Kids

[Trigger Warning: This entry features a description of childhood sexual abuse.]


I love my niece. She's about to turn four this summer. She's a ball of energy: running, jumping, crashing into walls while cackling.

Today, before she, her parents and I headed out, I assisted her in putting on her socks and shoes. I grabbed the miniature footwear and fabric, as well at the tiny human they belonged to.

"Give me your foot," I said, my voice noticeably different, a higher pitched, younger, playful tone emitted from my lips. I slipped on one sock, then the other. I got both shoes on, and success; the child was shod and ready for the road.

As I worked, she clung to my arm, holding on like Tarzan swinging from a vine. I love every time I hug her. Kiss her face. Feel her strong compact little self next to me.

I want kids. I don't know if I'll ever have them, but I know I want them. It's a scary prospect, another human life that not only would I help to create, but then care for. Nurture. Make a home for. Assemble a life for.

When I look at Eve, I see this beautiful little miracle, this sweet (mostly) innocent (the eye roll still kills me) tiny human who I cannot even express how much I love.

But there is something else I see when I look on her beautiful face. I see me, when I was little.

I was about her age when it happened.

My Mom and I were visiting my aunt and my cousins. We did this often. My aunt and her kids lived near our house. My Mom and my aunt were in another room. I was in the bedroom with one of my cousins playing.

That day my cousin wanted to play a new game. I don't remember the name now. I'm glad of that.

She had me lie in the bed.  My clothes still on.   Under the covers. She got under the covers too. Got real close to me.

And then she started touching me. And I think kissing on me. And sucking on my neck. I don't remember her actually doing that part, but I know it happened. My Mom found a bruise, a hickey, on her four year old daughter's neck.

At a certain point, I don't remember when, I pushed my cousin off of me and ran out of the room. I ran into my aunt's bedroom. Found my Mom.

I don't remember going home. I don't remember going shopping. But I do remember jumping up and down on our bed (I still slept in the same bed with my Mom then). And I remember I was trying on clothes she'd bought. I remember her stopping me as I spoke gleefully. Her asking me where I got the bruise on my neck. Me telling her about my cousin and I playing.

The next thing I remember is being back at my aunt's apartment. Rushed right over I think. And my mother yelling at her sister.

I can't remember if it was my aunt who explained it, or if it was my cousin who told me, but the inspiration for her game was a daytime soap opera. My six or seven year old cousin was just imitating what she saw on TV.

My mother never mentions that day. We don't talk about it. I don't think we've ever spoken about it since it happened.

My aunt wonders why I don't like her. She's said as much to my mother. I can't point to that incident as the deciding factor. My aunt is emotionally needy and occasionally emotionally abusive towards my mother, not to mention craves my acceptance though I cannot understand why. Those things, more than her ignorance as a parent, make her less than appealing to me.

This life is not easy. Or fair. Or kind. When I look at my niece, I see innocence. I see happiness. And hope. And possibility.  I see someone I would protect with my own life.

For now, she doesn't know all the bad things that could happen to her. Eventually, she will. But, for now, I like teaching her about coins. And watching Wreck It Ralph with her. And helping her put on her shoes.

I get why parents want to stop time. To savor this moment forever. Because it's the loss of that hope, that joy, that innocence gone, that means their kids aren't kids anymore.

Sternum

It all started Saturday night...


"Move your hands. Move your fucking hands."
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"I'm going to punch you in your chest. Twice. If your hands get in the way, I will punch you more. If you take the two punches, that will be it for your sternum. Can you do that? Or do you want me to keep punching your sternum?"
"I can. I can do it."
"Okay."

I held his other arm. The one not going to punch me. The one resting on my chest. He reared back. Landed his blow. I sobbed, and prepared again.

"One more."

He reared back. Struck harder. I sobbed harder.

"Good girl. Such a good girl."


Then came Sunday morning...

"Go ahead and partner up if you want to practice this."

I looked back at him. A few head nods later and I was on my back as he hovered over me. Scott went over how you would initially look for signs of injury in someone. The head. The spine. The chest.

As I laid there, I remembered FrozenMeursault already knew this stuff. It was a part of his job. As Scott continued to talk, my partner sat beside me, not taking any notes. Instead, he got comfortable, leaning his elbow onto my sternum and resting his head in his hand. I started to screeched.

"Sh, we're in class."


And then there was after lunch...

Dragon needed a partner for two classes. I wanted to be in rope. And he'd tied me before. So I volunteered to be his rope bottom.

Our first class was Newaza to Fly. I found my happy place in his ropes. Our second class was Thinking Rope. Dragon worked on breaking down his TK and figuring out all the ways to make his tie better.

Once, during a slight lull in the class, he remembered where I'd been attacked the night before. And that morning. And now, by him. He fashioned a different TK, with shoulder straps that crossed right over my sternum. The fit was tight. It hurt like a bitch. He smiled.

But wait; there's more...

At the end of Thinking Rope, people gravitated either out of the class or towards WykdDave & Clover.

Rough happened to look back on me as I was chatting about my day.

"People keep attacking my sternum. Every time I mention that I was hurt or show off my bruises, my friends, who are Sadists... Want. To. Hurt. Me. Why did I open my mouth?"

I saw the look in his eyes. The devilish glee. He crept towards me. I knew what was about to happen.

"Shit."

One hand went to my hair. The other formed a fist. Went for my chest. Burried his knuckles into my sternum. I wiggled. I tried to get away. I screamed.

"Why are you screaming," he whispered into my ear. "We are in class."
"I couldn't help it. My lizard brain kicked in."
"We are humans. You can overcome your lizard brain. Be a big girl and not scream."

He dug his hand in again. I didn't wriggled this time. I took his pain. My muscles convulsed. My mouth stretched open. My eyes pursed shut. But I didn't scream.

"Now that's a big girl."

I heard the evil grin in his voice.


Not done yet...

"How are you doing?"
"I can't tell you because you'll hurt me."

I was walking from class. It wasn't five minutes later. I was going to meet up with people for pizza. I thought I was safe.

But then, somehow, Gray and Spicey were in front of me. And Gray asked that question. And I can't lie to him.

They both stopped. My arms instinctively crossed in front of my chest.

"Everytime I tell people about how my sternum keeps getting targeted, they all hurt me."

I whimpered my explanation. I'm sure it was like evil candy to his sadistic ears.

"Put your arms down," said Gray. I did.

"Open your jacket." I parted the fabric. My chest was on full display.

I saw his hand come close. I prepared for the blow. I flinched as he only slightly tapped my sternum.

"What's been happening to her?" asked Spicey.
"People have been giving her sternal rubs."
"Where's the sternum?"
"This. See this. Right here."
"That?"
"Yes, that. That is the sternum. That right there."

They both jammed their fingers into the center of my chest. I whimpered through my pain.

Spicey's anatomy lesson done, we headed upstairs.

"My friends keep hurting me."
"You know, if you didn't say anything, it wouldn't happen."
"I can't help it. It's in my nature."


Yup, again...

I sat on the couch, waiting for people to show up for pizza. Nomad sat beside me. I was happy she was there.

"I keep getting hurt. People keep attacking my chest. It's been, like, six people now."

I looked to my right.

"Shit. Ava. I forgot. You're a switch."

I saw the look in her eye. Knew what was in store for me.

She scooted closer. Pushed her fingers into my sternum.

It was the lobby. There is no play in the lobby. My face contorted. My body shook. But I didn't scream.

"If you'll let me make you shiver and shake like that, I'll fuck you."


My chest was given a reprieve for the evening, but not for the rest of my visit...

It was time to go. The Closing Ceremony had ended. Rope given away. Money donated to charity. Time for the goodbyes.

I spoke to Dov, who I'd barely seen during my weekend. I started bragging about my bruises. After he said he wouldn't hurt me.

I showed him my thighs. My arms. And then, my sternum.

"You have no idea how hard it is for me to not hurt you right now. Just give me one."
"Oh, okay. Since you asked."

I braced myself. He held his hand flat, parrallel to my chest. He bent his middle finger. Readying the knuckle. He swung back. Then forward. Connecting in the center of my chest.

"And, because it's the sternum, I don't have to hit you again for symmertry."

Thankfully.


And now, the last...

Our gradual exit from the ballroom crept like a snail up a tree.

Rough looked at me. And remembered. And stuck out his pinky finger.

"Oh god."
"It's just my pinky."
"Yes, but your pinky is mighty."

He came in close. Leaned forward. Drove his nail into my chest. Twisted one way. Then the other.

I scrunched my face. Splayed open my mouth. But again, I didn't scream.

"Good girl," he said, putting his digital weapon away.

He hugged me bye, one of many that afternoon.

I took a picture of my chest the morning after I got home. The bruise, because I proved that yes you can get a bruise on your sternum, looked kind of like a heart. Sweet, and fitting, for my Shibaricon adventure.

Grue-p Dynamics

Ok, looks like we will have room for you. :)

It felt like an enclave. No, a kinky commune. No, a kinky family reunion.

We woke up together. Got ready at the same time. Drank our respective morning drinks. Shoveled loads of food and supplies into cars. Carpooled to our destination. Worked together to make the Grue run smoothly.

Went to dinner together. Came back to the AfterGrue with each other. At the end of the night, cleaned up. Closed the building.

Made our way back home. For during that weekend the house was all our home. Crashed and went to bed at the same time.

Got up again at the same time. Rode to pancakes. And then we started our parting.

For a weekend, I shared a home with six other people. I felt welcomed, cared for, by the kinksters around me. By TwistedView and K2, who opened up their home to us. And by those who shared the domicile with me. We broke bread together, shared space, laughed and chatted. We were in and among one another.

There is a certain type of euphoria in the midst of an event. I get that. But I loved this more. Not only did we attend the Grue together, we shared almost all parts of our lives for a weekend. I loved the morning hustle, the ordered chaos, as much as the presentations and play that would follow.

I loved the warm honey water. Listening to a Katt Williams sound clip. Cookies fresh out of the oven. Sitting around the kitchen island for an hour, or just the ten minutes before we had to run out.

I loved being a part of this temporary family unit, only for a weekend, but immersed in care and love.

Connection

It had been months since I was in someone else's rope. I came to the party knowing I wanted that experience, knowing I wanted to be tied, but not sure how I would get it (or even if I could).

But then, life working as it does, I began speaking with a rigger friend. As we chatted, it occurred to me, Hey, maybe we could play.

I asked politely and they accepted.

It would not be a D/s scene, as they were submissive, but they could service top. This was fine with me; I just wanted to be in rope.

I stripped down to my underwear, stretched, took down my hair, took off my necklace, and we began.

They started with a TK, making it quite tight to accomplish their intended goal. They secured the chest harness to the rig above, cinching me up a bit. Next they added hair bondage, playing with my mass of curls. Then they included my favorite part of their tie: a blind fold graced my face. After the gift of darkness, they attached a cuff to my right ankle and lifted my leg.

As they worked, we chatted at times. They asked me how I felt, checked my hands often, but also worked with an efficiancy that I admired. I fell into my rope space, wanting to show them affection and appreciation for their time, nuzzling my head or brushing a finger against them.

With my one leg lifted, they stepped away for but a moment. And then I felt the kick. They smacked my left leg with their foot, testing to see if I would fall. They tried to buckle my leg a few times. I giggled, their kicks not very malicious, and held strong.

Then more rope graced my body, wrapping around my left thigh and rising my leg into the air. I rested my weight into my chest tie, felt my body move, felt how I could adjust pressure here and there in the ropes with my being lifted into the air.

I'd never been rigged in that way before. It was somewhat challeging, but mostly fun and different. I loved the feel of the constriction across my chest, the pull of the rope in my hair, the way my body swayed in this position in the air.

Freeing the rope attached to my hair from their ring, they wrapped the rope around my mouth, creating a gag. They gave me a little spin, first wrapping it on, and then unwrapping the rope from my mouth.

It was then time to come down. As per my request, they left the blindfold on as they lowered me to the ground. With almost all the rope off of me, we sat under the rig for about ten minutes, cuddling and chatting, my eyes still shadowed.

It wasn't that I had forgotten the feeling of the connection between rigger and bottom. In fact, it wasn't til we were on the floor that I realized indeed how much I had missed the connection.

Our time wasn't D/s, though that is something I love. There wasn't impact or sexual play, though I adored that type of interaction. With my friend, that was not what our time was about. It was me and another relating through this medium, getting to know each other in this way, an introduction of how we could be in this moment.

Yes, I want a Dom. Yes, I want a Daddy. No, this friend cannot be that.

But, for me, for that evening, for that time spent connected with my friend, what we had in those moments was enough.

Driving the Lamborghini

I had a reality check from a friend recently. As some of you may or may not know, I was featured in a documentary. Due to the wackiness that is my current life at times, I still have not seen it, even though it aired over a week ago and has already had a repeat showing.

But me seeing the show is not the point of this entry.

The point is how my friend, who did see the show, reacted to my section in it. They were proud of me, of how I held myself in the interview section, of how poised and eloquent I was in answering some tough questions surrounding kink, race, and feminism.

Not only did they greatly enjoy the time I was featured in the documentary, others who I also respect gave me praise via Twitter. The night the show aired, even though I was getting pretty sick, I still felt pretty awesome.

But here comes the rub.

In my friend's email, they praised me, but they also chided me. In their opinion, my current life was the equivalent of a person driving a Lamborghini to the grocery store and back, fearful that they'd get into an accident if they really took their vehicle out for a ride.

My friend feels I am not pushing myself to do better, be better, in my chosen profession. They rightly pointed out my level of intelligence far exceeds the needs of my current field.

I am, often, the most intelligent person in my group of work colleagues. I didn't really take note of it before, didn't really care unless someone was being ridiculously ignorant because, for me, all that mattered was getting the job done quickly and efficiently and going the fuck home.

But there have been times when it has stuck out like a sore thumb, needling me in the back of my mind. Why am I doing this? Why am I here? Yes, I do this for the money, but I could be, shouldn't I be, doing something else? Something more challenging? Something more profound?

Ever since my friend challenged me to think beyond my current circumstance, to envision a more challenging life, a harder life, but a more fulfilling life, I haven't been able to keep my mind from tumbling.

The problem I'm currently faced with, the issue that really keeps my brain working, is the what. What should I do? What do I want to do? What can I become? What do I want to become? What?

Some ideas that have floated in my whirlpool of neurons seem so daunting.

I could become a doctor. Like my father. But not like my father. I'd want to be an abortionist. I'd want to help women, to do the hardest thing possible because it seems very few others are willing.

But that's ten to fifteen years of my life. And that's a highly uncertain future. And so much money and time.

And what if it isn't what would make me happy? What if doesn't give me a fulfilling life? What if it is just a dream from a feminist who sees the horrors of misogyny and religious views being thrust down women's throats, and it is the hope of stopping the outrageous rather than the life I actually want that captures my possibility? What if it is just a strong woman's fantasy and not an actual reality I want to come true?

There is the baby step towards medicine: becoming an EMT. Schooling, but less than a full medical degree (and internship and residency). And I would be helping people. But again, is this a career that I want for my life or a half measure to make me feel like I am making a difference without investing all-in?

Then there is the love I have had since childhood: writing. Being a professional, working, paid author of books. Erotica, yes. But thrillers. And horror. And fantasy. Taking all the stories bandying about in my head, putting them to print, and having the world revel in my imaginings. There are plays and screenplays. Poetry and short stories. And, of course, this blog.

No matter what, money or not, I will write. But if I could somehow parlay that passion to an actual vehicle for my existence, that would be the best gift I have ever given myself.

Also, though, having experienced the work of putting myself out there, allowing my views and opinions on heady subjects about our community to be broadcast on television, there is this other thought quietly murmuring too.

What if I became another leader in our community? What if I put in the effort to create presentations and gave them at events? What if I wrote more of my opinions and thoughts on this blog? What if I opened myself up to be another leader, another personality, an avenue for people to find and learn about kink? What if I committed more of myself to this part of my life I adore and wish for others to find?

And the last thought, the scariest thought of all, is the one I've held back since... forever.

I love to act. Love to act. But I always thought opening myself up, baring my soul on stage or screen, would be the scariest thing I could do. And the most thrilling. And challenging. And exciting. And, quite possibly, were I to pursue this avenue as my work, as my life, the hardest thing I've ever done. It's the one idea that brings tears to my eyes, the one thought that makes me tremble. And I have no idea where to start.

So now, however many words later, I'm still not sure what I will do with my life. I don't know how much longer I will be in my business, though it feels like my days as a tech are numbered.

I do know I will still write, paycheck or not.

I know I have to do some research on my options, for medical school or EMT training (maybe), and remind myself that research does not equal commitment, and I can always change my mind. And I really need to ask myself why this thought even comes to mind. Is it what I want, a dream for my future, or a fantasy of a world we do not live in?

And I need to keep talking, to my friends, to those in my community, and realize that every kinky person is a representative, known or not, for the kink world, whether they help people find their first event or just ease the nervous temperament of a newbie they happen to meet.

And maybe, just maybe, scary is good. Maybe I should go for the thing that scares me most. Maybe that is the answer.

Beyond these words, I guess both you and I, dear reader, will just have to wait and see.

But, since you're here, dear friends, do you have any suggestions?

Drop the Apparently

"So, what does that tell you?" - Doc
"That apparently people value my thoughts and opinions more than I do." - me
"Drop the apparently."

 


~

 
In regards to the PS, we're going to get a little snooty here.

I've worked shows before, especially lighting. There's some good people there. There's some smart people there. But they are not, on the whole, a terribly challenging group intellectually. There is the occasional individual - such as yourself - who is the exception. But I'm pretty sure that in any group you're around at work, you're the most intelligent person there.

That's a comfortable place to be. You don't have to worry about being pushed out of your comfort zone, you don't have to worry about not being the smartest.

You also don't learn much in that environment. You know how to learn to play chess, right? You don't play people who are worse than you and always win. You play people who are better than you and lose and lose and lose until eventually you don't lose quite so much.

But you still lose, and you grow, because people are smarter than you.

I've noticed, at events, you seek out the bright stars. The philosophers, the people who seem to have something to say. You find them and you have a great time with them and usually you do it in some of the most beautiful service and submissive ways I've ever seen. I think you think you're lucky to be able to hang with them.

I think you're wrong. I think it's the other way around.

I watched those people in that room as you were on TV. People who were veteran kinksters, who dealt with the public on a regular basis, whose investment in kink was their whole lives and tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars.

When you spoke, there were quiet nods. There were murmurs of approval and admiration, and more than one "She is good," as you answered with grace, eloquence, and intelligence some of the hardest questions that a kinkster could be asked.

They weren't just saying "Wow, she did that well." They were saying "Wow, she did that better than I could have." I know you're going to try and snicker a defense mechanism and assume I'm delusional or being complimentary or something about that. S'fine, we all have our barriers and our Broken Mirrors. I know what I saw, though. You don't belong in the entourage or at the side of some person or cause. You are a leader, a visionary, someone who knows and thinks and has the god-given ability to express it. You have this amazing machine inside your head capable of doing so much.

And you choose to do lighting. You tell me: am I wrong? Does that actually challenge you? Are you using that lambourghini you were gifted with to drive to the store and back every day, because that way you won't have an accident?

Maybe I'm way off base with this. Maybe I'm totally wrong and you are growing mentally and spiritually with the work you do, and using your talents to make the world a better place. If so, I apologize for my arrogance.

But it looks to me like you're treading water because it's easier than swimming. And that's both sad and maddening, because it's a beautiful ocean and there are others in it, drowning, who need your brains.

Here endeth the lesson. Gotta catch a plane.

Have a nice day! :)

~

Two different people in my life made the exact same point at almost the exact same time.

In my latest session with Doc, we talked about a few things, but the one topic that has stuck with me most was the above quote.

There was a moment, during our session, when I just stopped. The very next line of that exchange was me saying to myself, "People value me more than I do." I let that statement sit in my brain, let myself sit with that realization, living with this new truth for a moment.

Again, my immediate reaction to any compliment, to almost any praise, kicked in. Oh, they're just being nice. Oh, yes I did well, but they could have done just as well or better. Oh, they're sweet for saying that.

Doc asked why I thought that, why my immediate brushing away of their compliments happened. It was obvious, after the work we've done, that it goes back to my issues with my father. Not having him as a constant figure in my life growing up gave me self worth issues, namely believing I was not worthy of his love or affection, therefore not worthy of others love and affection, therefore any affection sent my way was never wholly true.

Sometimes it sucks, knowing the root of a problem and yet the issue still lingering.

When I said that line to myself, I stopped and just thought about all the subtext in that truth. I was close to tears, but I held them back. Doc questioned me, what I was thinking in that moment, and I admitted to wanting to cry. He then called me on the wanting, asking me why I didn't just cry. More excuses came; more work to do.

And then, very shortly after my session with Doc, I got that email from a friend. I didn't post the entire message to be cocky or pretentious, but instead, just like they wrote, it's hard for me to believe.

The message was completely unprompted and a great shock to me. In fact, I find myself reading it about once a day (if not more) because it is still hard for me to believe this person I respect so much would say those things about me.

We all have stories we tell ourselves about our lives. But whether you are living through a comedy, tragedy, drama, thriller-action-awesomeness, it's still just a story. The way others perceive you, though. That is who you are to the world, which can often be opposite of who you believe you are in your head.

I'm still trying to wrap my head around this notion, of the respect of so many people I admire, and what to do with this new information. More on that to come...

Trust And Intimacy

"Why do you think I haven't been in a relationship for as long as you've known me?"
"Do you foster trust and intimacy?"

I've been going to Doc since April of last year. We've talked a lot about my emotions, my attachment style, who I find myself attracted to and why, and what I want from my life.

Recently, while listening to an older episode of Pedestrian Polyamory, in which the hosts were responding to listener mail, the duo gave a piece of sound and poignant advice. They suggested the email writer seek advice from a good friend, going up to them and asking bluntly, So, what's up with me? What's my deal? What's off? Why did the friend think the email writer was not getting responses on a social dating website.

This got me thinking, as podcasts often do. Maybe I should do this. Maybe I should ask a friend or two what they thought concerning my lack of partners in the time that they've known me.

A good number of my now close friends I met through my explosion into the greater public kink scene, which happened after I left my Ex. None of these folks have met my Ex, have never seen me inside of a commited partnered relationship.

When I asked a friend, their response was the question above. Of course that go me thinking deeper.

Trust and intimacy.

From their viewpoint, the way you find yourself in a relationship, the way one starts a relationship the first place, is through the development of trust and intimacy with another. In the time they have known me, they've only seen me foster these two important components of a partnership with one person.

Thinking back on the past three years, I could not disagree with them.

As I've spoken about with Doc, I have trouble expressing my emotions to others for fear of rejection on basically every level of my life. This has gotten much better since I've been speaking with Doc, but the process of therapy is a series of baby steps, small moves. And it hasn't even been a year yet.

With that in mind, I have yet another goal for myself for this year, one focused soley on my heart.

I will trust others with my intimate thoughts and feelings, believing the people I care for and love will care for and love me back even when I let my guard down, even when I'm not full of smiles and cheer.

I will know that blending in is okay, but being me, and all that entails, is even better.

I will be open, really open, with those around me, even though it's scary and nervous making.

I will be strong by letting go of my defenses.

I will know, deep in my gut, that I am worthy of my emotions, that they are important and valid and need to be expressed just as much as those of others.

I will foster trust and intimacy in my life.

Normal

I went to a company holiday party last night.

I went to Happy Hour first, had drinks with friends, and made plans for the holidays, but then I left earlier than normal and found my way to the bowling alley where the event was held. It was hosted by one of the half dozen companies I work for, and, funny enough, the one I've worked for the longest.

Driving over, I was a bit nervous. Not as nervous as I could have been, considering I had two drinks before leaving Happy Hour, which relaxed me a bit. But still, I was little nervous.

The company hosting the event is the same company that my Ex works for. On the drive there, I was worried about making it before the party ended, and making sure the guy I was selling a scarf to* would be there. But also needling in the back of my head was whether or not I would see my Ex.

I was arriving late, fully 2.5hrs into a 4hr party. And last time I checked, my Ex didn't have a car. Maybe he wouldn't be there. Maybe I would show up, get my $25 from scarf guy, have a free drink or two, and leave. Maybe things would be okay.

Well, they were okay, but not for the reasons I listed above.

It was rainy. And not the fun-light-playful rainy. It was cold-windy-puddle-making rainy; decidedly not fun. I parked my car and sprinted into the bowling alley.

First thing I noticed, when I got inside, was that this was a nice bowling alley. New-ish carpet, mood lighting, and monitors in front of all the lanes as well as at the ends of the alleys. Okay, I thought. Guess they weren't skimping when they picked this place.

I looked left and glimpsed a "Private Bowling Lanes" sign above a set of French doors. Walking inside, I saw familiar faces. The first that caught my eye was my favorite work friend who I immediately walked towards.

"You're not wearing pants."
"No."
"This is my first time seeing you not wear pants."
"Yes, I have a strict no pants policy when I'm not working."

I was wearing my comfy gray skirt, red tank top, white snap shirt, awesome black & gray stripped socks, my purple flats, and my Santa hat. I gave him a big hug; then we began chatting.

But almost as soon as I struck up a conversation with him, I saw movement in my periphery. It was my Ex. He stepped towards me, leaned in, gave me a hug, and said, "Hi. You look really cute." I hugged him back and then we parted. He walked away while I stayed with my work friend.

To say that I was shocked would be to both over and under state my mental-ness at that moment. I was surprised that 1) he made a gesture of pleasantries towards me, 2) that it seemed warm and genuine, & 3) that it felt... normal.

It was just so normal.

We didn't speak again for the rest of the night, which was fine; I can't say we have anything to talk about. But there was never a cross word, never a leering look, never anything negative to speak of. I hung out with my group of work friends; he hung out with his. I genuinely had a good time.

All my nerves leading up to that moment now seemed silly, and, having had that simple interaction makes me hopeful that things are okay with us. Not perfect, because no breakup is perfect, but okay. And that's pretty cool, considering how far we've come.

So...yay. We made it to normal. It only took three years, but we made it to normal.



*So I've sold two scarves this season, and have an order for a third. Super awesome!

Postcards

"Why are you sending me a postcard?"
"Because I can."

It was my last moments in London.

That morning, my last morning in London, we'd fucked like it was the last time for a long time, because we both knew it would be the last time for a long time.

But now, a few hours later, we sat at a tall table by the bar in The Hung, Drawn, and Quartered. He called our venturing to the restaurant his "giving his respects to his relative". Apparently a distant relation had been executed here, back when it wasn't serving butternut squash risotto or duck, cranberry, and port pie.

We each sipped on our drinks and lounged. My legs dangled from the tall chair in a way reminiscent of my youth, though I was not as happy sitting in the restaurant as I had been when I was young. It was almost time to say goodbye.

About ten minutes earlier we passed by a small shop that sold postcards. Near the beginning of my London adventure, I'd purchased postage for five cards, thinking I would send them off to family and friends. As my time progressed in London, the thought rarely came back up. Until then, during my last hours, when we walked by the small shop.

He needed to go to an ATM, so I waited, sampling their small selection.

Who would I send a card to? Who did I want to send a card to?

I chose three: one for a parent, one for myself, and one for him. I paid the small fee and waited outside the shop for him to return.

With a little time on my hands, I thought about what I wanted to write. Something fun came to mind for my parent. Thoughtful intents emerged for his card as well as mine.

When he returned, we walked the short distance to the restaurant. After a few commemorative photos outside, notably his starfish under the sign, we walked in, found a cozy spot in a corner of the bar, and sat.

As I sipped my cider, I pulled out my cards and started writing. My parent's was easy and short.

For my card, I thought about my trip, and the many amazing moments I'd had. I made a list, bullet points to jog my memory of my fun times in London.

When it came to his card, I wanted to give him the same gift.

"What's your address again?"
"Why are you sending me a postcard?"
"Because I can."

I thought about the moments we'd had and the times I'd seen him enjoying his latest trip to London. Again I made a list, hoping it would spark his memories of his adventure and possibly, maybe, get him to smile.

After we'd ordered our food, our friends arrived. They joined us, snuggling into our cozy corner.

When I finished all my postcards, I realized a slight flaw in my plan. There was no time for me to go to a post office before I had to head to the airport. Gray offered to do it, but I didn't want him to peek at his card, spoiling the surprise. Instead one of our friends offered to send them off for me.

And then Gray promptly asked our friend to read it. He and his partner leaned over perusing what I'd written. They then, thankfully, advised him to wait.

"See, I'm thoughtful and shit."

Soon after, it was time for me to go.

Gray walked me to the station, about a few blocks away from the restaurant. We switched Oyster cards (mine had unlimited bus and Zone 1-3; his was empty). He filled my card with enough money to get me to the airport.

We hugged just beyond the entrance turnstiles, standing there for a moment saying a silent goodbye.

"Please try to stay safe and sane."
"Thank you for helping me with that while you were here."

We kissed one last time.

Then I turned, swiped my card, and stepped through. He handed me one of my bags over the barricade and I was off. I didn't dare turn back. I didn't want to cry and I had a long journey to traverse before I'd be home.

Psycho Drama pt 2

As we (the slaves) were slowly pulled into the Barn, the cat calls immediately started. Our would-be buyers inspected their merchandise, lifting skirts, groping breasts, moving us this way and that.

Some of the slaves fought back, trying to lash out at the wealthy men. I cowered, cried, spouted the holy trinity in Spanish. (Later I decided to drop the language idea and just go with the wailing.)

When they inspected me, one person grabbed my arms, another pushed me, bending over at the waist, and someone lifted my skirt. Of course my friends went for my ass.

With the merchandise meeting and exceeding the buyers' expectations, it was time for the biding to begin. Our slave master dragged the first girl up to the stage where the General (played by none other than ManKraken! himself) hosted the auction. Laughter soon began.

He riped open her shirt, exposing her chest, and stuck his fingers down her mouth, asking her, "Do you like to suck cock?" With his fingers still down her throat, she gurgled a yes, was purchased, and escorted off the stage.

As the selling continued, my friend and I decided to sit down on the ground while the rest of chattel remained standing. My friend was selling the European slave angle, spouting an Eastern block language I can't recall.

As we cozied up together, trying to stay warm in the chill evening, we couldn't help but laugh at the show. Another of the slaves, the one that was totally naked, was brought on stage and prized for her exceptional height.

One of the slaves, the one in the wedding dress, was said to have been nabbed on her way to the ceremony. She had been a virgin, until she got a little pirate in her (a reference to our slave wrangler).

The girl in front of me had set out from the beginning of our psycho drama to not be compliant. She tried to fight off the buyers inspecting her. She fought on her way up to the stage. And she fought as she was sold off.

About a slave or two before I was to go on stage, the child soldiers decided to harass myself and my friend. They poked us with their air soft rifles, mock kicked and hit us. I curled up into my friends arms, cradling my head in her lap, crying and shielding my face.

This was when I had a brilliant idea: I would make a scene, trying to hold onto my friend, trying not to be taken on stage when it was my turn. I whispered my intent to my friend, who it turned out had had the same idea. We snickered with glee just before it was time for my performance.

When the slave wrangler came for me, I tried to cling to my friend. She spouted some the Eastern block language while I tried to hold onto me. The Pirate pulled at me, but I refused to get up, sobbing and crying. He dragged me along the chain until I was clear. With another person or two, he lifted me. Someone stuck an air soft gun to my head. The Pirate then muscled me to the stage.

I mock sobbed as the General came up with my back story, saying I was obviously a college student pulled on my way to class, seeing as I was still wearing my glasses. They stood me up tall, yelled for me to be quiet, and pointed out my various features worth purchasing. I was then sold and escorted off the stage to sit with the other slaves.

My friend, the last one to be sold, was brought forth. The General then conspicuously encouraged the rival gang to arrive, seeing as this was the last slave to be sold.

The gang members busted into the Barn. All us slaves booked it out the side door and headed for the back of the Barn.

We huddled together, still cold and still chained at our wrists, though thankfully not chained to one another anymore.

We watched as the battle broke out. Apparently some of the buyers were given weapons as well and fought with the child soldiers against the gang members.

And then the fighting took a turn, migrating to where we, the slaves, were standing. I had already decided to try to make a run for it. The other girls screamed and got out of the way. I slipped on my safety glasses, the pair I'd hidden in my hoodie pocket at the start, and swung around to the opposite side of the Barn.

Through the windows I could hear the General narrating the fight.

I tried to find a spot in the darkness to hide, but none seemed adequate. I wanted to slip past the front, but people hovered by the entrance. I ended up entrenching myself by the back stairs, hoping no one would see me as they passed by.

Unfortunately, one person did.

The head of the rival gang came by, asking me if I had any ammo. I said I didn't, again hoping he would just leave. Instead he asked me what I was doing. Hiding, I said simply.

And then it dawned on him: I was a slave.

He grabbed me by my hair, put his air soft rifle to my head, and used me as a human shield as he brought me to the rival gang's barricade (they used one of the hanging massage tables from the outdoor truss set on its side on the ground). All the while he kept yelling, "I got one!"

On the way to the barricade, I saw the Doctor, who was for the purposes of the drama a Russian spy, splayed out on the ground, quite dapper and quite dead.

The General, after another few minutes of fighting, ordered everyone back inside. The drama had ended.

My fellow slaves were sad that I had not made it; my friend had pinned all her hope on my escape.

As a souvenir for the event, I kept my length of chain, my lock, and I was given the key by the organizer. I wore my chain around my neck for the rest of the evening.

My friends and their ideas, as twisted as they can be, are also so much fucking fun.

Psycho Drama pt 1

They named it The Faces Of Human Trafficking.

Yup, me and my friends went there.

In soliciting for volunteers to participate, there were a few roles to fill: wealthy buyer of trafficked humans, trafficked person/slave/chattel, rival gang member, and child soldier (which would be played by littles).

Did I mention I love my friends?

I chose to be chattel and showed up as asked an hour before the show was to begin. As we congregated outside the Barn, it was getting chilly. Thankfully I wore a hoodie.

As I looked on my fellow slaves, I noticed I was a bit over dressed, just in a simple school girl outfit. One person was in a wedding dress. Another was completely naked; we huddled around her to keep her warm. As we received our briefing from the show coordinator, I contemplated changing clothes before we began.

With seven slaves shown up, the organizer explained the plot and what we as slaves were asked to do. The organizer also gathered the other groups, explaining their parts, and passing out safety glasses to those who needed them.

Along with there being child soldiers and gang members, there were also air soft guns and rifles for them to wield against each other.

Did I mention we go all out for our fun?

Thankful that I was wearing a hoodie, I slipped a pair of safety glasses into my pocket; I had plans of my own for later.

With some time before we were set to start, I ran back to my cabin to change. I had a tank top which had been riped apart but I'd sewn back together. Slipping it on, I ran back to the Barn. After it was advised I take off my bra (lest I want it to be destroyed) and a fellow slave riped open my shirt some more, we were ready.

Our slave master started lining us up. To bind us, he used an individual piece of chain and one lock to secure our wrists. Each of us also received a hood to put over our faces... after our hands were bound. Yes, it was funny to those watching.

Running a single long chain through every lock, I positioned myself as next to last. The last slave was picked for her role, and seeing as she was a friend, I wanted to be able to laugh and chat with her throughout the show.

A photographer came over and took pictures of the assembled child soldiers, and then small army with their general, and then the line of slaves. I was glad for the hood, as I could laugh without ruining the photo.

Our slave wrangler then moved us along, leading us over the grassy hill and into the Barn where the buyers (and the audience) awaited.

Busy Day

With the sacrifice of my Saturday a given, an unintended consequence arose. All of sudden I only had one day left at camp. One day to go to class. One day to play. One day to make everything happen.

When I woke up Sunday morning, I already had a tight schedule. One class, four play dates, participating in an elaborate scene, and I still wanted to spend some time with friends. I wondered how I would make everything work.

Quickly getting up, I showered, changed into a cute dress (cause this was my last day, dammit, I was going to look good), and headed to breakfast.

After food, I went to the one class I knew I wanted to make, Playing Well With Others. I had already taken one of Vesper's classes and knew that this one was a must see.

As luck would have it, two of my cabinmates attended. We shared a futon couch as Vesper spoke, asking everyone questions, engaging the entire class in the conversation. The discussion focused on Monogamous and Polyamorous relationships, how they differed, and elements that were important to every relationship.

At the end of the class, with most everyone gone (including my cabinmates) I found myself in a conversation with Vesper and one of the other class attendees. As one would expect, we mused on relationships and life in general.

As it was soon time for lunch, once our extra-class discussion came to a natural end, I asked Vesper if he'd like to have lunch together. I had felt a friendly vibe from him from our initial meeting and wanted to get more time to chat. He agreed. We strolled down to the Dining Hall.

During our meal, he flagged the camp organizers over. Vesper's flight home was that evening and he needed a ride to the airport. I was now very happy I'd asked to spend some time with him.

As the organizers thought on who could give Vesper a ride, an idea occurred to me: I could.

Yes, my schedule was tight, but I could postpone a playdate for later that evening, opening up the time I would need to get him there. With Vesper happy to have a ride with someone he actually knew, we called over to the organizers; problem solved.

Of course, this opened up a new can of worms for me, but I do love rising to challenges.

And thus began my three hour whirlwind.

First their was lunch with Vesper, chatting and laughing and such. Then, right after lunch, I rushed back to the cabin, changed, and waited for my first play date: cigar play lessons on the grass in front of my cabin.

I told the gentleman with whom I played simply, "You scare me. I appreciate that."

He replied, "The way I get girls to play with me is I scare them."

"Like I said, you scare me and I appreciate that."

He requested my clothes off. I left on my red underwear with the words "I HATE U" printed on them. I think he appreciated that.

After smoke-and-heat-and-ashy fun, and the promise of more play together at some time in the future, I grabbed my things and caught a taxi to the Dungeon for my second play date.

Jim was waiting for me. I was five minutes late.

We found a sex swing, setup two chucks (one in the swing and one on the floor), and then began our fun.

The date was Jim's idea. He quickly cleaned my boots before licking my leather and slipping his hand inside my pussy.

"You have to be quiet; they're having a class."

Behind Jim, across the Dungeon, I saw a group of people sitting in folding chairs having what seemed like an intense conversation.

I wanted to scream as Jim's fingers danced inside me. Orgasms rolled, but I had to muffle myself, my hands often covering my mouth, quieting my ecstasy.

When we finished, with about ten minutes to spare, Jim and I chatted for a moment.

As we spoke, I kept looking down at his boots. In a moment of asking for exactly what I wanted, Jim granted me permission to kiss his boots. I kissed and caressed his leather, allowing myself to get lost in the smell and sensation, but only for a few precious minutes.

Cleaning the swing and collecting my things, I put my dress back on. I thanked Jim for the fun and then ran off.

Arriving at Vesper's cabin, I was right on time. He said his goodbyes before we walked to my car.

During the ride, we again got to chatting, learning still more about each other. My initial vibe was confirmed in that car ride. He's a cool guy; I could definitely see us being friends.

I gave him a hug before he flew away, and then I flew back to camp. I still had two play dates and a psycho drama to perform in.

A Good Time

It was Friday night at Rope Camp.

Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate was winding down; fewer than a dozen people remained in the Pavilion, though we all stood around smiling and chatting, still enjoying each others company.

The social had gone well. Even though I arrived late. Even though I had to run back to the cabin for supplies. Even though I didn't black one boot. There was laughing, good conversation, chocolate, some whiskey, and of course cigars.

Funny enough, there was also coconut rope.

As per Gray's standing request, whenever I took his ash into my mouth, my boobies had to be out. For this particular evening I wore my black-top-gray-skirt dress and was easily able to free my chest for his amusement.

But somewhere during the social he decided he wanted me in coconut rope. Dictating that I should just pull my entire torso out from my outfit, I pushed my dress down to my waist.

And then came the rope.

He wound it around my chest, over my nipples, secured it under my piercings, and placed knots in wicked spots all over. Just wearing coconut rope is a predicament in itself. You feel it dig in with each and every breath.

Throughout the evening, the attendees of the gathering would approach me with one of two requests: may I touch it or may I pull on it. I granted both, either slipping into to teaching mode or willing bottom space.

To make up for the lack of bootblacking at the get together, Gray instructed me to lie on the floor of the Pavilion. Then he and Rough provided the necessary boot action by suffering my body with their leather.

Both men stood on my body in various places (back, thighs, hair) and marveled at my ability to take all their weight with my flesh. Gray also thought it fun to kick my crotch. But as I laid on the floor, Rough's boots on my hair, and the toe of Gray's boot occasionally connecting with my cunt, I heard laughter from the attendees. As I learned later, Gray decided to dance in between his crotch shots.

When I stood, I let both men in on a small detail they failed to realize: with each of their movements, my nipples rubbed up against the floor. Not only did I feel their leather bound blows, I also contended with the abrasions of the rope and the floor. Personally, I think I was bad ass to have taken so much.

With just over half a dozen people left, Gray removed my box tie. And oh, it hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. Gray made sure of that. Gliding the rope along my skin, whipping my body around, push and pull. If ever there was any doubt, yes Gray is most definitely a Sadist.

When finally the last inch of rope was gone from my body, he rubbed all over my skin. I slumped forward, relieved at the soft and caring touch.

However, with my coconut rope gone, I now felt the cool of the evening. I pulled my dress back up and slipped on my jacket. Our small group continued to chat.

I don't remember how we got on this topic, but there was one conversation exchange I will not forget.

"How about making a bottom cum til they pass out," someone suggested.

"No," Rough argued. "How about making me cum until I pass out." I grazed Rough's left bicep. He turned to me.

"Hi," I said with a wink and a smile. Everyone burst out laughing.

And then it happened, my last highlight of the get together.

To end the evening, and once again I don't remember how this happened, but somehow we all ended up in a group hug coalescing around Rough. I stood behind him, my face on his back.

And then people, while still in the hug, started hurting me.

Rough stepped back, pressing the heel of his boot on the top of my right foot. And Elf pinched the back of my neck, right where he had bitten me before. And another pinched my left arm. And I think Gray went for a pressure point on the right side of my jar. I can't really be certain because my eyes were closed for almost all of this, but fuck did it hurt.

My face sunk into Rough's back as new sensation after new sensation took hold. I screamed and yelped as they all laughed and enjoyed my pain.

And yet, we were all still hugging, throughout the entire time. It was funny and odd and... something. Something.

A good time. It was a good time.

Fire Hug

The night was cool, cooler than any other since we'd arrived at camp on Wednesday. It was the last night of Rope Camp; it felt fitting that it be spent by the fire.

Elf had prepared the wood earlier and now tended the flames while a smattering of people sat on the benches around him. I rested at Gray's knee as he smoked his cigar.

Looking beyond our circle, I saw a small flame on the ground. For a moment I wondered what it was for. I did not have to wait long to learn.

Elf walked over, quickly spun a can through the air, pulled out fire poi, and lit them. Tonight would truly be a night of flames.

Elf danced with his poi far enough from the circle to be safe, but closer than I'd ever been to the act. As his poi whooshed through the air, the sound amazed me. I never knew it was so loud.

His movements were powerful and fluid, almost magical. I was in awe. Lines of burning orange and glowing blue traced across a black background. His body's form came into light and laid in darkness time and time again.

When his poi finally went out, I marveled at the act. And then a friend sitting next to Gray and I at the fire made a suggestion.

"You should get a fire hug."

When Elf returned to the circle, I asked. He agreed, but wanted to know if I had experienced the act before. I had not.

He described the protocol of how I would approach him, how he would take the last few steps, and noted I needed to be wearing natural fiber clothing. Of all that I wore against the chilled air, only my leather boots would be fitting for this endeavour.

Elf and Ember took multiple turns spinning before it was time for me to experience the hug. In those intervening minutes, Gray finished his cigar and retired for the evening.

When the time came, I stripped. The cool of the night tickled my skin. Elf lit his poi, stepped back to where he wished to spin, and called me forward.

"Walk straight towards me." My steps were measured, even; it felt as if I were entering a sacred space. "Stop." Elf took the last few steps towards me.

We were now nose to nose, our bodies less than a breath away.

"This is how the earth feels. One side of her body is always towards the Sun."

I found my eyes locked onto his. The sound of the flames was even more intense than I imagined.

"This is called butterfly."

I could feel the heat pattern change, could feel the increase in temperature as he spun around us. I closed my eyes, felt his flames, felt a connection. I leaned my forehead onto his chin. He kissed my forehead, then nuzzled my head up and kissed my lips. It was magical.

He stepped back, taking away his flame. My hug ended, Elf continued to dance. I had had my moment.

As I hurried back to my spot, Rough called me over. On his phone were two photos of my hug which he sent to me.

Shivering but gleeful, I re-dressed and said to my friend as I rejoined the fire circle, "I need to learn poi."

Teeth

I looked at him, smiled, and asked a simple question.

"May I smell your jacket?" He returned my grin and stepped into my personal space. As my feet dangled from the short stage, I felt lost in the wondrous aroma.

"I got this in Florence." Real Italian leather, soft and supple leather. I rested my face against it, wanting to melt into him.

Bringing myself back, I had to ask.

"So, do you want to do anything?"

He did, but... he had event duties and other dates already set. Still, he acknowledged the desire was there, as was the feeling that if we played it would be fun.

For a second I stuck out my finger, but then I pulled back.

"Do I have permission to touch you?" He looked on me quizzically, but then gave his consent, provided I stayed on the outside of his clothing. I poked his exposed tummy, just above his belly button.

"May I touch you?" I gave him carte blanche, but then he wondered what my definition of touch was.

"You can touch anywhere, including under clothing. You may take off clothes, but not rip off without consent." A devilish grin crept across his face. Out popped his small knife. "Dammit! I'm not wearing destroyables."

I gave my usual caveats: no broken bones, no load bearing rigging from my piercings, no riping out of piercings.

He looked at me, seeming to come to an understanding, and said, "Okay."

Slipping his hand into my hair, he gripped and pulled. My moans started.

Tilting my head to the side, he brought his face to my neck. I could feel his hot breath just before he sunk down, his teeth gripping my flesh.

I yelped at first, squirming, before settling into the pain and pleasure, my hands finding his hips, holding him to me. My moans grew loud. Symmetry being important, he graced the other side of my neck as well. Pulling my head back, his teeth found the front of my neck, gripping down not as hard, avoiding damage to my wind pipe.

Stepping back, he looked on his work. His impressions laid in my skin nicely, but he decided to make them beautiful. Attacking each side of my neck again, his teeth once more found their places in my flesh, staying in their spots for much longer, digging in further. My moans, in turn, grew deeper and longer. The pain and pleasure was exquisite.

To commemorate his work, he photographed each set.

Later, as I stood around, chatting with him and another friend while coming down from watching an intense needle scene, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips grabbed around my tattoo, pinching the flesh in, intense pain coming from his touch. I whined, high pitched and longingly.

"What? It's a neck massage."

Gripping my hair, he sunk his teeth down into the back on my neck, framing my tattoo. I screamed, yelped, and then finally moaned as the delicious pain swept through me. I wiggled, squirmed, but again found myself inside his space, leaning into his body, diving into this moment with him.

And, once more, he took a picture.

It is now about twelve hours later. No matter how I move my face, my neck always aches... just a little.

Safely

When he asked me to tie him, I was a little taken aback.

"I've seen your work and was wondering if you would suspend me?"

Seen my work? People have seen me tie? It all felt other worldly.

Still I was elated at the idea of playing with someone. Going into Summer Camp, I had made no plans whatsoever. No demands. No unrealistic expectations. Just camp.

We decided I would rig him in the Barn on Thursday in the early afternoon, just after lunch.

When the day came, I was feeling great. Going along with the no planning part of my Summer Camp, I had decided to also treat it as a real vacation. I would sleep when I wanted or needed. I wouldn't push myself, wouldn't force myself to stay up until all hours. I could spend as much time with my friends as my new leisure-self desired. I would enjoy my time at camp instead of trying to cram into every single minute excitement and fun and play. (Frankly, it's been getting exhausting.)

As I sat in a camp chair outside my cabin, I wore my thin black kimono with my pink and white obi around my waist. I laughed and chatted with my cabinmates. I smiled a lot, happy to just be there, happy to just have time with my friends.

As the day meandered to the time for the tie, I grew gleeful. I grabbed my rope bags and strolled to the Barn.

Having arrived, I saw there was no one inside the space. Taking advantage, I setup my ring, clipped on my carabeners, and set out my rope. I slipped off my obi and kimono, happy for the attire but knowing the fabric would get in my way.

Taking advantage of my knowledge of the sound system, I plugged in my iPhone and turned on my Dungeon mix. The scene was set.

Soon he arrived, happy and smiling. We began.

I took him through some stretches before inviting him onto the mat.

As is my usual routine, I started with bands across the chest, a stem at the middle for my first point. Moving down, I tied a Swiss seat around his hips, encouraging him to adjust my rope up or down as would best fit him. Moving still further down, I secured a cuff around his thigh.

Not fully understanding my methods, he attempted to lean into my tie already. I asked him to take his body weight back up. It was almost, but not quite, time for him to fly.

Tying an ankle cuff, I stood and prepared him. I assured him, once I tied off his second leg, I would adjust for his comfort. He leaned into his ropes once again as I brought his ankle up, securing it above the rest of the points.

Quickly tying off, I asked where the most pressure was; where did he feel uncomfortable? First I needed to lift his hips. Wrapping the lifting line around my hand, and slipping my free arm under his body, I used my own body weight to lift him up. Next I adjusted his chest, again using my body weight to pull. His legs lines were fine.

As he settled into the now adjusted ropes, my webbing drifted some, giving him a small sway. I stood beside him and held his rope so he would not move. After a few minutes, he turned to me.

"Could you step away for a bit?"
"Of course."

I sat on a nearby bench and waited. He lazed in my ropes, the sway in them gone, seemingly in a quiet meditation. I pulled out my fighting fan and created a small breeze for myself as I patiently sat and watched.

When another camp attendee entered the Barn, I brought my finger to my lips to quiet them. I didn't want the moment ruined.

After some time, he called me back over, saying he was ready to come down. I freed his legs, brought him back to standing, released his hips and chest, and sat him down on the mat.

As I untied the rope around him, I was pleased and he seemed quite content. I got him up; I got him down, safely.

Care

It was the simplest movement, the simplest motion. A submissive sat with her head on her Dom's knee. Then lightly, gently, she brushed her cheek against his knee. That was all it took to bring me to tears.

I quietly snuck my way downstairs, located the bathroom, leaned against the wall, and cried.

I wanted that. I missed that. I yearned for that.

Something so simple as my head on a knee, such slight affection. I had, for some time, forgotten how much I loved that, how much I ached for it each day.

I let myself cry, letting my sorrow spill out. I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at my eyes, wiping away my tears. I took a breath. I let myself cry again.

And then I regained my composure. I contemplated leaving the gathering, but I knew that would only make my heart hurt worse. Instead I steeled my resolve. This place was full of friends. I would be okay.

Slowly easing back upstairs, I again stayed on the periphery of the gathering. Looking over to my left, I saw a woman sitting on the floor working on a pair of leather shoes. She used products and techniques I had no seen before. Curious, I sat in a nearby chair and watched her work.

And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Poetic, can you let down your hair." My curls were pulled up in a tight bun. I pulled off my hair tie.
"Come with me." I followed Scotty to the adjoining lounge area.

Standing in the spot where he led me, I was surrounded by Scotty and three other friends. My head bent, their bodies close to mine, they all blew smoke into my hair, over and over again. And just like that, I felt better.

Relaxed, I nestled on the floor. PrincessA sat in a chair behind me. Softly, tenderly, she caressed my head and pulled on my hair. I let myself float on the feeling of her hands in my curls.

As I sat, having falling into the atmosphere of the gathering, a friend asked if I would black their boots. For a tip, their girl offered up his ashes to me. I assured her she did not need to tip me, but she insisted all the same. I accepted her gesture with gratitude.

As I worked on his leather, I took my time, giving care and attention to his boots. He blew smoke into my hair and onto my skin. After I finished, he and his girl thanked me for my efforts, saying his boots looked almost new. He then offered up his ash as my compensation. I ate it from his hand gratefully.

Finished with my first pair of boots, I turned to PrincessA and worked on her leather. As I gave her boots attention, I realized I felt right again. Whereas before I had been sorrowful, dejected, once again I felt the care and love of my friends. I felt like I belonged.

Aftercare

We were all wiped. It wasn't even two hours into the After Grue when Inretrepida and I spoke of leaving. I dutifully sat in a comfy chair, scribbling out notes from my day and my time with Gray and Symetrie, yet I actively worked to not fall asleep.

Just as our duo was about to depart, a saint emerged with sustenance. Pulling out coloring books and crayons, Inretrepida and I squealed. I put my notebook aside and joined a small group of Grue-mates on the floor.

There was a My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic book, so I immediately picked a Fluttershy picture. (She is my favorite.) Working together, Inretrepida and I colored the picture. I focused on the massive amount of hair, choosing a red and pink color palate. Inretrepida shaded the rest.

As we colored, we chatted with our Grue-mate, speaking on littles activities and the fun of our day. Once Inretrepida and I finished our masterpiece (because yes, it was that awesome), we decided I would keep it. (For those who are interested, later, when I had a moment, I took a picture of our art and posted it on my Twitter feed. Happy hunting.)

Exhausted, Inretrepida and I departed. Once again, back to the Naked House, I imparted my adventures to PrincessA in bed before we both passed out.

The next morning was made for Grue-cakes.

I woke up, still exhausted, feeling like I'd run into a wall. Inretrepida picked me up and drove us back to the space. As she made her way down to the basement, I stayed in the kitchen. I could see through the oven door bacon, delicious delicious bacon, cooking.

Gray, in his customary chef's kilt, came upstairs to encourage folks to come downstairs and eat Grue-cakes.

"But... there's bacon."
"No bacon unless you come downstairs."

I relented.

Descending, I saw many people in a similar state as mine, lounging about wiped from their previous day. Coming upon the food, I filled my plate with eggs, sausages, and Grue-cakes, and then found a spot on the floor next to Inretrepida, who sat on a couch.

On a large television screen to my left Dr. Horrible's Sing-a-Long Blog played. As per the name, many people were indeed singing along.

After my first round of food, bacon finally arrived. I happily ate the delicious delicious pork.

After Dr. Horrible, keeping to an apparent theme, Repo: The Genetic Opera was put on. It was... different.

As I sat on the floor, with most everyone's belly full, Gray took some time to relax. He laid his head in my lap while I stroke his hair, and he nuzzled Symetrie with his feet. She, in turn, was receiving a back massage from a fellow Grue-mate.

As the morning wound on, people veered outside on the back patio for cigars and more chats.

And then it was time for hugs. Gray was riding with Rough and they had to leave right after brunch. I said my farewells to them, knowing I would see them soon.

As the house emptied, Inretrepida and I contemplated staying a bit longer. There was to be a grappling get together, but we opted to leave. Later that night there would be cigars, boots, chocolate, and more time to commiserate.

I'm A Slut

Today I was a slut.

I am a slut everyday, but today was a magnificent day to be a slut.

Attending our local Renaissance Festival, I donned garb befitting the occasion: a black wrap dress with ample cleavage shown, a chain mail diadem atop my mound of curls, black tights (for I knew it would be a bit brisk), my sexy sexy boots, and a belt which held my fox tail.

I left this morning and arrived on the grounds around 11am. Accompanied by DeepEnd and RockStarIsis, we immediately set out to find food and beer. After a steak on a stake and a cider mixed with wine, I was more than happy to have just shown up for the day.

As we mingled amongst the crowd, we lampooned ourselves as well as those around us. Inappropriate commentary abounded as we entertained ourselves in our not-at-all-politically-correct way. I was quite happy to spend time with my friends.

As the afternoon crept up, RockStarIsis and DeepEnd departed but Amethyst arrived. Once again, meat and alcohol were needed. As we mingled, chatting and having a good time, the subject of boots arose. I escorted Amethyst to the seller of my boots, where she was happy to try on their wares and discuss adornment options. As she shopped, I stood around and watched.

And then, randomly, a work friend appeared. I greeted him with a hug, introduced him to Amethyst, and we chatted. As Amethyst enjoyed her shopping, I enjoyed my time with my friend.

We chatted as he stood next to me. On occasion I leaned into him and found that he would return my subtle advance. Feeling bold, I glided my fingertips against his arm. Again positive feedback. When we left the boot seller's, we walked hand-in-hand. Later, when we parted, after yet more subtle cues, we exchanged phone numbers.

Though I've known him for over a year, this was the first time we'd interacted outside of watchful eyes. I suppose it was best it happened this way. Though I am open at work, no else should feel like they have to be.

Happy to have connected with my work friend, Amethyst and I jaunted on.

Randomly, we ran into a few of her friends. I introduced myself and was happy to make the acquaintance of two beautiful women and one handsome man. As we talked, I soon learned one of the women was kinky, the other a lesbian, and the man was kink aware and kink friendly. This opened up our conversations and relaxed my need to censure myself.

As we drank and traversed the Faire grounds, I found myself giving subtle advances to all three of them. An errant brush of an arm. A lean into the body. A smile. A hand hold. I found all three of them very attractive and saw no need to let that be hidden.

As we nested by a tree near the elephant ride, more laughter and chatting ensued. I found myself in the beautiful position of one woman to my left, snuggled up next to me, while the other sat by my feet caressing my boots. The gentleman crouched near us, laughing and joking as we all took in the many Faire attendees.

Sensing the perfect opportunity, I retrieved all of their info (phone numbers, Twitter, etc.). I will be honest: I felt like the shit at that moment.

Since it was getting late, we meandered closer to the exit to buy ourselves more time. None of us wanted to leave. But, as with all things, soon it was time to go.

Our hugs were drawn out. At one point I clung tight to the lesbian. At another, I found myself with the gentleman at my back and the other woman to my front, the sweet center of their embrace.

Exiting Faire eight hours after I'd entered, I could not help but feel joy and happiness. From the food. From the alcohol. From the laughs and good conversation. But, mostly, from being a slut and not feeling any shame about it.

Closing

We all gathered back where we'd started, again amassing in the basement living room. I sat by the front this time, nestling on the floor. We assembled in a circle, everyone looking at one another.

Gray stood by the front again, all the sheets of paper with the class names in his hands. One-by-one he read off all the classes we'd presented. Flogging, canes, hitting people with swords. Tantra, formal place setting, knife play, blood play. Cigars, ass fucking, kissing, female orgasms. Fisting, video games, breath play. Whips, fear play, some rope, discussions of the public scene, and even a ten minute walk thrown in. In total, thirty one classes were given.

We did all this. We presented our passions, shared our love for these parts of ourselves with the people in this home and in those moments.

After a full day of classes, of effort, of hard work and fun, now it was time to take a moment to speak.

As we went around the circle, one-by-one people thanked others for their passions, for the time they took, for sharing themselves, for opening up, for showing others things they'd never seen before.

Some were pleased to have had such a great time without having to present. I was happy to have been one of those in the front, putting myself out there, giving light to passions I wanted to share.

As each person spoke, I was just able to keep my tears at bay. My day was a great high, a flying soaring roller coaster of moment after moment. And now I was crashing. Now our day was coming to an end.

I almost felt the need to run around hugging everyone there or for us all to hold hands and sing kumbaya or something.

"And I can now say this: You have all been eaten by a Grue."

Gray dismissed us to dinner, a two hour break before we would all be back. That night, as part of the come down, was the party afterwards. It was appropriately named the After Grue.

With such a short time, Inretrepida thought it best to stay near the house. The only thing was my After Grue attire was still at The Naked House. With my apologies and reassurance from my ride that it was fine, we settled on food, a quick trip back for my things, and rushing back for as much time as we could get for play.

With three more of our friends in the car, we first tried a chicken place, a mere fifteen minute drive away; fifty minute wait. Strolling around the corner, we then tried a supper club. I had visions of steak and potatoes. Alas, forty-five minute wait. Walking some more we found an Indian restaurant. We were seated immediately.

As we waited for our food, I gulped down water. When my lamb finally arrived, I ate it hungrily. About half way through my meal, I realized a slight flaw. My food was somewhat spicy, and I had no idea whether or not there would be cigar play later that evening.

With a sigh, I replied, "I'll eat ash for Gray or Rough. I'll take pain if I like you enough."

Of course one of my friends pointed out the rhymed.

After dinner, with a general fatigue setting in, we hurried to The Naked House. I ran inside, grabbed my things, and just as quickly I made my way outside and back into the car.

We arrived at the After Grue about an hour after its start.