This is the first of three installments on my fun times at this year’s Shibaricon. Yup, you read that right. Three podcasts just on one event. Needless to say I had a lot of fun with a lot of friends. Happy 10th anniversary to Shibaricon, as well as second anniversary to RopenSpace at the event. Enjoy.
Category: Ropen Space
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By Monday
“Thank you to…”
“I just wanted to say…”
“That demo bottom for…”
To end our Ropen Space, there was a time for anyone to thank whomever for whatever. As people walked up to the microphones, naming individuals who were inspired by their passions, my thank you happened to be easy to give.Scotty, who co-presenter Cigar Play with me, sat to my left. I turned my head, leaned over, and said, “Thanks for helping me with my class.”
“Your welcome.”
That was all I needed.
Well that, and the eventual thank you I knew was coming.
“I just wanted to thank Graydancer for bringing Ropen Space to Shibaricon.”
Everyone clapped and cheered. For the day we’d had. For the knowledge we’d gain. For the experience, the play, the passion in those previous hours. We all knew who we wanted to thank.
With Ropen Space closed, I made my way through the crowd. But then I stopped, turned around, and did my best to swim upstream.
Fumbling through the throng of people, I found my target. I grabbed the white paper that bore the name of my class, Cigar Play, among the pile of other discarded sheets.
Once again joining the mass exodus, I headed towards the Newsroom. Being a Teacher’s Pet, I had an entire day of notes from the multiple classes I attended. In the chilly room, I found K2 dutifully assisting the incoming note takers.
Most note takers simply walked in, handed K2 the piece of paper on which they’d jotted their notes, and left. Some stuck around to type out their scribbles, translating their shorthand and elaborating on their diagrams. I, however, pulled out my notebook and began.
K2 offered to just scan my pages and release me, but I would have none of that. Along with taking notes on my many classes, I also took notes on my day. And as I much as I yearned to help, I was not willing to let loose my personal thoughts for the world to see.
So I dutifully typed, working my way through my first class, as facilitators and note takers alike flitted in and out.
As I began my labor, I was tired. I’d skipped lunch and had had no time for a nap. But I felt sharing the knowledge, getting the information out, was more important than my comfort.
K2, who had been in the Newsroom all day, was soon relieved by Gray. As I worked on my first class write up, he walked towards me. Sliding his hand into my hair, he tilted my head back, said, “You were awesome today,” and lightly kissed me.
Spurred on by a sudden endorphin rush, I soon finished my first set of notes. Displeased with the Mac I used, I switched to a PC. By this time, I was the only note taker left in the room.
While working on my second write up, Gray decided to be playful.
“Am I distracting you? Am I distracting you?”
At first, he merely poked and pinched, but then he went for my nipples. Ever the dutiful Teacher’s Pet, I simply replied, “No, not at all.”
“Don’t mess up. Don’t make any typos. Oh, you’re writing about Objectification. I need an arm rest.” His forearm on my back, his weight against me, I slumped forward onto the keyboard of the laptop.
“Now I can’t see the screen.”
He rose and I, again juiced, finished my second set of notes.
But there were three more classes to cover, three more sets of memories to recall. I was ready to pass out; I felt like I could’ve fallen asleep or fainted right on top of the laptop. I hadn’t eaten lunch, hadn’t slept enough, hadn’t drank nearly enough water, and was most definitely crashing from the day’s experience.
I could feel my muscles ache, my belly whine. I yawned, tilting back my head, trying to stretch out my neck.
Again Gray’s hand found my hair.
“I really appreciate you doing this.”
It was enough to get me through the third class notes, but that was my limit. I needed food, and I knew my write ups not only kept me in that room but also Gray and his companion. Always the dutiful Teacher’s Pet, I promised to finish my write ups on my netbook and email them to Gray.
He offered to just scan my notebook, but once again I declined. I told him that I wrote personal information in my pages as well as notes on the classes. I told him I wasn’t comfortable sharing those thoughts with the world.
“Well, I need the notes by Monday. Can you get them to me by Monday?”
“Yes, by Monday.”
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Poetic’s Class
“Is there anything else you could use to wet the cigar?”
“Why yes, there is.”It had been on my mind for quite some time. Would I? Could I? Should I?
I’d even thought of a fun name, spunky and cute, yah know like me.
But then came the nerves. The self doubt.
I’ll just be a student today; I don’t need to present. I’ll learn so much from all the people here; my voice isn’t needed.
But when the white board still had open spots, when the opportunity flashed itself in front of me, I couldn’t just let it go.Still, there was the logistical problem.
“Gray, should I put up a class?”
“Why not?”
“It’s cigar play.”
“Make it a discussion.”I quickly got up, got a piece of paper from Lqqkout, hastily scribbled down Cigar Play – poeticdesires, and added my passion to the board. (So much for the spunky name.)
After some rearranging, I was slated for 4:30pm in section 6 of the main room. Before flitting off to demo bottom for my first class, my friend Scotty approached.
“I’ll help you with the cigar play class.”
“Great!”And then the moment came.
Funny enough, for the previous class session, I attended Inretrepida’s Can You Tie Your Shoes? Great, Let’s Have A Rope Scene in the same section of the ballroom where I would be teaching. Slut took pleasure in tying me up, pulling my hair, beating me, and sucking on my nipples. Quite a great way to warm up for my class.
As people cycled in and out of the rooms, I set my stuff to the side and pulled up a chair. Scotty also arrived and pulled up a seat.
“Oh, the chair I got was for you.”
I put my chair to the side. He sat in his seat while I took my place on the floor. We began.
Cigar play is the one kink I exclusively bottom to, so with Scotty there, I felt the discussion would be complete. He would give the top’s perspective and I would speak for the bottoms.
I introduced myself, as did Scotty, and then I started talking about my passion. I spoke about smoke, heat, and ash. I discussed safety hazards and tips for cigar bottoms. I went over three catergories of play: ritual, service, and submission.
And, of course, a few of my friends were in attendance, namely Gray & TwistedView. I’m not sure if they were hecklers or shills.
For their enjoyment, and the others in the class, I demonstrated how to wet the end of a cigar.
“Is there anything else you could use to wet the cigar?” Gray asked.
“Why yes, there is.”I mentioned how I could’ve used my pussy juices, but Scotty and I are not fluid bonded. There was also the suggestion of blood. And semen. This section was an interesting turn in our conversation.
As our time ran out, and everyone had to depart, I of course pimped an event that evening, Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate. It felt like I was giving people homework, but more fun. Hmm… maybe it was more like extra credit.
People dispersed. I flitted off to another class.
But, for a shiny thirty minutes, I got to speak about my passion. I sat in front of a group of people and talked to them about a subject I knew and loved.
For once, instead of being the Teacher’s Pet, I was the presenter.
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Building Community
In the middle of my Ropen Space, I found myself drawn to a large circle of people in the main room. As part of the unconference process, this open area was kept in case a class ran long and needed more time. For Lochai’s Community Building discussion, the space was invaluable.
I had not attended the regular workshop, but with so many people I knew and admired sitting and talking intently, I could not help but drift towards them.
At first I was anxious. Like I said, I admired a lot of the people in that circle. And as they spoke, I was in awe of their conversation. Building community, reaching out to those looking for their kink home, nurturing connections beyond just play and fucking. It was all so deep, so important, so consequential.
It wasn’t until Lochai looked up, saw me, gave a smile, and blew an air kiss that I remembered, Oh, yeah. I’m a part of this community.
I sat down on the edge of the circle, listened, and feverishly took notes. As they spoke about friendships rather than fuck buddies, encouraging openness and honesty, making safe spaces for new people, nervous people, and all others in between, I smiled.I realized there are people out there who truly care about this kink world. Who care more about the people than the play. Who see us as people and not just the next lay.
As they talked, I thought on my kinky family. I thought on my home, and BFPKIF, and all the connections I’ve made since I took the leap and went to my first Happy Hour.
Funny that I’m writing this. As soon as I finish, I’m jumping in the shower to go see my friends at the bar. It’s been over a month since I last visited. Work and life get in the way. But I am comforted daily knowing they will always be there for me.
Every Thursday night I have a place to come home to, a spot where I’m welcomed with open arms, hugged, embraced, and asked about my life and my kinky adventures. I have friends. I have family.
As I sat on the outer edge of the circle, as I listened to these amazing leaders in my community talking, throwing out ideas and adding to each others’ thoughts, I realized not everyone has what I have.
And yet I hoped, spurred on by this and many other conversations, other people will someday have a Big Fat Poly Kinky Incestuous Family too.
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Top Of The Roller Coaster
Since it was to be a day of back-to-back classes, I dressed as School Gir: green Gir collared t-shirt with a tie, Gir hot pants, my Zim jacket, my Gir lanyard, a pair of black thigh high socks, and my black Vans.
Heading down stairs, I was more than excited. It felt like I was bouncing off the walls.
However, when I took a side elevator, I didn’t realize I’d end up in a back hallway of the hotel. With some assistance from a hotel staffer, I found my way through the correct door and out into the fray.
The first person I glimpsed that I knew was TwistedView. He stood at the front of a small side room, RopenSpace t-shirt on, head set in ear. We greeted with a hug. Then I noticed his RopenSpace pin.
“Where can I get one of those?”
“The merch table.”He pointed not twenty-five feet behind me.
“Great. Thanks.”
As I walked towards the table, Gray stepped into my path.
“You’re suppose to go the other way.”
“I was just grabbing a RopenSpace pin from the merch table.”
“Go that way.”He turned me around.
“Um…Um… I’ll get it later.” I threw my decision over my shoulder to TwistedView as Gray ushered me and many others into the main ballroom.
There were multiple chairs setup around a small stage with aisles so you could easily walk up to the small platform. I took a front row seat and waited. Next to me sat some friends.
Before the festivities began, as more and more people took their seats, the topic of self suspension came up. All four of us had experience self suspending and began batting ideas off of one another. One person talked about an alternative to a normal chest harness, and then demonstrated the technique to us. Our RopenSpace started just a little early.
At the very front of the room stood a plain white board; it was our yet to be determined schedule. This day would be created by us, for us. This was to be my first open space experience.
As the chairs filled up, and more folks in black RopenSpace t-shirts arrived, I could feel the anticipation in the room swelling. It was like the slow climb up a roller coaster. The pulse of the nerves in your stomach. The want to get to the top. But also the fear, and, excitement of what would happen when you fell.
“Welcome everyone to Shibaricon’s first RopenSpace!”
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Self Soothing
I could feel it gradually building, waxing and waning throughout my Ropen Space day. I could hear her, just on the edge of my fun, just beyond the chorus of beautiful voices I listened to on Friday.
She was patient. I finally, really, heard her when classes were over. Few others were in the room.
I was tired. Dog tired. With each breath it felt like I could fall asleep or faint. I stayed upright through force of will, little pops of adrenalin, and the thought that I was helping a good friend.
When I finally made it back to my room, she now had my undivided attention. I couldn’t run away, tired and ready to drop.
So I let myself drop.
I threw on my pajamas, slipped on my Zim hoodie, grabbed some tissues from the bathroom, and brought along my phone. Out on the patio, the swirl of the wind mixed with the din of cars and temperature control units. It was perfect.
I sat on the concrete floor. Unlocking my phone, I set my timer for ten minutes.
Before I was even outside… In fact, the second I grab those tissues, it began. By the time I decided on ten minutes, I already had a head start.
I let it out. I let. It. Out.
I cried. I wailed. I hyperventilated into screams. I hugged myself. My chest heaved. I cycled and cycled, never dropping low on my threshold, but merely finding moments to almost catch my breath. And then I started all over again.
As I wailed, as I wallowed, as I let the pain I’d been holding back all day come out of me, I found myself wondering if the noise were so loud that I did not hear my timer go off. Surely it had been ten minutes. Surely I had wailed that long. Surely this pain would end soon.
And yet still I wailed. Tears drenched my face. I almost feared some other hotel guest on their balcony would hear me. However, truly, I did not care. I sobbed, consoling myself in my pain.
I remembered what Doc said. This would not kill me. It is normal to feel pain. It is how we deal with it that dictates suffering. I let the little girl inside be oh so sad.
And then my alarm went off. It was nearly the longest ten minutes of my life.
And though my phone made it’s cute little noise, which meant it was time for me to get up, I almost didn’t want to. For a moment, I felt lost in the pain. For a moment, I still needed to sit. I still needed to be on that balcony.
But then I blew my nose. And I stood up. And I turned on some music.
I danced about. I took off my jacket. I smiled a bit.
I danced more. I liked it so much, I played another song. I picked up an apple and ate it while I bopped around the hotel room.
I found myself looking at my reflection in the sliding glass door, and eventually I stared at myself in the mirror. For a brief second, I thought I saw what others spoke about Thursday night. I thought I saw the weight they say I’ve lost.
As the second song ended, my apple finished, I smiled a cute grin at myself. My curly hair about. My clothes a mess.
I felt better.
Ten minutes later, there was Chicago style pizza, and then a nap before Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate.