A Tour

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IMsL, By The Numbers

Outfits worn: 8

Hours slept: PLENTY

Cliff bars consumed: 2

Bananas: 3

Chinese food: just once

Bacon cheddar BBQ burger: just once

Items purchased: 5
- Two rope books, a small flogger, a wrist cuff, & a silent auction Twisted Monk 50' 8mm red hemp rope

Items lost: 2
- my black hat & my brand-fucking-new Mr. S Leather wrist cuff; damn you stressful travel days

Self suspensions: 2

Blogs posted: 4
- Preparation, Cigars, Dropped, The Journey Home

Classes attended: 3
- Rope Intensive with Lamalani, Bootblacking Intensive with Q, 10 Rules For Happy Non-Monogamy with Andrea Zanin

Cigars purchased: 2

Cigars gifted: 1

Hands with ash for me: 5

Chocolates given: 4
- "You know how to keep them coming back."

Planned scenes: 1
- rope, knives, fisting, and chatting

Spontaneous scenes: 2
- I don't always kiss and tell

Small, Perfect Moments: few, but more than I could have asked for

Stars: 20 + 1

Actual orgasms: who the fuck knows...

Borrowed rope: a chest harness

Gifted rope: a 15' length of white nylon
- use it well, young one

Awesome hugs: many

New friends: a plenty

Fits of tears: blessedly few

Miles walked: 3

Crazy drugged homeless person avoided: 1

Hours writing in a landmark: 2

Hours walking around another landmark: 1

Boots blacked: once

Asked to pinch bootblack at the last minute: ONCE

Actual pinch bootblacking: none
- I came to the rescue, but the rescue already happened; next time, maybe

Slices of pizza: 3

Exhausted end of convention conversation with a friend: 1

Plans for the future: unknown

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.

The Journey Home

My journey in rope has not always been easy. In fact, most times, it's been downright brutal. Being around people who know so much more than me, have done it so much longer than I have, and all of them having such faith in me...It's just so fucking intimidating. I've said it before: it often feels like I'm a Sophomore hanging out with Seniors.

So when I fell Friday night, when I fucked up, it hurt on more than just the physical level. Emotionally, I had lost my center. I had failed, not just myself, but the people who taught me, the people who cheered me on. I felt like complete and total shit.

But I knew I couldn't stay there. I knew I couldn't let that be the end of it. I knew I couldn't get back to who I was before I fell, at least not in a day, but I could start the journey home.

Saturday I again found my grove at the event. I had my boots blacked by Her Treasure. I attended an excellent non-monogamy class. I planned a play date with a friend which is likely to be horribly hot. I experienced huge amounts of ashy, smokey fun at the cigars and boots social. I introduced myself to folks, chatted, laughed, and made friends.

With the high of cigars and boots still lingering on my skin and in my hair, I grabbed my rope bag from my room and headed down to the dungeon. I found the same rig. I laid out the same ropes. I undressed. I left my boots on. I stretched.

I rigged my Shibari ring in a way that I knew would not, could not, fail unless my webbing split and ripped apart. I tied the same chest harness, hip harness, and ankle cuff. I held onto my ring and let a deep breath out.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I sat into my ropes, let them take my weight, and swung for a bit. I didn't dare let myself close my eyes. I spun around one way and then the other.

I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I sat back into my ropes. I lifted my right boot, and then my left, gripping onto my rope and the ring. I let myself go inverted, but my hands didn't dare let go of my rope. I kept looking up at the webbing. I wouldn't let go.

I stood up. I held onto the ring. I breathed.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I knew I couldn't end like this. Yes, I had let the ropes take the weight. Yes, I had gone inverted. But I still lacked the trust in my work, the trust in myself. I had to take the leap.

I sat back in my ropes. I threw my feet up.

You are not going to fall. You are not going to fall.

I slowly let go. My hands rested on my lower back. My ropes, my work, took my weight. I breathed. I smiled.

I sat back up. I landed. I brushed my face against my ring. I felt like I was home again.

Slowly, deliberately, I unwound each of my lifting lines. I drug the chords across my body. I threw them to the floor. I took apart my ankle cuff, ran the rope across my skin, and flung it into the pile. I untied my chest and hip harnesses. I smelled their aromatic hemp flavor before letting them join the others. Using a chair, I reached up and let my webbing down. I sat beside my ropes, smiling, happy.

I recoiled each rope, placed them all back in my bag, and packed my things away. My clothes back on, everything ready, I departed the rig, pleased that it was no longer a scary place. I had learned.

As I wondered around the other play spaces, my smile could not be stopped. As I watched people play, and remembered the fun I had had earlier, I felt like me again. I felt free again. I felt like I was home.

Dropped

Today was the best day. Today was the worst day.

Being in San Francisco, on the left coast, attending an event with a different energy than I'm used to, has been challenging. The last time I was this nervous for an event was my first one.

Today I felt like I was making strides. I attended two awesome classes.

The first was a three hour rope intensive with Lamalani, a former IMsL. Lani went over rope from a basic cuff to demonstrating an ebi. Though I knew a lot of what was taught, I also learned quite a bit. I helped the people around me. I introduced myself, learned names, and passed out Moo cards. And, at the end of the presentation, I got a hug. Awesome.

For the second class session, I attended yet another three hour intensive, this time on bootblacking. Q, a former IMsBB, gave a fun and interactive talk. I learned quite a lot, took copious amounts of notes, and felt thrilled to have been in the class. Once again, I talked to new people, learned names, passed out Moo cards, and felt much better about my IMsL experience.

I later attended the opening ceremony, as well as the roast of the current title holders. All-in-all, my day was going extremely well.

So well, in fact, I decided to self suspend.

And then I fell, flat on my back, in the middle of one of the dungeons.

Physically, I'm barely bruised. Mentally though...

I know exactly why it happened. I know how to never make it happen again. And, as Parker pointed out later, it was best that I was the person I dropped.

Of all the things that could go wrong, the thing that did go wrong was the one I didn't worry about. It was the one that, at the time, I thought, Well, it'll probably be alright. And, of course, it was my undoing.

What's worse, I was so happy when everything went to shit. My ties were just right. Experimenting with the ankle cuff again was excellent. I figured out some awesome body positions and was doing well switching between them. I even wore my boots while I tied (and nothing else). I was full of self confidence, full of power. I am not a Woo person, but it felt like I had found my center again.

And then I was on my back.

When I landed, I immediately started giggling and said "I'm good" to no one in particular. I laid on the ground for a bit, trying to cease my giggle fit. I then sat up, untied all my lines, and recoiled my rope.

In the process, I decided I needed to get right back on the saddle; I needed to prove to myself I had only made a simple mistake and I knew how to fix it. I re-secured my ring, correctly this time, and tried to figure out how best to test the weight barring.

However, it felt like all eyes were on me. It felt like every whispered conversation we about me. I could see the DM in a corner about fifteen away, watching me. My hands shook. I began doubting myself. I thought it was best to just pack up and leave.

Every conversation was, in fact, not about me. Most people took no notice of me. Yes, the DM watched me like a hawk, but for good reason. But, as I began packing up, the DM moved on.

Not knowing what to do, I wondered to a play space to possibly watch a scene, but nothing was happening that interested me.

Okay, that's a lie. I needed to not watch a scene. I needed to decompress.

I found a chair, sat, and pulled out my crocheting. As I worked, I again analyzed in my mind what I did wrong. I replayed my movements. I confirmed with myself it was a simple mistake.

As I crocheted, Jim walked by. Playfully, he kicked my boot, and asked what was going on. I told him I was self soothing, explaining I'd had a little mishap in a scene. From then on, each time he passed me, he gave a little head rub or a smile.

Later, Parker came over. I told Parker about my incident. We talked for quite a bit. I felt better.

And I do feel better. Like Parker said, at least it was me and not another bottom. But, even so, I feel like I'm back to where I was before: adrift, unsure, off center.

Some time, either tomorrow or Sunday, I have to try again. Self suspension is my happy place, my center, my home. I want and need that back.