After camp and TESFest

The point of all of this has been to learn to listen to my body.  I’ve spent far too much time valuing my thinking over my bodily experence.

So the past couple of years have been about going back to my body.  This week I have the bruises to prove it.  I was beat on often, by J, by the Husband, by the Princess.

I’ve been flogged enough now that it just seems like a high flying ride to me at this point.  Sounds jaded I know.

One point at TESFest I was part of the following scene: I was seated wearing a leather straightjacket.  In front of me, three young women were fucking: two with strap-on cocks were at either end of the third, the one  with the heavy mascara, and the forties hairdo.  As she, the middle one groaned and convulsed around the the two dicks skewering her at either end, The Princess was whipping the backs of the two fuckers.  I was groggy from having just been on the receiving end of the same whip, and with my pleasant buzzy mind, I thought about DeSade.  It is unclear how much of his sexual fantasies were realized in his lifetime, but the exertions of the girls in front of me, the licking of the whip the bindings and beatings that I saw going on around me in the dungeon that was really the ballroom of a hotel in New Jersey, all of it could have sprung from his pen.  Would he recognize it, I wondered?  Surely Safe, Sane and Consensual is nothing like a Sadean credo.

And there is the power of reading.  I’d read those scenes years ago, and now I was acting them out.  Which ideas were his and which were mine, ideas that I’d simply gone to him to find confirmed?

Later I was asked to stand on the middle girl’s hands.  I could see C, a lithe ash blonde shoving the silicon in and out of her shaved cunt. The chucks below them had become too soggy to hold together.  I was participant and bystander all at once.

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