March 5th, 2000 - midnight

It's not always easy being a nocturnal creature. Even though I'd only gotten to bed this morning about 930-10am, I had every intent of being at a 2pm luncheon meeting with a co-worker. I'm afraid I might have growled a bit when she called at noon to beg off due to a baby-sitter no-show.

It did help me rest up for my main event of the day though. A good friend, member of chosen family, and a person I consider to be a shaman, Al D , has hosted ritual events at his home. Every year for several years now I've gone to an all day sweat lodge there on December 25th, a way to reclaim the day as a religious holiday from those silly christians who think they own it. The past two years I've considered myself lucky to have chosen family and blood family share sacred space, as my son has joined me in this holiday retreat.

Al and I have both had trials recently, and when a friend who hunts gifted me with an entire elk's heart I proposed to Al that we do a meal of it, put together some appropriate side dishes, and make a little ritual meal of it to build strength, something the elk is known for. My best bud Kevin was in the planning from the first discussion a couple months ago, and when Kevin and I arrived at Al's house tonite our friend Steph was there. The four of us have all shared ritual space together previously, and this was a nice low key social occasion with light ritual overtones.

In conversation around the table I solicited suggestions from both Al and Steph on a scene I hope to do with a lady friend sometime soon. It involves piercing and overhead suspension, something all of us have been involved with together previously. I guess it's actually kinda funny, seeing this group of modern day primitives, hedonists and sluts all, discussing load ratings for block and tackles, rope diameters, the risks of breast suspension and merits of fishhooks versus spikes for piercing. Well, _I_ think it's kinda funny. Rumor has it others may think this sort of thing "isn't sex" but as far as I'm concerned it's sex, it's religion, it's play, and it's my life. Miss Grundy need not chose to live on my block.

While composing this diary entry I'm watching a new Charles Gatewood film, 'Fangs of Steel 4', which happens to be totally of Al's work. Brandings, cuttings, piercings, skin stitching, all fun stuff performed in living and loving color. Hehehehehehehe. Al loaned it to me tonite but the last film I loaned him I got back a couple years later, so he may not see this one again for a while........:) .

Well, all that is fine, and filled up the evening nicely. Enough fun - time to get back to work, cruising smut.

Life is good.


March 5th, 2000 - 4am

Another long day in the name of hedonism.

A frustrating afternoon, running all over town trying to help my adult son out with a ride to a dad-cooked dinner. He normally rides the bus everywhere, but lives way over across the water on The East Side, and weekend busses are erratic. We ended up missing each other - combination of poor directions, changing area codes for the cell phone, and plain bad luck. Rescheduled.

Sooo, I ate the nice stir fry by myself and headed down early to volunteer at the Wet Spot. Jim and Georgette had a dinner elsewhere and a few of us were deputized to get things started right. Focus the overhead lights on the flogging racks, get the coffee brewed, start up some dungeonie music, the usual. Discussed new rules with the Dungeon Monitors on shift and brain stormed how to smooth out any wrinkles from the week before.

Some of the activities at the Wet Spot have been hot topics on the local BDSM discussion lists lately. Best as I can figure the flurry of potshots aimed at the staff, the DM's, Georgette, and the rest of us added up to be somewhere around 2% pertinent comments, complaints, and suggestions, and about 98% kvetching, bellyaching, and online mental masturbation. The product of the Jerry Springer generation. In my personal humble opinion, of course, and not speaking for The Management. We've done some significant work the past few weeks to deal with that 2% of real problems, and to tweak things so that the experience for as many people as possible is as close to optimum as can be. And the 98% of sturm und drang? Where I come from they spread that stuff on alfalfa to help it to grow taller.

I got called into the office to help out with the admin that Jim normally helps with, orienting new members for the first couple hours. Verifying legal age, explaining how close our rules are to The Rules You Learned In Kindergarten, yadada yadada yadada. It probably would have been a bit easier if someone hadn't accidentally clicked the trigger on a fire extinguisher briefly, in the small office were orienting in. Opening windows alone wasn't quite enough to make it all go away, but such are the hurdles thrown in the path of OSHA compliant hedonists.

After being released from my office bondage the next several hours were a non-stop wander the floor, advise the shift DMs, help move the spanking bench over here, bring more safer sex supplies over there, mention as unobtrusively as possible to Timothy Tentpeg, Brand New Top, that he certainly has the right to continue to paddle her over her kidneys, but please be aware that she will piss blood tomorrow and it will not be a Happy Thing.

Schmooze schmooze schmooze. Some folks are good at it, some hate it. A former partner used to mention that she "didn't have the schmooze gene" and I respect folks like that. I work at it, trying to be an ambassador for the spirit of the Wet Spot. At over 1300 members, there are always new folks, usually a mix of caution and enthusiasm. Having sat in on the orientation tonite I had a couple dozen faces fresh in my mind and did my best to do a "How ya doin'?" as often as I could. No one ran screaming from the dungeon into the night, although there were a few that sat waaaaay back there, right up against the wall. I think I spent more time tonite chatting with the timid than with the eager. The eager pretty much held their own.

Long about 1am I stuck my DM badge in my pocket and told the other DMs that I was off duty unless an emergency hits. When you're the Head DM and the first line first aider, you're never truly safely 'off duty'. Wandering into one of the back rooms, I noticed a particularly attractive young lady hooked up to a TENS unit. This is a cigarette-pack sized machine that is used to stimulate nerves to interrupt pain impulses. That's the factory stated purpose. Of course, when the electrodes patches are placed in more erotically strategic places, they can tingle in a true yippie-kay-yay. [A pretty good exploration of TENS units is at the Electricity Reference Fact sheet of the Deviant's Dictionary.]

Her top had placed electrodes for one circuit on either thigh, and electrodes for the second circuit ... well, fore and aft, shall we say. The tingle for each circuit went horizontal or back to front, respectively. He asked me to take over the controls while he went out for a smoke break, so, trouper that I am, I stepped up to the task. Ten minutes later he tippie-toed back in [she had moved from sitting up into the basic eyes-rolled-back and reclined moaning position] and told me that his original date for the night needed to leave, and would I mind finishing what had been started. :) The things I do for my country. An hour and a quarter later, were both wrung out and every pertinent neve ending she had had been massaged, tingled, and jingle jangle jingled.

We emerged, exchanged email addresses, indulged in some sinful chocolate on chocolate brownies brought in by another member, and did some of our end of the night schmoozing. Jim and Georgette were in, having had a wonderful gourmet dinner prepared and hosted by a local friend. I've eaten at his table before, and understood exactly where the satiated expressions on Jim & Georgette's faces came from. And as well, dammit, I understood when Georgette forbade me to clear out the hanging around after closing hour folks the way I did last week ... when I had put on "Yodelling The Classics" on the cd player, real loud. Well, hell... it HAD worked last week, hadn't it?

Now I'm home, it's pushing dawn, and as soon as I finish up this column, it's back to surfing smut for a living.

Life is good.

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