Vixen

Her tail hangs on the wall across from my bed. Her diadem lives in my bag of chainmail jewelry. Her boots, moccasin style, are occasionally worn without her preferred outfit: my black wrap dress.

She is one of my alter egos, a persona I love to don when I'm feeling sexy yet playful.

I sometimes think of myself as a vixen, with all that might entail. Sexy. Confident. Gleeful. And, of course, foxy.

She is older than my school girl, more wise and life lived. She is less humble, less demure than my school Gir sometimes can be.

I initially encountered her during my first summer at Ren Faire. Many people walked around the gravel encampment, most in personas that seemed appealing. Was I a bar wench? A lady of the court? A scoundrel or rapscallion? A pilferer?

As we circled around the fairgrounds, I came upon a store that sold, among other things, fox tails. At once I knew: one of those was mine.

I thought about a tail dyed red, but that didn't seem right, even if it was one of my favorite colors. No, I found a black one, felt it, and at once knew it would be mine. I bought it and attached it to my backside immediately.

When I wear my tail, I have a little more pep in my step. I swing my ass a little more. I feel more like a me I love.

I've worn my tail in times where I needed comfort. Or when I wanted to be silly. Or sexy. Or just cause.

I have many personas, all of which I love. But Vixen... She is one I am so glad I found. I will never let her go.

Good Service

~ a story ~



- "I've never chained up ladies before. Hmm, I kinda liked it."
- "Did you get enough meat?"
- "Be careful, these are wet."
- "I'm just going to give you a little extra time so you can write your phone number down."

"Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
"Really?"
"What?"
"The waiter, what he just said."
"What did he say?"
"Your phone number."
"What?"
"Giving you extra time so you can write your phone number."
"What?"
"Yes."

Her eyes grew wide and her mouth slacked open. He had... He was... Was he...?

Their server had been funny, joking throughout their meal. Her and her work friend just had an hour before needing to rush back to a late night meeting that evening. And she had been quite hungry. The restaurant was new and nearby, but her friend assured her the service was fast, and the stir fry was delicious.

She hadn't noticed the chain quip when he explained the way the meal worked and then sectioned them off from the rest of the line. She thought he was just checking on their meal he made mention of meat, making sure they'd chosen well when they piled their bowls of food high for the grill. And the cups were damp when he brought their refills. But, in all of that, she hadn't noticed the server's innuendo.

Sure, he was attractive and funny, delivering those offhand comments each time he came to their table, but she didn't take notice in that way. He was just being funny. He was just working hard for his tip. Apparently, though, he was after more than twenty percent.

Now she understood why her friend kept giggling each time he walked away, why her face was red and flushed, her body caved in and to the side of her seat, her arms literally around her middle. For the entirety of their meal, she hadn't noticed a very attractive man had been flirting with her shamelessly.

Her friend quickly slipped in her credit card to the bill and left it on the side of the table.

"For entertainment factor alone, this is one me."

The man flew by, picked it up, and went to run the card. She had but a minute to figure out what to say, what to do, before he came back.

When he walked back over, he sat the bill down by her friend, but then slid a piece of paper towards her.

"Here's my number. Call it any time. Any where. Any position." He then stared straight into her eyes, rolled his tongue over his lips, and walked away.

Her eyes shot to her friend.

"Let's go, now."

She nearly had to drag her friend out of the restaurant, doubled over in laughter.

"Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod! Did you? Did you hear him?"
"Hear what? I just saw the slip of paper with the number. What did he say?"
"Any time. Any where. Any position."
"Fuck..."

Her friend's voice descending into a pitch she had never heard before.

"And then he licked his lips."
"What!?!"
"Yes."
"Fuck..."

The two women melted into their car.

"Are you gonna call him? You have to call him. That body. Those arms. And he licked his lips."

She thought for a moment about his arms, his chest, and those lips.

She pulled out her phone.

"You're gonna call him right now?"
"Not call..."

She typed a message on her phone:
So, when do you get off?
And hit SEND.

She waited, seeing if he'd take the bait. Her phone chimed.

I Want

~ erotica ~



"I want to watch you suck my cock."

I saw the eagerness in her eyes, saw the sparkle as she stared at my rather large purple dildo that I stroked while I sat on my bed. I was naked, save for my strap on, which itself was cover with a condom. She was naked, save for her socks; they were striped, multi-colored, and it was chilly.

She looked so eager, practically drooling at the thought of my cock in her mouth. I just stroked and stared at her.

"I want to watch you suck my cock. Do you want to suck my cock?"
"Yes."

She squeaked her response almost before my last syllable left my lips and rushed over towards me.

But before her lips descended onto my cock, my hand held her head back. Her hands flared out to the side in a most comical way and I had to hold back my laughter.

"I want you to suck my cock, but I didn't say I would let you."

And them came the pout, the cutest little pout I ever did see.

I wanted to fuck her. I wanted her to suck my cock til she gagged. But something in me wanted to see the real her. However my cock was talking now.

"You know what would make me want to let you suck my cock?"

She slowly moved her head side-to-side.

"A magic little word you forgot to utter."
"Oops." Her hands flew to her mouth, covering her lips, her face full of embarrassment. Cute overload indeed.

"I'm sorry. May I please suck your cock."
"Now, that is exactly what I wanted to hear."

My hand, which had been on her forehead, moved to the back of her head and pushed her mouth onto my cock. Her eyes bugged out wide as my cock glided across her tongue and down her throat.

For a split second, I wondered if her manner was real, if this cuteness wasn't an act. But, just as quickly as the thought arrived, her gaze grew concentrated ad calculating, though still delighted. Her hands gripped my shaft as she worked her lips up and down my cock.

"Do you like that, my cock in your mouth?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Do you want my cock somewhere else, say in your hot little pussy?"
"Mmm hmm, plsss."
"Good girl, getting it all wet for your wet cunt."
"Thn thu."

In and out. I gripped her hair and pushed her a little deeper, held her head down a little longer, and fucked her face for just a while longer.

When I felt my cum growing, I stopped her, pulling her off my cock. She gave me the pouty face and eyes, but I quickly pushed her over onto all fours on the floor.

She presented her pussy just right, craned her back just right, and extended out her arms, trying to hide as she tickled her nipples against the carpeted floor.

Reaching under my jock, I flicked on my vibrator, and quickly entered her. Her cry was high pitched and filled the room. She squeaked each time I thrusted, her voice raising to pitches I didn't know existed. That is, until I leaned over, gripped her breasts, and bit into her ass.

Suddenly her voice flipped, growing guttural and deep.

"Are you close? Yes, you are close. Good girl. Then cum."

I slammed my cock into her as her screams grew loud and my own orgasm raced through my body. My nails dug into her breasts. I bit and sucked harder on her ass. She pushed back and pushed back until finally collapsing onto the floor.

Leaning back onto my heels, I sat back up on my bed, pulled the condom off my dildo, and flicked it onto her ass.

"You are, indeed, a good girl, and a pretty good fuck, as well advertised, but now that we've both cum..."

She looked up at me with those pouty eyes again, but I wasn't buying it.

"I want you to go. Lock the door on your way out."

And, like flipping a switch, I finally saw the real her.

"You fucking bitch," she belted, throwing the condom back at my face before grabbing her clothes and storming off in a huff.

"Now that's the girl I fucked."

Cute overload ended.

Tease

It was just so perfectly timed.

The thought popped into my head.

Sitting on a couch, reading a book, waiting for him to return home. Hearing him entering, but my not responding. Just reading my book; no care in the world.

He drops his things. Immediately drops to his knees. Pulls my skirt up. And begins eating me out.

I'd drop the book, loosing my place, but oh-my-god not caring.

Resting my hands in his hair. Reclining my head back. Moaning. Riding his face. Grinding against his tongue and lips.

That passion. That not-caring-or-giving-a-fuck-I-want-you-that-much lust. Getting lost in it. Drowning in it. Never wanting to come up for air.

That thought, those images playing around in my head.

And then the song came on.

My car radio playing while I'm out shopping for gifts. Hearing the back beat swell right before the DJ stops talking. Just enough time for recognition and move to action. Turning up the volume. Blaring the music and lyrics.

And now they are together: my fantasy and the soundtrack for that fuck.

The memory of the smell of my wet pussy. The imagined feel of his lips on my clit. My remembered moans. And the sound of the music. The evoking words. The heavy bass. The dark yet sensuous song booming from my car's speakers into my ears.

For four minutes, I lived in my mind. Imagining my tensed muscles. His supple lips. My gasps and groans. I felt the warmth grow inside me. Felt the rising to my high. Wished, for once, more than anything else, that my brain could make my fantasy come true.

And then the song ended.

Locked In

We could've kept going pretty easily. I'd just completed Gray's boots and still had his chaps and vest to work on. But it was getting late and Gray didn't want to keep others up just so we could have fun.

The two people who had watched our scene were also ready to go. As Gray and I cleaned up, our observers thanked us for letting them watch and walked out.

I put my things back into my kit as Gray began taking off his leathers.

And then the duo returned.

The door from the Dungeon to the main floor was locked. They checked the other entry door. Locked as well. We were locked in.

I laughed a little, the idea that we actually shut down the Dungoen. But just as soon as the funny thought came, the problem sunk in.

Could we get out? Weren't personal items left uptairs? Did they really forget about us?

I started having a vision of us all camped out in the Dungeon. There was a bed and a couch. Theoretically we could've slept there fine. There was also a bathroom downstairs, so using the restroom would not have been an issue. And people would be back in the morning, but not until late. Probably ten or eleven.

It turned out, though, that the answer to all my questions above was yes. Gray's things were upstairs, not the best situation in the world but there was nothing we could immediately do about it.

Since it was left behind, Gray borrowed Hedwig's sweatshirt.

It seemed we were indeed locked out of the bar, but thankfully there was an emergency exit door.

My few things were with me. Gray was fairly shielded from the elements with the sweatshirt, and thankfully his pants were downstairs with us.

Ready to go, knowing we could not get back in til the morning, we left. Our duo, thankfully, offered us a ride back to Hedwig's.

We crashed, having had a good time, mildly annoyed by the inconvience, but knowing we still had things to do in the morning.

Water Torture

I was fried, hanging on by a thread. And then the thread was cut.

We were out to dinner, a group of nine of us, sitting around a large table in a pub about a fifteen minute walk from the Flying Dutchman.

We were all tired, the rush of the Grue slamming to a halt as the event had just ended about an hour ago.

It was all I had in me to not curl up into a ball and start crying. Having experienced another Grue, I knew this was normal. The intense event followed by the sudden end caused me physical exhaustion and emotional havoc. I knew this was to be expected. I was just barely hanging on.

We ordered drinks. I decided I needed a beer. Just one beer. My pint arrived and I took one sip. Then two other drinks arrived, one of them being Gray's. Because he sat next to me, of course I was going to reach over and pass the drinks to him.

And then my hand clipped my pint glass. And all of my beer, save my one sip, spilled onto the table and onto Gryphon. Gryphon, who sat on my other side. Gryphon, who offered to share his french fries with me. Gryphon, who had made me smile even though I was feeling like crap.

As soon as the glass hit the table, we both jumped up. I grabbed it, but it was already too late. His pants and half his shirt were soaked.

I had to get away. I quickly slipped from the booth and rushed to the bathroom. One of the two stalls was free. I got inside and started crying.

I had been hanging on by a thread. And then the thread was cut.

All the horrible thoughts came to me in a rush.

You're so clumsy. You're so stupid. He won't like you now. You've ruined dinner. They'll all hate you now. Why did you even bother coming? No one wants you here.

CherryBondage soon came into the restroom and knocked on my stall's door. I let her in and she held me as I wept. Hugging me tight, she asked me what was wrong.

"I was hanging on by a thread. And then that happened and I just couldn't hold on any more. And the bad thoughts came and I know logically Gryphon doesn't hate me and the table is probably laughing about this right now, but yeah. I just... I needed to cry.

"I'll be okay. I just needed to cry."

And then I was okay. I actually laughed, knowing this would be yet another inside joke directed my way.

When I returned to the table, I apologized profusely to Gryphon. Gray gave me a big hug.

And waiting for me was another pint. The bar had spotted me the loss.

But now I found myself in a new dilemma: I feared picking up my beer.

I feared touching it even. When I went to drink my beer, I used both hands to lift the pint. When the next round of drinks came, I held my arms in tight to my chest and sat back in my seat.

To make matters worse (or hilarious, depending on how you saw it), Gray and Gryphon taunted me for the rest of our dinner with my new found fear.

Asking one to refill my water glass (since he could more easily reach the pitcher), he filled my cup all the way to the top. I stood up and leaned over, sipping the top off just so I wouldn't spill my water when I lifted it.

Then the other, the next to refill my glass, held the pitcher high in the air as the water flowed out. I was visibly nervous that the liquid would spill all over the table. Of course it didn't, but the boys enjoyed egging me all the same.

Gryphon smelled of beer for the rest of the night; he didn't have time to go home and change before the After Grue. I kept apologizing; he kept telling me it was okay.

Eventually, I believed him.

The night was not ruined. No one hated. I was okay again.

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.

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.

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.

Triple Booked

Rushing to head back to the end of the Circus, I ran to my cabin, dropped off my rope equipment, picked up my bootblacking kit, and quickly made my way to the Barn.

When I arrived, the event had already ended. I looked around but could not find Stefanos, who had emceed the Circus.

I spoke with Big Bro, who said I should check his cabin. Taking his advice, I headed in that direction. When I finally found it, after some confusion as to exactly which cabin Stefanos & Chey stayed in, I inquired inside, but still did not find him. Instead I found another girl who said she had a playdate with him as well.

With no other good idea coming to mind, we both headed back towards the Circus.

As I again approached the Barn, we looked around for Stefanos. We eventually found him kissing yet another beautiful girl. This was getting interesting.

As both myself and his cabinmate approached, Stefanos and the other beautiful girl stopped kissing. He took a moment, looked at all three of us, and suddenly realized his mistake.

I, also realizing the situation, could not help but start giggling uncontrollably. It wasn't the best time for one of my giggle fits, but it was definitely warranted.

Stefanos asked for a moment to go grab his things to prepare for each of our scenes. The three of us sat, chatting, waiting for his return. A permanent smile was plastered on my face.

When he came back, he brought Chey to meet us all. She recognized me instantly. After greeting us, she wished us each good scenes and headed on her way.

Stefanos then asked our trio how we wanted to handle the confusion. I was first to offer an out. I could wait until late for his bootblacking.

He wanted to know what I meant by late. Since I had my midnight playdate with D3, I offered 2:30am. He agreed, thanking me for my understanding.

With now a few hours to kill, i decided to catch up on my journaling. I had the abduction, my bootblacking shift, and my rope time to chronicle.

Slipping into the Barn, I sat on an empty massage table and pulled out my notebook. As I began writing, I heard some people enter behind me. When I looked back, I saw Stefanos and one of the ladies taking a spot on another free massage table. It seemed they would have their scene about twenty-five feet away from me.

As much as I wanted to watch, and I wanted to watch, I made myself turn back around. I made myself write.

As I continued to delve into my memory, the rest of the world melted away. I mined my mind's caverns, trying to recall small details, memorable bits of dialogue, and multitudes of tiny moments of my adventures.

Later, when someone asked if they could use my massage table for a scene, I quickly hopped off and transitioned to sitting on the stage. When I looked across the Barn, Stefanos and the beautiful girl were gone.

Finished with my writing, I headed to the Dungeon. A cute boy was waiting for me.

Fate

He looked surprised to see me.

"Why are you here?  I thought you were going to Chey and Stefanos' class."
"Well, I was going to go their class, but I've never been to this class. And the only reason why I was going to their class was because I thought they were hot and that didn't seem like a good enough reason."
"It sounds like a good enough one to me."

Still, I hesitated.

"Pick a number between one and a thousand."
"Twenty-five."
"That's not it; go to the class."
"Zero."
"No. We can do this, but you'll be here for a while."

I had another solution.

"Does anyone have a quarter?"

It was time for fate to decide. 

One of Gray's attendees didn't have a quarter, but he had a coin.

"Tails."
"What is it for?"
"Just flip it."
"Okay, but you've made the decision."

He flipped his coin. It landed on tails.

I started walking away.

"Oh, I see how it is."
"But you told me to go."
"Yes, go. I mean nothing to you."
"You're mean," I whimpered.

Gray smiled his wry knowing grin.

I trudged off up the hill towards the Dungeon.

Round 4

"I lost my earring."
"That wasn't a euphomism for sex?"
"No, I lost my earring, but we had sex after I found it."

I woke up on my own at 6:05am, quietly slipped out of bed, donned my clothes, and said a whispered bye to Pyro and Ron, neither of which heard me as they slept.

Returning to my cabin, I took notes on my evening and snoozed a little before it was time to head back to work. However, when I made my way to the Barn, no one had arrived yet.

Wandering down to the Dining Hall and HeadQuarters, I found friends. I greeted N3rddom, who would run the cafe for the weekend, and sat with the head of the Non-Dungeon setup crew. She informed me we would start after breakfast, which would be served in about an hour.

And then I absent-mindedly realized something: I was missing an earring. I texted Pyro, asking if he saw it. He replied, saying I should come look for it.

Bruises from my previous evening showed the others all the fun I had had. My crew lead encouraged me to go "find my earring" and meet them for breakfast later.

Walking up the hill, I again made my way to Sadists' Lair. Ron was getting ready while Pyro laid in bed. After a few minutes, we magically found both my earring and it's backing.

With thirty minutes before breakfast would begin, I decided to snooze with Pyro. But just snooze. I kept my underwear on as insurance. Ron left out as I slipped back into Pyro's bed.

But then five minutes into being next to Pyro, his soft sleep breath in my ear, I realized I wanted to fuck more. I gently laid one of his hands over one of my breasts. He instinctively massaged and pinched my nipple. But then he drifted back to resting.

Seeing that I needed to be bolder, I took his other hand, glided a finger into my mouth, and slipped his hand into my panties. He was now fully awake, rubbing my clit.

I asked him to bite my neck. He obliged, gripping hard, pulling with his teeth and sucking. Again I fucked his hand hard. Again I screamed to my heart's content. His teeth were all over my flesh. Pain mixed with pleasure.

But we were seriously time limited. When my alarm went off, I knew we had to stop, even though I didn't want to. I told him it was time to go.

But as I began to get off his bed, with his fingers still inside me, he redirected my body. I was now sitting on his hand.

"Cheater! You are such a cheater!"

I rode his hand harder, came harder. I didn't want to leave, didn't want his digits anywhere else but inside me.

But then my second alarm went off. I really had to go.

"Man, and now my panties are all wet."

Torturous Rope

"Little different from the last class." - ORP
"Yeah, but it's still one rope." - Veskrashen

As I squirmed on the ground in excruciating pain, intermittently crying and laughing, Veskrashen, my current class partner, and my previous partner from the proceeding lesson, WykD_Dave & Clover's One Rope, uttered that perfect exchange above.

Yes, our current lesson was a little different, transitioning from simplicity, sensuality, and deep connection in One Rope to here's some ways to easily fuck someone up in Scott Smith's Torturous Rope.

Note the name of the class: Torturous Rope. Apparently that part where it says Torturous kind of just went over my head as I encouraged my rather sadistic friend Veskrashen to attend the class with me and be my partner.

We had shared a rather emotional lunch, talking about heady things in our lives, and frankly I wanted us to have some fun. I didn't realize he'd attended WykD_Dave & Clover's class too until the end; those ninety minutes were that intense. This little gem of a fact made the above comment all the more appropriate.

The first thing Scott taught us was so very simple, yet so very effective. Larks head around the ankle, under hand knot around the pinkie toe, find a straight line, and pull. Forgetting my previous toe issues, I instantly screamed out in pain, cursing Veskrashen.

"Our first motherfucker of the class," exclaimed Scott. Apparently my pain pleased him. Oh, who am I kidding? Scott is a sadistic motherfucker; of course my pain pleased him.

Scott's next tie was so dubbed 'The Tie That Made Bendy Puke.' Yeah, I was really looking forward to this one.

First you wrap your parachord around the ankle and secure it with a bowline on a bite in the front. Next you find a pressure point on the top of the foot, "the crunchy spot", knot the rope just above it, split the lines, wrap around the foot, come back up and diamond through the two lines you've created. There was now a knot right over that pressure point making pain happen.

Pulling up, you twist your two lines, and place them through the second and third toe (another pressure point). Next, split the lines and go around either side of the heel, catching the Achilles tendon, ending up back on the top of the foot. Run each line over to their far sides, catch the heel line, and pull back up to the top of the foot, applying pressure to the Achilles. To finish, over hand knot on top of your first knot.

As many people cried out in pain multiple times during this process, including myself, Scott bemoaned, "I've so got to order some more pity. I've been out for years." Yup, Scott; sadistic motherfucker.

Scott's third tie involved wrapping parachord around the face, catching the underside of the nose. I'm not even going there, though I will say it was my least torturous experience in the class. This is probably because some years ago a shoulder running by slammed into my face, centering on my nose. Nothing was broken, but it's kind of hard to top that pain.

Scott's fourth and fifth ties were quite similar, involving the same technique: constricting muscles. Attacking now the calf, Scott explained how to larks head and use reverse tension to inflict your will, adding more constriction as you went. With one of his bottom's calves tied tight like a baked ham, Scott decided to mix things up, massaging her leg.

"They really like that sensual shit."

Yup, she didn't.

Of course Veskrashen, being Veskrashen, came up with the brilliant idea to tie the Bendy tie to the calf tie, creating new worlds of pain. Thankfully he only had one piece of borrowed parachord, saving me from such a fate.

One of my funnier moments of the class occurred as I tried to keep up with Scott's lessons. Even as Veskrashen incited screams of agony, I still took notes. After all, I was taking the class too and wanted to be able to recreate the ties as well. And, yah know, Teacher's Pet.

Once, as I was jotting down the steps, Veskrashen cinched his rope tight. I heaved in air, but still tried to keep writing, forcing myself to not focus on the pain. Then, of course, either Scott or Veskrashen (I can't remember who because of how bad I was hurting) started taunting me, reminding me I needed to keep taking notes.

A room full of sick motherfuckers and their willing victims. Yet another fun class for my Sunday.

Subtle Things

"Gush, schwing, thump, ahh..."

Of all the classes I attended, choosing to take Midori's Best Kink Advice Nobody Told You was one of my favorites.

However, since it was a last minute decision, I did not occupy my normal front row seat. Instead I found myself in the back next to the aisle. I did not, though, find myself in the class alone.

"Do you want anything?" I thought and thought, with nothing coming to mind.

"I took too long, so no." Gray left, retrieving coffee for himself and Cherry_Doll, as well as water for Ummwhatever. He returned just in time for the start of class.

Midori began her lesson with a simple fact: ask any group of people what a "true dominant/submissive/masochist/sadist" is and you will get a whole host of answers. We each define these words according to our lives, experiences, and communities.

Instead of centering definitions around pain, Midori instead asked us to think about sensation. She proposed that a sadist is one who takes pleasure in causing intense sensations while a masochist is one who derives pleasure in experiencing intense sensations.

When thinking about dominance and submission, Midori suggested we think in terms of the redistribution of authority, hierarchy and control. She suggested that a dominant is one who experiences arousal when, on a temporary basis, power is redistributed giving them control. For a submissive, their arousal comes from giving up control.

As Midori imparted her knowledge (complete with a kinky sudoku chart), I kept biting my lip trying not to laugh. With Gray sitting right beside me, mild torments abounded.

"It's the subtle things I like."

First there was the introductory pen tip poke into my ribs, Gray's way of saying Good morning. Then there was the tap of his coffee cup against the bottom of my water bottle. Just a few errant drops slipped from my lips as I tried not to laugh or choke. Of course there were the many comments, pinging off of Midori's lesson.

But the climax came in one small word.

"Ash," he whispered. I sighed and swooned. "Really?"

Yes, really. Just the night before I had eaten ash from multiple different hands, and I could still smell the smoke in my hair. So, yup, really.

To close her class, Midori talked about how people do not fit into one kinky sudoku box for a lifetime. Often we change, either because of the person, our mood, or the circumstances surrounding us.

She likened a person's predilections to a diner menu. Some items are available in the morning, in the evening, or all day. Others are daily or weekly specials.

"But for you, my friend, any substitution."

Roasted

"I like the French. They taste like chicken."

"Don't mind me; I'll do this til I die."

"Oh honey, you'll never fit in that."

"Our short sash marriage has included you judging me, and leaving me... and you didn't even give me any flowers."

"Everyone knows International Mr. BootBlack is treated like the red headed step child."

"I listened again, and I heard some slight snoring. So much for my sex appeal, bitch."

"Jim is the best sort of sash husband. We shared everything, including play partners."

"Jim was the first bootblack I ever met...Not really."

"I take the appropriate amount of time for each pair of boots. If it doesn't take me that long, I'm not into you."

"He's cute. I wonder what he looks like when he stands up."

"Jim, yeah, I didn't know he was funny."

Two amazing events occur in the same city at the same time every year: Shibaricon and International Mr. Leather. The two events draw an overlapping crowd, intertwining multiple cross sections of kink. For the crossovers among us, directions to get to IML, both with a vehicle and through public transit, were listed in my Shibaricon registration packet.

I knew, even before I stepped foot in Illinois, that I would try to make it to IML. My friend Jim was stepping down as International Mr. Bootblack, and I wanted to go support him.

Unfortunately his actual step down ceremony conflicted with Shibaricon obligations. However, Thursday night, before my Shibaricon officially started, there was the roast for the current IML and IMBB.

So I found myself, right after the Meet&Greet, in a friend's vehicle traveling to The Leather Archives and Museum to go see a roast.

Our trio arrived just in time. Technically the festivities had begun, but the guests of honor were not yet called to the stage. We quickly slipped in and sat in the back as the various roasters were introduced, followed by IML 2011 Eric Guttierez & IMBB 2011 Jim Deuder.

With their loins girded, the host brought forth the first speaker to the mic. It wasn't long before I was bent over, laughing uncontrollably.

Some of the best lines were sent from those not in attendance, as well as the current title holders' rebuttals.

When the laughing subsided, and the festivities ended, our little group made our way to the front. We greeted Jim, and were able to spend a little time chatting with him.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, what now?"
"What do you mean?"
"What now that your year is over? What will you do?"
"Go back to my life. I presented on leather and fetish before. I went to events before. Now I just don't have to wear the sash."

Though my first experience with bootblacking was at FetFest, Jim taught the first class I took on the subject. Jim sold me my first kit. Jim was the first person to black my boots.

If you'd asked me about bootblacking a year ago, I wouldn't have had an interest. I would've acknowledged my love for boots, but not understand the service and the skill. Now, with Jim's guidance and encouragement, as well as others, I feel like a different person, a fuller person. I am a bootblack.

Even with this being the end of his time as IMBB, Jim was still busy. He had a car waiting for him even as we spoke. He was off, and then we were off.

After a journey, with a detour to possible Mac & Cheese pizza (don't do it) and a drive-by of Wrigley Field, we found ourselves at a 24hr diner in the queer crossroads of Chicago. Over steak and eggs, french toast, and the best veggie burger I've ever seen, we chatted, relaxed, happy to be among friends.

We vented. We crushed. We hoped for what our weekends could be.

And then we made our way back to our temporary home, excited for the yet more fun to come.

Location, Location, Location

I work for about half a dozen different companies. However, there is one in particular I work for the most. They pay be more per hour and offer me more total hours than any of my other companies (score!).

Still, there is one rather large downside to this particular arrangement: the location of the company's warehouse.

I function in multiple different capacities for this company: general production had, crew lead, occasional shop worker, and truck driver.

On Wednesday night, as I drove the truck back to the shop, along with two other female coworkers in the cab, we all noticed something odd as I pulled into the lot: a man in his car, dome light on, alone and shirtless.

Apparently I was the lucky one of our trio. Being that I was concentrating on driving, I did not notice the man was indeed completely naked and jerking off in his car...in front of our warehouse...with no one else in sight.

One of my coworkers yelped and started laughing. I can't remember what the other did. I kept driving the truck, past our warehouse entrance, further up the parking lot. I turned sideways, able to glimpse the man about one hundred feet away. Thankfully he quickly drove off.

Both of my coworkers found the incident funny. I would have too, except a dark thought came over me.

There have been times when I've been alone at the warehouse, returning the truck, no one else with me. There were times when not only did I return the gear, I also offloaded the cases by myself. This has not happened in quite some time, but it bothered me all the same.

This most recent happening is not the first incident to occur in the industrial complex we house. Twice I've seen men in their cars, enjoying the services of a prostitute.

Once I happened to drive past an SUV, my lights washing the vehicle, and a lady's headed pop up from the distraction. For some reason, I distinctly remember there being a handicapped tag on the rear view mirror.

During the other sighting, I drove by and saw a man standing by the back driver-side door. It seemed like his pants were down. As I kept going, it finally clicked what he was doing.

Amorous dealings aside, other not-so-amusing activities have also peppered the area. Drag racing down a long stretch of road leading up to and past our building. Multiple car fires, the exact number of which I'm not quite sure.

And then there was this morning.

Today I woke up at 7am to make it to the warehouse by 8:30am to pick up the truck for our gig. As I pulled into a 7-11 near the warehouse, hoping to grab breakfast before work, three cop cars sat in the parking lot, one specifically blocking a vehicle entrance. I popped a U-turned and instead got food from a small Mom&Pop eatery.

When I parked at the warehouse, I popped my trunk and put on my work shoes. As I sat, tying my laces, I heard a vehicle pass by, blaring Latin music. I didn't think much of this, except it kept playing rather loudly. The person had not turned their car off.

One of the company trucks blocked my view of the vehicle, so I walked past the truck and into the line of sight. I saw a man's back. He stood near a bush. I did not see his actual anatomy, but understood he was relieving himself about seventy-five feet away.

I turned and walked towards the office door. As I entered, a second vehicle passed by. This was turning out to be a busy morning.

Inside I grabbed my truck keys, the pertinent paperwork for today's event, and departed.

As I walked towards my truck, parked all the way at the end of the lot, I saw that there were now about three or four men standing around. I kept my head down, and gave myself about twenty feet of cushion between myself and the small crowd.

When I passed them, no one followed. No one said anything to me, in fact. I opened my truck, got inside, locked the door, and drove off.

I'm not sure what to make of the situation. I love this job, and do not plan on leaving anytime soon. And seeing as they comprise about 60% of my income, I make far too much money to not work for them.

Still, it would be nice to not show up to the warehouse wondering what new story I will have to impart about my job.

Narnia

Narnia.

They made me scream Narnia instead of their names or any preferred curse word while I came.

Narnia.

PrudeNate had his fist inside me as N3rddom held a Hitachi Magic Wand to my clit, and all the while I am screaming.

Narnia. Seriously.

Would this be an example of humiliation play?

Friday night was an April birthdays celebration, filled with beatings and bitches and sex sex sex. So basically a good time.

My evening really kicked into high gear when I spied a gentleman wearing a glove with a chain wrapped around his hand. With slight prodding from my friends, I got up and introduced myself. About fifteen seconds later I was bent over the arm of the couch enduring a taste of his blows. Talk about thuddy.

Then somehow BlackBeard (the host for evening) and the chain-gloved gentleman were both hitting me at the same time, their punches landing on opposite sides. Aiming for the meat of my ass and the sides of my thighs, I fell with each blow.

BlackBeard kept yelling for me to stand back up, which I did happily, until what became the final blows, when my body buckled and I collapsed into the couch, landing on my ass. The sides of my thighs still ache from that experience, which maybe lasted two minutes.

My body warmed up, I slouched on the couch, smiling and happy.

With the complaint of those in attendance concerning the high quantity of clothing and the low quantity of nudity, clothes soon came off. I, however, was not one to just disrobe. I had to give a show.

When the moment presented itself, I cued up my usual song, and placed myself in an opportune viewing area. Of course, most everyone turned to watch.

This ended up being a blessing and a curse. It fed my need to be watched, admired, my secret narcissism, but these were not quiet folk. For the first time, as I stripped, I was heckled.

"I'd better read about this is your blog."

Request granted.

Because my act involved audience participation, and I wore a different outfit than usual, my dance was more playful, more creative. I took risks, and was rewarded for my efforts. Dollar bills found their way into my bra. And BlackBeard, ever the gentleman, made it rain for me.

Of course everyone loved my signature move (my booty pop, with my fingers pointing to my ass for added emphasis).

Soon after my dance I found myself on the floor with PrudeNate, N3rddom, and CandleLover all tormenting me. Sometimes I get spoiled.

We didn't count my cums, even though there was mention of my all time record, accomplished with PrudeNate about a year ago (42 orgasms in one hour and forty-five minutes).

Instead there were mental torments, giggles, and vibrator & fist induced glee.

At one point, it was so good I wanted to call out to my (as yet non-existent) Daddy, thanking him for my pleasure. Thankfully I was cognisant enough to know screaming "Daddy" rather loudly would've been odd and inappropriate to say the least.

After my fisting, most of us transitioned downstairs to BlackBeard's dungeon. There was an energetic threesome involving two lovely women, BlackBeard, a spanking bench, and a strap-on. PrudeNate, N3rddom, CandleLover spent some quality time of their own on the soft carpeted floor. I leaned against the wall and enjoyed the dual views.

Later that night, I was given the privilege of blacking BlackBeard's boots again, buffing them to a high shine.

My night ended with the sounds of singing and guitar playing as BlackBeard and an impromptu chorus of kinky folk sang songs as varied as those in attendance.

A good night, I hope, was had by all.

Flagging Starfucker

I was given one star for every orgasm. To be fair, I had not kept count, guessing the number at above twelve but below thirty. Truth be told, it could've been over thirty considering how long we'd camped out in the swing, but eh... Our scene was about the fun of predicament bondage, fisting, vibrators, and good conversation.  The shiny stuff was just extra.

I greatly enjoy rising to challenges, so getting up into a sex swing with both my legs frogged, one arm chicken winged, my wrists connected, and a tight chest harness around my torso was just the recipe for great fun.

This was to be my reward for finding "the spot". Crawling around on the carpeted floor, my knees and one elbow ached, searching for some unknown place. Still, it was amusing, figuring out how my body would work caught up in my bindings.

When first tasked with my ascent, I asked for assistance from a friend. Once they heard what my reward would be, they said I had to earn my fisting. I attempted to do it myself.

Thankfully, a small metal piece of play equipment sat in front of the swing. First I hooked my shoulders in the basket. Leaning against it, I got my feet up on the equipment and began wiggling myself up and into the swing. I managed to get myself half way in, to just above my hips. But with my legs still bound, it was becoming obvious that though I had performed particularly amazing considering the predicament, I was not going to make it all the way in. Anatomy and all.

With my legs released, I slithered the rest of the way up. With some assistance from our audience, we got a chuck (a safer sex disposable blanket, for those not up on scene lingo).

Time for the screaming.

"May I cum?"
"Yes, you don't have to ask permission."

"You look really pretty. Well, you always look pretty, but especially now with the rope and your tears."
"Thank you."

My first few orgasms were just from fisting. And then I was asked if I liked vibrators. Hmm, do I like vibrators?

My wrists still connected, once up in the sling they were secured to a small length of chain hanging from the top bracing. With some effort, I discovered I was able to hold the vibrator with my fingertips if I had one arm up and one arm down.

And then the orgasms started rolling, one after the other. A hand inside me pounding. A Wahl vibrator going. I screamed. I cried. I cursed. I whimpered. It was marvelous.

I'm not quite sure how we started our conversation. I know I mentioned how I had, during previous fistings, been asked to count back from one hundred by sevens, recite a poem, etc. So we started talking, with a fist still in my cunt.

I love ligature marks. LOVE THEM. But during our chatting about "experimental" video games, I asked for my wrists to be released. I had already rotated them twice and could feel it was time for me to stop tormenting them. I didn't want to completely take off the rope, though. My right wrist still held onto its cuff.

"I could feel that, when you coughed, and now that you're laughing."

As we chatted, I was sparring with the vibrator, though I did orgasm thrice while we spoke. Even so, I kept engaged in the conversation. It would've been rude to do otherwise.

"How long do you want to go?"
"That is a loaded question. I've gone as long at an hour and forty five minutes before, so however long is fine with me."
"Okay good, cause I'm not done yet."

Smoothly we transitioned from talking to fist fucking again. I came some more, screamed some more, and yelled their name over and over. I really like doing that, broadcasting to the world who is making me cum. I find it pleasurable as an expression of my ecstasy and whomever I happen to be playing with seems to enjoy it as well.  At least, I've had no complaint.

I only had to ask for a slowdown once, a testament to the abilities of the person I played with.

"Tell me if this hurts. I want this to be enjoyable for you."

And it was.

Once we did finish, and cleaned up our area, the stars came out. Super glued to my upper right arm. And one on my right temple.

"You're flagging starfucker right now."
"That's okay. You're a star in my world."

Yes, there is room for cheesy-ness in the dungeon.

I wanted to take a photo. But I no longer had underwear. I had worn a pair of black boxer shorts. However, once I voiced a reminder that said boxers were destroyable, a knife soon ripped them apart, after grazing all over my skin. And slapping my clit. And lightly fucking me.

"You should save them, use them for your bootblacking kit."

I love mixing my fetishes.

Taking my Zim jacket, I zipped it up over my legs and tied the arms around my hips.

"Hey, great. That looks like a cool skirt."

Heading to the bathroom, I asked if someone would take my picture. Instead I was informed of the photo shoot happening in the ballroom next door. Rushing inside, I begged profusely and, in doing so, I earned the last spot.

So there is a chance that next IMsL I will be in the program (or, dare I say it, on the front cover) flagging starfucker.

Going To The Well

Sometimes I'm lost for what to say. Sometimes I go to the well and it's like, "Um, what do you want? I've given you plenty. Leave me alone." Sometimes I've just got nothing.

When that has happened in the past, I'll end up writing a piece of erotica. Frankly, for me, it's easy. I think of a character, what that character finds sexy, and craft a story around that. It can be long. It could be just a page. But leaning back on erotica is easy.

Today I wanted to write something profound. I wanted to express a sweet sorrow of some sort.

All I've got to talk about, though, is allergies. (Yeah, not so sexy today folks.)

As an adult, this year is the first where my body has decided to attack itself. For the past week my head has felt like cotton balls have been shoved up my nose, lubricated but the abundance of snot dripping out.

I've sneezed more in the past seven days than I may have in the previous seven years. I set a new record for how many sneezes I expelled in a row: five.

Random Fact: I love to sneeze. Love the build up, the anticipation of the release, and then finally the massive gush of air as my body convulses and I let go. A wave of relief passes over me. My skin is tingly sweet. I feel almost high.  (Bet you didn't know sneezing could be so sexy.)  This experience, however, has almost dampened my love of the act.

I know things change. Our bodies are constantly changing, no matter how much we try to stop it. As an adult, I've recently found a love of physical activity on a semi-regular basis. (Translation: I'm exercising, and I kinda like it.) I feel better. Others have said I look better. Overall, it's pretty fucking awesome.

And, funny enough, physical activity did help, somewhat, in the relief of my allergy symptoms. It's funny, a good friend of mine recently mentioned how, when she is sick, if she has sex the symptoms ease during the act and for a time after.

Today I can't give all the credit to my yoga DVD. I took a Claritin at 8:30am. It's currently 8pm. I feel much better, less like I want to kill everyone and everything. I seriously hope this shit doesn't come back, but I know it will. Thankfully, I bought a five pack, so at least I'm good until I fly away for a week.

And yeah, really excited for my trip. And scared shitless. And wondering if I'm crazy. Or whimsical. Or adventurous. Or super naive. Or optimistic beyond belief. I guess I'm a little bit of everything.

Left coast, I will see you in nine days.

Allergies: GO AWAY!