poeticdesires

Month: September 2012

  • Service

    As I drove in my car, having just picked up Gray from the airport, I asked him what his expectations for Rope Camp were, specifically surrounding how we would interact.

    “Well if you wanted to be in service to me it would be helpful, but it would only be for the duration of camp.”
    “Ah…no. No no no. No. No.”

    So… my problem with the idea of being in service to anyone:

    It is very obvious that, most times, I acted in a service bottom manner. My latest catchphrase is, “Happy to be helpful.”

    I like asking if I can clear people’s plates, holding doors for people, helping Gray with his classes, carrying things. I like, truly like, being helpful.

    However, a big part of my enjoyment is my having the choice to offer my service but always having the option of not doing so. I have to be able to say no, anytime, for any reason, period.

    I suspect this has to do with my relationship attachment style. Doc and I came to the conclusion that I am anxious/avoidant when it comes to connecting with people.

    I am so fucking independent. I need to be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whomever I want. Otherwise I feel trapped, and I suspect I would grow resentful.

    In this is a fatal flaw simply because I want a Daddy/Dominant/Sir. I want a life partner who is in charge, period. How the fuck am I suppose to accomplish that when I can’t let go? I want to be in control, and yet be controlled.

    Once, at some meal this week at Rope Camp, I offered to take Gray’s plate. I’d been doing it since we’d gotten to camp, along with checking in with him, making sure he had things for his classes, and other very service subby activities.

    Instead of the usual “Thank you” and my taking of his plate, he stood and said, “No thanks, I’ve got it. I need to learn to be more self reliant. Besides, what happened to, ‘No no no’?”

    I will not lie: I felt like shit at that moment. Not because of Gray or what he said, but because I wanted to pick up his plate. I wanted to be helpful to him. I wanted to perform that service.

    Is there such a thing as service lite? What about service with caveats? Service with the option to say no?

    Because I like being helpful. I like being there for him. I like clearing his plate.

    And yet, when he asked me, and even when I think on it now, it scares the shit out of me, the thought of being in service to, well, anyone.

  • Worth It

    I deserved it. I totally deserved it.

    Celeste swung and smacked my back hard with her rope, testing the technique Rough had just shown the class.

    It hurt. A lot. I deserved every bit of the pain.

    The day before was the first of two of Roughinamorato’s Rough Body play classes. He spoke about different parts of the body, the ways to hit it, the best places to hit, and those to avoid.

    But there was one topic he said he would get to at the end of class that he almost forgot: the feet.

    As we all worked in pairs, practicing the information Rough had imparted, it dawned on me that no one had brought it up.

    I like Celeste a lot, but I wanted to learn what I knew would be an incredibly mean set of techniques. With a need to give myself an excuse, I saw Elf was about to talk to Rough. Spiriting over, I leaned against him and whispered into his ear.

    “Ask Rough about feet.”

    Spiriting back to my partner, Elf immediately stepped up to Rough and spoke.

    “Rough, could you talk about feet?”

    “Poetic!” Celeste exclaimed.
    “What?” I said with a mostly straight face.

    The pairs dissipated, returning to their chairs. Everyone wanted to see this part of the lesson.

    As Rough worked on Celeste’s feet, French curse words fled her lips. She squirmed. She yelped. Though her face had been very expressive during class, this was the most vocal Celeste had been that day. It was wondrous to watch.

    So, when she struck my back hard, multiple times, I knew I deserved it, knew the pain I endured was recompense for my attempt at underhanded ways.

    But, for those precious fifteen minutes, hearing her screams and seeing her squirm, it was worth it.

  • Rough

    “Do you want to play?”
    “Yes. When?”
    “Now.”
    “But I’m playing with a friend once they get back with their rope.”
    “We’ll play til they arrive.”

    Gripping the side of my neck, right where I’d been bitten not ten minutes earlier, Roughinamorato pulled me forward. Just as we were to find a space, my friend walked into the Dungeon and approached us.

    A dilemma.

    I suggested we combine the two activities, but Rough’s plans for me involved my ease of movement. They asked which I preferred first. Of course, I could not choose.

    It came down to a coin toss. Heads, my friend; M, Rough. The coin landed on M. My friend stepped aside and patiently waited.

    With an enormous amount of room in the middle of the Dungeon, Rough saw where he wanted to work. He found a nearby table, sat down his things, and requested I disrobe down to my boxers and remove my necklace. I could leave my moccasin boots on.

    Leading me to the middle of the empty space, he paused for a moment, looking into my eyes, before slamming his fists into my chest. I rocked backwards, but them returned to in front of him. He did it again. And again.

    “Welcome,” he said before continuing his assault, punching me, gripping my hair, bringing me back, and hitting me over and over.

    This, it turned out, was his warm up.

    After a few minutes of chest punching, he stopped and walked back to his table. Pulling out two coils of rope, he began weaving his chord around his fists.

    “You could cook something on my chest,” I said, happy floaty-high already. He smiled.

    As he constructed his rope fists, I grew nervous. I’d seen his video demonstrating the technique, but now I would feel the full impact of his cleverness.

    Finished, he again brought me to the center of the Dungeon. He stopped and once more looked into my eyes.

    I steadied my breathing. I tried to prepare myself. I knew the next however many minutes would be, well, rough.

    Punches to my chest. Punches to my back. Open hand smacks to my shoulders. I rocked forward, backward. I almost fell to the floor. I began crying.

    And then with one blow I was bent over, sobbing. He grabbed me by my hair, brought his lips to my ear, and quietly whispered, “Shh…”

    I caught my breathing. My sobs eased. He hurt me, and hurt me, but I kept my cries to high pitched low volume close contact utterances.

    He lifted my arms out to the side and then came down hard, opened handed smacks to my ribs. I screamed and hugged in my arms back in.

    He walked behind me and kicked my ass (literally kicked my ass, though technically using his thigh), coming across my rump with multiple blows.

    And then I was on the floor. He hit me so hard somehow, but I don’t know how, (I actually can’t remember if it was from the front or the back) I collapsed down to the ground.

    Once on the ground, I knelt before him. Rough came down to my level and rested on one knee. And as he did, he just stopped and looked at me again, a small smile electric and alive on his lips and in his eyes. He looked on me. And looked on me. And then spoke.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    Both his fists slammed into my chest. I rolled back and to the right, my body landing half face down on the floor. I pushed myself back up and immediately returned to kneeling, returned to being in front of him, and waited.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    He did it again. I fell, rolled up, and returned.

    “Say, ‘Yes please.’”
    “Yes please.”

    And he did it again. And I came back.

    There was no hesitation, no moment between when he made his request and when I spoke mine. No time for rest, no need for it. I knew what was coming, knew the pain I would endure, and knew I wanted it, no doubt in my mind.

    He put his hand on my shoulder, pulled me in close, and stroked my hair. We hugged. I nuzzled his chest. I thanked him and he thanked me.

    It was rough, just how I like it.

  • Teeth

    I looked at him, smiled, and asked a simple question.

    “May I smell your jacket?” He returned my grin and stepped into my personal space. As my feet dangled from the short stage, I felt lost in the wondrous aroma.

    “I got this in Florence.” Real Italian leather, soft and supple leather. I rested my face against it, wanting to melt into him.

    Bringing myself back, I had to ask.

    “So, do you want to do anything?”

    He did, but… he had event duties and other dates already set. Still, he acknowledged the desire was there, as was the feeling that if we played it would be fun.

    For a second I stuck out my finger, but then I pulled back.

    “Do I have permission to touch you?” He looked on me quizzically, but then gave his consent, provided I stayed on the outside of his clothing. I poked his exposed tummy, just above his belly button.

    “May I touch you?” I gave him carte blanche, but then he wondered what my definition of touch was.

    “You can touch anywhere, including under clothing. You may take off clothes, but not rip off without consent.” A devilish grin crept across his face. Out popped his small knife. “Dammit! I’m not wearing destroyables.”

    I gave my usual caveats: no broken bones, no load bearing rigging from my piercings, no riping out of piercings.

    He looked at me, seeming to come to an understanding, and said, “Okay.”

    Slipping his hand into my hair, he gripped and pulled. My moans started.

    Tilting my head to the side, he brought his face to my neck. I could feel his hot breath just before he sunk down, his teeth gripping my flesh.

    I yelped at first, squirming, before settling into the pain and pleasure, my hands finding his hips, holding him to me. My moans grew loud. Symmetry being important, he graced the other side of my neck as well. Pulling my head back, his teeth found the front of my neck, gripping down not as hard, avoiding damage to my wind pipe.

    Stepping back, he looked on his work. His impressions laid in my skin nicely, but he decided to make them beautiful. Attacking each side of my neck again, his teeth once more found their places in my flesh, staying in their spots for much longer, digging in further. My moans, in turn, grew deeper and longer. The pain and pleasure was exquisite.

    To commemorate his work, he photographed each set.

    Later, as I stood around, chatting with him and another friend while coming down from watching an intense needle scene, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck. His fingertips grabbed around my tattoo, pinching the flesh in, intense pain coming from his touch. I whined, high pitched and longingly.

    “What? It’s a neck massage.”

    Gripping my hair, he sunk his teeth down into the back on my neck, framing my tattoo. I screamed, yelped, and then finally moaned as the delicious pain swept through me. I wiggled, squirmed, but again found myself inside his space, leaning into his body, diving into this moment with him.

    And, once more, he took a picture.

    It is now about twelve hours later. No matter how I move my face, my neck always aches… just a little.

  • Safely

    When he asked me to tie him, I was a little taken aback.

    “I’ve seen your work and was wondering if you would suspend me?”

    Seen my work? People have seen me tie? It all felt other worldly.

    Still I was elated at the idea of playing with someone. Going into Summer Camp, I had made no plans whatsoever. No demands. No unrealistic expectations. Just camp.

    We decided I would rig him in the Barn on Thursday in the early afternoon, just after lunch.

    When the day came, I was feeling great. Going along with the no planning part of my Summer Camp, I had decided to also treat it as a real vacation. I would sleep when I wanted or needed. I wouldn’t push myself, wouldn’t force myself to stay up until all hours. I could spend as much time with my friends as my new leisure-self desired. I would enjoy my time at camp instead of trying to cram into every single minute excitement and fun and play. (Frankly, it’s been getting exhausting.)

    As I sat in a camp chair outside my cabin, I wore my thin black kimono with my pink and white obi around my waist. I laughed and chatted with my cabinmates. I smiled a lot, happy to just be there, happy to just have time with my friends.

    As the day meandered to the time for the tie, I grew gleeful. I grabbed my rope bags and strolled to the Barn.

    Having arrived, I saw there was no one inside the space. Taking advantage, I setup my ring, clipped on my carabeners, and set out my rope. I slipped off my obi and kimono, happy for the attire but knowing the fabric would get in my way.

    Taking advantage of my knowledge of the sound system, I plugged in my iPhone and turned on my Dungeon mix. The scene was set.

    Soon he arrived, happy and smiling. We began.

    I took him through some stretches before inviting him onto the mat.

    As is my usual routine, I started with bands across the chest, a stem at the middle for my first point. Moving down, I tied a Swiss seat around his hips, encouraging him to adjust my rope up or down as would best fit him. Moving still further down, I secured a cuff around his thigh.

    Not fully understanding my methods, he attempted to lean into my tie already. I asked him to take his body weight back up. It was almost, but not quite, time for him to fly.

    Tying an ankle cuff, I stood and prepared him. I assured him, once I tied off his second leg, I would adjust for his comfort. He leaned into his ropes once again as I brought his ankle up, securing it above the rest of the points.

    Quickly tying off, I asked where the most pressure was; where did he feel uncomfortable? First I needed to lift his hips. Wrapping the lifting line around my hand, and slipping my free arm under his body, I used my own body weight to lift him up. Next I adjusted his chest, again using my body weight to pull. His legs lines were fine.

    As he settled into the now adjusted ropes, my webbing drifted some, giving him a small sway. I stood beside him and held his rope so he would not move. After a few minutes, he turned to me.

    “Could you step away for a bit?”
    “Of course.”

    I sat on a nearby bench and waited. He lazed in my ropes, the sway in them gone, seemingly in a quiet meditation. I pulled out my fighting fan and created a small breeze for myself as I patiently sat and watched.

    When another camp attendee entered the Barn, I brought my finger to my lips to quiet them. I didn’t want the moment ruined.

    After some time, he called me back over, saying he was ready to come down. I freed his legs, brought him back to standing, released his hips and chest, and sat him down on the mat.

    As I untied the rope around him, I was pleased and he seemed quite content. I got him up; I got him down, safely.

  • Care

    It was the simplest movement, the simplest motion. A submissive sat with her head on her Dom’s knee. Then lightly, gently, she brushed her cheek against his knee. That was all it took to bring me to tears.

    I quietly snuck my way downstairs, located the bathroom, leaned against the wall, and cried.

    I wanted that. I missed that. I yearned for that.

    Something so simple as my head on a knee, such slight affection. I had, for some time, forgotten how much I loved that, how much I ached for it each day.

    I let myself cry, letting my sorrow spill out. I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at my eyes, wiping away my tears. I took a breath. I let myself cry again.

    And then I regained my composure. I contemplated leaving the gathering, but I knew that would only make my heart hurt worse. Instead I steeled my resolve. This place was full of friends. I would be okay.

    Slowly easing back upstairs, I again stayed on the periphery of the gathering. Looking over to my left, I saw a woman sitting on the floor working on a pair of leather shoes. She used products and techniques I had no seen before. Curious, I sat in a nearby chair and watched her work.

    And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.

    “Poetic, can you let down your hair.” My curls were pulled up in a tight bun. I pulled off my hair tie.
    “Come with me.” I followed Scotty to the adjoining lounge area.

    Standing in the spot where he led me, I was surrounded by Scotty and three other friends. My head bent, their bodies close to mine, they all blew smoke into my hair, over and over again. And just like that, I felt better.

    Relaxed, I nestled on the floor. PrincessA sat in a chair behind me. Softly, tenderly, she caressed my head and pulled on my hair. I let myself float on the feeling of her hands in my curls.

    As I sat, having falling into the atmosphere of the gathering, a friend asked if I would black their boots. For a tip, their girl offered up his ashes to me. I assured her she did not need to tip me, but she insisted all the same. I accepted her gesture with gratitude.

    As I worked on his leather, I took my time, giving care and attention to his boots. He blew smoke into my hair and onto my skin. After I finished, he and his girl thanked me for my efforts, saying his boots looked almost new. He then offered up his ash as my compensation. I ate it from his hand gratefully.

    Finished with my first pair of boots, I turned to PrincessA and worked on her leather. As I gave her boots attention, I realized I felt right again. Whereas before I had been sorrowful, dejected, once again I felt the care and love of my friends. I felt like I belonged.

  • Aftercare

    We were all wiped. It wasn’t even two hours into the After Grue when Inretrepida and I spoke of leaving. I dutifully sat in a comfy chair, scribbling out notes from my day and my time with Gray and Symetrie, yet I actively worked to not fall asleep.

    Just as our duo was about to depart, a saint emerged with sustenance. Pulling out coloring books and crayons, Inretrepida and I squealed. I put my notebook aside and joined a small group of Grue-mates on the floor.

    There was a My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic book, so I immediately picked a Fluttershy picture. (She is my favorite.) Working together, Inretrepida and I colored the picture. I focused on the massive amount of hair, choosing a red and pink color palate. Inretrepida shaded the rest.

    As we colored, we chatted with our Grue-mate, speaking on littles activities and the fun of our day. Once Inretrepida and I finished our masterpiece (because yes, it was that awesome), we decided I would keep it. (For those who are interested, later, when I had a moment, I took a picture of our art and posted it on my Twitter feed. Happy hunting.)

    Exhausted, Inretrepida and I departed. Once again, back to the Naked House, I imparted my adventures to PrincessA in bed before we both passed out.

    The next morning was made for Grue-cakes.

    I woke up, still exhausted, feeling like I’d run into a wall. Inretrepida picked me up and drove us back to the space. As she made her way down to the basement, I stayed in the kitchen. I could see through the oven door bacon, delicious delicious bacon, cooking.

    Gray, in his customary chef’s kilt, came upstairs to encourage folks to come downstairs and eat Grue-cakes.

    “But… there’s bacon.”
    “No bacon unless you come downstairs.”

    I relented.

    Descending, I saw many people in a similar state as mine, lounging about wiped from their previous day. Coming upon the food, I filled my plate with eggs, sausages, and Grue-cakes, and then found a spot on the floor next to Inretrepida, who sat on a couch.

    On a large television screen to my left Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-Long Blog played. As per the name, many people were indeed singing along.

    After my first round of food, bacon finally arrived. I happily ate the delicious delicious pork.

    After Dr. Horrible, keeping to an apparent theme, Repo: The Genetic Opera was put on. It was… different.

    As I sat on the floor, with most everyone’s belly full, Gray took some time to relax. He laid his head in my lap while I stroke his hair, and he nuzzled Symetrie with his feet. She, in turn, was receiving a back massage from a fellow Grue-mate.

    As the morning wound on, people veered outside on the back patio for cigars and more chats.

    And then it was time for hugs. Gray was riding with Rough and they had to leave right after brunch. I said my farewells to them, knowing I would see them soon.

    As the house emptied, Inretrepida and I contemplated staying a bit longer. There was to be a grappling get together, but we opted to leave. Later that night there would be cigars, boots, chocolate, and more time to commiserate.

  • Dirty, Nasty, Perfect

    “It was dirty, nasty, perfect.”

    Yeah, so, it happened again. That moment where, in the middle of sex, I realized I was actually, surprisingly, yes again, having the best sex of my life.

    I was slick with my sweat and his, mashing my face against and all over his balls while my tits caressed his dick. He reached up, grabbed my elbows, and shoved my arms behind my back. I held them there, held them tight. His mouth enclosed over my clit before he rubbed his beard up and down the length of my pussy. It was all I could do to not cum. The rule was his dick had to be down my throat if I wanted such enjoyment.

    And there, not caring, lost in the moment of pure lust for this person, breath quick yet quiet trying not to wake anyone in the house, writhing in our pile of flesh, I just knew.

    Fuck, this is the new best sex of my life.

    It wasn’t the position. It wasn’t the sexual acts. All that we did was by no means new. But it was something in our manner, something in the intensity of who-knows-how-long we fucked (I didn’t check, but I’m guessing an hour), something in how much at that moment I wanted him and he wanted me that made it all the best sex of my life.

    I didn’t start out the night expecting sex. I was just happy he was in town. I picked Gray up from the airport, endured traffic to help him run an errand, and we dined at Chipotle before heading to my home.

    With quick re-introductions to folks, I gave him the ten cent tour and we soon found ourselves in the Sun Room, him smoking a cigar and me at his feet. Whiskey sat on a nearby table. We relaxed into the moment, relaxed into seeing and being around each other again.

    There was play. There is always play when we are around each other. Ashing into my mouth. Eating ash out of his hand. As I rested against his thigh, he massaged my neck, my shoulders. He pulled my hair. He wrenched my head back. He kissed me. I sighed at his touch, felt breathless from his embrace.

    At his request, I took off my shirt and bra. He slipped his unshod and sockless foot in between my legs. I hugged his calf to me.

    The longer we chatted, the closer his heel came to my crotch. I wore no underwear. When finally he positioned himself with his heel against my clit, he told me to ride it. I pivoted my hips up and down, up and down.

    He ran his cigar against my skin. He lightly touched his heat to my back. Quiet yelps escaped me. I clung harder to his calf. His heel pressed onto my clit.

    “Cum for me poetic.”

    I gasped. I trembled. I rode his heel harder. He touched his heat to my skin. I lost myself in the pleasure and pain.

    “I love to feel you tremble.”

    Even after I came, I still slowly kept riding his heel.

    He broke off ash into his hands, bent down, and spread it all over my torso. I looked up at him, looked into his eyes. In the moment, I felt a joy, content, I had not experienced in so long.

    Soon after it was time for bed. He would shower, but I wanted to sleep with his ash on me.

    When he returned from his shower, he turned out the lights and slipped into bed. We cuddled. I kissed the length of his arm.

    And then I just went for it. I had felt his cock grow hard while I had sat at his feet, had grazed my cheek against that which I so desperately wanted in my mouth.

    And then it was. And then his hand played with my pussy, slowly easing its way inside me as I pushed back to sink further onto his hand.

    Then, after such intensity, he grabbed me by my hips and pulled me on top of him. And his lips were on my clit. And my mouth lapped at his cock and balls. And we were sweaty and breathing heavy, and fuck…

    When he picked my legs back up and off of him, I thought we were about to pass out, but oh no. He grabbed my hair and began fucking my face, my lips stroking the length of his cock. I rested my head against his thigh and happily took him into me, happily submitted to his will.

    And then, fuck…

    He got on top, straddling his legs over my face, sinking his cock into my mouth. I gripped his thighs, slipped his dick from my lips, sunk my face into his balls, and used my elbows to push my tits together so his cock could fuck them.

    His lips returned to my clit, and then I couldn’t stop it. Wave after wave of orgasm surged through me. Warmth, sweet warmth, mind blowing, holy-shit-yes ecstasy overtook me. It took every once of me not to scream, not to break free and just let my vocals chords soar as no less than three intense orgasms in a row pulsed from my abdomen out to my limbs and through the rest of my body.

    He reached back, again stuck his cock in my mouth, and came. I gripped my thighs against his ears, fucked his face, and came hard with him.

    And then, finally, we slumped over, sweaty and fucking exhausted.

  • Stood Up

    I was stood up tonight, and, funny enough, I am the happier for it.

    It was my work friend from Faire yesterday. We had arranged to hang out this evening, but he had to cancel; some bullshit he needed to take care of at home. We have already planned to reschedule for another day, though with Rope Camp so soon approaching it will not happen for some time. Still, it will happen.

    Now you may ask why I find myself the better for not having spent time with my friend. It is not for an obvious reason. He is a friend, a good guy, and I know we would’ve had fun today.

    The thing though is, almost as soon as I texted him the this morning, something told me he would cancel. This wasn’t exactly a sixth sense thing. I don’t claim to be prophetic, except occasionally in my dreams about inane things.

    No, it was my reaction to the situation that I am (mostly) happy with.

    When I initially texted him, he didn’t immediately respond; sign number one. My mind took all its normal leaps (yah know, the script that plays in my head, the mean-no-good-very-bad thoughts, the shit that I’m working through with Doc).

    At first I thought, Well fuck, he’s blowing me off. That sucks. He was going to be my Monday night entertainment. (cue Mad Men)

    And then came the shitty script.

    He’s blowing me off because he doesn’t really want to hang out with me. He just agreed to because he was drunk yesterday. Guess the harsh light of day had him change his mind.

    However, not a quick after but after, my active mind spun the scenario on my subconscious mind’s head.

    Hey, you’re doing it again. You’re jumping to a bunch of shitty conclusions with no evidence, luv. Don’t we remember Occam’s Razor’s? He probably is at work and didn’t get the message. Be patient. And, for that matter, how about you call him later (instead of text) to find out if you are still on?

    I set a time to call him, deciding to push all thoughts (as best I could) to the side about the situation until that then. I got ready like normal and headed out to perform the few errands I needed to accomplish before our supposed meet up.

    As I sat in my car waiting to pick someone up and give them a ride home, lo and behold I got a text. My work friend did indeed need to cancel because of aforementioned bullshit and wished to reschedule.

    As I sat in my car, a wave of relief came over me. No, my work friend is not a closet asshole. No, I am not a piece of shit. Life is not as horrible as my little brain wants to make it out to be.

    So no, I’m not happy that my brain did the mental jujitsu that it loves, spinning flipping kicking to the worst possible conclusion and making me feel like shit in the process.

    I am happy, though, that I actively worked against my learned training. I actively held out hope for the best. I went against program in my own little way.

    When it comes to the emotional roller coaster I struggle with daily, I will take my wins where I can get them.

  • I’m A Slut

    Today I was a slut.

    I am a slut everyday, but today was a magnificent day to be a slut.

    Attending our local Renaissance Festival, I donned garb befitting the occasion: a black wrap dress with ample cleavage shown, a chain mail diadem atop my mound of curls, black tights (for I knew it would be a bit brisk), my sexy sexy boots, and a belt which held my fox tail.

    I left this morning and arrived on the grounds around 11am. Accompanied by DeepEnd and RockStarIsis, we immediately set out to find food and beer. After a steak on a stake and a cider mixed with wine, I was more than happy to have just shown up for the day.

    As we mingled amongst the crowd, we lampooned ourselves as well as those around us. Inappropriate commentary abounded as we entertained ourselves in our not-at-all-politically-correct way. I was quite happy to spend time with my friends.

    As the afternoon crept up, RockStarIsis and DeepEnd departed but Amethyst arrived. Once again, meat and alcohol were needed. As we mingled, chatting and having a good time, the subject of boots arose. I escorted Amethyst to the seller of my boots, where she was happy to try on their wares and discuss adornment options. As she shopped, I stood around and watched.

    And then, randomly, a work friend appeared. I greeted him with a hug, introduced him to Amethyst, and we chatted. As Amethyst enjoyed her shopping, I enjoyed my time with my friend.

    We chatted as he stood next to me. On occasion I leaned into him and found that he would return my subtle advance. Feeling bold, I glided my fingertips against his arm. Again positive feedback. When we left the boot seller’s, we walked hand-in-hand. Later, when we parted, after yet more subtle cues, we exchanged phone numbers.

    Though I’ve known him for over a year, this was the first time we’d interacted outside of watchful eyes. I suppose it was best it happened this way. Though I am open at work, no else should feel like they have to be.

    Happy to have connected with my work friend, Amethyst and I jaunted on.

    Randomly, we ran into a few of her friends. I introduced myself and was happy to make the acquaintance of two beautiful women and one handsome man. As we talked, I soon learned one of the women was kinky, the other a lesbian, and the man was kink aware and kink friendly. This opened up our conversations and relaxed my need to censure myself.

    As we drank and traversed the Faire grounds, I found myself giving subtle advances to all three of them. An errant brush of an arm. A lean into the body. A smile. A hand hold. I found all three of them very attractive and saw no need to let that be hidden.

    As we nested by a tree near the elephant ride, more laughter and chatting ensued. I found myself in the beautiful position of one woman to my left, snuggled up next to me, while the other sat by my feet caressing my boots. The gentleman crouched near us, laughing and joking as we all took in the many Faire attendees.

    Sensing the perfect opportunity, I retrieved all of their info (phone numbers, Twitter, etc.). I will be honest: I felt like the shit at that moment.

    Since it was getting late, we meandered closer to the exit to buy ourselves more time. None of us wanted to leave. But, as with all things, soon it was time to go.

    Our hugs were drawn out. At one point I clung tight to the lesbian. At another, I found myself with the gentleman at my back and the other woman to my front, the sweet center of their embrace.

    Exiting Faire eight hours after I’d entered, I could not help but feel joy and happiness. From the food. From the alcohol. From the laughs and good conversation. But, mostly, from being a slut and not feeling any shame about it.