poeticdesires

Memories August 22, 2013

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.

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DGG #19 Fusion 2013 pt 5 August 21, 2013

The final installment of my Fusion adventure.

Picture Links

Pose #1
Pose #2

Time Jumps

1:40 Tradition
2:24 Uncensored Improv Games
3:26 Kinky Life Drawing
6:00 Humiliation
8:17 Bare Stories
10:37 Back Patch
11:27 CBC
13:40 In Demand
15:27 Stefanos
16:44 Another Rain Check
18:10 Wrap Up

listen to ‘019_DGG Fusion 2013 pt 5’ on Audioboo

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DGG #18 Love Languages August 21, 2013

Inspired by a tweet from @dirtylola, I spend an episode on some thoughts about love.

Relevant Links

Wikipedia
Website for the quiz
Amazon

Time Jumps

1:30 Inspiration
2:39 Background
3:50 The 5 Love Languages
4:16 The Quiz
6:43 My Results
7:40 Touch
10:25 Acts of Service
11:30 Quality Time
12:24 Reflections on Time
17:50 Wrap Up

listen to ‘018_DGG Love Languages’ on Audioboo

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EMDR August 20, 2013

We started with a memory, a strong memory that incited a negative emotion. I described the memory to Doc. He had me close my eyes. Travel back to that moment, back to those emotions, sit in those feelings. The tears easily came.

“How do you feel?”
“Forgotten. Not thought of. Alone.”
“On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being perfectly fine and 10 being horrible, how do you feel?”
“Um, it’s an eight.”
“Okay. Open your eyes. Follow my fingers.”

His hand dashed back and forth in my field of vision. I tried to not concentrate too hard on his hands, just allowing my eyes to move. When the time came, he brought his hand to center, raised and lowered it. I closed my eyes again.

I was relaxed. I could feel myself sink into my seat. I let my mind be, tried to allow whatever memories to come forth.

I was at Hershey Park with my family. It was the time I got lost in the middle of the crowd. I was crying and frightened. Alone. Helpless. Powerless.

“Okay, let’s go with those emotions.”

I opened my eyes. His fingers moved in front of my sight. My gaze followed. Then came the gesture and I closed my eyes again.

Now I saw my mother coming for me, finding me at the lost child station. Riding on little kids rides even though I wasn’t a little kid. And realizing I could remember nothing else from that day except getting lost and being found. Feeling safe again.

“Okay, feeling safe.”

We repeated the pattern.

The next time I closed my eyes, I saw a beach. Hidden. Deserted. Three people. Two guys and a girl and a hidden beach. And the guys sleep with the girl, and I think that meant they cheated on their girlfriends. But I couldn’t remember the name of the movie.

“Y Tu Mama Tambien.”

I giggled at that.

Doc and I repeated the cycle over and over again for about twenty minutes. Many random memories and images floated to the top of my mind.

There was how I felt physically when I was sad: tense face, clenched teeth, the muscles in my shoulders.

Safe in my bed at night with Tessie, my night light on, and snuggled under my comforter.

Realizing how much the therapy felt like my erotic hypnosis with Gray. Different stories of others erotic hypnosis.

Back stroking through clouds.

Intricate woodwork. The back of the chair hanging on my wall.

Aunties, Uncles, and Ella. Me and them and Mom as a family, together. And then each of the three of them dying, one by one.

The insurance check after Ella passed. Ella being gone, but somehow still helping me.

Doc had me end on that imagine, those emotions. He asked me to think back on my initial memory, travel back to the place where we started, back to those emotions. And he asked me again, on a scale of 1 to 10, how I felt. I was a four.

Doc asked me to come back, opening my eyes when I was ready. I gave myself the time and space to return, opening my lids, my gaze lowered, and gradually bringing my sight and consciousness up.

Doc thought the therapy went well. He felt it was great progress that I’d gone from an 8 to a 4 in only twenty minutes of work. I acknowledged it was good, but he could see resistence in me.

“Why do you think it worked?” he asked.
“Well, you got me so relaxed, my body couldn’t tense up like it usually does when I tap into those emotions. No physical reaction, so less emotional draw.”
“I think your partially right, but it’s more than that. Your emotions around the moment aren’t as strong currently, so you physically don’t feel it like before.”

Doc gave me post therapy info about possible issues to come up. I might remember random memories. I might be overly emotional. Though the memory is lessened now, that may not last. He advised me to shower once I got home since toxins were released from my body. And he encouraged me to attend another session, sooner than our normal turn around, for more EMDR. I see him tomorrow.

In the week since our session, the inciting memory has not come back with the same force. I didn’t have any of the possible post therapy issues. I did have a moment of the emotions behind the memory occur in a similar situation, but I dealt with my feelings just fine.

I can’t deny that EMDR changed something in that moment. Whether or not it continues only time can tell.

If you’re interested in the science behind what we’re trying, here’s a link to the Wikipedia article. The short version is it helps to develop the amigdula, which handles emotional processing. The therapy has been used for soldiers in combat and post combat.

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A Visit August 19, 2013

If it is ok with you, I would like to crash with you Friday night.

Originally I didn’t plan to go to Hot House. It was scheduled for a Saturday evening, typically a night I work. In fact, I had scheduled a ten hour shift for that very night. But more than one friend said they were going. And Doug was coming down from New Jersey. And LyricL asked me, as a title holder, to attend the party. Thus, under the influence of peer pressure, I dropped my shift and RSVP’ed yes to the event.

So it was with more than a little glee that I received a message from Doug asking for a place to stay Friday night.

He arrived at my house around 9pm. We hugged at my front door, holding each other for a long moment, grateful for this random opportunity for a visit.

I suggested we head out for dinner, my treat. He objected, the memory of my Waffle House gesture still somewhat fresh. Instead, he was the one who paid for dinner, sushi at a local hole-in-the-wall.

As we walked back to my car, he pulled out his cloves and smoked. From the vantage point of the parking garage, I showed him our downtown. We spent about half an hour chatting, his tobacco scenting the air around us.

When we arrived back at my home, the rest of the house was in bed. We walked to my bedroom. I stripped down to a comfy t-shirt. He used the restroom, got ready. When he climbed into my bed, I asked him if he minded if I slept naked; he didn’t.

And then, randomly, he asked me where I was during 9/11.

Okay, I thought. Guess we’re not having sex. That’s cool; it’s nice to see him either way.

We chatted for a long time about a whole range of topics: politics, healthcare, religion (or lack there of). All of it weighty, heavy stuff. I adjusted this way and that on my bed, sometimes snuggling with a pillow, sometimes sitting up and animated.

About an hour or more into our conversation, he finally noticed I wasn’t wearing any underwear.

“I asked you if it was okay if I slept naked.”

“Okay.”

He stood up on his knees, took of his remaining clothing, leaned over, and kissed me.

I pulled off my shirt. We leaned back on my bed, onto my pillows, and made out with Tessie over my shoulder.

He kissed me, teased me. Sucked on my nipples. Bit my neck. I pushed him over. Teased him with my lips. Bit his neck hard. Traced my tongue down to his nipples. And then farther.

He stopped me. Explained he hadn’t been tested in a while.

I introduced him to the second drawer of the storage container next to my bed. Pulled out a condom. Rolled it over his cock. Wrapped my lips around his dick.

The fun pivoted. I pulled out an under pad, gloves, lube. He went into his things; pulled out his butt plug.

He laid back down on my bed, his hips on the pad. I sat just off of the pad, lube bottle at the ready. As I lubed my hand, I mentioned that I’d had a few lessons recently in anal play.

I lubed up his hole, pressed my middle finger, and invited myself in. My digit eased inside of him. He removed his condom and began stroking his cock. Later, I inserted a second finger. He rode the wave of his pleasure. I closed my eyes. Felt myself inside him. Relaxed into the fun of sticking my fingers up a cute boy’s butt.

When he asked for the plug, he switched positions. On his hands and knees, he pressed back onto the plug, then rested forward. Back and forward. I kept my pressure constant and in place. Within a few minutes, his plug was in.

“I’d love to suck your cock,” he said.
“I’ve got another idea.”

I pulled out my own plug. Pulled out more gloves. Got on all fours on my bed.

He lubed up his hand. Slipped his first finger in. Then his second. And, quicker than I anticipated, quicker than I knew I was capable of or would enjoy so greatly, my butt plug was in.

I laid down on my back, the sensations a bit overwhelming. He laid down beside me, more relaxed than my demeanor. I tried to emulate his calm, but he had another idea.

Changing gloves, he pulled out another bottle of lube, stroked my lips, and easily inserted his fist into my pussy. I bit my wrist trying to quiet my screams. It felt so good, so right, to be that full. And yet, I started moaning.

“More. More.”
“My full fist is in. I can’t give you anymore.”
“I know. I know. I’m a greedy pig is all.”

I held my plug in my ass as he fist fucked me to an orgasm.

I was high off my cum; he needed a cigarette. We removed our plugs, cleaned up, and headed downstairs.

As we sat, me drinking water and him smoking, he came to a realization. Our hour plus conversation about religion and politics and healthcare had been a turn on for him.

“Well, yes. I get that. I am also a sapiosexual.”
“That’s what that means?”

Shortly after, we went to bed.

The next day we ate diner breakfast before he had to depart. He was a part of the party setup.

I was happy for my sixteen hours with my friend all the same, a most unexpected but highly appreciated quite enjoyable visit.

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e[lust] #49 August 15, 2013

Photo courtesy of Love Hate Sex Cake

Welcome to e[lust] – The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #50? Start with the newly updated rules, come back September 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

A pill for that?

When I Get Annoyed, Shit Happens.

The Dildo Wars- Dildology & Doc Johnson

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Sense, Sensibility and Censorship

Triggers, Asses and Subby Places.

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

There is no Freedom Without Risk

All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

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Big R August 14, 2013

“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.

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Hot Ash August 14, 2013

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.

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Badass August 12, 2013

I wanted to do it. No, I needed to do it.

In the intermediate suspension class, the challenge (for both the tops and bottoms) was a transition. Start with a gote chest harness; attach it to your ring. Tie a futomomo leg lashing while the bottom is standing; attach is to the ring. On the opposite leg, a simple ankle cuff. Raise the bottom to a sideways suspension. And, finally, the true test: invert the bottom, putting most (if not all) of the weight on the bottom’s futomomo lashed leg.

As my top tied me, I was nervous. I’d been inverted before, but the weight rested on my hips and lower back. I had never attempted a single leg before. Yet even as my heart raced, not knowing if I’d been able to handle the tie, I was also giddy. I was being challenged, asked to step up to a level I had not sought before.

My top tied my chest harness and attached it to her ring. She tied the futo, but was unsure of the lashing. She had not tried to bind the tie while the bottom was standing before. She attached the futo to her ring. The ankle cuff was simple. She raised me sideways. But, as I rested in her ropes, she decided we would not attempt the transition. The futo was not working properly; she didn’t feel the situation was safe. She brought me down.

As soon as she took weight off the futo, the ropes collapsed. She’d made the right decision.

Still, I didn’t feel right. I wanted to try the transition. I wanted to know if I could do it, if I could handle it. I wanted to prove to myself that I could be badass, that I was badass.

Later, I spoke to Bombergrl. She had accomplished the transition in class. I trusted her skills. She agreed to tie me that night.

A few of my friends gathered in the Dungeon to watch. I told them what I was going to try and they wanted to be around for support.

As Bombergrl started, I could feel the nerves return. In my line of sight was Elf. I asked them to stay there, to stay close, to talk to me. I needed to keep talking. I needed to relax, calm down, do anything but amp myself up.

Bombergrl attached the chest harness, wrapped the futo around my right thigh, and tied the ankle cuff on my left leg. She lifted me into the air into a sideways suspension. All the while, I kept my eyes on Elf. Kept talking. Bombergrl used her full body weight to raise my right thigh higher into the air. She adjusted the left ankle cuff up as well, but it took barely any weight. Then, slowly, she eased my chest down.

I felt the grip, the pain. I screamed out as my full weight sunk into my thigh. The pain was worse than I had imagined. But as I felt it, the cinching of my skin, the grip of the rope into my flesh, I knew I could take it.

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Take the picture. Take the picture.”

Elf grabbed their camera, stood in front of me. I breathed, melted into the pain, and stopped screaming. A flash went off twice. Elf had got the shot.

Bombergrl eased down my left ankle, then lowered my right thigh. I landed on the mat below. As the pain subsided, the ground now taking my weight, my screams were replaced by cackling. I couldn’t stop laughing for a full five minutes. I’d done it. An inverted futomomo single leg suspension.

I’m 5’5″, 215lbs. I am not a tiny Asian waif. Yet, I did it. I proved, to myself and everyone in that Dungeon, that big girls can not only fly, but fly hard.

I still have the faint outline on my skin of where the rope gripped my thigh. I wear the scar as a badge of honor, a constant reminder that whispers in my ear every time I see it.

I am badass.

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The Hard Sell August 9, 2013

“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.

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