poeticdesires

Category: MissAmyRed

  • 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.

     

     

  • Sunday Brunch Plans

    The buzz of the house built as the perscribed time crept closer.  Metkat stood at the stove cooking his famous meat.  Clash prepped the coffee.   Amy took care of french toast, hot chocolate, and busciuts.

    Watching the bustle of the homemates around me, I felt the need to assist.  Amy put me in charge of pretty.  As things finished cooking/baking/brewing, I sat them out on the tables in a neat and logical order.

    Our first arrival was Kilawama; he brought fruit.  A lot of fruit: multiple melons and bunches of berries.  They were washed off, placed in bowls, and I found a spot for each sweet treat amongst the spread.

    Next was a friend with cookies.  And then a few more people, a few more food items, and a few more names.  Within an hour, the house swelled from four to a dozen, everyone hungry for food and company.

    We ate Metkat’s meat.  We drank Amy’s hot chocolate and Clash’s coffee.  We sat and chatted.  Eventually, the suggestion was made to transition out onto the back porch.  Also the not-at-all-subtle hint was dropped by Amy that she wanted to watch me give cigar service.  I ran up to my borrowed room, grabbed my kit, and scurried back to the group.

    Out on the porch, we settled into chairs in an amorphic circle.  I sat between Kilawama and Clash, with Keet, a late arrival, on Clash’s lap.

    Now, with everyone newly assembled, there was the question of who.  To whom would I provide cigar service?  To be honest, I sat in between three people I found highly attractive.  Luckily, one of them was chosen.

    I stood up, took off my jacket, and laid it at Kilawama’s feet.  Cigar kit in my hands, I knealt down and presented my selection of tobacco for his chosing.

    As he looked through the few sticks I had, we made a fun discovery.  NYRCherryBoundage had previously mistakenly purchased a cigar with the note Habe en Cuba on it.  It turned out, she had not purchased one of those cigars, but two.  This was the cigar Kilawama chose.

    I prepped the stick using my Hot Ash cutter and presented the tobacco to him.  As he smoked and I served, I introduced a few nuggets of information for his knowledge.  I spoke about ashing into one’s hand or into another’s mouth.  I suggested blowing smoke into my hair, one of my favorite activites in cigar play.  He gave me the privelage of both eating ash out of his hand and feeling his smoke in my strands.  People delighted in the display.

    As conversation picked back up, Paradise was on everyone’s mind.  Paradise is a local camping event held every year in Seattle as a fund raiser for the Center for Sex Positive Culture.  Most of the people sitting on the porch were going to the event.

    It was my plan to day pass on Tuesday and Wednesday.  Seeing as I had no place to lay my head, I was going to drive out both days and come back to the city each night.

    My plan was altered by two gracious gestures.  Kilawama owned a rather large tent and an extra air mattress.  He offered up his space for me to sleep.  Keet planned to leave for the event on Tuesday morning; she offered me a ride to the camp grounds.

    Amy, the person whose car I was going to borrow, had no problem with me borrowing her car less.  She would pick me up for the airport for my flight home Wednesday night.

    The plan was set.  I was going to spend a day and a half in Paradise.

  • Grind

    The music pounded.  Lights danced through the air.  I sat on the other side of the room and watched as people let their bodies move.

    Metkat, one of Amy’s partners and one of her housemates, stood behind his laptop dictating the playlist for this part of the evening.  MissAmyRed was one of the persons dancing.  Occasionally Metkat set a song to play and himself joined the folks moving as their bodies wished.

    I sat in a chair, nerves taking hold.  Even though I knew that’s where I wanted to be, on that dance floor, even though I knew how good it would feel to let go, I felt tied to my seat.

    I looked around the room, taking in the play.

    As I gazed left, I glimpsed a suspension in progress.  The rigger was an attractive man, tall and broad, strong.  The bottom was a beautiful woman.  I let my eyes drift between the bodies on the dance floor and the pair in their scene.  Later I learned the rigger was Kilawama, one of the people Gray and Amy mentioned in our conversation in the Barn at Rope Camp.

    With a bit of voyeurism under my belt, I relaxed somewhat.  I stood up from my chair, let myself walk the corridor to the more lounge-like area before walking back towards the dancing.

    As I strolled for a spell, I saw Clash.  I’d met him earlier that day, too; he was Amy’s other housemate.  For the week, I was staying in the house’s spare bedroom on the third floor, the same floor as Clash’s room.  We attempted to chat over the din of the music before he had to go back to his rounds.  That night he was acting as a monitor for the event.

    Even though I’d grown more comfortable in the space, I had yet to do what I’d wanted to do all night.  I took my spot in the chair again.

    As I went back to watching, I saw Tandava and Amy setup for a scene.  Also, to my right, I saw a hot fisting scene on a nearby couch.

    I also got into a conversation with a guy who took the chair next to me.  I forget what we talked about though, because of the song that played next.

    I recognized the beat as it began, recognized the music and the voice.

    “I’m sorry, but I know this song.  I have to dance.”

    I excused myself from the conversation, stood up, and walked towards the dance floor.

    Still, I couldn’t step on it, not yet.  There was a column just off the wood.  I leaned against it, moving my head back and forth and swaying my hips.

    She Wants Revenge blasted about me, their song Out Of Control, one of my favorites.

    As the half way mark came in the song, I started mentally pushing myself.  It’s just a few more feet.  No one will notice.  No one will judge you.  No one will care.  Do what you always do.  Close your eyes.  Let the music take you.

    I took a step.  And then another.  And then another.

    I let my hips sway, let my arms move.  I found an open area on the dance floor and closed my eyes.  I felt the music in my flesh, in my bones.  I let my body do what it wanted.  I let myself dance.

    I stayed on the dance floor for a few more songs.  I let myself be in this tiny world.  Just the back of my lids, or my feet, or the lights filled my field of vision.  I let my body do its thing.  I let go.

    I felt happy, truly happy, to be in Seattle.  And I realized why they named this party Grind.

  • Introduction

    As I waited outside in the cool air, I knew only that Tandava drove an Insight, described as an odd looking car, and, through the convenience of FetLife, I’d seen a picture of him.

    As I waited, I looked for an odd looking car.  After about ten minutes, I saw it.  I waved as Tandava saw me and parked.

    For a split second, it dawned on me: I was about to be picked up by a person I had never met, driven away to a city I had never visited, and I was staying with people I barely knew.

    Tandava got out of his vehicle, helped me put my things inside, and we were off.

    ~

    All I wanted was hot chocolate.

    The airplane had been cold, much colder than I expected.  Thankfully I had dressed warmly, but that was out of mere practicality than an expectation of flying in what amounted to an icicle in the air.

    Even through the leather of my boots (the most bulky item I brought) my feet froze.  With one jacket on and the other draped over my legs (the jackets were my next two bulkiest items), my torso and legs remained moderately comfortable.  But my feet were unhappy for the majority of my trip.

    As Tandava drove, I voiced my request for my warm drink of choice.  He found us a little cafe close to where MissAmyRed worked.  I sipped my brew as we chatted and waited for her lunch break.

    ~

    After savory crepes for lunch and fro-yo as a sweet treat, MissAmyRed had to go back to work.

    Tandava and I had some hours to kill, so we decided to be touristy.  He knew random trivia about Seattle, and I loved hearing all the tidbits of info.

    First we went to a shop called Gargoyle’s Sanctuary, a hole-in-the-wall full of art and incense, sculptures and jewelry.  It was a place one could easily spend hours exploring all the nooks and crannies.  But there was much more to Seattle than one shop.  We pulled ourselves away and moved on.

    After dropping off my things at Amy’s house, we drove to the Freemont neighborhood.

    ~

    It was a troll.  An actual honest to god troll.  Under a bridge.  Holding, of all things, a punch buggy.  That was when I knew I liked Seattle.

    It was at least fifteen feet tall, but only the upper torso rose from the dirt.  Adults and children alike climbed all over it, taking photos and laughing.  A grin was etched on my face as I took in the sight.

    A nearby plaque explained the sculpture was a project for the community, donated to the people living there.

    After about ten minutes of whimsy, Tandava had me turn around.  Instead of admiring the sculpture, I was now in awe of the architecture.  The bridge above us, the bridge under which the troll lived, cascaded down a hill for hundreds of feet, art in its own right.

    ~

    The air was cool, windy without being a bother.  The sky was overcast but without being gloomy.

    We stood on top of the hill, water far below us, kites flying about, and a gentleman operating a glider nearby.  Sea planes took off and came in for landings.  Duck boats and personal vessels skimmed across the water.

    Across the bay I saw buildings and homes.  Tandava pointed out the smoke stacks of a structure across from us.  He explained how it now housed a medical facility, but in order for them to use the building they had to preserve its fascade, including the smoke stacks.

    To my left was the remanants of an old gas plant, competely fenced in, over run with grass, a bit of graffiti high up on two seperate towers drawn by some brave taggers.

    Behind me, inlaid into the ground, was a sun dial.  Decorated with an astrological motif, it combined metal and stone and included a key as to how to read it according to the time of year.  The piece, though only partially practical in a rainy city, was another bit of art for me to admire.

    I looked around Gas Works Park.  Saw people biking, kites in the air, families, a couple sitting in the grass together, and so many smiles.

    Yeah, I liked Seattle from the start.

  • Memories

    The first night of Rope Camp featured Midori’s Meat Market, a fun little event to introduce folks to one another and start the dialogue for play.

    After the get together concluded, I eased my way over to Rough.  He was showing off his Fat Ass Rope, and I wanted a taste of the experience.  I asked for the pleasure, and leaned myself over a nearby table.  Instead, Rough called me over to an open area.

    First he gave me a few whacks, which stung a bit and turned out were his warm up.  He then hit me hard on my back.  Then my ass.  Then my thighs.  And my chest.  I starting yelping and eventually wailing.  I fell to my knees.  In a moment of clarity, I took off my glasses and slid them across the floor towards a small group of friends.

    Rough continued to attack my back as I continued to cry.  He grabbed me, pulled me up to sitting, and wrapped the rope around my neck.  In a moment, his blood choke took hold.  I felt my muscles give way.  He released me before my eyes closed.  A bit of drool leaked from my lips.

    When I brought my head up, when he knew I was back, he began beating me again.  And blood choked me again.  And my muscles gave way again.

    He went for my inner thighs, one of my most sensitive spots.  He regretted not being able to hit my cunt.  His rope was natural fiber and I wasn’t wearing underwear.

    When he finished, I got up, thanked him, introduced him to NYRCherryBondage, and went back to chatting with friends.

    ~

    “Ha ha, I made you have feelings.” – an attendee at Midori’s Negotiations class

    ~

    Sometimes I like to fly under the radar.  I know intrinsically that’s not what’s happening, but in my sub-y mind that’s how it feels.

    Wednesday night a few of us had gathered on a porch for cigars and libations.  I sat in front of Gray and Rough as they smoked and talked.

    Rough’s feet rested on my right leg; Gray’s feet rested on my left.  I always had my torch at the ready, as well as a selection of cutters, boxes of wood matches, and a punch.

    They told stories.  Gray taught MissAmyRed about cigar service.  I sat and listened, content, the occasional small sip of strong Japanese whiskey on my lips.

    ~

    “I am the Dom and you will brush your teeth with your left hand this week.  Ha ha ha.” – Rough, during is D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday it rained.  And rained.  And rained.

    I’d wanted to wear my new red leather shoes, but I couldn’t abide getting them muddy.  I opted for my boots instead, which completely changed my outfit for the day.

    As the afternoon came, I decided to do something different.  I grabbed my newly purchased camp chair, took it outside under the pop-up, and pulled out my new voice recorder.

    In the rain, with the pitter patter of droplets above, I recorded a Fusion podcast.

    There was a breeze that made the day cool, blowing the chill of the rain towards me, under my cover.  Because the pop-up had been erected before the turn in the weather, the ground wasn’t muddy in my sitting spot.  I couldn’t help but be happy and bubbly, even as the drops continued to come down.

    ~

    “His desires are my priority and he is where I point my devotion.
    “I am his treasure and I am to be taken care of.
    “He is my King… my dragon.” – MissAmyRed, during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Ropetastic had pimped himself, as well as his two partners, during Midori’s Meat Market.  As per his name, I knew he was into rope.  And I wanted a rope scene.

    I happened upon him in the Barn.  Originally I was chatting with my friend Nomad.  She started spinning my LED poi to make herself feel better, so I took the opportunity to speak to a rope guy.

    As we conversed, I realized we were compatible for a scene.  Since we both had time at that very moment, we headed up to the Dungeon immediately.

    We chose a semi-private spot, what seemed to be a lounge room with a few couches but enough open space for us to work.  I stripped down to my underwear, as did he.

    I explained how I liked to be challenged, how I wanted something different besides normal rope forms.  He expressed a desire to explore ichinawa, which I was all for.  We began.

    He wrapped rope around me in asymmetrical patterns, twisting my body this way and that.  He did not make it pretty, but I loved the pain all the same.  He, at times, pulled on my hair, ran a shrimp deveiner over my skin, sucked on my nipples, and tickled my feet.  He rolled my body this way and that, changed his tie multiple times, added a second length of rope, and always kept me guessing.

    We only played for about thirty minutes, but when all was said and done, I felt high, full of erotic and emotional pleasure from being in his binds.

    ~

    “The greasy basement slave…the dirty basement whore.” – a talk on fantasy versus reality during Rough’s D/s Roundtable

    ~

    Friday night we pushed all three of our beds together.  Saturday morning I awoke to dragon cuddles before breakfast.

    ~

    “I want to be treated like a pile of gold.”
    “You want to be a heavy currency?”
    “I am valuable and worthy of protecting.” – an exchange between myself and Dov after a late night run to Waffle House

    ~

    I felt like a voyeur.  No, worse than a voyeur.  I felt like I was intruding.

    It was obvious there was a connection, a slow building of energy as they writhed on the mats.

    I hadn’t witnessed it all.  At times, I was lost in scritches, lost to the rest of the world.  Pulsing pleasure from my scalp kept my eyes closed, my head bobbing about, speech all but impossible.

    But when I came back, I saw them.  Saw the looks in their eyes.  Heard the yelp, the growl.

    I wanted to sit and watch more.  I didn’t want to look away.  That energy.  That pure energy beamed from the two of them.  And I was only, maybe, five feet away.  Had been there the whole time.

    But I did walk away.  Because I wanted them to have their moment.  Without an audience.

    ~

    “You have a natural ability for connection…You seek out people you can connect with.” – Delano, to me, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    He held the balloon away from my body.  I was dirty, filthy from the grim on the stage.  I don’t like stingy, but I take it for the person I’m playing with.  I take it.  And there was the balloon, tied around my chest, and stretched taunt, ready to snap against my skin.

    He held it.  And held it.  And brought it back without snapping it.

    “Really!?”

    He pulled it out again.  I cringed again.  This time would be for real, I just knew it.  This time the pain would come.  And then he brought it back.

    I laughed and hated him at the same time.

    He used a pretty pink dildo on me.  He beat me with a pretty pink dildo, which stung like hell.  He used a collapsible baton and a plastic rod, too.  He punched me and wrestled me about on the dirty stage floor, attacking my thighs.  But it’s the balloon I remember the worst.

    Talk about sadistic.

    ~

    “If you are open to learning, you are open to deeper experiences.” – Delano, during his Bottoms class

    ~

    I spun my poi in the dark.  Spun my poi away from the group sitting in camp chairs out in the chilly night air.

    I stood in the middle of the road.  A cart came by once; I moved.

    I spun my poi and soothed myself.  I accepted my feelings, accepted that was how I felt.  Acknowledged the sad little girl inside me.  Acknowledged what little power I had over the situation except what I did in that moment.

    I spun my poi.

    Then we went to Waffle House, I ate some food, and went to bed.

  • Big R

    “How many of you are in a D/s relationship?”

    I watched as the people around the circle raised their hands.  Rough’s gaze ran counterclockwise until his stare landed on me.  My hand was halfway up.

    “Well, it depends.  What is your definition of a D/s relationship?”
    “That’s a good question, poetic.  We’ll start with you.  What’s your definition of a D/s relationship?”

    I was suddenly a bit flustered.

    “A D/s relationship is when one person consensually gives up control to another, and the other person consensually receives said control.  But there are big R relationships and little r relationships, and I’m kind of in a medium R relationship.  Gray is my Teacher, my Sempai, and I’m his student, his kohai.  I’m submissive to him, but he’s not in charge of me.  There is no veto power.  We play with whoever we want.  We’re friends and we fuck and play, but he said he didn’t want to do an LDR, so we’re something.”

    I took a sip of my water, trying to hide for a breath.

    As I did, I looked left and saw two people coming up the walk.  Life has a way of having perfect timing.

    Gray, accompanied by MissAmyRed, who was in service to him for Rope Camp, made their way up the lane and towards the class.  The two of them sat down and Rough, thankfully, moved on to the next person in the circle.

    Where Gray and Amy were positioned, I had only to wait for two people to describe their D/s before Gray gave his answer.

    Gray, without hesitation, stated he was in a D/s relationship with me as his student and that Amy was on loan, as it were, to him for the event.

    Hearing Gray’s answer made my heart both sink and soar.  He had just given acknowledgement of our dynamic in front of a few of our friends and had called it a relationship.

    Looking at our pre-existing situation, there are places where Gray had already acknowledged what we have.  There was the status on Fetlife.  There were the times we’d spent together, both at events and not.  He’d spoken about me as his student before both among friends and at the Grue Pitt.

    Yet, I had been hesitant to call what we have a relationship in deference to what I viewed as his preference to our interactions.  I had previously brought up the idea of an LDR, which he did not want.  I had mentioned the thought of moving closer to him, which he discouraged.  In my mind, I didn’t want to give too much weight to what we have believing the sentiment was not shared.  But it was Gray who called our dynamic a relationship.

    I ended up having a lengthy conversation with Doc about this moment.  The conclusion we ended at revolved around my self worth issues.  It is much easier for me to remember the negative.  I took the decline from Gray for both an LDR and the move as indicators that our dynamic was not worthy of the label of relationship.  Instead of noting all the positive aspects of what we’ve shared, instead of using our past emotional and kink interactions as a basis for my answer to Rough’s question, I went with the less-than-pleasant-ness I remembered, the things I didn’t want to hear but had still resounded like church bells.

    After class, I felt the need to tell Gray my response to the question.  Many thanks to Doc for the lessons in being emotionally honest.  I also asked Gray for an explanation of his answer.  He explained, when given the choice between big R and little r, a relationship or none whatsoever, of course we were a big R.  We were not just friends.

    As our Rope Camp continued, our interactions did not seem effected by our discussion.  And, as we spent another day with each other after the event, we were as we were before.

    Now, with time between that class and some life lived, I have had the chance to tell people over and over again that Gray is my Teacher, my mentor, my Sempai.  That I am in a D/s dynamic with him.  Each time I’ve said it, there was a smile on my face and less worry passing over my lips.

    Whether we are Big R or medium R, we are something.  And that’s enough for me.

  • Hot Ash

    My hands shook as I held the match box.  I could feel all the eyes in the Barn on me.  Could hear my breathing loud as thunder.

    I struck the match against the box; no light.  Struck again; no light.  On the third try, it lit.  I warmed the cigar with the match.  Once it burned out, I used another still to warm the tobacco.  With the third match, I placed the cigar to my lips, held the match by the tobacco’s end, and puffed.

    Gray informed me of the Hot Ash competition about a week or two before Rope Camp.  I remember standing by the door of the Craft Room, the words “Hot Ash” coming out of his mouth, and immediately banging my head against the wall.

    I was already going to be in the Roperlesque for two acts.  I suspected I would also be bootblacking.  And now I knew I would be in the competition as well, held in between the acts.  Just one more thing to add to my crowded plate for that evening.

    When Friday night came, so too did the heavens.  All day it rained, in fact.  The weather woke me in the morning, kept me in bed through the first class session, invited a friend under my covers for snuggles and dragon cuddles, and permeated the camp’s mood.

    I intentionally left all my things in the Pavilion for Roperlesque (rope, my bootblack kit, supplies for the fantasy, and cigar accoutrement) during the early afternoon.  As the hour of the event approached, I headed down the hill to help setup for the festivities.  When I arrived, Gray turned me away.  The event was being moved to the Barn.  He walked my luggage across the river of mud in front of the Pavilion, and asked that I spread the word to whomever I passed.

    As people hustled to stage the event in the new space, I helped move tables, arranged a few chairs, and generally pitched in as we brought everything together.

    Roperlesque was low key, as Gray had intended, with shared alcohol, cigar smoking a plenty, a game of poker in one corner, a rig for the performances in the middle of the room, and one chair on the stage for my bootblacking.  It seemed almost the entire camp came out to relax and enjoy the evening.

    Just about every bit of my night was unnerving.  I performed an ichinawa scene with NYRCherryBondage, an act we had never practiced.  I re-created my Dirty Pig fantasy with assistance from Roughinamorato and NYRCherryBondage, another time in front of the crowd.  However my heart beat hardest during Hot Ash.

    I was the first called upon to demonstrate my service.  I had my kit prepared, a towel for my knees, and I exuded calm as best I could.

    When Gray called my name, a hush settled in the Barn.  I stepped to the middle of the room, laid down my towel, sunk to my knees, and became focused on my demo top.  I offered them a selection of a few different cigars.  I offered various ways of cutting the cigar.  Did they want it warmed?  Did they wish for me to wet the end or would they prefer to do it themselves?  Butane lighter or wood matches?  I specifically catered what I had available to their desires.

    When the cigar was prepped and ready, I handed it to the demo top, thanked them, rose, and stepped away.

    As the evening grew later, after my Dirty Pig reprisal, Gray called all four Hot Ash competitors to the center of the Barn.  Lochai took the microphone in hand, then distributed the inaugural Hot Ash certificates to the participants.

    For Most Entertaining Service: NYRCherryBondage.

    For Sexiest Service: EmberBliss.

    For Best Mashturbation: Roughinamorato.

    And the inaugural Hot Ash: poeticdesires.

    I smiled, sunk to my knees, and accepted my certificate.  I turned and stood before Gray could instruct me to not rise.  To my right was MissAmyRed.  In her hands was a piece of rope with a cutter attached on the end.  She draped the rope around my neck, my Hot Ash medal.

    I still have the rope.  The cutter is in my cigar kit, but the rope is my new favorite necklace.  It is a reminder of that night, of those people, of those moments I will not soon forget.

    And, as Gray put it, I am now a dual title holder.

    I am, indeed, a hot piece of ash.

  • The Hard Sell

    “I just came back from my trip to Seattle.”
    My friend pat me on my back.
    “Well, it was nice knowing you.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Almost every single person I know who visited Seattle moved there.”

    ~

    “I’m going to keep poking and prodding because you’re awesome and we want you here.” – Clash

    ~

    @poeticdesires
    – Maybe I should just stay here. #iWish

    @Graydancer
    – @poeticdesires toldjaso.

     

    I doubted them.  I seriously doubted them.

    It was the night of the Roperlesque at Rope Camp.  The festivities had ended.  Everything was winding down.

    I found myself in conversation with MissAmyRed and Gray about Seattle.  Amy had previously mentioned having a spare room in her house in case I ever wanted to visit.  But as I sat on the bench in the Barn, Amy and Gray began suggesting a little more insistently that I take the trip.

    They talked about the Center for Sex Positive Culture.  They spoke about how there is a party there every night of the week, different groups all converged in this one building.

    They spouted names of people I should meet, how I needed to talk to them about leather or bootblacking or rope.

    I happened to mention SEAF, the Seattle Erotica Arts Festival.  It was being held the first weekend of August.  As I weighed my options, stay or go, taking the leap or letting the moment pass, I just knew I was going to buy a plane ticket once I got home.

    Amy and Gray spoke so highly of the city.  Yet still I thought there was no way it would seduce me as it had them.  Not that fast.  Not in one trip.

    One week.  I landed last Thursday morning.  I returned home this morning.

    I spent seven days meeting people, going to parties, and experiencing the life and culture of a wonderful city.

    All too often, I realized how much I loved being in Seattle.  How much I loved the people I met, the community that welcomed me, and the moments, both big and small, that defined my trip to the northwest.

    Not only did I quickly grow to love Seattle, the people around me seemed to quite quickly grow fond of me.

    There was my new title, The Bane of Pants, so dubbed by Amy because I keep charming them off of people.

    There was the Sunday brunch on Amy’s deck, where Clash first asked if I thought about moving to the city.  My response:  “I can’t answer that question.”

    It had only been four days, yet I was already feeling the pull of the people around me, the pull of the community, the allure of the city.

    The whole group chimed in.  Half a dozen people who had just become a part of my life wanted me to stick around.  They knew I had to go, but they didn’t want me to leave.

    There were my last moments at Paradise, a local camping event.  The goodbyes before my departure.  And the gentle needling, the suggestions, and dare I say hopes, that I’ll make my way back to them.

    As I sat in the airport, I didn’t want to go.  I didn’t want to get on my plane with screaming babies and an aisle seat where almost everyone on the plane bumped into me.  I didn’t want to deal with grumpy flight attendants and a sore neck.  But, most of all, I didn’t want to acknowledge how sad I was that I had to travel away from what felt like a new home to me.

    I don’t know what my life will be like next year.  Or the year after that.  Or the year after that.  But I know Seattle is there, looming in the back of my mind, a mistress I cannot deny.  Her fingers somehow wound their way around my heart.  Only time will tell if her hold grows stronger or gently eases.