So last week was probably one of the top five most awful weeks of my life, peaking with a crying breakdown in a classroom at The Floating World. However, The Floating World itself was a fucking awesome event, and a really wonderful way for me to end the week on a high note – I had great scenes with my boy and with friends, I had my classes go fantastically, I watched my boy make out with another girl and was totally cool with it, and basically, had good times.

I will be writing about them soon. I will also eventually write more about the icky times I had last week – but first, I want to write about face pissing. Pissing in generally, really.

Lately, I’ve found that I enjoy doing things that are a little humiliating to Anon. (Speaking, if you are going to Dark Odyssey Summer Camp in September, and either are a friend, or identify as female-type, join the “Pee On My Boyfriend!” invite on the DO Attendees site!)

Something about pissing is both fun, humiliating and very, very sexy, especially when I do it to Anon when he isn’t expecting it.

Sometimes, I have Anon help me get off, but I don’t let him get off – this is particularly mean and humiliating after I’ve kept him in denial, and he really really really wants to come sooooo badly, but I’m being super mean and saying no.  The last time I did this, about a month ago, I had a super awesome orgasm, and then immediately dragged Anon into the bathroom.

I tossed him into the tub, and had him start jerking off while I pissed on his face, grabbing his head by the hair.

I must say, the combination of all sorts of fluids, combined with the obvious humiliation at having to masturbate to orgasm while I’m pissing in his face was quite delightful to watch!

I did this again over the weekend at the hotel  during the Floating World. The pissing in his face bit, not the making him jerk off bit. Though I did get off a whole bunch first. We had some thoroughly lovely morning drilling me into the mattress sex, which ended with Anon getting a face full of messy pee after I had a bajillion orgasm from Anon’s penis. Good time.

The best part of peeing on someone in a hotel is that when we’re done, and about to take a shower and forgot the towels, I don’t mind getting out and trailing a bit of pee from my feet through the room because hey, its not my room! I don’t care if pee gets on the floor!

Remember that next time you’re staying in a hotel.

For men AND women!

Yeah, that’s what Tabu Toys says right on their website’s description of the Nexus Gyro Extreme, which I fucking love! I love when toys aren’t marketed as just for men or just for women when they can be used by pretty much anyone. I love prostate stimulating toys, and there are plenty of men who love vibrators!

So kudos for Tabu for saying we can all use this butt toy! (I always say, the asshole is the great equalizer – we all have one!)

Curvaceous Dee had done a review of the Extreme, and I mentioned in the comments how yummy they looked and how much I wanted one – and somehow, she managed to magic one up for me! (I assume that all New Zealanders are full of magic.)

The Nexus Gyro Extreme is definitely not a first time anal toy. Its rather big, and rather intimidating looking at first. But once you get it out of the box, you find it’s made with a very yummy silicone that has just enough give to be firm but pliable, and its really a rather simple thing to get in your butt!

The curves and bumps on the toy go in easy, and feel *very* good, at least for me! I found that the shape hit all sorts of fun parts inside me while I rocked on it.

I, too, found that sitting directly on the bulb and trying to rock wasn’t the easiest, sexiest way for me to play with this toy. Normally, when I masturbate, I’m sitting on my (rather hard) computer chair (What?! All the porn is on the computer!). If I put something in my butt, I keep it in by sort of wedging it between the chair and my ass. This also usually gives me some leverage to rock against it. Generally this works well, since most of my butt toys have a flat base.

The base of the Gyro Extreme is more bulbous, as it is actually designed to be rocked on! When I pressed down against it on my chair it was *waaay* to much pressure for me to be comfortable moving on it. However, when I moved to the bed, it was much easier. I was able to sit up better, and since the bed has enough give, I was able to use it to rock against the toy, which was *very* yummy. Very, very, very yummy. Meow.

Anon, however, was able to sit on the toy more directly, and very much enjoys the rocking motions – I think this is one of those situations where the individual make up of your body comes into play, particularly inside. I had though, since I’ve got so much junk in my trunk, I’d be able to sit on it directly with my ass as a cushion, but that didn’t work out. Meanwhile, Anon, who has much less ass than me was able to rock on it more easily. Go figure.

But hey, this is an *awesome* toy! I love it! I’m keeping it forever and ever and ever. In my butt. (At least, when I can get it away from Anon! You know, when we met he wasn’t even that into anal. Now, he’s a freakin’ asshound. Go me!)

One of the things I love about attending Sex Positive and BDSM events is the truly amazingly wide variety of people you meet – I have had the opportunity to meet people from all sorts of different spiritual paths, BDSM paths, sexual orientations, genders, states of being, ideologies, relationship constructions, you name it, and I know for a fact that my life is richer and more interesting for knowing each and every one of these people, no matter how long we met and interacted, even if we don’t interact much now.

That we can all come to one place, whatever that place is, and be accepted is a beautiful thing. That whatever we are can be treated with respect, even if others don’t understand it, is a beautiful thing.

Now maybe I was weird when I was young, but I never thought the BDSM/SexPos scenes were going to be any different from the rest of life. I figured there would be a wide variety of people there. People older than me, people I was attracted to, people I wasn’t attracted to, people that I wanted to bone, people that I would never want to see naked under any other circumstances, people that I would want to be friends with, people that I couldn’t stand, scenes that I would find super hot, and scenes that would totally gross me out, all that sort of thing.

So, I put on my manners, and I went with an open mind, because I’m an adult who knows how to act in public, and who knows that if I don’t like what I’m seeing, I can just move along.

That, my friends, is the key to going to an event. Maturity. If you think you might be freaked out by seeing people you don’t find sexually attractive being sexual, and don’t know how you’ll react, then you either need to get the fuck over it and go, or simply not go until you think you can deal with it.

If you’re going to be all judgy about people’s bodies and the way they play, then I wouldn’t want to be at the same event with you anyway.

People aren’t perfect – we are going to have our own thoughts and ideas about what we like and find attractive, and that is *perfectly* fine. We all have our body types that we inhabit, and we all have types that we like. We may even find someone kind of sexually icky, and that’s fine too. You don’t have to find everyone else sexually attractive in this world, and fie on anyone who says you do.

But there is more to hotness than body. I think every time I’ve described the attendees of Dark Odyssey events as anything, its been as awesome, hot, cool people with good energy. Same goes for most of the events I attend – for me, its more about attitude and energy than the way people look.

One person mentioned their discomfort with events by saying that they think of kinky events as being on a date with everyone there, and getting weirded out if there are people they find icky there. (Which, by the sheer number of people involved in any scene attended any event, is pretty much inevitable. There is such a broad spectrum of people that you can’t help meet both people who get you hot and squishy and people who do the opposite. Its just, that definition is different for everyone.)

Part of this way of thinking, to me, is the idea of thinking you are on a date with everyone there – because you are *not*, and in my opinion, it is presumptuous to think so. The idea of thinking of everyone at an event as your date, because you are at that event? Not cool.

I had another person tell me the reason they didn’t want to attend a particular event was because they ‘heard’ (because they never attended, so how would they know?) that it was filled with old, unattractive people being naked and having sex. IMO, also not cool.

I’ve heard people complain about there not being enough ‘hot’ people at events.

I’ve heard people complain, and even had them complain to *me* about their being too many fatties at events. Or too many ‘old’ people. Or too many of whatever, or not enough of whatever.

Maybe this whole topic gets to me because I have personally encountered this kind of douche baggery from people, as I have been a fat chick, but it bothers me no matter what the particular focus of their whine is.

The people attending an event are *people*. People who are there to attend classes and learn, to meet new friends, to make use of the dungeon facilities or the orgy rooms, or to skinny dip or whatever and who are there to have fun, and to do all this in what they hope is a fairly open, accepting environment where they can let their hair down, relax, and express an aspect of their personality, or their lives, that they may not get to express publicly most of the time.

The assumption that these people are there and playing for your entertainment, titillation, or are in any other way doing anything that is related to you unless they specifically state they are is kind of presumptuous and jerky. Nothing someone else is doing, or being,  is about *you*.

The idea that its gross for older people to be out there being sexual is ageist – and eventually, god willing, we’ll all be old and boning one day. The idea that its gross for non-attractive people to be out there being sexual is offensive (And besides, who sets these standards? I always love to recall a slogan I’ve seen on t-shirts at lots of events ‘I’m somebody’s fetish!’ And who says that you’re so great, Mir Fancypants? I may walk around saying ‘I’m so great’ and ‘I’m so hot’, but the only person who needs to believe that is me, and if no one else does, it doesn’t matter.)

If you aren’t mature enough to handle people other than yourself and those select few you find attractive being sexual or kinky, maybe you’re not ready to go to kinky or sexual events. Just sayin’.

Generally at events, no one expects you to show up and fuck/play with them just because you’re there. (Of course, there will always be that type of douche floating around, but they’re in the minority, thank god). You don’t have to worry about playing with someone you don’t want feel attracted to -you can just say no. You don’t even have to say why. If someone presses you for a reason, well, fuck ‘em. Its not something they need. You can just say you’re not interested right now, your not feeling good, or no. Generally, I find people aren’t offended. I know I’m not offended when people I’ve asked to play say no thanks – its just how life is.

And the only advice I can give for dealing with it is to get over yourself – because in this case, the issue is squarely with you. Unless you decided to host your own, private, screened party, there are going to be people you don’t feel attracted to at events. Think of it like this – you go outside every day and there are people you don’t want to bone around you. Do you complain? Probably not, because you realize that it happens.

Same goes for kinky events and sex events or what have you. Its the same deal. If you don’t want to fuck someone, you don’t. If you don’t want to play with them, you don’t. If you see something happening you don’t like, you don’t look at it. No one expects anyone to do anything, and if someone expects you do do something you don’t feel comfortable doing, they’re a jerk.

I’ve met people who’ve stayed fully dressed at orgies. I’ve met people who’ve gone to events and just attended classes because they didn’t feel like playing. Hell, we’re a very negotiation-happy bunch – you can do whatever you want within the parameters you’re comfortable with if you just be cool and try to communicate.

Deal. Be a grown up. Or don’t – its your choice.

But from my experience, its been rewarding, fulfilling, sexy, interesting, and damn exciting. You get to learn stuff and see stuff and try stuff, you get to meet people, and you get to broaden your mind if you’re willing.

I am crazy. Clinically, brain chemically, if I don’t take my meds Bad Things Happen crazy. I have been diagnosed with a super fun combination of things over the course of my life.

Starting in the second grade, I saw the school psychiatrist twice a week, along with the school social worker to try and deal. I was already shy, introverted, and likely to say the most inappropriate things in an attempt to try and fit in.

Third grade, I started seeing a real shrink outside the school. I went to Girl Scout camp, and something about it made me snap. I came home and started self injuring by picking at my scabs and pimples. And eating. I was already a pudgy kid, but that was really when it started to get out of control.

Eventually, I was picking at my scabs so much in class, and thus, bleeding, my parents took me to a therapist. They asked me a bunch of stupid questions that made no sense, told my parents to medicate me (probably for ADD/ADHD) and that was that. They never did, and nothing changed.

I got progressively worse, and started developing weird little habits and ways of doing things. And I got more and more depressed, and felt ostracized at school.

Because of me, the school therapist and social worker started a lunch time group for me and a bunch of other weird kids at school. I think it helped them a bit, with the exception of the girl with obvious autism spectrum issues who’s parents refused to accept that she needed some extra help. I still felt stuck, outside of things, and sad.

I was always, always sad. I kept telling my parents, but they didn’t think anything was wrong – which was a theme that continued through out my life, both in terms of my mental health, and my physical health. In fourth grade, I broke my ankle and wasn’t taken to the doctor for four days, because they didn’t believe it was really broken, that it was just sprained, despite my attempting to explain that I was in excruciating pain.

My weird habits, which were early manifestations of the compulsions and obsession of my OCD were causing a ridiculous amount of strain in the already difficult relationship between me and my mother.

We saw a family councilor, whom I despised, which did nothing.

Middle school and high school were filled with the onset of as of yet undiagnosed bipolar disorder, along with an increase the the OCD issues.  I cycled constantly, but slowly. I had good weeks, and bad months. Thankfully, my mania was not nearly as bad as it could have been – it resulted in a severe lack of sleep, half completed frenetic projects, the lovely grandiose feelings, and an extremely fast, and loud, speech pattern, which my parents, particularly my mother felt were totally my own fault and under conscious control, causing more fights.

Throughout all this my self injuring was increasing. By the time I got to college I had graduated from picking scabs, acne, chewing my nails down, and pulling my toenails off (yeah, that was the lesser stuff), to cutting with razor blades I got from dismantling a lady Bic safety razor with a cuticle nipper. As I got older, I would also punch myself in the ankle and head.

Couple all this with a ridiculous two year long, long distance relationship with another poet, and high school was kind of a mess.

Still, I managed to do well for most of senior year. I learned to channel my manic episodes in to writing or other activities. I lost a bunch of weight. I held down a job, and by the time I started college, things were pretty ok.

Then, college. I went through ups and downs, and towards the end of my time there, when I was about to graduate, I had an existential life crises about the nature of growing up, the nature of responsibility, and stress. I was working three jobs, going to school full time, heading down into a depression, and my OCD was spiraling out of control.

It got to the point where I was pacing constantly, counting things under my breath. I was unable to go to work unless I walked into the mall in a very specific way, walking between a plant and a divider – and the day they moved that fucking plant I nearly had a fit. I had been seeing a therapist for a few months now, actually, a therapist in the same office I went to when I was in third grade. It was a facility for children and youths, but they took me as a client because I had been there before. Big mistake. Pediatric psychiatry is vastly different from adult psychiatry. Plus, my talk therapist and I were a bad fit – she was extremely judgemental about certain aspects of my life style, particularly some of my sexual choices.

I saw a psychiatrist there who put me on zoloft, which was a bad, bad medicine for me. Basically, it made me not want to die, but that was about it. Plus, I had violent side effects – nausea, vomiting, dizziness, palpitations, paranoia, etc. The first day I took it, I went to work at the tea shop I was working at (job three), where I promptly scalded my hand with water, vomited in the back room, quit, and called my parents to come get me because I was incapable of driving my own car. My dad drove me home, and we had to stop twice driving through the park for me to vomit.

However, I kept at it, on and off (Mistake two, fucking with my meds) until I eventually quit seeing that doctor and therapist.

I started my residency at a funeral home shortly after this, while taking my meds on and off, and suffering even worse depression, with only minor flare up of mania.

The work environment was awful – my managers favourite game was to see how long it could take for him to make me cry. I hated the hours. By this time, I had stopped cutting myself (and as of now, have been SI free for many years), but I started eating. I was already around 200lbs in college, about 215 when I left. By the time I was done at the funeral home, I was 250lbs. I did some yoyo dieting for a while but basically, I self medicated with food, wine, and weed.

I left that job, switched careers, and went back to school. I moved out of my parents house. I was doing well, until one day I had a complete and utter mental fucking breakdown OCD fit where I spent four hours glued to a couch obsessively paying Mario Brothers on my DS, TERRIFED that I was going to kill everyone in my apartment by using the stove incorrectly. There had been wild mood swings and an increase in my OCD fits, as well as sever BPD cycling leading up to this – I forever regret the insanity my friends and roommates had to deal with.

I broke down, asked my dad to help, and he took me to the psychiatrist he and my mother were seeing for marriage counseling. This worked out well – I didn’t have much time trying to explain my parents and history to her, because she knew them. This was good – she was the best therapist I ever had. We even got along despite my being a pagan, and her being a Messianic Jew. She had a history of dealing with OCD patients, and immediately recognized that my biggest problem was NOT clinical depression or BPD, but that it was OCD. We worked on that, and all sorts of other things.

My mother hated this therapist – she was convinced that the therapist hated her, and was out to get her (Obviously, mental illness runs in my family, through my mother’s side…this sort of stuff goes way back the family tree). She particularly didn’t like that the therapist and I were discussing if it were possibly that I had been molested as a child due to what I had incorrectly described as having dissociative experiences – I had asked my mother, and she had a fit and felt like we were accusing her of being a bad mother. It turns out what I was feeling was a depersonalization and realization that was more involved in my panic attacks and mania. Did I forget to mention the panic attacks? Yeah, I had crippling panic attacks, which my mother felt were just me being immature and having a tantrum.

Eventually, I started seeing a doctor who could prescribe me medicine that worked with my therapist – his name, I shit you not, was Dr. Who. I mean, it was spelled differently, but it was Dr. Who. His diagnosis for me, was basically a mixed basket of things. I had OCD, BPD, anxiety, panic attacks, the depersonalization/derealization, all sorts of lovely.

Thankfully, the first combination of medication we tried worked almost perfectly – I was put on 10mg of Celexa and 1/4 of 25mg of Seroquel. Eventually, we upped the Celexa to 20mg, and cut the Seroquel down to 1/8 of 25mg. Seroquel is used off label as a sleeping aid, and I was finding it difficult to function during the day on more than 1/8 of a pill.

For the first time in my entire life, I felt normal. I felt real. I felt like I could live life and be happy. However, a side effect of taking medication meant that if at any time, I experienced normal sad, grumpy, angry or depressed moments, my mother would immediately freak out and go “OMG YOUR NOT TAKING YOUR PILLZ! WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU HORRIBLE PERSON!!!” (all this, and I don’t even live with her.)

I was lucky that I found a combination that worked so well for me so quickly – I know too many people with medication horror stories – all I had was a blip with some Zoloft a few years before all this.

The only hiccough in the past few years with my mental health was when I was assaulted three years ago, at a sex/BDSM party, by the host, who was a friend of a friend and a fellow blogger.

I wound up suffering from a low grade form of PTSD, freaked out, went off my meds and stopped functioning, dropped out of school since I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house alone, and basically, things sucked. I was saw my therapist intermittently when I could, but we never started the EMDR treatments she wanted me to have because I fell of the grid. I think, writing this, that I ought to look back into seeing her again for those. I’ve been doing much better, but that shit can still come up. And I’d like to not having to restrain my self from punching people who touch me.

Anywho, since then I eventually got back on track with my meds and mental health, and things have been awesome. I take my pills, deal with my shit, and mostly function like what one might call a normal person.

I still have OCD issues from time to time, but they are manageable, and I don’t have an issue living with them, since they no longer impact my life as greatly as they did before – unless I get stressed. Then they flare up a bit, but otherwise, I’m well, happy, medicated, living the good life and totally getting all my shit gathered up together.

Go me!

*whew* That was cathartic. Felt good though.

I finally squirted!

For the past few years, I’ve had a feeling that if I could only get over myself, I could squirt. I often felt things building up and building up inside me, and then fizzling out. I’m extremely bad at letting go and giving up control when it comes to sex – one of the many reasons bottoming didn’t work out for me. Hell, having an orgasm in front of another person takes work!

But there have been times when I knew I could do it. I just had to relax. I’m really weird about getting messy with bodily fluids, which is odd, considering my past work – I’ve been elbow deep in things you don’t even want to hear about, but I can’t get my self messy sometimes. Lots of time. Stupid OCD. It was only a few months ago that I managed to pee on Anon, and I think that was a big factor in my recent squirting.

Over Memorial day weekend, Anon and I were cat sitting for a friend, and on Monday, we were having a particularly fun and sexy romp. Anon had pounced on me after I used a hypno trigger on him that induced horniness (which, so far, is my favourite hypno trigger ever!) There was much sexy times to be had – there was a hood involved, and lots of oral sex – gotta say, that hood with the mouth hole may have been the best thing I ever bought – some quality hitachi-on-Wendy time, and some great g-spot stimulation thrown in for good measure. There was a liberator ramp, a leash, and some hot hot doggy style fucking.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that we were having one hell of a romp. I needed breaks, it was that sort of romp.

Now the squirting.

We were in the missionary position, and Anon was doing that very focused, single minded, fucking me through the mattress thing that he does. (I love that thing. Its fucking awesome.) I felt that sort of building up kind of have to pee thing starting to happen down around my cunt, and I was trying to focus and let go, but all I could think about was how I couldn’t squirt on my friend’s bed because there was no towel down, and there was no amount of sheet changing that would make that cool or easy to clean up.

Finally, I figured that maybe if I were in the tub, it would be easier for me to relax, since I wouldn’t make a mess. That was how I learned to pee on Anon – first, I practiced peeing in the tub on my own, and then I peed on him. Now, I can pee on him at the drop of a hat, if I have to go.

And lo and behold, it worked! By the time I got to the tub, I had been worked over so thoroughly that I could *not* squirt. It only took about 1o minutes of relaxing with the hitachi before I was able to relax, and let go.

What was interesting to me was how different it was from pissing – I had often heard that squirting felt similar to peeing, but in my case, it only felt like I needed to urinate. When it squirted out, it didn’t feel anything like peeing.

It was also a bit underwhelming as well – I didn’t have an orgasm that was particularly different or stronger than other ones. Perhaps it was because I had already had so many that day.

And yes, I’m dead sure it was ejaculate – for one, I had peed earlier, and it was practically clear, as I am often a little over-hydrated.  The substance that came out was substantially darker, a bit more amber looking than my pee looks, even in the morning.

I also had Anon get down in the tub and sniff it – this is a man who is quite familiar with the scent of both my piss, and my cunt. According to him, it was not pee. (In hind site, I ought to have had him lap some of it up as well. Ah well, next time. Yes. Next time!)

I’m interested in exploring this again, but in a way, I find myself much more relaxed as well. Since I have accomplished this thing I have always wanted to do, I now know what its like. I feel like I can do it again if I want, and I feel relaxed having finally *done* it. It a way, it was kind of like when I lost my virginity. Important, something I wanted to do, but a little underwhelming until I did it a whole bunch more!

In fact, I’m not just attending, I’m also going to be presenting at this event! Whee! So exciting! It’s still so amazing to me that people want to hear what I have to say about stuff. I’m a blogger because I have opinions and I can’t shut up about myself and things that I like, but I don’t actually think people read me – and then people come and see my classes! Wow! I’m flattered and awed that this happens, and I’m psyched to be doing it at Floating World.

I’ll be presenting both of my anal sex workshops – Anal 101, and Anal Fisting. I’ll also be on a panel, discussing intergenerational BDSM, something along those lines. We’ll see.

Floating World is one of the largest BDSM events I’ve ever attended – they have a huge facility, a huge dungeon, and they draw a wonderfully varied group of attendees, and hot damn, they’re list of presenters and classes for this year are *fantastic*

I mean just look and see! They’ve got a veritable who’s who of BDSM presenters from all over the country. They’ve even got Patric Califia! Holy shit!

And I have capital P Plans for FW. I hope I can get my Wolverine costume in time…I will hopefully be able to make some sort of Gambit costume for the boy as well. Anyone know where I can get a bo staff? Tee hee.

So, a few months ago a friend gave me a Tenga Egg to try out. I loved it, and the boy loved it.  However, we sort of broke it on his penis. So I was very excited when I had the oppourtunity to review the Tenga Double Hole Sleeve.

I had the boy all tied up and blind folded while I was playing with him, and I decided to use the Tenga Double Hole Sleeve (hence forth known as the TDHS).

It came with a reusable sleeve warmer. It worked like those light up necklaces you used to get at the roller rink – crack it, and wait for the fluid to activate. It got warm very quickly, and I left it in the toy for about five minutes while I played with the boy a bit more.

That part worked very well – I stuck my fingers in the pre-lubed holes, and the TDHS was pleasantly warm but not overly so.

Now, it came to using it.  For the most part, I found it a bit unwieldy to use on Anon – I can’t wrap one hand all the way around it, and I was a bit lubey, so it was a little slippery.

It also made a rather unpleasant schlicking noise while we were using it. It was very distracting.

I also didn’t really like the lack of intimacy the TDHS created – yes, I know its a jack off wanking toy, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to always be using it alone.  With the Tenga Egg, I was able to feel Anon’s cock through it, I could see it, and I enjoyed that bit of intimacy. While I can see the appeal of a toy that doesn’t feel like a hand, or really involve a hand, I do like feeling a bit more involved with the sex that I’m having. However, this may just be a me-thing.

The last thing that I didn’t really care for was that I couldn’t figure out how this thing was supposed to get clean. With the egg, I could run it under water and turn it inside out to clean out any semen inside. With the TDHS, I wasn’t sure what to do. Since I wasn’t really feeling the toy anyway, Anon didn’t come inside of it. (Actually, I don’t think he came at all that day….mwahahaha)

On the upside, Anon said that the toy felt nice on his cock. His exact words, when I asked about how he liked it and how the different sides felt were
“uhm I was blindfolded luv and I don’t know the sides you used or how to describe them other then one felt warm and good, and the other good and tight. It was nice but the squishy sound was very distracting. “

Over all, it was a decent toy for its price bracket and what it was, but I’d rather use a Tenga Egg over the Tenga Double Hole Sleeve.

I left NY after my last final, and spent a whole glorious week with Anon, being all adorably D/s, and domestic. I’m a better cook  - The extent of his cooking abilities are eggs, cereal, boxed macaroni and cheese, and stuffed peppers. I also got my OCD on, and finally alphabetized his DVD  and VHS collection, and organized our dressers. I know the magic of ‘folding’, which I’m working on teaching him these ancient secrets.

After that week, we headed out to Brimstone, where I was presenting three classes – the first time I present classes at a big convention! Go me!

The first class of the weekend was my ‘Massage for Fun and Relaxation’ class, which is essentially a demo of a variety of simple Swedish massage techniques, body mechanics, how to create a sequence, choose massage cream, adjust a table, and a short demonstration of chair massage.

Later that night, we went to Harold’s, a deli attached to the hotel that I’d been hearing about from other attendees of NJ events for years. I must say, I didn’t quite believe my eyes when we got our stuff. Anon and I went to dinner with another couple, and between the four of us, we ordered two sandwiches and a knish. This was an 80$ meal. I didn’t quite understand until I saw the damn things we ordered. The single knish, which was for us all to share, was the size of half pound burger.  The sandwich that Anon and I ordered? I ordered like a regular deli “Umm…roast beef on white bread with a sharp cheddar, lettuce, tomato, and…hmm….sauteed onions.”

What we got was a half a  pound of meat bulging out from between two tiny slices of break, and on plates on the side, a quarter pound  of cheese, half a large tomato, a quarter head of lettuce, and a plethora of sauteed onions. I was so surprised, confused, and scared by the massive amount of food. Then, I saw the single pancake the man at the next table ordered. It was the size of a large NYC pizza.

Listen, I was high, and I was frightened by the massive amount of food in front of me. This is a big deal.

But, for the most part, we had enough food to nibble on for the rest of the weekend, in addition to the nibbles in the presenter’s lounge and the pizza dinner the event held.

Saturday was a lovely day – Anon’s volunteer shift was the night before, my class wasn’t until 7pm that evening, and we had nothing to do. We lounged around, went to the pool, and slept, cuddled, fucked, and then I went and taught Anal 101.

I think it went very well – though I think I definitely need to work on the demo portion of this class – I had never taught it with a demo before, and he and I hadn’t discussed what I would put in his butt, so it was a bit more scattered than I would have liked.  But there were some great questions from the audience, and I think I did a damn good job.

During the class, I had Anon, who was wearing his leather jock and chaps, blindfolded, gagged, hooded and leashed to the table while I lectured. It was sweet.

There was more wandering, relaxing, outfit changing, dungeon time, and then, back up in our room, some truly motherfucking epic sex of awesomeness. Lets put it this way – sometimes, you have anal sex just because its hot. Other times, you have anal sex because your poonani gets so worn out from fucking and orgasms that the only way to continue (and oh goddamn do you want to continue) that you have to utilize your ass.

I’m pretty sure the entire 7th floor heard me screaming. Tee hee.

After that, I think I died, or at least passed out for a few hours.

Sunday was much more low key – we packed and checked out, and Anon loaded up the car while I snuck off to buy him a present – a gorgeous knew collar – a little more femme and pretty than our other two. Pictures to come soon. We spent time chillaxing before my last class of the weekend – Anal Fisting.

As usual, anal fisting draws quite a crowd – especially when you’re fisting a pretty girl.  The lecture went well, and damn, but the demo was a blast! Ammre twittered during it, which was hysterical – apparently, she had  the text queued and ready to go, lol.

We also took some great photos during the class – the event photographer came by. There are some thumbs up shots and other nice ones, and I can’t wait to get a look at them and see if I can post any.

In the meantime, here’s one a friend took with her phone – doesn’t my ass look great?

Sunday, post fisting, Anon and I had intended to get right back on the road and head back to Philly, but we wound up hanging out with Horns and another friend of ours, noshing and shooting the shit. Horns had bought a new flogger, and was looking for someone to beat up. Eventually, it was decided that she would beat Anon while I was off taking care of some other things. But, as always, the sound of his screams lured me back to the dungeon, and it led to a scene that will live on forever in the hearts and minds of those who saw it, heard it, twittered about it, and saw Anon running naked out of the dungeon in fear well after the hotel had been converted back to a vanilla space.

I’ll write about it soon, but for now, lets just say that “Meep! is not a safeword”!——

So, I helped participate in a Ritual Mummification class that Klawdya Rothschild taught, and it was frakkin’ awesome, and of course gave me a bajillion ideas for the boy that weekend.

I told him that we needed to head to the dollar store to pick up supplies – and I wasn’t telling him what they were for, except that they weren’t going to be hurty (Before I mentioned that it wouldn’t be hurty, he was trying to convince me the dollar stores in Philly had all gone out of business)

I managed to find almost everything I wanted there – paint, duct-tape, ribbons. I wanted new sheets, but I remembered something even better – my mother had given us a set of Queen sized sheets in a lovely beige, but Anon has a Full sized bed. Ha! Perfect.

So, Saturday night, after we had that crazy hot fucking scene that involved bondage and a broken Tenga Egg, Anon and I walked to the city. He went to a gaming event, and I waited there for one of our friends, Z.  We wandered around, and eventually got back to our place, and smoked some pot while I tore two sets of sheets into strips. Eventually Anon showed up, and was confused about the strips.  I folded them, stacked them, and put them away, after which I mostly ignored them.

The next day, Anon went over to Horn’s house to do laundry. I told him to be back by a certain time, since I was staying home to study. I studied for about an hour and a half, and then went and set up the bedroom.

I cleaned off my dresser, and set out everything I would need.

Black sheets, beige sheets, chocolate body paint, paint brush, black tempera paint, a cup, and a brush. Candles – seven day for play, and a few others for mood. Duct tape. Blind fold. Decorations.

Then I went back to studying and waiting for the boy. Ten minutes before he was supposed to arrive, I lit the candles.  When he arrived, we spent a few minutes relaxing before I told him to get undressed and wait for me to call him into the bedroom.

I slipped into a cute little lace nightgown of mine (that I had to dig out of one of his drawers, lol) When he came in, I let him see everything for a few moments before I blindfolded him.

This is the photo-documentary of what we did.

First, I had him kneel while I painted symbols on him with the body chocolate. This was funny, to me. I didn’t realize that I had focused on his chakras until he pointed it out to me. See, I tend to go into ritual in two ways; either its very planned, and someone else is leading it, or I’m fucking winging it with half a plan and some ideas. This was the second kind of ritual.

Then, I used strips of black sheet to wrap his arms, legs, genitals and torso, all individually.

I know, I know, he kind of looks like a bad prop from a Marilyn Manson video right here. It gets better.

After this part, I wrapped his body with the beige sheets, starting with his legs and working my way up, crossing his arms and wrapping them together.

After this was all done, I took of the blindfold, and stood on the bed to wrap his face up – loosely! I didn’t want to be killing him or blocking airways or anything. That would be bad.

At this point, I had him fall backwards towards me onto the bed, while I guided him down. Then I wrapped his feet, and got out the wax and black paint! First, I painted him. Then, I dripped wax on him.

Yeah, I drew a penis. What can I say? I like cock, and penis is somewhat significant to the Isis/Osiris Mythos.

I wound up not using much of the decorative ribbon – I wound some around his head, and attached some to his arms, but I wanted to keep things fairly simple this time around.

Once I was finished, I curled up with him on the bed, and let him chill out in the bondage.

I found that cuddling someone who you’ve just painted can get quite messy. It took me a little while, but eventually I dealt with the fact that I, too, would be covered in paint.

After I unwrapped him, we cuddled a bit more, and I wound up covered in chocolate too. So, we both had to shower. Oh yeah. Hot sexy shower time!

After that, we went to Quizzo at a bar with friends, had delicious drinks and snacks, and did not win the game.

However, the scene/ritual was frakkin’ awesome, and I plan to mummify him again, with a variety of different materials.