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It felt like an enclave. No, a kinky commune. No, a kinky family reunion.
We woke up together. Got ready at the same time. Drank our respective morning drinks. Shoveled loads of food and supplies into cars. Carpooled to our destination. Worked together to make the Grue run smoothly.
Went to dinner together. Came back to the AfterGrue with each other. At the end of the night, cleaned up. Closed the building.
Made our way back home. For during that weekend the house was all our home. Crashed and went to bed at the same time.
Got up again at the same time. Rode to pancakes. And then we started our parting.
For a weekend, I shared a home with six other people. I felt welcomed, cared for, by the kinksters around me. By TwistedView and K2, who opened up their home to us. And by those who shared the domicile with me. We broke bread together, shared space, laughed and chatted. We were in and among one another.
There is a certain type of euphoria in the midst of an event. I get that. But I loved this more. Not only did we attend the Grue together, we shared almost all parts of our lives for a weekend. I loved the morning hustle, the ordered chaos, as much as the presentations and play that would follow.
I loved the warm honey water. Listening to a Katt Williams sound clip. Cookies fresh out of the oven. Sitting around the kitchen island for an hour, or just the ten minutes before we had to run out.
I loved being a part of this temporary family unit, only for a weekend, but immersed in care and love.
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