poeticdesires

Category: Funny

  • Vixen

    Her tail hangs on the wall across from my bed. Her diadem lives in my bag of chainmail jewelry. Her boots, moccasin style, are occasionally worn without her preferred outfit: my black wrap dress.

    She is one of my alter egos, a persona I love to don when I’m feeling sexy yet playful.

    I sometimes think of myself as a vixen, with all that might entail. Sexy. Confident. Gleeful. And, of course, foxy.

    She is older than my school girl, more wise and life lived. She is less humble, less demure than my school Gir sometimes can be.

    I initially encountered her during my first summer at Ren Faire. Many people walked around the gravel encampment, most in personas that seemed appealing. Was I a bar wench? A lady of the court? A scoundrel or rapscallion? A pilferer?

    As we circled around the fairgrounds, I came upon a store that sold, among other things, fox tails. At once I knew: one of those was mine.

    I thought about a tail dyed red, but that didn’t seem right, even if it was one of my favorite colors. No, I found a black one, felt it, and at once knew it would be mine. I bought it and attached it to my backside immediately.

    When I wear my tail, I have a little more pep in my step. I swing my ass a little more. I feel more like a me I love.

    I’ve worn my tail in times where I needed comfort. Or when I wanted to be silly. Or sexy. Or just cause.

    I have many personas, all of which I love. But Vixen… She is one I am so glad I found. I will never let her go.

  • Good Service

    ~ a story ~



    – “I’ve never chained up ladies before. Hmm, I kinda liked it.”
    – “Did you get enough meat?”
    – “Be careful, these are wet.”
    – “I’m just going to give you a little extra time so you can write your phone number down.”

    “Did you hear that?”
    “Hear what?”
    “Really?”
    “What?”
    “The waiter, what he just said.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Your phone number.”
    “What?”
    “Giving you extra time so you can write your phone number.”
    “What?”
    “Yes.”

    Her eyes grew wide and her mouth slacked open. He had… He was… Was he…?

    Their server had been funny, joking throughout their meal. Her and her work friend just had an hour before needing to rush back to a late night meeting that evening. And she had been quite hungry. The restaurant was new and nearby, but her friend assured her the service was fast, and the stir fry was delicious.

    She hadn’t noticed the chain quip when he explained the way the meal worked and then sectioned them off from the rest of the line. She thought he was just checking on their meal he made mention of meat, making sure they’d chosen well when they piled their bowls of food high for the grill. And the cups were damp when he brought their refills. But, in all of that, she hadn’t noticed the server’s innuendo.

    Sure, he was attractive and funny, delivering those offhand comments each time he came to their table, but she didn’t take notice in that way. He was just being funny. He was just working hard for his tip. Apparently, though, he was after more than twenty percent.

    Now she understood why her friend kept giggling each time he walked away, why her face was red and flushed, her body caved in and to the side of her seat, her arms literally around her middle. For the entirety of their meal, she hadn’t noticed a very attractive man had been flirting with her shamelessly.

    Her friend quickly slipped in her credit card to the bill and left it on the side of the table.

    “For entertainment factor alone, this is one me.”

    The man flew by, picked it up, and went to run the card. She had but a minute to figure out what to say, what to do, before he came back.

    When he walked back over, he sat the bill down by her friend, but then slid a piece of paper towards her.

    “Here’s my number. Call it any time. Any where. Any position.” He then stared straight into her eyes, rolled his tongue over his lips, and walked away.

    Her eyes shot to her friend.

    “Let’s go, now.”

    She nearly had to drag her friend out of the restaurant, doubled over in laughter.

    “Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod! Did you? Did you hear him?”
    “Hear what? I just saw the slip of paper with the number. What did he say?”
    “Any time. Any where. Any position.”
    “Fuck…”

    Her friend’s voice descending into a pitch she had never heard before.

    “And then he licked his lips.”
    “What!?!”
    “Yes.”
    “Fuck…”

    The two women melted into their car.

    “Are you gonna call him? You have to call him. That body. Those arms. And he licked his lips.”

    She thought for a moment about his arms, his chest, and those lips.

    She pulled out her phone.

    “You’re gonna call him right now?”
    “Not call…”

    She typed a message on her phone:
    So, when do you get off?
    And hit SEND.

    She waited, seeing if he’d take the bait. Her phone chimed.


  • I Want

    ~ erotica ~

    “I want to watch you suck my cock.”

    I saw the eagerness in her eyes, saw the sparkle as she stared at my rather large purple dildo that I stroked while I sat on my bed. I was naked, save for my strap on, which itself was cover with a condom. She was naked, save for her socks; they were striped, multi-colored, and it was chilly.

    She looked so eager, practically drooling at the thought of my cock in her mouth. I just stroked and stared at her.

    “I want to watch you suck my cock. Do you want to suck my cock?”
    “Yes.”

    She squeaked her response almost before my last syllable left my lips and rushed over towards me.

    But before her lips descended onto my cock, my hand held her head back. Her hands flared out to the side in a most comical way and I had to hold back my laughter.

    “I want you to suck my cock, but I didn’t say I would let you.”

    And them came the pout, the cutest little pout I ever did see.

    I wanted to fuck her. I wanted her to suck my cock til she gagged. But something in me wanted to see the real her. However my cock was talking now.

    “You know what would make me want to let you suck my cock?”

    She slowly moved her head side-to-side.

    “A magic little word you forgot to utter.”
    “Oops.” Her hands flew to her mouth, covering her lips, her face full of embarrassment. Cute overload indeed.

    “I’m sorry. May I please suck your cock.”
    “Now, that is exactly what I wanted to hear.”

    My hand, which had been on her forehead, moved to the back of her head and pushed her mouth onto my cock. Her eyes bugged out wide as my cock glided across her tongue and down her throat.

    For a split second, I wondered if her manner was real, if this cuteness wasn’t an act. But, just as quickly as the thought arrived, her gaze grew concentrated ad calculating, though still delighted. Her hands gripped my shaft as she worked her lips up and down my cock.

    “Do you like that, my cock in your mouth?”
    “Mmm hmm.”
    “Do you want my cock somewhere else, say in your hot little pussy?”
    “Mmm hmm, plsss.”
    “Good girl, getting it all wet for your wet cunt.”
    “Thn thu.”

    In and out. I gripped her hair and pushed her a little deeper, held her head down a little longer, and fucked her face for just a while longer.

    When I felt my cum growing, I stopped her, pulling her off my cock. She gave me the pouty face and eyes, but I quickly pushed her over onto all fours on the floor.

    She presented her pussy just right, craned her back just right, and extended out her arms, trying to hide as she tickled her nipples against the carpeted floor.

    Reaching under my jock, I flicked on my vibrator, and quickly entered her. Her cry was high pitched and filled the room. She squeaked each time I thrusted, her voice raising to pitches I didn’t know existed. That is, until I leaned over, gripped her breasts, and bit into her ass.

    Suddenly her voice flipped, growing guttural and deep.

    “Are you close? Yes, you are close. Good girl. Then cum.”

    I slammed my cock into her as her screams grew loud and my own orgasm raced through my body. My nails dug into her breasts. I bit and sucked harder on her ass. She pushed back and pushed back until finally collapsing onto the floor.

    Leaning back onto my heels, I sat back up on my bed, pulled the condom off my dildo, and flicked it onto her ass.

    “You are, indeed, a good girl, and a pretty good fuck, as well advertised, but now that we’ve both cum…”

    She looked up at me with those pouty eyes again, but I wasn’t buying it.

    “I want you to go. Lock the door on your way out.”

    And, like flipping a switch, I finally saw the real her.

    “You fucking bitch,” she belted, throwing the condom back at my face before grabbing her clothes and storming off in a huff.

    “Now that’s the girl I fucked.”

    Cute overload ended.

  • Tease

    It was just so perfectly timed.

    The thought popped into my head.

    Sitting on a couch, reading a book, waiting for him to return home. Hearing him entering, but my not responding. Just reading my book; no care in the world.

    He drops his things. Immediately drops to his knees. Pulls my skirt up. And begins eating me out.

    I’d drop the book, loosing my place, but oh-my-god not caring.

    Resting my hands in his hair. Reclining my head back. Moaning. Riding his face. Grinding against his tongue and lips.

    That passion. That not-caring-or-giving-a-fuck-I-want-you-that-much lust. Getting lost in it. Drowning in it. Never wanting to come up for air.

    That thought, those images playing around in my head.

    And then the song came on.

    My car radio playing while I’m out shopping for gifts. Hearing the back beat swell right before the DJ stops talking. Just enough time for recognition and move to action. Turning up the volume. Blaring the music and lyrics.

    And now they are together: my fantasy and the soundtrack for that fuck.

    The memory of the smell of my wet pussy. The imagined feel of his lips on my clit. My remembered moans. And the sound of the music. The evoking words. The heavy bass. The dark yet sensuous song booming from my car’s speakers into my ears.

    For four minutes, I lived in my mind. Imagining my tensed muscles. His supple lips. My gasps and groans. I felt the warmth grow inside me. Felt the rising to my high. Wished, for once, more than anything else, that my brain could make my fantasy come true.

    And then the song ended.

  • Locked In

    We could’ve kept going pretty easily. I’d just completed Gray’s boots and still had his chaps and vest to work on. But it was getting late and Gray didn’t want to keep others up just so we could have fun.

    The two people who had watched our scene were also ready to go. As Gray and I cleaned up, our observers thanked us for letting them watch and walked out.

    I put my things back into my kit as Gray began taking off his leathers.

    And then the duo returned.

    The door from the Dungeon to the main floor was locked. They checked the other entry door. Locked as well. We were locked in.

    I laughed a little, the idea that we actually shut down the Dungoen. But just as soon as the funny thought came, the problem sunk in.

    Could we get out? Weren’t personal items left uptairs? Did they really forget about us?

    I started having a vision of us all camped out in the Dungeon. There was a bed and a couch. Theoretically we could’ve slept there fine. There was also a bathroom downstairs, so using the restroom would not have been an issue. And people would be back in the morning, but not until late. Probably ten or eleven.

    It turned out, though, that the answer to all my questions above was yes. Gray’s things were upstairs, not the best situation in the world but there was nothing we could immediately do about it.

    Since it was left behind, Gray borrowed Hedwig’s sweatshirt.

    It seemed we were indeed locked out of the bar, but thankfully there was an emergency exit door.

    My few things were with me. Gray was fairly shielded from the elements with the sweatshirt, and thankfully his pants were downstairs with us.

    Ready to go, knowing we could not get back in til the morning, we left. Our duo, thankfully, offered us a ride back to Hedwig’s.

    We crashed, having had a good time, mildly annoyed by the inconvience, but knowing we still had things to do in the morning.

  • Water Torture

    I was fried, hanging on by a thread. And then the thread was cut.

    We were out to dinner, a group of nine of us, sitting around a large table in a pub about a fifteen minute walk from the Flying Dutchman.

    We were all tired, the rush of the Grue slamming to a halt as the event had just ended about an hour ago.

    It was all I had in me to not curl up into a ball and start crying. Having experienced another Grue, I knew this was normal. The intense event followed by the sudden end caused me physical exhaustion and emotional havoc. I knew this was to be expected. I was just barely hanging on.

    We ordered drinks. I decided I needed a beer. Just one beer. My pint arrived and I took one sip. Then two other drinks arrived, one of them being Gray’s. Because he sat next to me, of course I was going to reach over and pass the drinks to him.

    And then my hand clipped my pint glass. And all of my beer, save my one sip, spilled onto the table and onto Gryphon. Gryphon, who sat on my other side. Gryphon, who offered to share his french fries with me. Gryphon, who had made me smile even though I was feeling like crap.

    As soon as the glass hit the table, we both jumped up. I grabbed it, but it was already too late. His pants and half his shirt were soaked.

    I had to get away. I quickly slipped from the booth and rushed to the bathroom. One of the two stalls was free. I got inside and started crying.

    I had been hanging on by a thread. And then the thread was cut.

    All the horrible thoughts came to me in a rush.

    You’re so clumsy. You’re so stupid. He won’t like you now. You’ve ruined dinner. They’ll all hate you now. Why did you even bother coming? No one wants you here.

    CherryBondage soon came into the restroom and knocked on my stall’s door. I let her in and she held me as I wept. Hugging me tight, she asked me what was wrong.

    “I was hanging on by a thread. And then that happened and I just couldn’t hold on any more. And the bad thoughts came and I know logically Gryphon doesn’t hate me and the table is probably laughing about this right now, but yeah. I just… I needed to cry.

    “I’ll be okay. I just needed to cry.”

    And then I was okay. I actually laughed, knowing this would be yet another inside joke directed my way.

    When I returned to the table, I apologized profusely to Gryphon. Gray gave me a big hug.

    And waiting for me was another pint. The bar had spotted me the loss.

    But now I found myself in a new dilemma: I feared picking up my beer.

    I feared touching it even. When I went to drink my beer, I used both hands to lift the pint. When the next round of drinks came, I held my arms in tight to my chest and sat back in my seat.

    To make matters worse (or hilarious, depending on how you saw it), Gray and Gryphon taunted me for the rest of our dinner with my new found fear.

    Asking one to refill my water glass (since he could more easily reach the pitcher), he filled my cup all the way to the top. I stood up and leaned over, sipping the top off just so I wouldn’t spill my water when I lifted it.

    Then the other, the next to refill my glass, held the pitcher high in the air as the water flowed out. I was visibly nervous that the liquid would spill all over the table. Of course it didn’t, but the boys enjoyed egging me all the same.

    Gryphon smelled of beer for the rest of the night; he didn’t have time to go home and change before the After Grue. I kept apologizing; he kept telling me it was okay.

    Eventually, I believed him.

    The night was not ruined. No one hated. I was okay again.

  • Psycho Drama pt 2

    As we (the slaves) were slowly pulled into the Barn, the cat calls immediately started. Our would-be buyers inspected their merchandise, lifting skirts, groping breasts, moving us this way and that.

    Some of the slaves fought back, trying to lash out at the wealthy men. I cowered, cried, spouted the holy trinity in Spanish. (Later I decided to drop the language idea and just go with the wailing.)

    When they inspected me, one person grabbed my arms, another pushed me, bending over at the waist, and someone lifted my skirt. Of course my friends went for my ass.

    With the merchandise meeting and exceeding the buyers’ expectations, it was time for the biding to begin. Our slave master dragged the first girl up to the stage where the General (played by none other than ManKraken! himself) hosted the auction. Laughter soon began.

    He riped open her shirt, exposing her chest, and stuck his fingers down her mouth, asking her, “Do you like to suck cock?” With his fingers still down her throat, she gurgled a yes, was purchased, and escorted off the stage.

    As the selling continued, my friend and I decided to sit down on the ground while the rest of chattel remained standing. My friend was selling the European slave angle, spouting an Eastern block language I can’t recall.

    As we cozied up together, trying to stay warm in the chill evening, we couldn’t help but laugh at the show. Another of the slaves, the one that was totally naked, was brought on stage and prized for her exceptional height.

    One of the slaves, the one in the wedding dress, was said to have been nabbed on her way to the ceremony. She had been a virgin, until she got a little pirate in her (a reference to our slave wrangler).

    The girl in front of me had set out from the beginning of our psycho drama to not be compliant. She tried to fight off the buyers inspecting her. She fought on her way up to the stage. And she fought as she was sold off.

    About a slave or two before I was to go on stage, the child soldiers decided to harass myself and my friend. They poked us with their air soft rifles, mock kicked and hit us. I curled up into my friends arms, cradling my head in her lap, crying and shielding my face.

    This was when I had a brilliant idea: I would make a scene, trying to hold onto my friend, trying not to be taken on stage when it was my turn. I whispered my intent to my friend, who it turned out had had the same idea. We snickered with glee just before it was time for my performance.

    When the slave wrangler came for me, I tried to cling to my friend. She spouted some the Eastern block language while I tried to hold onto me. The Pirate pulled at me, but I refused to get up, sobbing and crying. He dragged me along the chain until I was clear. With another person or two, he lifted me. Someone stuck an air soft gun to my head. The Pirate then muscled me to the stage.

    I mock sobbed as the General came up with my back story, saying I was obviously a college student pulled on my way to class, seeing as I was still wearing my glasses. They stood me up tall, yelled for me to be quiet, and pointed out my various features worth purchasing. I was then sold and escorted off the stage to sit with the other slaves.

    My friend, the last one to be sold, was brought forth. The General then conspicuously encouraged the rival gang to arrive, seeing as this was the last slave to be sold.

    The gang members busted into the Barn. All us slaves booked it out the side door and headed for the back of the Barn.

    We huddled together, still cold and still chained at our wrists, though thankfully not chained to one another anymore.

    We watched as the battle broke out. Apparently some of the buyers were given weapons as well and fought with the child soldiers against the gang members.

    And then the fighting took a turn, migrating to where we, the slaves, were standing. I had already decided to try to make a run for it. The other girls screamed and got out of the way. I slipped on my safety glasses, the pair I’d hidden in my hoodie pocket at the start, and swung around to the opposite side of the Barn.

    Through the windows I could hear the General narrating the fight.

    I tried to find a spot in the darkness to hide, but none seemed adequate. I wanted to slip past the front, but people hovered by the entrance. I ended up entrenching myself by the back stairs, hoping no one would see me as they passed by.

    Unfortunately, one person did.

    The head of the rival gang came by, asking me if I had any ammo. I said I didn’t, again hoping he would just leave. Instead he asked me what I was doing. Hiding, I said simply.

    And then it dawned on him: I was a slave.

    He grabbed me by my hair, put his air soft rifle to my head, and used me as a human shield as he brought me to the rival gang’s barricade (they used one of the hanging massage tables from the outdoor truss set on its side on the ground). All the while he kept yelling, “I got one!”

    On the way to the barricade, I saw the Doctor, who was for the purposes of the drama a Russian spy, splayed out on the ground, quite dapper and quite dead.

    The General, after another few minutes of fighting, ordered everyone back inside. The drama had ended.

    My fellow slaves were sad that I had not made it; my friend had pinned all her hope on my escape.

    As a souvenir for the event, I kept my length of chain, my lock, and I was given the key by the organizer. I wore my chain around my neck for the rest of the evening.

    My friends and their ideas, as twisted as they can be, are also so much fucking fun.

  • Psycho Drama pt 1

    They named it The Faces Of Human Trafficking.

    Yup, me and my friends went there.

    In soliciting for volunteers to participate, there were a few roles to fill: wealthy buyer of trafficked humans, trafficked person/slave/chattel, rival gang member, and child soldier (which would be played by littles).

    Did I mention I love my friends?

    I chose to be chattel and showed up as asked an hour before the show was to begin. As we congregated outside the Barn, it was getting chilly. Thankfully I wore a hoodie.

    As I looked on my fellow slaves, I noticed I was a bit over dressed, just in a simple school girl outfit. One person was in a wedding dress. Another was completely naked; we huddled around her to keep her warm. As we received our briefing from the show coordinator, I contemplated changing clothes before we began.

    With seven slaves shown up, the organizer explained the plot and what we as slaves were asked to do. The organizer also gathered the other groups, explaining their parts, and passing out safety glasses to those who needed them.

    Along with there being child soldiers and gang members, there were also air soft guns and rifles for them to wield against each other.

    Did I mention we go all out for our fun?

    Thankful that I was wearing a hoodie, I slipped a pair of safety glasses into my pocket; I had plans of my own for later.

    With some time before we were set to start, I ran back to my cabin to change. I had a tank top which had been riped apart but I’d sewn back together. Slipping it on, I ran back to the Barn. After it was advised I take off my bra (lest I want it to be destroyed) and a fellow slave riped open my shirt some more, we were ready.

    Our slave master started lining us up. To bind us, he used an individual piece of chain and one lock to secure our wrists. Each of us also received a hood to put over our faces… after our hands were bound. Yes, it was funny to those watching.

    Running a single long chain through every lock, I positioned myself as next to last. The last slave was picked for her role, and seeing as she was a friend, I wanted to be able to laugh and chat with her throughout the show.

    A photographer came over and took pictures of the assembled child soldiers, and then small army with their general, and then the line of slaves. I was glad for the hood, as I could laugh without ruining the photo.

    Our slave wrangler then moved us along, leading us over the grassy hill and into the Barn where the buyers (and the audience) awaited.

  • A Good Time

    It was Friday night at Rope Camp.

    Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate was winding down; fewer than a dozen people remained in the Pavilion, though we all stood around smiling and chatting, still enjoying each others company.

    The social had gone well. Even though I arrived late. Even though I had to run back to the cabin for supplies. Even though I didn’t black one boot. There was laughing, good conversation, chocolate, some whiskey, and of course cigars.

    Funny enough, there was also coconut rope.

    As per Gray’s standing request, whenever I took his ash into my mouth, my boobies had to be out. For this particular evening I wore my black-top-gray-skirt dress and was easily able to free my chest for his amusement.

    But somewhere during the social he decided he wanted me in coconut rope. Dictating that I should just pull my entire torso out from my outfit, I pushed my dress down to my waist.

    And then came the rope.

    He wound it around my chest, over my nipples, secured it under my piercings, and placed knots in wicked spots all over. Just wearing coconut rope is a predicament in itself. You feel it dig in with each and every breath.

    Throughout the evening, the attendees of the gathering would approach me with one of two requests: may I touch it or may I pull on it. I granted both, either slipping into to teaching mode or willing bottom space.

    To make up for the lack of bootblacking at the get together, Gray instructed me to lie on the floor of the Pavilion. Then he and Rough provided the necessary boot action by suffering my body with their leather.

    Both men stood on my body in various places (back, thighs, hair) and marveled at my ability to take all their weight with my flesh. Gray also thought it fun to kick my crotch. But as I laid on the floor, Rough’s boots on my hair, and the toe of Gray’s boot occasionally connecting with my cunt, I heard laughter from the attendees. As I learned later, Gray decided to dance in between his crotch shots.

    When I stood, I let both men in on a small detail they failed to realize: with each of their movements, my nipples rubbed up against the floor. Not only did I feel their leather bound blows, I also contended with the abrasions of the rope and the floor. Personally, I think I was bad ass to have taken so much.

    With just over half a dozen people left, Gray removed my box tie. And oh, it hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. Gray made sure of that. Gliding the rope along my skin, whipping my body around, push and pull. If ever there was any doubt, yes Gray is most definitely a Sadist.

    When finally the last inch of rope was gone from my body, he rubbed all over my skin. I slumped forward, relieved at the soft and caring touch.

    However, with my coconut rope gone, I now felt the cool of the evening. I pulled my dress back up and slipped on my jacket. Our small group continued to chat.

    I don’t remember how we got on this topic, but there was one conversation exchange I will not forget.

    “How about making a bottom cum til they pass out,” someone suggested.

    “No,” Rough argued. “How about making me cum until I pass out.” I grazed Rough’s left bicep. He turned to me.

    “Hi,” I said with a wink and a smile. Everyone burst out laughing.

    And then it happened, my last highlight of the get together.

    To end the evening, and once again I don’t remember how this happened, but somehow we all ended up in a group hug coalescing around Rough. I stood behind him, my face on his back.

    And then people, while still in the hug, started hurting me.

    Rough stepped back, pressing the heel of his boot on the top of my right foot. And Elf pinched the back of my neck, right where he had bitten me before. And another pinched my left arm. And I think Gray went for a pressure point on the right side of my jar. I can’t really be certain because my eyes were closed for almost all of this, but fuck did it hurt.

    My face sunk into Rough’s back as new sensation after new sensation took hold. I screamed and yelped as they all laughed and enjoyed my pain.

    And yet, we were all still hugging, throughout the entire time. It was funny and odd and… something. Something.

    A good time. It was a good time.

  • Closing

    We all gathered back where we’d started, again amassing in the basement living room. I sat by the front this time, nestling on the floor. We assembled in a circle, everyone looking at one another.

    Gray stood by the front again, all the sheets of paper with the class names in his hands. One-by-one he read off all the classes we’d presented. Flogging, canes, hitting people with swords. Tantra, formal place setting, knife play, blood play. Cigars, ass fucking, kissing, female orgasms. Fisting, video games, breath play. Whips, fear play, some rope, discussions of the public scene, and even a ten minute walk thrown in. In total, thirty one classes were given.

    We did all this. We presented our passions, shared our love for these parts of ourselves with the people in this home and in those moments.

    After a full day of classes, of effort, of hard work and fun, now it was time to take a moment to speak.

    As we went around the circle, one-by-one people thanked others for their passions, for the time they took, for sharing themselves, for opening up, for showing others things they’d never seen before.

    Some were pleased to have had such a great time without having to present. I was happy to have been one of those in the front, putting myself out there, giving light to passions I wanted to share.

    As each person spoke, I was just able to keep my tears at bay. My day was a great high, a flying soaring roller coaster of moment after moment. And now I was crashing. Now our day was coming to an end.

    I almost felt the need to run around hugging everyone there or for us all to hold hands and sing kumbaya or something.

    “And I can now say this: You have all been eaten by a Grue.”

    Gray dismissed us to dinner, a two hour break before we would all be back. That night, as part of the come down, was the party afterwards. It was appropriately named the After Grue.

    With such a short time, Inretrepida thought it best to stay near the house. The only thing was my After Grue attire was still at The Naked House. With my apologies and reassurance from my ride that it was fine, we settled on food, a quick trip back for my things, and rushing back for as much time as we could get for play.

    With three more of our friends in the car, we first tried a chicken place, a mere fifteen minute drive away; fifty minute wait. Strolling around the corner, we then tried a supper club. I had visions of steak and potatoes. Alas, forty-five minute wait. Walking some more we found an Indian restaurant. We were seated immediately.

    As we waited for our food, I gulped down water. When my lamb finally arrived, I ate it hungrily. About half way through my meal, I realized a slight flaw. My food was somewhat spicy, and I had no idea whether or not there would be cigar play later that evening.

    With a sigh, I replied, “I’ll eat ash for Gray or Rough. I’ll take pain if I like you enough.”

    Of course one of my friends pointed out the rhymed.

    After dinner, with a general fatigue setting in, we hurried to The Naked House. I ran inside, grabbed my things, and just as quickly I made my way outside and back into the car.

    We arrived at the After Grue about an hour after its start.