So my wife, my ex-sub, her husband and I go to a BDSM play party. Despite the weirdness of that dynamic, you’d be surprised how well we get along. Let me say right now that I love my ex-sub’s husband because he’s like the laid back cooler older brother I never had. He’s generous, friendly and twice as big a smart ass that I am. The four us spend ten minutes sarcastically debating whether to walk the one residential block to the party. We end up walking because we’re all fit people.
That mother fucking block was up a Georgia hill which is to say it was straight up. Fuck, no one mentioned that when we were cracking jokes.
To read more, click Whole Post
Anyway we get there and somehow don’t have heart attacks. We are greeted at the door by a half naked guy wearing a collar. He’s got glasses and pierced nipples. He’s a small man and I can picture him doing taxes or calmly explaining that you will never see your luggage again at claims counter. He’s very uptight and that’s good, because it puts us into a proper frame of mind.
Then he started to speak.
He handed me, not the others, just me, a piece of paper explaining the Rules of the House. It’s the rules that the holders of the party wrote down partially to legally cover their ass and partially so that everyone gets the point that they don’t want you using the good ottoman for blood play. I’ve seen a dozen of these kinds of things and I take them very seriously.
Except tonight I am a bit more flippant. I’m a speed reader and I read the 10 or so rules in about as many seconds. The rules are on the extraordinary side so I am feeling safe about not breaking any of them. There’s no smoke detectors in the basement so okay, I won’t be setting people on fire. Wipe the bench down if anyone pisses on them, all right, not going to be a problem.
I’m reading it and naked collar guy is frowning at me. I am not taking this seriously enough for him. I am not concerned and I can tell it is making him anxious. And when I take the pen and accidentally write down tomorrow’s date in the signing section, he looks at me with a look of pure disapproval and almost scorn. All I can do is smile at this guy and know I will be adding him in bits and pieces to my stories for the next year.
This guy doesn’t own the house. He’s just the Greeter tonight. He shows us the kitchen and let me tell you something about the South. You will not go fucking hungry at a party in the South. Laid out on a table was food, not party food, but real fill your stomach food. There was a casserole, four boxes of pizza, two brownie trays, a freaking Bundt cake and much much more. I could have had dinner and breakfast there.
He shows us the rest of the house and makes a damn good argument for never having children. The owners of the house are childless, and they converted every room except the living room and kitchen into a play area. Beds with straps fill the two guest rooms upstairs and down in the dungeon are full blown candle lit rooms crammed with dungeon equipment and paddles. Holy fuck. It wasn’t a house, it was a giant play space with living quarters attached.
One of the things I enjoyed about the night was there was an equal level abuse between the genders. Male and female subs were spanked, bound and enjoyed. At some parties one gender of dominants will be more numerous and it gives it an identity that is hard to shake. Having a man and a woman spanked in the same room really gave a balanced sense of perversity to the play.
One thing I had forgotten was that showing up without a play partner of my own can just be painful. I’m watching all this playing going on and I can either sit and fill the role of audience, or I can go upstairs to chat with the couples that are taking a break and discuss BDSM. Either way I feel almost impotent. There’s a perfectly good bench with shackles just sitting there and I could put it to so much use if only I had someone to strap down.
So I spent most of the night chatting. You’d be amazed at how wide the subjects go. One minute we’re trading cat stories and the next minute someone is describing the Ren Fair’s after hours kinky parties. Now when the talk is kinky, I’m good. When it swings back around to daycare issues for kids, I am ready to go back downstairs and hurt something except well I have nothing to hurt.
During the whole time, I am sitting in a chair across from a submissive in a very short skirt who keeps flashing me her purple lace panties. Purple. Now people are walking around in various states of undress. You develop a casual attitude of how to act in front of nudity but I can’t think of how to act in the face of flashing. Will her monster of a boyfriend kill me if he sees me looking up her skirt? Is it rude to know that her panties are lacy and do nothing to hide the dark patch of pubic hair she has? It’s such a moral dilemma.
This is what I think about when the conversation swings around to medical histories.
My wife told the story of how she promoted herself at work. It was neat to see other people look at her and treat her like the unyielding dominant person I know she is. Of course she promoted herself, it seems terribly natural to these people that my wife, whom they just met, would promote herself. She just has that much presence.
The highlight of the night was watching Shibari guy make a harness in under a minute for his sub. I’m still struggling to learn knots and it was so encouraging to see him using the same knots I use, just a whole fucking lot more of them. He made it look easy and you know, it kind of is. It’s just going to take a shit load of practice.
We stayed till around 2 in the morning. It was really refreshing. Sitting with people that share your hobby gets you out of your own head. Watching a woman kneel before her dom and rest her head on his lap reminds me what I am striving for. Hearing a woman scream as the flogger strikes her breast just reassured me that not only do I want that, I deserve that.
The four of us left and walked down hill. My ex-sub couldn’t make it and I stopped her and took her high heels. She had a much easier time and looked at me a little oddly. I don’t think we could ever get back together, and I’m pretty sure I don’t want to get back together, but looking out for her felt good. I miss that.
Even though it was late, we spent another hour at their house gossiping about the people we met tonight. I made everyone laugh so hard that they couldn’t breathe when I discussed how nervous Paperwork Guy was.
It was a pretty good night.