poeticdesires

Category: DOF

  • Late Arrivals

    I showed up late to Gray’s Leather History class the Friday afternoon of Fusion. Unfortunately his presentation was at the same time as the Kinky Life Drawing Ion. I spoke with the person running the mini event. They were not sure if the people participating would like to stay after the allotted time. Hence no sexy drawings to share this year.

    As I listened to Gray’s presentation, another late arrival snuck into the back and sat right behind me. Rough leaned towards my chair and asked me what was going on. He had shown up during the question and answer portion. Most of the class was listening to Gray and IPCookieMonster talk about switching and Cookie’s thoughts on different types of switching (being dominant to one person and submissive to another versus actively changing or battling for dominance mid-scene). Rough didn’t stay long to watch the intellectual skirmish.

    Once the class had wrapped up, I gave Gray the less-than-happy news about the Ion. He figured as much, and was on his way.

    As he departed, I looked to my left and smiled. My friend Doug had arrived. He was walking around, trying to get a feel for this year’s camp. I called out to him and he joined me in the Pavilion.

    We hugged and kissed, happy to see each other again. He looked tired from his drive. Still, he held me tight all the same.

    As with each time we saw each other, our first greeting lasted long. Hands wondered. Our lips met, separated, and met again multiple times. We talked a bit about our lives since last we saw each other. We are always happy to see one another again. Neither of us wanted to let the other go.

    I gave Doug an invitation to my gang bang. He said he would show up, though he did not know how he felt about such affairs. As with everyone I gave an invitation to, I told him whatever felt right to him was fine by me. His accepting my invitation, whether or not he participated, was all I wanted.

    Even though I wanted our greeting to last longer, eventually we had to part. Doug hadn’t yet completed a full circling of camp, something he needed to feel grounded in the space. He also had not settled into his hotel room. I had to scurry up to the Sex-o-Rama class tent. Rough, before he left, asked me to redirect his face slapping class to the pool due to the day’s heat. I, ever the helpful friend, agreed to assist him.

    One last hug, one last kiss, and then Doug and I parted, knowing we would at least see each other again during our bootblacking shift, if not for more time to come.

     

  • Reward

    My Friday at Fusion started early. Even though I got to bed around 3am, I woke up at 7am to go run an errand. Because of my previously mentioned flat tire, I ventured off campus, had two of my tires replaced, and returned to my bed around 8:45am. I managed a decent nap before the rest of my day began.

    When I woke up for the second time that day, I didn’t know what to do. I briefly looked over the class list, but saw little that piqued my interest. But then a cabinmate mentioned Boymeat’s foot torture class.

    “Hmm, I’d like to bottom for that.”

    “Really? Let’s go.”

    Before I knew it, we were out the door and on our way up to the dungeon class tent. We were late, arriving about fifteen minutes into the presentation. Still, I found a seat near the front.

    Boymeat went over many different ways to cause pain to feet. Some of my favorites: clothes pins in between toes, tickling, biting, and using electricity on the feet.

    When he opened up the class for other suggestions, I mentioned using rope or twine and twisting the binding to create compression. Also I remembered the horrible things I’ve seen people do with rubber bands. I thought he might want to add that to the lesson.

    As the class wrapped up, I found myself chatting with Boymeat. My cabinmate had already left early, so I was not pressed for time. To my surprise, Boymeat had previously thought about ceasing to offer his foot torture class. But, because he received such great feedback from his attendees, he now felt more invigorated by the concept. He had new ideas to explore, more information to add to his presentation, and overall felt better about the material.

    I mentioned how one part of his class intrigued me. Electrical play was not part of my normal repertoire. My job involves electricity, to the point that I have been shocked before. I had yet to be able to eroticize the sensation since I’d felt it more than once in an annoyed or angered context.

    I hopped up on the massage table. Boymeat brought out his pig prod. My breathing got heavy. I knew it would hurt. A lot. And it did, a lot. He shocked me on my thigh. I rolled over. He shocked me on my other leg. Then on my arm. He leaned over me. Lifted my dress.

    “Don’t worry. I’m not going to shock you there.”

    He kept his word, not touching my clit. Instead he shocked my pubis, a pain and pleasure I had never felt before. I screamed and rolled away. He stepped back, pleased with his work. Another cherry popped for me.

    I curled up into a ball on the table, smiling and breathing, and scared as fuck.

    Boymeat then turned to his demo bottom, Muffin.

    “Okay, time for your reward.”

    “You know what I want.”

    “Yes, but you can’t have that now. However.”

    Boymeat unzipped his pants. Pulled out his cock and balls. He allowed Muffin to suck on one of his balls. And then he looked over at me.

    “There are two, if you’d like to join in.”

    I hopped off the table, dropped to my knees, and began sucking his right ball.

    “Hmm, I think you two can suck on my cock too.”

    We took turns, each of us alternating our attention between our tasty treats. Once, we each ran our lips up and down his shaft at the same time. He moaned and pet us as we relished in our acts.

    “Now here’s the problem. There are two of you, but I can cum in only one mouth.”

    “She can have it,” said Muffin. “I’ve already tasted you twice.”

    “Thank you.”

    My mouth was back on his cock. As I licked and sucked, Boymeat gave me a lesson on how he loves his cock to be sucked. Soon, I did indeed taste him.

    When he finished shooting in my mouth, I knelt back on my heels and turned to my right.

    “Hi, I’m Poetic.”

    “I’m Muffin. Nice to meet you.”

    As we made our introductions, Boymeat stood for a moment to bask. Then he said, “You two are by far the filthiest people I know, but you occupy two different spheres.”

    Boymeat’s comment felt like a genuine compliment; I was quite proud.

    “This is how I know I’m not some stereotypical asshole. When an asshole gets his cock sucked by two women and then comes, he’s all like, ‘Look at me.’ When I’ve had my cock sucked by two women and then I come, I feel guilty.”

    In my humble opinion, it’s an attitude like that that gets your cock sucked by two women more often.

     

  • Snack

    I stood in line with Gray, Naiia, and Amy, chatting about something to pass the time as the line slowly inched forward.

    It was midnight snack, open to everyone on campus. Diva, a wonderful woman who served the wonderful food, was a friend. Most all Fusion attendees can attest to the joy and necessity of midnight snack, the calories you need to play long into the night.

    When we finally filled our plates, our group of four found a place to sit and chat as others inched their way forward as well. During our conversations, the topic of my play date with Gray came up.

    Truth be told, I half expected my date request to fall through. Gray was busy this Fusion. He was running a special event on Friday that required cajoling people into participating and then wrangling said people. He was a host for Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate on Sunday, one of the most popular special events at Fusion. He had to deal with Kink Academy work, shooting multiple educators that weekend. He even had to teach a few classes.

    Also, adding to his hectic schedule, there were a number of his play partners at the event, many of which I knew he had not seen in a longer time than our last parting. I had gone out of my way to encourage said folks to “book him early” as I knew Gray’s weekend would only get worse as it progressed. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to be disappointed.

    So when he mentioned our play date and wanting to set a day and time now, I was a bit shocked, though pleased all the same. We agreed on Saturday night at 9pm.

    As we finished up our conversation, I looked to my right. Boymeat had appeared. He greeted us, sat down beside me, then turned away to chat with folks on the other end of the table. All of the nerves surged, but Boymeat never turned back around to chat.

    As we continued to grub, my Big Bro Murphy Blue passed by. In jest, he commented that Gray was such a pimp, I believe referring to his having three women around him.

    “Really? How many playdates have you had?” asked Gray.

    “Hold on. I have an app for that.”

    “Ah ha! See. Who’s the pimp?”

    As we finished up our snack, I began strategizing for my Friday. I didn’t want to have the burden of my busted tire lasting longer than need be, so I planned to take care of it in the morning, searching for nearby shops and their opening times. After having found two relatively close by, I put those worries aside for the morning.

    We all got up to leave. I was too awake to go to bed yet, so I headed towards the dungeon. On the way, I saw Darien. I let down my hair so that he could have a look at it. He hadn’t touched it since Winter Fire, when he’d clipped and flat ironed my mane. He approved of its growing length and softness.

    When I made it to the dungeon, I was a bit disappointed. There were very few scenes going. The energy was low. I then remembered it was only Thursday and a majority of campus was still at midnight snack.

    While strolling, I happened upon my friend ArrogantSlut. We made our way towards the Kraken/Indecent Enterprises tents for a smoke and a chat. I sipped red wine and listened as others entered the conversation.

    Before I knew it, 3am had arrived. I excused myself and dragged my body to bed.

     

  • Ride

    I found myself in the same position Thursday night at Fusion as I had been some nine months previous with the same person in control of my fate, though under drastically different circumstances.

    The last time I had seen Malacro was at the last Summer Camp. I was grieving the recent loss of my father, but not telling most of the people there of my circumstance. I spent a lot of that camp simply sitting and chatting with folks.

    As I strolled up the path, I saw a game of Cards Against Humanity was under way at Sadists’ Lair. Also, setup just outside of the game, was a sybian.

    I don’t remember how I ended up on the sex toy. I do remember who was at the controls for most of my ride. Malacro let me rest my hands on his thighs as I came multiple times, the sex toy’s controls in his hands. I displaced much of my body weight forward as I put pressure onto my clit, leaning onto the vibrating nub of the sybian.

    Malacro was quiet but kind as my orgasms raced through me. I remember being so grateful that I could still feel that good, even as I felt the pain at the loss of my father.

    Nine months later, after I finally got Amy to camp Thursday evening, I enjoyed dinner at the Baekry, then rushed back to my cabin, showered, changed, and hurried up to Sadists’ Lair.

    Outside the cabin, two sybians were setup side by side. I rode one last September. The other belonged to Malacro. In a message before camp, he informed me that he’d actually bought his own sybian after our shared Summer Camp experience. Of course we just had to have round two.

    As before, I was a size queen. I chose the largest attachment. He put it on and I crouched down onto the sex toy.

    “Is it okay if I lean on you?”

    As he turned up the motor, my hips began to gyrate. I realized if I leaned forward I would soon come, but if I leaned back I could give my clit a break.

    My first two orgasms came as a continuous wave. I leaned onto Malacro; my arms rested on his shoulders. Then my hands gripped his back. As orgasm one melted into orgasm two, I relaxed my hands.

    “I don’t want to hurt you.”

    “I’m more concerned about my ink.”

    For the rest of my orgasms, I rested my arms on his shoulders. My hands gripped together behind him. My forehead touched his. We leaned into each other. It was close, intimate. He was giving me pleasure. I was opening myself up to connection, communicating my pleasure in sound and breath.

    At times I screamed or mumbled inexplicable dialogue only I could decipher. Occasionally I giggled as the ecstasy tickled my insides and spread to my fingertips and toes. Sometimes I moaned, guttural and full. Sometimes I whined, high pitch and breathy. But I stayed in close with Malacro. I wanted to keep that intimacy, that connection.

    Later, after my thirteen orgasms and many thanks for my ride, I asked him, “So can we do that again sometime?”

    “Sure.”

    “And next time, may I kiss you?”

    Only I, who had already experienced multiple orgasms from this man on two separate occasions, would be so polite as to believe I shouldn’t try to kiss him while riding his sybian without first asking his permission.

     

  • Words

    I approached his cabin slowly. It had been drizzling off and on during the day, so I carried my borrowed umbrella, resting it on my right shoulder. As I stepped up to his porch, he saw me and gave me one of his wry smiles.

    “Hello Poetic.”

    I stood patiently at the bottom step and looked up at him with a smile.

    “Do you have a moment?” I asked.

    Boymeat stepped down off the porch and joined me in front of Oink.

    “I have something to give you. Could you?”

    I gestured for him to hold the umbrella. He grasped the handle and said, “This thing is bigger than you.”

    I swung my backpack around, unzipped it, and found another invitation.

    “This is an invite to my gang bang.” I replaced my bag on my back and took up the umbrella handle again. “There is information on the time & place. I’ll be providing water and snacks. And there is a list of my safer sex boundaries.”

    He looked over the paper.

    “So, will I be given ‘special exception’ to put my cock in your mouth?”

    “Yes.”

    “You funny thing. I’ve probably had more cocks in my mouth than you’ve had in yours.”

    “Really?”

    “What are you at, about fifty cocks?”

    “Something like that.”

    “I’m easily around four hundred.”

    My mouth slacked open in awe and jealousy.

    “There were these clubs in New York.” As he spoke, he smoked.

    “My favorite was just a plain cement room.” He blew his cigarette smoke to the side, but the smell lingered.

    “Fifty guys would stand around the walls of the room.” We were in close, enclosed by my umbrella.

    “Everyone was quiet. No one said a word.” I knew there were people nearby, people moving around, but in that moment my world was just my shivering body and Boymeat’s voice singing in my ears.

    “I would step to the center of the room, kneel down, and turn my hat around. Can you imagine that? Fifty cocks primed and ready. Fifty cocks in your face. So many cocks struggling to get into your mouth. You want that, don’t you?”

    “Yes.”

    “The thought of all those men wanting to put their cocks in your mouth excites you, doesn’t it?”

    “Yes.”

    With every question, I felt more nerves, yet more freedom. Boymeat was asking the questions others hadn’t asked before, hadn’t dared to inquire. And he was just getting started.

    Boymeat has a way with words and with reading me. Maybe it was the catch in my breath, or was I holding it? Was it how I scrunched up my body, almost like a coiled spring waiting to pop? Or the way I occasionally bit my lip? Or the expectant, needy, greedy look in my eyes? Whatever it was, Boymeat knew how to read me.

    “I bet you’d drop to your knees and suck my cock right now if I let you.”

    “Yes.”

    “But I’m not going to let you.” I pouted. “I already know filthy little pig likes it when I pee on it, but I bet you’d also love it if I ran my cock between your ass cheeks. You’d still want to suck my cock, wouldn’t you?”

    “Yes.”

    “But what if my cock wasn’t clean? What if my cock had a little brown on it? I bet you’d still gobble up my cock, wouldn’t you?”

    “Yes.”

    “You want that, don’t you? For me to fuck your ass and then shove my cock in your mouth?”

    “Yes.”

    With each word, I took a breath. Found the courage to answer truthfully.

    My answers were never more than a loud whisper, but he wouldn’t let me evade, wouldn’t let me escape. Even as I was admitting to parts of myself I only barely accepted, I didn’t care. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him, how nasty I wanted to be with him, even if I said it in one word whispers.

    “You want to lick my asshole, don’t you? And you wouldn’t care if it was clean or not, would you? You’d eat my asshole like the dirty little pig you are, wouldn’t you?”

    “Yes.”

    “I bet there is something else you want. Something else I haven’t said yet. Something else a dirty little pig would do.”

    “I. I think have to stop. I think I have to walk away. I.”

    He had pushed in the right way, slowly and patiently and always waiting for my approval to go on, but Boymeat had found my wall. I stepped back, nervous and scared suddenly for what it all meant, scared about the thoughts that filled me.

    “It’s okay. Here.” He unzipped his shorts, pulled out his cock. He lightly grabbed my hand. I stepped forward, back into the bubble of his cigarette scent. He let me stroke his cock, soothed me with the feel of what I wanted in my mouth.

    “Okay, you’ve had enough.” He put his cock away. “Go on, scurry away. You have more trouble to get into.”

    “Yes. I just. Can you do mean things to me this weekend?”

    He gave me another clever smile. “I’ll see you later, Poetic.”

     

  • Voluntold

    “Since my demo bottom has a burn on her back, would anyone be willing to help me with this next part?”

    Rough’s face stayed forward as his right hand rose up and pointed towards me. My hand was halfway in the air already. Rough knows me well enough.

    Thursday was a scattered day. By the time I made it to Rough’s class, I had already figured out my ride plan with Amy, slept in a bit, and made it to the Baekry late for breakfast: blueberry pancakes, freshly sliced peaches and strawberries.

    Rough’s backhanding class was the only presentation that caught my eye on Thursday. I made my way to the upper fire pit tent just after my yummy meal.

    Rough went over many different techniques for backhanding people. Most memorable of these was his backhanding his demo bottom’s cunt. It took myself and another helpful volunteer to hold his demo bottom’s legs open (with the demo bottom’s consent). To our collective astonishment, (though known by Rough, hence the requested assist) his demo bottom came multiple times just from his abuse of her cunt.

    Towards the end of the class, he “asked” for a volunteer to help assist him. His last technique was a backhand strike to the center of the upper back, right where his demo bottom wanted to avoid. I gave a little striptease for my fellow classmates before Rough began his explanation.

    As Rough spoke to the class about what he was going to do to me, my anxiety rose. What he was describing included the words “incredibly painful”. I concentrated my gaze on the ground and tried to prepare myself.

    Rough did not lie.

    As soon as his strike landed, I let out a loud sob. I curled my body inward, lowering part way to the ground. The one strike packed a lot of punch. I took a few deep breaths and was back to standing in about ten seconds, but the spot where he landed throbbed.

    “Can I see that from this side?”

    A mutual friend of ours wanted a better view of Rough’s technique and, I suspect, another chance to hear me sob. I turned part way, braced myself, and waited. I knew it would be worse because now I knew what to expect. And, in fact, my sob was louder, and I crouched down lower than before. I did not like our friend at that moment.

    “Oh, but we didn’t get to see.”

    Rough’s class took place in a tent with three benches shaped like a U for people to observe. The right and left benches had had great views. The center bench wanted their turn now.

    “Wait. Please. Please Rough, could you just rub my back?”

    “Okay.”

    Instead of rubbing my back, he pulled out his water bottle and poured it down my back. The cool water was soothing for about five seconds. And then the realization set in.

    “Shit, now it’s gonna hurt more.”

    For those who don’t know, wet skin hurts more when it is struck and than dry skin. Rough gave me about thirty seconds to compose myself. And then the center bench got their view. I sobbed, crouched down, and I think my knee may have even dropped to the ground.

    Lesson learned.

     

  • Delayed

    Originally I was to pickup MissAmyRed from the airport at 9:30am Thursday morning. When I woke up, though, I was greeted to a series of unfortunate text messages. Amy’s original flight was delayed and, because of this she, had missed her connection. After a confusing number of steps and alternate plans created and then thrown out, Amy was able to secure a flight that would land around 6pm, much later than previously hoped for or anticipated.

    I left camp around 5pm to go pick her up. On the way, I stopped briefly to fill up my gas tank. As I got back onto the highway, my car skidded. Though the incident was jarring, I was able to correct my vehicle fine.

    But then I noticed a vibration in my car as I rode along. I hoped it would correct itself. Instead it got worse. That was when it dawned on me.

    Oh shit, I have a flat tire.

    I made my way to the side of the road.

    Am I doing this? Am I really going to do this?

    Normally I have no problem changing out my tire. I’ve done it on multiple occasions.

    But I had just left camp. I was in a tight red tank top, low cut in the front, as well as a tighter black skirt, much shorter than one in this kind of situation would want it to be. My one consolation: I was wearing my black leather shoes instead of my sandals.

    Fuck it.

    I got out of my car. Popped open the trunk. Pulled out the tools. Set up the jack. Got a honk or two from passing cars. Resisted the urge to flip said cars off. Removed two lugs nuts.

    And then the cavalry arrived. A stranger parked their car in front of mine and stepped out. Just as he was approaching me, a roadside assistance worker parked their trucked behind my car. The (hopefully) good samaritan left and the person whose actual job it was to help me took over.

    The gentleman used his impact drill to remove the last three lug nuts much faster than I’d removed the first two. He filled my donut with a bit more air, used it to replace my shredded tire, and lowered my jack. I thanked him for his assistance and was on my way.

    Funny enough, due to yet more flight hassles, Amy only had to wait for me for about fifteen minutes. We drove very slowly north and were soon enough at camp, delays and all be damned.

    When I later recounted my ordeal at the Baekry, RtB looked at my outfit and quipped, “I bet it didn’t take long for someone to stop and help you.”

    No, it didn’t.

     

     

  • Wednesday Night

    My Wednesday evening at Fusion had the feel of a real vacation. I wandered around campus, stopped and chatted with folks, drank a little, and had an overall chill time.

    The majority of my time spent in any one place that day happened at the Baekry, a collective of friends who welcomed me in. I learned of their existence through two of my first Dark Odyssey friends, RobTheBruce and Kat. They organized and ran the tent enclave tucked just behind the Barn.

    Before Fusion began, I contacted them about joining their group for meals. I knew this arrangement would provide me with two essential benefits: one, excellent food, and two, excellent company.

    In events past, I have only seen RtB and Kat in passing. Being as social as I am, I often flit about at events, bouncing from one fun experience to the next. As such I would maybe see RtB and Kat for a few minutes at any given event. By arranging to have my meals with them each day, I guaranteed us more time to catch up or just hang out.

    My plan was a resounding success. The food was fabulous. The company even better. I met new friends through the Baekry, including that first night. As everyone had settled in, and little play was yet starting, I found myself swinging by the tents. A simple question (“Do you play spades?”), a deck of cards, and an hour later, I’d gotten to know just a few of the people I would be sharing my weekend with.

    Wednesday night is always odd at Fusion. There are enough people on campus to be a noticeable amount, yet the event has not nearly reached critical mass. It is a mixture of tension and anticipation.

    Towards the end of our spades match, the skies produced magic. Far off in the clouds we could see lightning, but heard no thunder. The show was beautiful, a display of nature’s power, genuine moments of awe. Still, the threat in the air was for rain. Thankfully my friend Squirrel let me borrow an umbrella.

    I strolled down the asphalt path towards my cabin, taking in the light show, and chatting with people as I went. I stopped by my friend Finn’s tent and we both marveled at the sky. When I stepped away, I felt a raindrop or two. My umbrella went up. Before I reached my cabin, the heavens opened up.

    Rain fell in sheets. Thunder boomed and lightning burst across the sky. It was bright and beautiful and frightening all at once. For about ten seconds, the power went out.

    By this time, it was after 1am. Since I’d only gotten a few hours of sleep the night before, and the rain, though slowed, didn’t seem like it was going to stop soon, I decided to call it a night.

     

  • Recharge

    “What are you looking at?”

    “There are these bees…”

    My Fusion was full of many moments, both large and small. My first moment happened with Roughinamorato while standing on the porch of Oink.

    After fully nesting in my cabin, I could think of nothing more fun than to begin the process of delivering invitations to my gang bang. I slipped on a comfy, yet conforming, shirt and the key article of clothing for the afternoon, my TARDIS boxer shorts.

    Before I left for camp, I had invitations already created and printed (on pink paper no less, being the dirty pig and all) ready to be passed out. I numbered the invitations not to create a particular order but so that I knew how many people I’d invited. The first inviation went to TruthInRope, who slept in the bed pushed next to mine. Another went to a cabinmate who was also an early arrival.

    Armed with fun clothing and cheerful personality (I was at camp!), I wandered around campus looking for invitees. I saw them as I passed by, stopped to chat, handed them a cute piece of paper, and moved on with my fun.

    Eventually, my walk took me to Oink. Three invitees, plus one of my concierges, was staying in the cabin.

    When I approached, I saw a few people out on the porch, including Rough. He was dressed in only his boxers, given the heat of the day. Looking up at the roof of the porch, he seemed fascinated by the movement of rather large bees seeming to attempt to enter holes that were presumably their homes.

    Odd conversation set aside, I offered him his invitation to my gang bang, and checked off his name on my list.

    I can’t remember how we got into the conversation about hair, but somehow I ended up against the railing of the cabin, Rough gripping my mane, my head tilted up, his leg in between my limbs, and his sly grin on his face.

    “You dirty girl.”

    I’m known for the way I react when people pull my hair. The sounds I make. The look on my face as my eyes close and I sink into the moment. I really like it when people pull my hair.

    Rough teased me, drifting his face close to mine but not ever touching.

    When he released my hair, a thought came to me.

    “Rough, could you choke me sometime this weekend?”

    He got an almost whimsical look on his face. He removed my glasses. Moved to stand behind me. Wrapped him arm around my throat.

    “Shall I lift up my arm?”

    “If you want.” I did.

    He squeezed. I felt the usual pressure, the tingle in my body. The lightness of my limbs.

    I saw an anime: a blonde pretty-faced male superhero versus a dark green reptile-like villian. I rooted for the villian.

    Rough stroked my hair. I sat on the floor on porch with my legs in a pretty position; I fall sweetly without even trying. My head was down turned. I leaned against Rough’s leg.

    I remembered why I liked hanging out with Rough so much. No beating around the bush. No delay. You ask, you get, you move on.

    He helped me to standing. I thanked him for the recharge. I was set to get back to my wandering.

    But then Gray and Naiia returned. Another invitation was given (lucky number seven; no I did not plan it that way) with a smile before I departed.

     

  • Helpful

    “Happy to be helpful.” is a phrase I often toss out when people thank me for my assistance. I hope I never sound flippant when I say it because I truly mean it. I like being helpful towards the people I care about.

    To start my Fusion, I was a defacto shuttle service for my friends. I woke up early, packed my trunk with all my things, and then headed over to IPCookieMonster’s home. She had baked goods, created by TruthInRope, that needed shipping to camp.

    Trays of deliciousness secured in my backseat floor, next I headed over to GreyMalken’s home. We squeezed in his few bags (he thankfully packed light this camp), and then we were on our way.

    A quick food stop and about two hours later, we were at camp pretty much when I had anticipated. After greetings and short chats to catch up, I dropped him off at his cabin and then rushed to mine. I was still operating on a schedule with other obligations coming up. I nested for a few minutes, discovering the extent of the wasp problem in my cabin, only briefly mentioned before I had arrived, and hastily made my way off campus.

    Next stop, the airport.

    I arrived at the cell phone parking lot with ten minutes to spare. Once I got the call, I slowly rolled around and picked up my last cargo for the day. Gray had bussed down; Naiia had flown. With my things, GreyMalken’s things, and TruthInRope’s cupcakes now emptied from my car, the two of them had no problem fitting in their luggage.

    After a quick stop at Target for a few forgotten items, and the liquor store for a few wanted items, we were soon back at camp. I dropped Gray and Naiia off at Oink (a cabin I would visit multiple times during the weekend) and then made my way back to my cabin.

    My Fusion adventure had begun.