sophisticated as the typical teenage boy's fantasy about what girls do at slumber parties - but it was fun to write, and what with seeing the sheer volume of new bondage-themed material that floods my notifications every day, I felt I should contribute SOMETHING. 

...doubts aside, though, I really love the idea of gags as fashion accessories. Ladies, make it happen! Let's hear your voices! Er.... nevermind.

-Ed
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I came across this little bit of interesting-ness in my internet wanderings today. Frances McDormand talks (and, interestingly, mmphs) a bit about being a feminist and being bound and gagged in 'Darkman'. What she has to say may surprise you.

www.usatoday.com/videos/life/m…

I've had problems recently embracing the damsel. Lots of personal circumstances make this so, but at the end of the day I think it's also due to a fundamental creative problem with writing a story just to get its female characters tied up. Which, at the end of the day, is what DiD is really all about. As I get older I find I'm looking a lot less for kicks and a lot more for substance. In short, I think this fetish which has been a constant throughout my life is on the wane. It's still here - indeed, I don't think it'll ever be gone - but I think it has become ingrained in the everyday routine.

If, like most seem to agree, your love for DiD began early in childhood - as mine did - you'll remember very easily and clearly what it was like to experience that strange attraction. Indeed, it's easier to remember that than most other things about childhood. In the early '90s, the internet wasn't in every home yet, and when it was accessed it was generally under parental supervision for young children. I don't think I even saw an internet page until I was about ten. If you wanted a particular movie you had to rent or buy it, and as far as I can recall, most TV shows weren't even available to own. If you were hoping to watch something you didn't have, you had to check TV Guide or the newspaper for it.

Am I really going all 'when I was your age...' on you? I'm not even 30 yet.

The point of the above is that DiD scenes just weren't something you saw every day back then, especially if you were a kid. They were rare, popping up seemingly out of nowhere in a brand new movie or TV show you hadn't seen before - and once they were there, you were riveted. I recall many times being rapt with an embarrassed fascination on the face of a gagged heroine on the screen, simultaneously trying to memorize every detail and circumstance of what was happening to her, and also trying to appear like I wasn't abnormally interested - after all, and I still don't know how or why I was able to determine this, but it was very clear that my fascination was not shared by others around me, and that talking about it would reveal me as some sort of mental case.

It was that rarity that made it truly special. With access to only a scant few instances of your fascination, most of the appreciation of it had to happen internally, secretly, ruminating on the select damsels you had witnessed up to that point, and becoming obsessed with a new scene whenever you had the fortune to see one. After a while, you begin to recognize the tell-tale signs that damselization is a possibility for a character you're watching - she's too snoopy, headstrong, looks before she leaps; she sneaks into the badguy's lair alone, she digs through files she's not supposed to dig through, she insists to her concerned friends that she can take care of herself, not to worry about her. When she's caught, she's likely to turn around, surprised, to see the villains looking at her with a smile, telling her they really wish she hadn't gone and snooped around. If you were very lucky, her investigation would end with a hand clamped over her mouth. More often than not, though, there was only the implication, before a big reveal later on - here she is, hero, our bargaining chip. Now do as we say and the worst that will happen to her will be the stinging sensation when she peels the tape off her mouth later on.

I remember being in my bedroom and hearing the characteristic female mmphs from out in the living room, and having to try and explain to my parents, who had the ending DiD scene of Universal Soldier on TV while they idly folded laundry or did paperwork, why I had suddenly run out of my room to see what was on TV. I don't remember what I told them. But I remember that scene.

With internet access later on came an introduction to the DiD community, and the voluminous collections of those who had come before me into this strange world. Suddenly I was flooded with screencaps, pouring over websites like Raffish DiDClips, Origpooh's Gagged Damsels, XO DiDs, and countless others, utterly immersed and drowning in a commodity that I had previously experienced only a few times a year, in the odd movie/TV show or in the really, really lucky instance when some girl at school got a hand slapped on her mouth for about to reveal her friend's crush, or some such thing.

For years I swam through this world, absorbing all the content I could, and creating the circumstances and characters that would one day come to life in the stories I've shared here and elsewhere. Sometime during this, however, maybe around the time I actually snagged a partner with which to indulge this, my focus began to shift. Less DiD, more bondage. Not so many TV shows or movies, more studios specifically set up to bind and gag women. Razor-thin plot, no acting, no real empathy for the damsels. Not even damsels - models. Latex, nudity, ballgags, armbinders taking the place of the everyday woman who gets roped or taped up out of some bad guy's necessity. Instant, direct gratification instead of a great, immersive reward after days, week, maybe months of patience. It's like talking to a waitress at Hooter's compared to actually being on a date with an interesting woman. Both are enjoyable, but only one of them might mean the world to you later on.

With smartphones and apps like Tumblr or Flickr, sites like FetLife or Blogspot or, yes, even deviantArt, you can have a flood of bound women in the palm of your hand at any time, any place. Enough to fill up a small SD card in a day if you were to go at it non-stop. Damsels of every type, appearance, every style of binding. Just search and in under a minute, you will find. Who needs to imagine when you can just HAVE?

And this brought me to something that only occurred to me halfway through this journal - I forgot to mention that another source of DiD indulgence in youth is your own imagination. As your attraction to the opposite sex begins to really set in, you start to imagine the cute girl at school, and, years later, at work,  bound up like the women you saw in TV and movies. Maybe you even had the good fortune to play tie-up games or handgag a female friend. I didn't, not until late in high school. So for so much of my developing life, I had to rely on fantasy and imagination to do what it does best - provide what you don't, or can't, have.

There is the crux of the thing - my difficulty in writing and drawing DiD isn't that my imagination is broken; in fact, it's working better than ever to do the same thing it's always done - give me what I don't have. What's changed is that damsels in distress no longer fall into that category. That need is being satisfied outside of my head now. The damsels with which I've been enamored my whole life have become.... commonplace. A daily occurrence. In other words, not special. Without value.

I still have a Sabina tale and the second part of Possible Futures in the works. But, if I don't make changes, I really don't know how much longer I'll be able to force myself to do this. I still love stories from some of the writers here on dA, people who clearly care about their characters and don't appear to have suffered the same burnout that I have... but by and large it isn't the DiD scenes that do it for me anymore.

I would like to reverse this process, to be honest. I want to get back to the secretive fun and excitement this used to represent, when it was part of my own little world, away from everyone who didn't understand. I don't intend to deactivate my dA, because as I said, I still want to follow a lot of you for your writing/artistic endeavors. But I'm not really sure what other steps I should take. If any of you have encountered this same sort of difficulty, by all means, share with me what you might have done about it - or share what you do, how often you access this part of yourself, what you look at, etc. (I don't need the details on what you do WHILE you look at DiD, thank you very much). I'm on the track to leaving this behind me, but I'd rather salvage it, if I can.

Thanks all for reading, and listening.

-Ed
Sketch Girl
Did this about a month or so ago in my big sketch pad. Forgot all about her, poor thing.
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:iconultimate-psycho:
Ultimate-Psycho Featured By Owner Dec 19, 2015  Hobbyist Photographer
:iconthankuplz:
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Rob66 Featured By Owner Edited Nov 11, 2015
Thanks for faving my latest story, Moonlighting with Aly.  I hope you enjoy it! It was so much fun to write :) (Smile)
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:icondreamerforever2004:
Happy Birthday Ed! :)
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literfull12 Featured By Owner Aug 23, 2015  Hobbyist Writer
Thanks for the fave! :)
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carmag34 Featured By Owner Aug 11, 2015
thanks for faving :)
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dawagurbux Featured By Owner Dec 30, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the :+fav:!
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Golavus Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2014
Happy Birthday. Will be completing your present/prize by the end of the weekend
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ThePhoenixKing Featured By Owner Nov 8, 2014
Happy birthday! All the best!
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Ultimate-Psycho Featured By Owner Oct 17, 2014  Hobbyist Photographer
:iconthanksforfav-fmr0:
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st-stiefel Featured By Owner Aug 31, 2014  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thank you for the fav.
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