The further out I get from Fusion, the harder it has become to write these recaps. My life has taken some rather pleasing twists and turns, leaving me with little time or energy to invest in these posts. Still, I feel I need to finish, if not for my own personal pleasure in recounting my amazing time, than for the enjoyment of you, my (few) loyal readers. http://asideofbooks.com/2017/02/19/50th-california-international-antiquarian-book-fair-oakland-heres-to-the-next-50-years/img_5335?share=telegram
buy disulfiram tablets Henna & Nakelympics
I woke up Saturday with an incredibly bad hacking cough; thinking back on the events of the previous night, I understood why. Water, Halls, and I was ready to start my day.
I was not in the mood for breakfast, but instead snacked on the food at Dr. Gregg’s as he both play pierced and Vag-jazzeled SkinnyBitch. She got five glowing rings in her back to promote her Ion event, the Nakelympics. While getting all this done, she had me run back to the cabin briefly to remind our cabinmates that they needed to start setting up.
Her appointment ended, we quickly headed back. There were water balloons to fill, as well as a rather large kiddie pool to inflate. I was no good at the water balloons, so instead helped SkinnyBitch with the pool. Once fully inflated, she, RockStarIsis, and I carried it down to the grassy area by the May Pole. Once there, we began emptying all 55 bottles of baby oil that Deep_End had carried down. Yes, FIFTY-FIVE bottles of baby oil; it was for the Lube-Off, one of the many events I did not get to participate in.
Once filled, I had to bid my fine friends adieu; I had a henna appointment to make. Up at the Pamporium, I waited patiently for my turn. Once ready, the artist took me back and had me lay on a one person couch curved to naturally mimic the body. I rested my head on my hands and let her begin to work. I explained this was my first henna tattoo and I wanted either wings or flowers; I know, quite girly. She said she preferred flowers and quickly went to work creating her art.
As she scratched the liquid onto my skin, I fell into a Zen-like state. My body relaxed; my mind once again felt grounded in my flesh. My breathing was long and languid. I floated in myself, was of myself. It felt transcendent, like a massage mixed with meditation.
Once finished, she instructed me to give the ink at least forty-five minutes to set and to not get it wet. My appointment over, I glided away as if the ground were air. As I made my way back to my friends, I was stopped a few times by people who saw my back. Thankfully one of those people was the camp photographer, who took a picture so I could see the work as well. I loved the piece of art that adorned me, so much so I suspect my next tattoo will be based off of it.
When I did make it down to the May Pole, I saw a jumble of bodies in the kiddie pool, sloshing around in the baby oil. Suddenly, SkinnyBitch jumped out and screamed, “Everyone attack Poetic!”
I threw my arms up in alarm. “No! Henna!” Everyone stopped excepted SkinnyBitch, who continued to approach me slowly, her movements playful yet zombie-like.
“But I can attack your front, right?”
“Okay, sure.” She rubbed her oiled up body over the front of my thighs, my stomach, and my cleavage. Ah, my kinky family.
Live Action Angry Birds
The premise seemed so simple, yet I wondered how it would work. Live Action Angry Birds, could this possibly be enjoyable. Holy fuck, yes!
After grabbing our bar-be-cue rib dinners, my cabin headed over to the Live Action Angry Birds spectacle hosted by Dr. Gregg. I sat and ate my food while watching SkinnyBitch try first. There was already a crowd formed and lots of raucous laughter and yelling. Once finished, and cleaned ribs stashed away for Gray’s class the next day, I just had to join in.
Stepping up to the line, I picked up a bird with no head. When I turned to show my friends, TinyGiraffe looked away in disgust.
The bird, though, turned out to be perfect. With no head in the way, I instead used the rubber chord for better aim and release. I soon beat the “First Level,” a woman at the far left end. I moved on the “Second Level,” a bald gentleman with the pig Velcro-ed to his head using super glue.
Second Level was already the target of a few other people and for good reason; the fucking pig just would not drop. I must have hit him in the face at least half a dozen times and grazed the pig on his head three others just to start. And my count does not reflect the efforts of my fellow bird bombers. He soon grew wise and started holding a box in front of his face, considering we all kept hitting it. Still, I and others continued to aim for his pig, but it just would not fall.
At one point, Deep_End encouraged me to just go up to him and hit it off, but I refused. I knew I could kill that fucking pig; just give me time. I screamed. I stomped my feet. I yelped and jeered with each good hit that came, but that fucking pig just would not fall. Finally, out of pure frustration, disgust, annoyance, and a genuine hatred for that fucking pig, I walked up to the line, bird in hand.
“I’m sorry, but this needs to happen.”
I swung my bird three times, hitting the man’s head thrice, and finally the pig fell. I turned to my friends and threw up my hands in triumph. I was greeted with cheers.
The pig conquered, I made my way back to the cabin, along with RockStarIsis. It had been almost five hours since my henna application and I needed someone to scratch it off of me. Sadly, as the flecks came off, RockStarIsis informed me it had not stained my skin.
I was close to tears; I had loved the design so. Thankfully I had people take multiple pictures with my phone. At least I still had the design, even if not on my skin.
Sad, but knowing my night would bring fun, I began to get ready for Recess. I used my process to lift my spirits. I showered and changed into my naughty school girl outfit. I became bubbly again at the idea of dancing with a shady professor or possibly another student like myself.
Fully dressed and amped up again, I made my way down to the Pavilion with some friends. As we got closer to the event, however, I realized it was not a dance party at all. There was a class happening. And who was teaching the class? Gray.
Fuck, if I had known, I would’ve shown up early.
I quickly made my way towards the lesson. Getting into his line of sight, I smiled and made eye contact. He was teaching a lesson on tips for fisting. He had a gentleman up on the cushion table with a rope around his waist demonstrating how the bottom can help position their body so the top can enter them better.
Once finished with his volunteer, Gray asked the class, “So, who here has had an orgasm from fisting in the last twenty four hours?”
I raised my hand high, waving it a little, bopping on my toes and smiling brightly.
“For those who don’t know, I just prompted the class. Okay, for the last part of our lesson, let’s talk about fisting aftercare. In fact, we’ll have a demonstration. PoeticDesires, why don’t you come up to the front?”
I dropped my bag and hurriedly made my way towards him. Gray had me lay down on the cushioned table and began.
“Ok, examples of fisting aftercare. A.” Gray leaned over me, his head close to mine, his hand grazing my left cheek, and sweetly looking into my eyes. “How are you doing? Are you okay?”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“Ok, A. Now, B.” Gray again leaned over me, this time looking down more whimsically. “Hey, it’s 12:30; wanna go to Midnight Snack?”
“Cool, sure.” I play acted like I was about to get down off the table, but settled back quickly.
“B. And finally, C.” Gray grabbed me by my hair, pulled me off the table onto my knees, and shoved my face into his crotch. I nuzzled at his cock through his kilt, my hands on his thighs, my focus only on him. “Now it’s my turn. C.” Gray pulled my head back from his crotch a little and looked down at me. “Which example do you like best?”
“Whatever way you want.”
“D, all of the above.” The class clapped and laughed. I gave a small bow and returned to my spot in the back.
Finished with fisting, Gray’s next lesson had to do with anatomy. He talked about how they’d seen dicks, they’d seen boobs, they’d seen asses. What had they not seen yet? I screamed out “pussy.” Someone else yelled “vagina.”
“Aha, our next lesson.”
Gray began drawing on the chalkboard.
“A vagina is the canal that gets sperm to the uterus, but it is not where the fun is. It has very little nerve endings. It is just a pathway.”
As Gray finished his drawing of a woman’s nether region, complete with labia, clit, and hair, a man in the audience yelled out, “What a wonderful vulva.”
“Who said that?” The man raised his hand. Gray beckoned him to the front. “Say what you just said again.”
“What a wonderful vulva.”
“Vulva is the correct term for the fun parts we all love to play with.” Gray thanked the gentleman and excused him back to the audience. “Now, who would like to show the class their vulva?”
My hand shot up.
“PoeticDesires, come back to the front.” I again dropped my bag and scurried towards him. He motioned for me to sit on a small wooden desk. He began to drag a metal chair over, as if I were going to rest my head on it, but instead shook his head no. He scooted my hips forward, leaned me back, and stepped over me, his crotch now fully in my face, his kilt resting on my neck.
The first thing I thought when Gray’s package was resting on my lips was, I wish he’d taken off my glasses.” The second, Oh well, I’m here now. Might as well have fun. I began giving Gray head as he parted my legs and showed my vulva to the class, pointing out the major parts for everyone. Apparently, as I could not see this since I was otherwise disposed, Gray made some interesting faces while giving this part of the lesson.
Finished with Show & Tell, he stepped off my face and I sat up. I, however, was not wearing my glasses.
“And now, a magic trick!” Gray pulled out my glasses from his crotch and gave them back to me. Loud roaring laughter escaped the audience. I again bowed and made my way back to my spot.
Finished with his portion of the class, Gray called on MurphyBlue, who had come in sometime after my fisting demo but before my vulva was shown to the class, to give an impromptu lesson. Taking off his Kink Academy t-shirt, Gray placed it on Murphy, who then asked the class if anyone had any rope. A gentleman obliged him.
Murphy instructed the class, “Every time I say rope, everyone is going to cheer because the ladies will flash their boobies. Got it? Okay, rope.” We all cheered; I flashed my boobs.
Murphy asked for a volunteer to help with his lesson. A quite attractive woman named Amanda stepped up. Murphy, again, said rope and we all cheered. But Amanda forgot to flash her boobs.
Murphy, ever the showman, pointed out this fact and began asking random audience members if Amanda should be punished. Gray pointed out Amanda’s friend, Jenna, another very attractive woman. Jenna absolutely felt Amanda should be punished. “And this, my friends, is what it looks like when someone is thrown under the bus.” Thank you, Gray.
Murphy decided his lesson would be about music. Before he began to tie Amanda, Gray suggested Murphy allow people to flash something besides their boobs. I responded by turning around, flipping up my skirt, and flashing my ass each time Murphy said rope.
Murphy began talking about how the songs played in the dungeon mostly have a one-two beat. He created three happy knots in the length, placing them in very special spots for Amanda. He then spoke about how rope is a natural vibrator. Murphy had us sing the ABC’s as he used the rope to show the one-two rhythm, flicking it to the beat, stimulating Amanda. She, all the while, was pissed, leering at her friend Jenna.
At the end of Murphy’s lesson, Gray again spoke. He pimped Kink Academy: the website, its features, the reasonable price, and the fact that Murphy was now a contributor. He invited the Kink Academy cheerleaders to had out rulers, one of which I did happen to acquire. Gray also informed Murphy the shirt he was wearing was now his, reiterating the fact Murphy would be featured on the site and spoke about how they all believed in him. To end the event, Murphy yelled in an awesome fashion, “Class dismissed!”
As per our conversation on Thursday, I headed over to the Make Out Party at Sex-o-Rama to meet Murphy for our date. I took a quick look, but did not see him among those lip-locked. I did, however, see the Dirty Pig Leather Contest going on in the area next to Sex-o-Rama, which proved to be quite entertaining. My teacher from my cigar class, Edge, was performing to Katy Perry’s ET, a song to which I had had many a kinky fantasy.
After his performance ended, I looked through the crowd and happened to see Murphy. I walked over and stood next to him. As we stood watching the rest of the performers, SkinnyBitch walked by. She stopped and chatted with me for a minute before heading over to the dungeon to play. I made sure to give her Halls for later; she too had a nasty cough that morning.
With the contest ended, Murphy and I headed over to the dungeon. As we walked, I deliberately slipped my hand into is. Play, for me, is a conversation; it’s about connection. I wanted Murphy to feel connected to me, to feel me here with him, instead of just another body to play with. He held my hand back as we walked.
“So, too many orgasms to count?” Murphy was referring to a comment I made to Gray about the fisting during our scene the previous night. Apparently, Gray liked to brag.
“You know it’s not a competition, right?”
As we entered the Dungeon, I quickly looked around and saw Deep_End, SkinnyBitch, FlapJackSlim, TinyGiraffe, and ManKraken! in various scenes in different stages of play. However, an instant later, my attention was back on Murphy.
As we looked for a place to settle, he pulled out an energy drink and chugged it. Ah, here we go. We settled on a spot below the Y-shaped truss.
“Ok, so what are you looking for in a scene? Are looking to be beat up and suspended? Are looking to be teased and suspended? What are you looking for?”
“Surprise me.” The look on Murphy’s face was priceless.
“Are you sure, because I can do any number of things to surprise you?”
“Yes, surprise me.”
“Alright.” He went away for a moment and came back with a floor mat.
“You know, this is not a good sign for you, because since I put something down on the floor, that means I can do things that can make you end up on the floor, like this.” Murphy let loose a wave punch on my chest so hard, my body collapsed inward, my legs buckled, and I fell on the floor, literally like a damsel in distress: arm over face, slow languid movements, my body flowing to the ground. He actually hit me off my feet; I couldn’t believe it. It was amazing.
Murphy continued to beat on me. And he continued asking, “Are you sure? Are you sure you want me to surprise you? Because I can do things like this.” He wave-punched me a few times in a row in my chest. He punched me in my thighs. He flipped me over and punched me hard in my ass. Murphy then grabbed my hair, bringing my ear close to his mouth, and growled. It was all very animalistic, and, you know, hot.
Murphy continued hitting me all over, with interludes of hair pulling, body flinging, and growling. The entire time, I was still in my school girl outfit, even with the tie, taking all the pain he wanted to give.
To end his torment, he went on a barrage of hits all over my body, non-stop, until he finally let out a guttural yell. I prepped my body for the final blow, tensing up tightly, but instead he slammed his fist into the mat just beside my cheek. The act was enough to jolt my eyes open, and I saw his face, and the look of gleeful rage in his eyes.
Having finished using his fists, Murphy was ready to lift me. I sat up, popped onto me knees, and asked him, “You know when you’re in school, and you’re on a swing set, and you swing really really high, and you try really really hard to get really really high, and when you do, you let go, and just let your body float, and you can spin and spin and spin, and it feels like you’re flying? Can you do that?”
“Hmm…I think I can; let me look.” Murphy consulted his bag. “Yes. Yes, we can do that.” After instructing me to take off my tie, Murphy began with the harness. He tied in places all over me: my legs, my chest, my hips. There was so much rope on me, I started beaming and got incredibly bubbly; it felt like little tendrils of hugs all over my body. I asked him the total length of all of the rope he was using; he guessed about two hundred feet. I had never had that much rope on me before.
As he worked, he explained I would need to use the rigging ring for support. He warned me the chest harness would hurt at first, but asked that I give him time to adjust. I could tell this was in response to his negative interaction from Thursday night.
He started the lifting with my chest. Then, my left leg, with my right foot still on the ground, just enough for balance.
“You know, you’re actually already suspended, but you don’t know it because you have your foot down. However…” He grabbed my right leg. “This is how I pick up women.” Lifting and tying my leg, I was up and off the ground completely, squealing and giggling hysterically. “And there you are; you are suspended.”
Murphy gave me a push and I spun around, my arms released back, my body floating above the world. I couldn’t stop giggling; my smile didn’t leave my face. I was high, in a state of pure bliss. I wasn’t on Cloud 9; I was on Cloud 10,000.
I’m not sure how long I was in the harness, maybe ten or fifteen minutes of my body slowly moving, feeling the world glide around me, but all good things must come to an end. Murphy broke it to me gently, that we’d taken up a lot of time under the truss and needed to let others play. Coming back down to earth, I was so grateful, so happy for the experience.
Moments of Note
Ande: Imagine, if you will, a petite redhead in a hot camouflage outfit, with a strap-on, and a voice you want to never leave your ear. Your dream come true would be Ande, and I got to play with her.
I enjoyed my time with Ande, and her voice, and her strap-on. Oh, and her fist. Her fist was quite nice. Three orgasms; one scene; good times.
Bragging & Worry: When I arrived at Midnight Snack, and got in line, I happened to scan the crowd and saw Gray, staring at me quite intensely. I made eye contact and smiled, but turned away; it was too hard to hold that gaze.
In front of me, waiting in line, was Darien. “Dude, dude, guess what just happened!” I was still high from my scene with Ande and said as much to Darien, who high-fived me for my accomplishment. When I did get my food, I looked around but Gray was gone.
When I left to go back to the Dungeon, I passed by Pendragon and LadySilk chatting, and stopped to talk. As we did, a woman ran up and asked Pendragon for ice; someone had sustained an injury. In the pit of my stomach, I knew it was Gray. I recognized the woman as one of his friends whom I’d met. Pendragon hurried away with her.
ManKraken! approached and joined LadySilk in conversation, which gave me an out to walk away. As I made my way to the restroom, I saw Pendragon, past the pool, carrying bags of ice, and the woman holding a flashlight. She yelled, “Gray.” My stomach dropped a little. Oh fuck, Gray’s injured. Oh, fuck.
But I stopped myself. Look, I know you want to be helpful, but there is nothing you can do at this point to help. And, frankly, this is none of your business. Just stop, take a breath, use the bathroom. Keep doing what you’re doing and it’ll be okay.
I used the restroom. When I came out, I saw no more movement. I headed up to the Dungeon, making myself continue on with my night.
As I strolled past the Barn, Pendragon came by on a taxi. He stopped to say hi. “If I’m not prying too much, may I ask what the ice was for?”
“Gray sprained his ankle.”
“Oh.” Pendragon drove on. I continued with my night. Later, while sitting and journaling on the stage in the Dungeon, Murphy stopped by to say hi. I informed him of Gray’s ailment; he said he would go check on him.
“Poetic, I want a kiss”: Pendragon is a good friend, but especially for two things he did for me Saturday night. One, he gave me tips on dominating, for which I am quite grateful. Two, he introduced me to Sasha, for which I am eternally is his debt.
Sasha identified as boi, with buzzed hair, except for one curl at the front. Sasha’s body was nothing short of jaw dropping: round boobs, small waist, beautiful ass. And those eyes that felt like they never left me. Sasha said I had begging eyes, and I was begging, pleading for more time in Sasha’s presence. But it was late, and not everyone is a night owl. I did get a kiss, though, before I bid them both goodnight around 4am.
PS. So, after Recess, I decided I needed to make something happen.
My cabinmates had already joked that they were going to do write-in votes for me to be Teacher Fucker, which I wholeheartedly objected to. But my experiences at the front of the class convinced me I should instead ask for another title.
Quietly, I began telling people I happened to pass by, “Hi, my name is PoeticDesires and I’m doing a write-in campaign on the down-low for a camp award. Could you please vote for me for Teacher’s Pet?”
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