My Eff

I love my friends; they challenge me in ways I cannot do myself.

Case and point: I just finished reading an essay by my friend Graydancer, Eff The Ineffable.

In it, he challenges everyone to name the things that make you different.  Why are you a "unique little snowflake"?  Why is an experience with you special?  In short, why should someone play with you?

I appreciated this question; it made me evaluate my own selfworth, which is something I've been trying hard to do. 

What is my Eff?

Physically, I know I'm attractive.  Recently, I was even described as beautiful by a person who'd only met me once. 

I believe in my beauty at fleeting moments: in the morning when I'm brushing my teeth, after a post-shower masturbation session when my skin is flushed and my curls are perfectly tossed about, once I've gotten ready for a party and take that final look in the mirror before I leave. 

I know the features I love most, which also happen to be the ones that get the most attention.
 
My naturally curly hair is an obvious draw.  It's not always the case that a black woman lets you touch her strands.  I, however, love it.  Play with it; mess it up.  Running your fingers through my locks and massaging my scalp is an easy way to bend me to your will.  And pulling it, especially during sex or play, sends me over the moon.

And then there is my ass.  I've written poetry about it, and often take pictures of it post play, as it is a favored target.  The curve, the mass of the flesh; I do not possess the words to describe how much I adore my ass.

Beyond my looks, I know the little things I do, the small nuggets I give in my interactions with people, that brings something special when I am with you.

My eyes are a soft chocolate brown.  Often, when I play, they are mostly closed.  But, when I do open them, and stare deep into you, I am connecting more than flesh-to-flesh.  I am letting you in and asking for the same.  I am focusing my energy on you, giving of myself to you, and hoping I can receive in kind.

When I am really nervous, or unsure, or desparate, but without the courage to say so, I have this way of stealing quick glances: bending my head towards the ground, biting my lower lip, and hurriedly flicking my eyes up and down, trying to not get caught.  When you do catch me, you like what you see.

When I've gotten to know you and formed at least a loose friendship, each time we greet my eyes are bright, smiling more than my lips, pulsing my happiness out to you.

And then there is my submission: my head on your knee, my willingness to please, to give, to submit.  It has only been these past few months that I've grown to aprreciate, understand, and love how much I can give by being at your knee, at your heel, at your side. 

I am there for you, and only you.  My focus is your pleasure, whether through a task, my pain, or my silence.  My single-minded will to give of myself to you is another type of energy, another level of attachment I bring to the table.

The last, and I believe the best, trait I bring is my smile, my laughter, my giddiness towards life.  I often say, "I cultivate my childlike whimsy."  I giggle at the drop of a hat.  Occasionally I have to stop myself when the fits start and I get lost in the glee of it all. 

I will be the first to cheer you up, give you a hug, hold your hand while you pour out your heart.  Maybe you need a backrub.  Maybe I can say something funny to make you smile.  I believe making others happy, bringing joy and wonder to the everyday, is a reason to live.

So, that's my Eff, at least what I can think of this afternoon.  What's yours?

How I Got Here

Sitting in this seat
- Two of my roommates were sitting on the big couch, so I took the recliner.

Living in this house
- I met my roommates through my weekly kinky Happy Hour.  We became friends.  They wanted to move into together and needed one more roommate.  I wanted lower rent and emotional support.

Finding the Happy Hour
- After going to Dark Odyssey Summer Camp 2010, I craved being around kinky people.  Went on FetLife and found out about the weekly Happy Hour.  Went by myself one Thursday; been going regularly ever since.

DO Summer Camp
- One of my work friends is in a triad and is kinky.  She posted on her Facebook that she was going.  I had just moved out of the apartment I shared with my boyfriend.  Chance to rebound and renew.

Broke up with my Ex
- I wanted marriage and kids; he was emotionally distant and very much a man-child.  And he moved his mother in; steel pipe that broke my camel's back.

Met my boyfriend
- Through my work in production lighting.

Production Lighting
- I graduated college with a Theatre degree.  I specialized in lighting.

Theatre lighting
- In high school, I was a member of the back stage run crew for the yearly musical.

High School
- All girls Catholic school in a city where the best schools were not public.  My parents paid; my life has been the better for it.

My parents
- Met while on the job.  He was a doctor; she was a secretary.  He was, and still is, married.  She loved him anyway.  One time, my mother did not use her diaphragm.  Oh, and she was Catholic.

Rambling

Back to your regularly scheduled kinky hotness soon.  Today, though, I need to just type and see what appears on my screen.

I'm on a beach vacation with my best friend and her family.  They love me; I love them; it's been good.  However, for most of my time spent here, my body has existed absent my mind.  Too many thoughts have been rattling around inside my head, hence this post.

Typos
I.  HATE.  TYPOS!!!  After re-reading a recent post (DOF 2011: Sunday Part 1) and finding a bunch of mistakes and clunky language, I went back and revised/rewrote quite a bit of the entry. 

Encouraged by these fixes, I then found myself re-reading some of the very first posts I wrote for this blog.  I made it through almost the entire first year before I saw it, plan as day.  Where there should have been 'piles', I wrote 'pills.'   

ANGER!!! 

FRUSTRATION!!! 

That post was three years old.  Three years of my mistake existing on the internet and me not doing a damn thing to fix it.

As a writer, for me, there is nothing so grating, so irritating, so downright blood-in-the-eyes inspiring as a spelling mistake, dropped punctuation, or stunted word flow. 

I enjoy what I do.  I love spinning tales.  But it is the simple mistake that is currently haunting my creative thoughts.

For every post I create, I spend half my time writing and the other half revising.  I read each post at least twice, beginning to end, looking for errors and breaks in flow.  I try my damnedest to write a post worthy of reading.  But, even with all my efforts, without fail, for every blog I write and read, and re-read, there will be at least one little mistake, one misspelling, a 'their' instead of 'they're,' an 'out' instead of an 'our,' a fucking dropped coma or repetitive word that makes me want to throw my fucking laptop across the room.

Woo-Saa...Woo-Saa...Woo-Saa...

But, I endeavor on, even though I know it will be highly ironic, and incredibly maddening, when I find the typo in this blog.


Fear 
I live a fairly open life.  I write about my adventures on the interwebs and talk about my extra-curricular life to family, friends, and folks at work. 

Granted, I have it easy.  People in my job either are very interested and amused or they genuinely don't give a shit.  I have yet, thankfully, to run into someone who is adamantly against whom I am and what I do.  Of the friends and family who know, they're either also in the scene or love me more than their objections to my life.

Still, when a friend made a suggestion recently, I found myself taken aback and almost ready to flee.  Okay, maybe not literally run away from my then current location, but a jittery feeling crept up inside.

I have been writing for almost as long as I could read.  I still remember being seven or eight and showing Ella my pink notebook (don't ask me why it was that color; I am not a fan of pink).  In it, I'd written maybe half a dozen to a dozen poems. 

In elementary school, I wrote action adventures similar to the Indiana Jones movies and Stephen King's The Stand.  Middle school was journaling.  High school was erotica.  College, what else but plays.  I have been a writer my entire life.  I've just never been paid for it.

But, recently, a friend read my blog and told me, "You're quite a talented blogger.  You could easily turn that into a book." 

At the time, I didn't know why this took me aback.  I thought maybe because it was seemingly out of the blue.  Maybe because I hadn't been critiqued on my work for so long; I'd forgotten people actually had opinions.  Maybe because I had hung my hope on finishing my thriller novel, which I haven't touched in a year.  Maybe because my friend has published work; I highly respect his opinions.  I didn't know why, but, in the same instance, I was both flattered and fearful.

In my head, their comment meant two things:
1- I really have been dragging my feet on getting published. 
2- Why has my ass been dragging on finishing my works and getting published?

And just as soon as I asked myself the question, I knew the answer: FEAR.  The little hater.  The inner demon.  Self doubt.  Insecurity.  It didn't just pervade my thoughts while living my kinky life.  I think it permeates all aspects of my life.  And that shit needs to stop.

In my head, I'd been telling myself my writing wasn't good enough.  It was good, but who would publish it?  Who would buy it?  Who would read it?  And if they did, wouldn't I be judged on how I lived? 

Yah know what, fuck 'em.

I could do it.  I could be a published writer.  Granted, this is not how I'd expected or anticipated it.  If anything, it's better.  I love writing about my life, the little details, reliving the moments that touched me so and still leave impressions to this day.  Why not share my life with the world and maybe somehow spin making a living out of it? 

My kink life, my work life, my entire adult life has been about making myself be brave when all I want to do is run and hide under the table.  Time to man up.


Three
Currently there are three people in my life I would literally do anything for.  I haven't told them; they don't need to know.  I care for them deeply and am so ecstatic to have them in my life, whatever way they can be, that my feelings towards them need to stay in my head.  I don't need my mental shit ruining my friendships.

But, and there is always is a but, sometimes it really fucking sucks. 

They never mean to, but the slightest indication this way or that from any of them holds an emotional sway over me I'm not always happy about.

For instance, one day recently I wasn't feeling my best.  One short text message from one of them and my mood turned on a fucking dime, plastering a smile on my face for the rest of the afternoon and evening.  I was feeling okay one night this week and a phone call from another sent me over the moon.  I was in a fairly good mood earlier, but a text from the last one rubbed me the wrong way.  Now, I'm feeling less than myself.

I don't know what to do about this.  I don't think there is anything I can do.  I am certainly not extricating them from my life; they mean too much to me.  Even with the emotional swings, to not have any of them would hurt more than any unintentional comment or gesture on their part.

And none of this is their fault; it's just the way my mind works.  I get attached and have to work my way through it. 

Reminding myself others are not as perceptive as I am helps.  Also, that people are not as sensitive and don't remember every little detail or interaction like I do.  And, reminding myself these people care about me deeply too, even when my little hater is shouting doubts.

Habete fidem; desine fatigo.

Have faith; stop worrying.
~


So yeah, my head's a bit of a mess.  It doesn't help that I've barely worked this month.  My money is fine; the recent move severely decreased my bills.  It is the actual act of working that I've, almost, missed.  There is just something about the physical nature of what I do that gets me out of my head.  When I have to make sure lights aren't going to fall on people and truss towers aren't going to tip over, the worries of my life come into perspective.

It also doesn't help that I haven't rigged since I've been on this vacation.  I didn't realize how meditative, how calming and centering my rope time is until it was gone.  Binding myself, lifting myself in the air, and settling into the feel of my body in that unnatural state is much more fulfilling than I ever imagined.  I should have known when, during the 'Hot Ball Of Crazy' era, one of my stress reliefs was self-bondage.  Rope holds a special place for me.  I'm just now beginning to acknowledge and embrace this. 

Fuck, what I would give for a good hard point and no threat of cops or creeps coming by.  Or even three six foot bamboo sticks and a closet.  I could make that shit work.

But no.  I have to wait til Saturday. 

Three days.

DOF 2011: Monday

Tying Up Loose Ends

My last morning at camp began with a wake up from SkinnyBitch, who decided jumping on top of me in my bed was just the way to start my day.  My cabinmates, in an act of selflessness, had let me sleep til 10am, my record for the event.

I was grumpy and upset, like every other morning, but I knew I needed to pack.  Instead of dividing up my clothes as I had hoped, I simply shoved everything in where I could.  I got most of my things in bags before I threw on my comfy clothes, including my riding jacket, which hugged my body tight.  The sensation gave me a small modicum of comfort, like a warm blanket on a cold night.

With my things ready to be thrown in my car, there still remained the issue of Gray's flogger.  I told my cabinmates I would be right back and, implement in tow, I headed down to Gray's cabin.

When I peeked inside, though, no one was there.  The small sting of worry pinged me.  Did Gray already leave?  Shit, if he did, how am I suppose to get the flogger back to him?

I happened to glance up on mantle behind the beds.  There I saw the apple I'd given him in his Kinkbusters class.  Reassured I had not missed him, I stepped outside the cabin and asked those close by if anyone had seen him.  They said no, so I walked away, contemplating circling the camp once more.

As I left, though, I saw Chris and Thanos again.  Greeting them, I asked if they had seen Gray.  In fact, they had; he was in the Dining Hall.  Thanking them and parting, I headed down the lane.

As I walked in, I was incredibly nervous.  The hall was packed with people.  I scanned the crowd and finally saw him sitting next to Murphy.  It was as if my life planned this shit.  As I walked over, Gray saw me and stood.

"So, you forgot this." 

I presented the flogger to him.  Gray accepted, hugging me.  He apologized for flaking on the scene from the previous night, sighting his throbbing ankle and general exhaustion from the event.  I told him it was okay, informing him I had flaked too.  But I also admitted I would have push through if Gray had wanted to suspend me.  He thanked me for the thought, but instead offered a rain-check and suggested we exchange information.  

I don't know what brought it up, but Gray happened to mention the HBO series Game of Thrones.  In a moment of pure geek, I began one of my signature "Oh my God" statements, ready to expound on how much I loved the show.  He quickly stopped me, saying he had not yet seen the last episode.  I held my giddiness at bay, though I did note the last five minutes of the last episode were amazing.

As Gray sat back down, I tried to exchange information with Murphy.  Murphy, though, decided he was going to spout out his number too quickly for me to get it into my phone.  When I tried to get him to slow down, he handed me a card, asking me to contact him through one of the mediums listed.  He would get back to me.  I hugged him as well and then left.

I could feel the emotions starting to take hold, threatening to overcome me.  I was pleased how things were left with Gray and Murphy.  I knew I would stay in contact with both of them.  It felt like I'd bonded with them over the past four days.  That fleeting moment in the Dining Hall ended my interactions with Gray and Murphy on a good note.


Vulnerable

Walking back to the cabin, I checked in with my cabinmates.  Most everyone was ready to start packing cars.  I walked up to the parking lot, grabbed my car, and parked in front of the cabin. 

On the way to my vehicle, I had texted some friends to see if I could do my usual verbal mind dump of my event with them.  When I arrived back at the cabin, my friends texted back saying they were unable to help.  There were work issues and they would not be available to see me for a few days.

I broke.  I didn't know what to do.  My established post-camp ritual was gone.  I more fell than sat on the bed behind me.  Curling up my chest into my lap, I started crying.  As I balled my eyes out, I realized I had taken Darian's advice.  Normally I would've run to the bathroom, closed the stall door, and wept alone, hiding my emotions from everyone.  Instead I let my friends see the pain I was in, the hurt racing through me.

Deep_End walked over and put his arms around me.  I cried into his embrace.  When I regained composure, I explained my normal post-camp ritual was not possible.  Deep_End asked why I would run to talk to my other friends when I could just stay at home with my new roommates.  After all, that was to be my new life.  I agreed, mentally noting I would find another way to get my story in voice recordings.


Labyrinth; The End

My crying finished, we started packing our cars.  SkinnyBitch and I were able to cram a lot into the two sedans we'd all come up in.

With the vehicles secured, Deep_End & FlapJackSlim walked off to go say their goodbyes, as did SkinnyBitch & TinyGiraffe.  I then realized I had some time with them gone; I decided to walk the Labyrinth again.

Taking Tessie, my stuffed turtle and sleeping buddy, along, I headed across the grass towards my eventual destination. 

Once there, I removed my shoes, took five deep breaths, and began walking.

With each step, memories and emotions from camp washed over me.  All the wonderful, beautiful instances of pleasure and ecstasy were reinforced.  I remembered the fun times, the good things, the amazing moments.  When I reached the center, the kernel of my camp, the sentence, the essence of my time spent those past four days flooded over me. 

During my conversation with Deep_End, I happened to talk about experiencing camp by myself.  I always had my family to run back to, but my camp experience was mostly me living and being, just me.  "I am, in and of myself, a whole, awesome, and complete person."

I began repeating this line as I walked the last bit of the path.  When I finished, I looked up at the sky, I breathed my five deep breaths, and I felt joy.  I felt happiness.  I felt secure, and grounded, and loved.  I was one with all that was good and right in the world.

Shoes back on, and Tessie in tow, I walked back towards the cabin.  I didn't feel pain anymore.  I was centered, balanced, okay. 

This was the camp I was suppose to have, the feelings, and emotions, and experiences I was suppose to have, and it's all good.

Once I got back, everyone slowly began returning.  We packed into our two cars and headed off; I was ready to go home.

DOF 2011: Sunday Part 2

Camp Awards

After my conversation with Deep_End, I sat around outside with my cabinmates relaxing before the awards dinner.  Around six, though, I knew I needed to get ready.  I had already prearranged with SkinnyBitch that she was going to help me with a little plan I'd devised to 'mindfuck camp.' 

For the entirety of my time at Fusion, I'd gone about my days with my curly mop top, not really caring about my hair.  I don't know why, but people seemed to be drawn to my wavy wild locks.  I thought if I changed this look it could possibly shock everyone.

I didn't want to wake SkinnyBitch; she was napping with PrincessA and they looked oh so peaceful.  But I had to; it was getting too late. 

After I took a quick shower, I quietly nudged SkinnyBitch, telling her not to get up, but just to tell me where her flat iron was located.  She pointed out where it was and rolled back over.  Having informed CandleLover I might need her help, just in case, I grabbed the implement and we proceeded to take over the area around the bathroom sinks.

I brushed and combed out my hair as CandleLover plugged in the iron, waiting for it to get warm.  She then started the long slow process of straightening my chunky curls.  As she went along, doing the best she could with my mane, it became obvious she would not finish in time.  I decided to compromise, asking her to just do the front half.  The back I would put up on cute little puffs. 

But then, coming to the rescue, SkinnyBitch entered the bathroom with a second flat iron.  Yes, she had TWO.  Apparently she had not gone back to sleep, and, I suspect, was finally roused from bed by the flurry of activity of everyone getting ready for the camp awards.  With CandleLover on one side and SkinnyBitch on the other, they were able to straighten my entire head of hair.

This, though long, was only part of my process for getting ready.  Since I had campaigned to be Teacher's Pet, I concluded I should dress for the part.  I put together a naughty school girl outfit: tight white collared shirt showing off my clevage, black silk tie, short black skirt with lace and metal accent hooks, short white socks with black poka dots and a black lace trim top, and the tallest high heals I own.  (Granted, my heals were the kind CandleLover wore to the park with her children, but for me it was a trial.)

With my Hello Kitty bag in tow, I rode a taxi down to dinner; I could just barely walk in those shoes.  Picking up our food from the co-op, we all made our way inside the Dining Hall and sat, funny enough, at the very last table.

Eating our last barbecue meal, roast pork, I was nervous.  In my head, I wondered if maybe I had made a mistake.  What is everyone going to think of my little campaign?  Is Gray going to be mad?  Or creeped out?  Or offended?  Maybe they didn't even take notice of my efforts?  Should I just run away now before they even start?

But it was too late; Gregg, Kerri, and Lee stepped up to the stage. 

The trio started with the normal pleasantries, thanking everyone for coming and commending the staff for their efforts.  A few quick announcements were made.  And then...the awards.

The first award of the night was for Filthiest Fucker. 

My kinky family and I were naive.  We were innocent lovingly stupid people who didn't realize a very basic fact: there is strength in numbers.  As Lee annouced the winner, a thought came to my mind: Did anyone else vote?

And the award for Filthiest Fucker goes to... Deep_End.

Oh shit!  Did anyone else vote?

The award for Happiest Camper goes to... TinyGirraffe.

Holy fuck!  Really?

The award for Spiritual Seeker goes to... MargoEve.

You've got to be shitting me!

The award for Camp Slut goes to... RockStarIsis.

Oh my God!

The award for Fresh Meat goes to... LooksRDeceiving.

What the fuck!?!

The award for Best Dressed goes to... okay, we didn't win them all.  To be fair, though, this was the one award we were all upset about our family member not winning.  We voted for a man who first dressed up as Dr. Horrible, then as the Doctor (Matt Smith incarnation, complete with a fez), and finished as evil Dr. Horrible.  Come on; he totally deserved it.

Other awards not listed on the ballot were given, including one for MurphyBlue's work as a rigger and one for AmyMorgan's new vagina.

But then came the write-in votes.

"So, we get many write-in awards.  However, for this particular one, we got the most write-in votes in camp history.  So, with fourteen votes, the award for Teacher's Pet goes to... PoeticDesires."

I stood up, dazed, not knowing what to do.  Okay, I have to walk.  Shit, I have to walk in these shoes.  Which way do I take?  Okay, to the right.  Oh God, everyone's looking at me. 

I dipped my head down, my shyness threatening to overtake me.  My cheeks started to hurt, I was smiling so hard.  For some reason, I thought I should carry my bag; I think it was because I never went to class without it. 

I walked slowly, trying not to fall, and met Gregg half way to the stage.  He handed me the blue ribbon and gave me a hug.  I floated back to the table and rejoined my friends. 

I didn't think it was going to work.  My campaign had been a lark, for fun.  I didn't think anyone would notice or even care.  I got fourteen votes; there were only seven of us in the cabin who even bothered to vote.

I was able to pin the award to my name tag and wore it for the rest of the night.  It is still attached to my badge, hanging on my bedroom wall.


Veskrashen and His Knives

I had little expectation for my last night; everyone was tired and running on their last droplets of adrenalin.  I did, however, have a play date with Veskrashen.

Veskrashen is known for many things, but best of all are his knives.  I'd experienced his work at Winter Fire and was pleased to be under his blade edge again.

We had agreed to meet in the Dungeon that night after dinner.  Initially, I did not see him when I arrived. 

I did, however, see LooksRDeceiving and Ten engaged in quite a bit of fun.  Ten was naked, splayed over a spanking bench, with LooksRDeceiving next to her.  He was spanking her, smacking hard, the sound of the hits occasionally able to pierce the ambient music playing.  I sat on the wrestling mat, watching, reveling in their scene.  Every now and again, Looks would peer over and give eye contact, a quiet nod to his friends admiring his work.

Veskrashen soon appeared, though.  Following him, we secured a cushioned table in a corner by the stage.  I laid down a chuck and quickly disrobed.  Lying, face up, I waited.

Without warmup or warning, he began his work.  Veskrashen's knives dug into me, tracing sharp lines across my body, over my breasts, against my abs, down my legs.  He quickly crisscrossed the tips, digging into my flesh, racing points against one another.  He slashed at my neck, pinched together my nipples, and finally made his way to my clit.  Flicking, fingering my clit with his blades, he brought the metal to my lips for me to lick off my juices.

Next came the body work.  Punches to my chest, my thighs.  Slaps to face, hard.  Pressure points.  He was in a dark head space and I appreciated his work more for it.

"Do you want more?"  He asked once.  I breathlessly said, "Yes, please."  He beat and slashed at me again. 

He growled in my ear.

He put his hand over my mouth and waited.  I relented, gave in, stilled myself to his will.  When he removed his hand, I gasped for air.  He did it again.  And again. 

To end his work, he held his hand over my airway once more and I relaxed.  And I looked into his eyes.  And I stopped myself from flinching.  And I balled up my hands.  And I pressed myself against the table.  And I could feel the thrashing coming...  And he removed his hand.

As we had done before, he stared into my eyes and we breathed together.  I was high and unable to get up, a huge smile on my face.  He waited patiently.

To pass the time, I asked him how his camp was going.  He began to speak about an ex.  I took his hand, put it over my heart, and began stroking it.  He was a friend who needed an ear.  I was a friend who could give it.

Once he finished, he asked me how my camp was going.  Well...

I had no choice; how could I explain to him the enormity of my fun without there being bragging.  It was not possible.  I talked about Recess and my Friday play date and the popping of my suspension cherry.  I believe I noted how I could write erotica based on my vacation. 

To my surprise, Veskrashen became slightly intimidated.  I grabbed him by the collar, pulled his face close to mine, and said, quite seriously, "Dude, you growled in my ear."  This was enough reassurance to have him pleased again.


Wrestling Mat Silliness

Finally able to stand after my scene with Veskrashen, I made my way back to the wrestling mat.

And to my surprise, I saw Gray and Murphy in a dual partial suspension scene with the bickering friends from Recess.  Gray and Murphy pinged off each other, switching back and forth who would manipulate each woman.  They'd built in dual consequences for each when they moved against the ropes.  As I sat on the mat, engrossed in their work, I was in awe. 

To say this scene was hot would be equivalent to saying the Sun is warm.  Two gorgeous men stringing up two gorgeous woman, switching, and then switching again.  Later, I literally informed them, the riggers I so loved, their scene was spank-bank worthy; I did not look away while they played.   

[Side Note: Having experienced Rope Camp, I have to chuckle a little at this moment.]

As Gray & Murphy's scene began to wind down, SkinnyBitch and PluckedKiwi joined me on the mat with childlike glee in their eyes.  Setting her play bag aside, SkinnyBitch took out her stainless steel riding crop.  PluckedKiwi, wearing white bunny ears and a white loofa pined to his boxers, stood, his hands by his chests, wiggling his little 'bunny tail.'  SkinnyBitch approached, holding her riding crop parallel to the ground.  With each smack on his butt, SkinnyBitch told PluckedKiwi to "hop".  They went all around the mat like this, smack-hopping in circles.  I laughed so hard, I'm pretty sure I fell over.

Next, SkinnyBitch pulled out her 'astral cock,' a huge double-ended dildo about as big around as my fist and longer than my arm.  She smacked Kiwi with it, and then offered to feed him a 'carrot.'  Looking over at me, cackling, she asked if I would like to be smacked with her astral cock.  Who would say no to that?

Stepping to the center of the mat and bending over, SkinnyBitch held the cock against me as she whispered in my ear.

"You're in detention because you're a naughty naughty girl."

She slapped hard against my ass.  I rolled up on my toes, the smack giving a bit of stimulation to my clit.  SkinnyBitch hit me quite a few times, including once when a photographer snapped a photo.  Somewhere on the internet, there is a picture of a naughty naughty school girl getting spanked with an incredibly large black double-ended dong.  You can't see my face, but I'm sure you'll enjoy my ass.

Finished with her fun, SkinnyBitch needed water.  I offered to grab it and scurried over to the cooler.  As I approached, I saw Gray was getting refreshment as well, but he stepped away as I came close.  Oh well, I'll talk to him some other time.

I grabbed a cup and began filling it.

Soft hands found my waist and a familiar voice entered my ear.  I instinctively leaned into him. 

"You did that before you knew who it was." 

"No, I knew it was you. I saw you walk away.  I just figured I wouldn't get to talk to you this time, but you came back."

I turned and smiled at him.  This was when I complimented he and Murphy on their scene.  But then, an idea.

"Hey, you have to see this.  I got spanked with my friend's huge astral cock." 

Gray looked at me, puzzled.  I brought him over to the mat.  His face changed from puzzled to bewildered.  Gray beckoned Murphy over.  Then they both looked intimidated.  "Yeah, that's my roommate.  I have awesome friends."

Gray quickly cleaned up his things and left, but I stayed on the mat to watch some more scenes in the Dungeon.  Murphy had another suspension.  Deep_End and FlapJackSlim decided to wrestle, provided Deep_End secured his hands behind his back.  This particular encounter elicited a hilarious moment when FlapJack scurried from Deep_End, as we all laughed and yelled, "Why are you running away?"

I also tried my fate on the wrestling mat, taking down MollyRen, but then I was bested by PluckedKiwi.  In a draw, I flung myself on PluckedKiwi's back, hoping to topple him, but he would not fall.  Instead, he hurried about, bucking like a horse, and I laughed so hard I fell off of him.


Lost & Found

Our silliness ended, we cleaned up the mat and my friends departed.  I saw Murphy's suspension was finished and came over to help him clean up.  Murphy still had one more suspension to do, but the persons involved had not arrived.  He asked to me keep cleaning and hold the arch for him while he retrieved the participants.

Once again, I coiled and organized his rope.  But, as I finished, I found an oddity: a large flogger with thick leather straps and a silver handle.  In an instant, I remembered it was Gray's from our scene on Friday.  In his rush, he must have left it. 

With Murphy's rope and accessories coiled and organized, I sat and waited.  To pass the time, I examined the flogger.  It was heavy.  The handle, being T-shaped, had an interesting feel between my fingers.  I laid the leather over my legs, warming myself.

When Murphy did return, I showed him the find.  He said he could get it back to Gray, but I knew I had a scene later that night in which he was to suspend me, so I offered to just hold onto it. 

Murphy was not able to find the persons for the suspension, so he gave up the space and began to leave.  I offered to go with him.  Informing me he was heading back to his cabin, I said I would split off from him at some point. 

As we started walking out, I suggested we use the side entrance.  In the dark, at the end of the ramp, I asked him to hold on for a moment.  I took his bag off his shoulder, placed my things aside, and positioned him in front of me as I leaned against the wall.  Then, I kissed him.

Finished, I said, "Just wanted to see what that was like."


Slowly Winding Down

The dying hours of the last night at camp for me are hard.  I never want to go to bed anyway, but, for the final night, going to bed means camp is over.  I always struggle to allow myself to let go. 

After I left Murphy, I stopped by my cabin to grab my jacket.  I had started to feel incredibly tired and run down.  Swinging by the Boston Smokers' Circle, I tagged along with Thanos and Chris for Midnight Snack.  Even with the sugar, my fatigue did not subside.

As I sat and ate, some cramps started.  That was when I knew my playing at camp was probably over.  Heading back to the cabin, I confirmed mother nature had decided to visit.

I felt shitty, knowing I was about to cancel a scene, my last scene at camp.  Waiting in the Dungeon on the stage, my notebook on my lap, I tried writing. 

Before I got too far into my thoughts, Deep_End, CelesteLucia, and Veskrashen approached.  Celeste wanted to feel the full force of Deep_End's hockey stick and he was more than happy to oblige.  Veskrashen sat next to me as we took in the scene, enjoying the many beautiful faces Celeste made with each of Deep_End's blows.

Her thrashing complete, Celeste and Veskrashen left for their next scene, co-topping a beautiful blonde.  Deep_End lurked next to me as NeighborTom and Clodia approached.  Somehow all three ended up in a conversation about their toy bags.  NeighborTom and Clodia are very much into DIY kink, using everyday household objects for their play.

It was during this interaction that CaesarLives appeared.  I let him down easy, explaining I was exhausted and in no mood to play.  He too seemed wiped out.  Caesar and his friend had to catch a cab in a few hours, as well.  They opted to nap on the wrestling mat while waiting.

While the trio by the front of the stage continued their toy bag talk, Deep_End happened to look in my lap and saw Gray's flogger.

"Dude, you have to save that for the house!"

"Ah, no, this is Gray's."

"But it looks really expensive and we have no shit."

"No, I am not fucking up my cred with Gray."

After much cajoling, I did allow Deep_End to try a few swings with it.  Deep_End didn't like the feel of the handle and grumbled he was fine with me not keeping it.

Like every other night in the Dungeon, everyone bugged out before I was ready to leave.  Once again, I ended up on the swinging bench, the same one from the first night, finishing my journaling. 

I was so thrilled with my experience, I began going through my photos from camp.  I found one, a picture of an ash heart drawn on my black tank top by SkinnyBitch from the Cigar Social; it became the background for me cell phone.

It was getting late, after 4:30am, and still no Gray.  I felt comfortable that he wasn't going to show, so I finally left, but not before trying a few swings of the flogger myself.

I eventually went to bed, after I completely circled the campground, took a picture of the Wheel of Destiny, contemplated taking a swim, and almost danced on the stripper pole, by myself, in Sex-o-Rama.

The question of how to return Gray's flogger weighed on my mind, but there was still the next morning. 

Bedtime: 5:20am

DOF 2011: Sunday Part 1

I had a feeling this would happen.  I didn't finish these posts before I left for Rope Camp, and now it is a struggle to dig through the recesses of my mind to find these memories.  Luckily, I journaled and voice memo-ed about my time.  I am nothing if not efficient.  So now, Sunday Part 1. 


Busy Morning
Sunday morning was eventful for me.  To start, I had a 10am fisting appointment with PrudeNate & CandleLover.

I think this is going to be our tradition for events.  Two in a row, each time an early morning fisting with the three of us.  Frankly, I wouldn't mind this preset date.

We were time limited; they had another play date at 11am and I had a foot massage waiting for me at the Pamporium at the same time.  My Fusion had me so busy rushing here, there, and everywhere that our early morning session was all I could fit in.  Still, with the little time we had, I enjoyed myself immensely.

PrudeNate and CandleLover are married.  Somehow they have this unspoken communication system; each pings off the other brilliantly.  When one is harsh, the other is soft.  They balanced each other and made the experience that more pleasurable.

Our time ended with my seventh orgasm, one more than we accomplished at our last event.  I have a feeling the number will grow each time we are able to have our early morning play.

With our scene ended, they ran to their next while I strolled to the Paporium for my foot massage.  I'd only had my feet worked on once before when a lover came over to my apartment for a play date.  This massage, however, was leaps and bounds better than I could've ever imagined.

I thought I was going to spend the time chatting with Jacques, the lovely man who serviced me.  No.  Within ten seconds of his hands on me, I was gone.  My head drifted back, my eyes were closed, and I was lost in the rolling endorphins rushing through me.

He started with the body of my foot, then worked each individual toe, and finally moved up to the calf.  He warmed up my right foot, then the left, smoothing out the muscles and tendons.  Next he incorporated lotion, pressing, easing it into my skin.  His touch was firm and soft, eager and controlled.

My time with Jacques was one of my most intense experiences at camp.  So much so, I couldn't open my eyes once he was done.  I literally had to sit, lids shut, for a few minutes; the world spun when I tried to defy my body's urgings.  Jacques fetched water and let me regain myself, informing me, "The Paporium is yours."

I was finally able to open my eyes, but standing was still out of the question.  Instead, I sat and breathed, waiting for the rush to subside.

When it finally did, I got up and happened to peaked over to my right.  There I saw a rigger competition that featured Murphy Blue.

After ten minutes of watching the fun, including colored paper ribbon wrapped around all three bottoms and, I think, simulated cunnilingus, I happened to look over towards my cabin, a mere hundred feet away.  There, I noticed RockStarIsis engaged in her camp sluttery, fucking someone with her strap-on in a camp chair.  I made my way over. 

To be perfectly honest, I did not approach because I was thinking, Oh, that scene is hot, or I should watch the show.  All I wanted to know was if she was fucking in my chair.  Confirming she wasn't, I started chatting with my friends.

We all agreed it was time to fill out our camp awards ballots.  Since we were a group, and all friends, we filled them out together, deciding who we wanted to vote for in each category.  I, of course, piped in with my Teacher's Pet write-in.  Since everyone needed to cast their own ballot separately, we headed down the hill for lunch.


Kinkbusters
After lunch, I quickly started prepping for my next class, Gray's Kinkbusters.  I cleaned off the ribs he needed, showered, and changed into a loose fitting dress.  I wanted easy access for when he would be spanking me.  On my way out, I made sure to grab his last gift.

I was there early, as is my way, and sat front row center.  Gray soon arrived with NaughtyEm accompanying him.  His ankle was wrapped in pink athletic tape.  "You have a boo boo."

I greeted him with a smile and handed him the ribs I'd acquired.  He was slightly shocked, having forgotten he'd asked me for them in the first place.  And then, I gave him my last camp gift.

"So, you know gift now and gift later.  This is gift last."  I pulled out an apple I'd snagged from breakfast the day before; it looked big and juicy.  He smiled when he accepted it.

"Ah, teacher's pet."  Does he know about my campaign? I wondered.  No, it's just an expression.  Keep smiling, Poetic.  Just keep smiling.

Class soon started.  Gray passed out note cards for us to answer questions on; he planned to return to our statements at the end of the lessons.

His first exercise was called "Pin the Kidney on the Bottom."  This demonstration made a few important points:
1- Not everyone knows where the kidneys are located. (Partially under the last sets of ribs, below muscle and bone.)
2- Not everyone knows the size of kidneys. (About the size of a computer mouse or iPhone.)
3- Kidneys are more protected than you'd imagine. (Remember that muscle and bone thing.)

To drive home his last point, Gray sought the aid of Ten as a demo bottom and a few other choice items: a condom filled with ketchup, the ribs I brought him, precooked bacon, some mathematical information on the psi of flogging and caning, and his Whack-i-lizer.  It was hilarious and very informative. 

Next Gray talked about some common rope myths:
1- There is no such thing as a motherfucking shinju. (quite possibly the reason he created the class in the first place)
2- Bare feet have nothing to do with the skill level of a rigger.
3- Stop freaking out about circulation.

Finally, he moved on to spanking and skin color.  Ten, NaughtyEm, myself, and a fourth, whose name escaped my mind, participated in this section.  We had all volunteered our bottoms for science.  Gray pointed out our range in skin color and pain tolerance.

It was quite amusing as he hit us, one after the other, over and over again with the same bat, counting off as he went.  There was much giggling to be had among us and the class.  Once Em finally called for him to stop, the class compared out asses, showing the difference in skin coloring was vast.  Also, Gray asked for our level of pain tolerance for the play, which greatly differed.  Lesson for this section: communication is how you figure out if you're spanking someone correctly, not skin color.
 
To end his teachings, Gray went over his questions from the start of class once again and read our answers.  Lessons learned:
1- If you are a sub and you want to approach a Dom to play, first come as yourself.
2- If you are a Dom and you want to play with a sub, make sure you ask everyone involved if this is okay. (spouse, partner, Mommy/Daddy, Master, etc.; and there may be many)
3- Sexual contact is defined by the person, not by you; be specific.

When answering the sexual contact inquiry, my response was, "Anywhere on my body."

Gray retorted, "What if I'm talking to you sensuously?"

I, deciding to be snarky, argued the sound waves from his voice vibrated my ear drum, therefore he was touching me.  Gray fired back, in the cutest way possible, telling me to shut up.  I knew he was being playful, but my subby side got a little worried, thinking I may have upset him.

Later, when chatting after class, I apologized to Gray, saying I was sorry if I had crossed a line.  He, in turn, reassured me I had not.  "No, no no.  You're weren't being snippy.  I just like picking on you."  This made me smile.

Before I left, CeasarLives approached Gray, asking for his assistance with our scene later that night.  CeasarLives and his friend Nick were going to use me like a human punching bag and needed someone to suspend me.  Gray agreed to help and said he would meet us in the Dungeon after Midnight Snack.

Before I flitted away for my next activity, I was able to have a conversation with Skywolf and Ten.  Ten is a part of the spanking scene and expressed how perturbed she was at their lack of sexuality.  For them, the spanking is the sex.  So much so, when Ten walked around a party with a sparkly butt plug, they all thought she was drunk.  I found this to be a shame, especially since I knew how beautiful her ass was and the idea of jewelry enhancing this wonderfulness not being appreciated seemed like such a waste.


Deep_End Conversation
When I left Kinkbusters, I made my way up the hill towards my cabin.  Deep_End and I had set a time for us to talk for an hour in replacement of my rape scene.  As I got closer to the cabin, I saw a group of people spread out across the field wielding and cracking whips.  Deep_End was among them.  I also saw SkinnyBitch, FlapJackSlim, and RockStarIsis sitting nearby.  I joined them to watch the impromptu whip class.

Once finished, Deep_End and I slowly strolled away for our hour.  We drifted back down the hill, past the Pavilion, to the lake.  We traversed the uneven terrain slowly because of Deep_End's injured foot.

As we chatted, our laughter had already begun.  He joked about my wanting to carve out an hour of his time to talk being a little ridiculous considering we were set to be roommates after Fusion.  I kept explaining I wanted my time, so, dammit, suck it up and talk to me.

We found a bench by the extinguished camp fire and sat.

He asked me about my experience at Fusion, how it was going.  My talking points circled back to my time with Gray: the Cigar Social, our play date, classes.

And though there were many lovely parts to my vacation, I found myself harping on my triggered incident.  I talked about how much it hurt that, though I had all this positive feedback from him, all the flirting and time and attention, none of it mattered in that moment.  No amount of intense sexual energy we exchanged was going to stop my mind from going to that dark place.  The little things didn't matter.  And, to be frank, that shit sucked.

Deep_End and I are quite similar.  He kept nodding in agreement, talking about how he had similar feelings in his relationships.  How, no matter what amount of good one has developed with folks, when you're triggered it all washes away.  Insecurity is a powerful motherfucker.  In my case, a lifetime of doubts was no match for a few hours of reassurance.

Our conversation then turned to our soon-to-be living situation.  He was worried for me, living alongside an established three person relationship, and gave me an easy out.  If things became too much for me, he reassured me they would find someone else to take my rooms, do anything to help me leave if I needed it.

I explained to him my two rooms (I have the two smallest bedrooms) were my own little world.  If things got bad enough, I would simply close my door and shut them out.  I'd lived with the Ex for two months after the breakup; I could live threw just about anything.

As we talked and laughed, I spoke about how I was happy I'd canceled the rape.  Though I wanted the experience, and still do, both Deep_End and I were not in the right head space.  The hour I spent with him was enough, more than enough.  My fantasy could wait for another day.

As it neared the end of our hour, Molly_Ren came walking down towards us.  At first I was a little upset; this was suppose to be my time with Deep_End.  But, when I saw the look on her face, all that angst washed away.  I could tell something was wrong.

Molly had to cancel her own scene, a cathartic beating with, I believe, Wintersong.  She was not able to secure someone to do aftercare, and Wintersong, being the person pulling the energy out of her, could not comfort her without pushing the energy right back in.  Seeing the look on her face made me want to cry.  Instead, though, I took action.

Deep_End had gotten up to hug her.  Their embrace ended, I ordered Molly to sit in front of me and Deep_End behind me.  I laid my head and chest on her back and ordered Deep_End to do the same with me.  We sat there, body against body against body, giving and receiving energy from one another.  We laughed, we smiled, we felt better.  We were there for each other.

But my time with Deep_End was up and he had other people to attend to.  All three of us walked back up the hill.  As we did, I looked over and saw Molly was holding Deep_End's hand.  I thought, That's a good idea, and slipped my hand into his other.  Walking, hand-in-hand together, I felt comforted, safe, home.

[Side Note: While sitting with Deep_End, I had a realization.  I had dreamt the place where we sat and chatted.

I occasionally have prophetic dreams about moments in my life.  I can't control them (though I'd love to learn how), and they seem to be random.

In my dream, I'd seen the bench we didn't sit on, splintered with a paint can for a support.  I saw the lake, looking past its edge for someone who wasn't there.  I saw the camp fire with ants crawling over the stones.  I heard sounds of a scene behind me as I was trying to have a conversation with someone; I didn't know who.  And I'd seen the overgrowth of grass and trees behind Deep_End that I stared at, off and on, during our discussion.

So I guess that means I was going to have that conversation with Deep_End all along; my dream had told me as much.]

Race Checked

I, at times, choose to be naive about the world.  I don my rose colored glasses and skip through my days trying to not think about the woes of our existence.  I make myself forget the crap-tastic nature of things and live with hope and glee for those around me.  But there is always some motherfucker who ruins my self-induced high.

Case and point:

Recently, I visited my brother who was living in New York City.  He was in the process of moving, so I no longer had an excuse for putting off my visit; it was now or never.  I bused up and spent a few days with him and his friends. 

I found it to be an odd, but mostly pleasant experience.  Seeing my little brother get drunk, get hit on, and walk off with a girl was a bit shocking, but he is an adult.  I need to get used to this. 

I imagine now that we are closer in maturity level, our relationship will grow, which makes me quite happy.  That weekend was the most time we'd spent together in about two years.

But there was one incident of my trip that left a sour taste in my mouth I am still trying to spit out.

My brother, one of his friends, and I traveled to Queens for a goodbye barbecue.  We did not leave the festivities til around 11pm.  I, having never been to the city to visit him before, had no idea Queens was such a nice place.  Being black, I'd seen Coming to America and the area is referenced.  That was my limited knowledge.

Queens reminded me of the suburbs of my home city, but nicer.  I now understood how people could work in the city but live in Queens; that would be my desired situation if I ever ventured to live in New York.

As we walked back to the Subway in the dark that night, I felt safe.  It was a fairly nice neighborhood and I was accompanied by two black men.  I had no fear of assault or harassment. 

But, as we strolled down the street towards Queens Blvd, a hired security vehicle rolled by.  The driver looked us up and down before turning in front of us to patrol a neighborhood. 

I didn't think much of it; rich neighborhoods often have private security.  It was when he turned back onto the street we were walking, slowed his vehicle again, and looked us up and down again that I realized, "Right, we're black."

It didn't matter that the three of us were highly educated professionals; to him, we looked like we could be 'trouble.'  He moved on, but all three of us took notice.  I couldn't stop staying, "Really?  Really?" for about a few minutes. 

I forget this is the country I live in.  I forget that is how people perceive me.  I forget that is why I am often worried about my brother, a black man trying to make it in America.

There is no such thing as post-racial.  I will always be judged by the color of my skin.  Our country is not perfect.  I will, again, forget this because otherwise I may go mad, but it's gonna take a while.