Here we continue the Folsom Journal, part 2

Folsom Diary, Day 3. Time: Saturday 10:15 am, Location: Hotel Room Bed.

I think I can finally feel the coffee start to kick in as I write this, good. So many things to talk about this morning. First off, the rest of the crew flew in last night, armed with the rest of the show stock. Silk and I went to pick them up at the airport in our rental mini van. That is right dear readers, six kinksters and several hundred pounds of bondage rope in a suburban soccermom mobile.

No rest for the wicked! As we get to the hotel, unpacked and the girls set about getting ready for tonight’s entertainment. A women’s only masked ball. Gone now are the comfy airline security friendly clothes and on come the tight, shinny fetish wear. I dash out to the corner pizza shop and score some food for the hurried travelers.

When I return, The Mom and her master are in the room as well. Having flown down from Alaska for the fair, she is decked out and collared. Now would it be strange of me if I were to say that my mom in law looked hot? Well I am going to, she looked hot with a capital H!



You want to hail a cab in San Francisco? Have four gorgeous girls in fetish wear do it. I think every cab in a six block radius stopped when Silk walked off the curb and whistled. Hell I think a couple of private cars pulled over too.

Girls now gone, us boys had a few hours to kill. A quick bite then it was off to wander the Castro.

Our subway car was packed. Dozens of well dressed and good looking men of all ages stood shoulder to shoulder as the train bumped and whisked us to our destination. Castro Street, the cultural epicenter of gay life in San Francisco. As the subway car empties us out, we follow the stream of pretty boys up the ad out onto the street where we it becomes a river of leather pants, washboard abs and fantastic hair.

Now all things considered I must say that I was a wee bit disappointed by the nightlife being offered. A small handful of obscenely packed night clubs with waiting lines that wrapped the block and countless sticky floored dives. Not that enticing. Galahad, wedged into his skin tight leather pants and knee boots attracted *quite* a bit of attention. On more than one occasion I found myself reaching out to put an arm around him and giving a would be suitor my best “Back off honey, he is *MY* bitch” looks.



When we finally did return from our walk about, we found the girls already back at the hotel. Exhausted and blissed out, they all lounged in the hotel suite with huge smiles. I notice that the Mom had the largest smile of them all. With mock concern I say, “Did some big bad dominatrix have her way with my mom?”
“Well… sorta” giggles Silk.

Silk then begins to re-tell the events of their evening. Tonight’s ball was hosted by none other than our “friend”, Midori. Silk, always the networker (bless her soul), had some contacts she wanted to pass on to Midori for our upcoming collaboration. After waiting patently for the gaggle of fans to disperse she approached Midori, they chatted a bit ad exchanged the needed info. Then, well then she introduced the Mom.
“Ohh… you’re THE Mom?” She said, “I am so pleased to meet you!”
“After that,” Silk tells us,” the rest of us were not even in the room. It was just her and Mom”

The Mom? Oh I think she finally stopped smiling around 3 or 4 am.

Must close this for now. The rest of the crew will soon begin to stir. Just enough time to dash down to the cyber café (oddly sandwiched between a massage parlor and a 4 star hotel) and check my mail. With any luck Dancer will have e-mailed me, boy do I miss that girl. Maybe I’ll even be nice and grab some fresh pastries and fruits from the corner market on my way back.

Folsom Diary, Day 3. Time: Friday 7 pm, Location: A Comfy Chair in a Corporate Coffee House.

This must be what the eye of a storm feels like.

Between yesterday’s flurry of sales calls and tomorrow’s deluge of humanity, today is a welcome low key day. Took Tambo out leather shopping, damn that girl cuts a fine figure in a pair of leather pants, took a lot of control to not attack her in the dressing room at Story Leather. Then again I really doubt it if they would even have cared. Rather I had enough class and control to wait till I got her back to the hotel suite where we broke in a sweet new paddle. I call it “Slappy McAssbruiser”. Tambo calls it, “That FUCKING paddle”



Just one story I am compelled to tell today. While riding about the city in a taxi en route to some fetish shop, I played my favorite cab game. I call it the “Ask the cabbie for his strangest, most fucked up thing you have seen in the back of your cab?” game. Here was today’s winner. Our driver, a young guy with a voice prematurely aged by too many Marlboros told us this:

“So I picked up this dude one night near the wharf. He had on this Pepto-Bismol pink suit jacket and no shirt. I figured he probably was not going to try and rob me, so I pull over. Once in the back seat, this guy takes out a bottle of baby oil and proceeds to pour an abusive quantity on his chest and then proceeds to rub it around. Now the fare *should* have been like 10 bucks max, but this guy, this guy starts arguing with me. In between the slorches and moans he is yelling out all sorts of wrong directions. When we do make it to our destination the fare is now 40 bucks. Convinced that I am trying to sucker him, he takes out this wad of cash and proceeds to pour baby oil all over it, then he hands me the whole slippery wad and bolts from the cab. Thing is, he gave me like 70 bucks. My next fare is some guy in a 3 piece. He sits down and proceeds to slide across the oil covered seat as I take off.”

Time for some sushi, caffeine, and a quick polish of the boots then it is off to Club Shabari to see Bridgette kick some ass.

Folsom Diary, Day 3. Time: Sunday 1:07 am, Location: bed

My leather pants lay in a pile at the foot of the bed. Only 5 short hours and I must crawl back into them and do the show. Tomorrow morning will come all too soon. D-day is finally here. But before I worry about that, let me tell you about the rest of the evening.



We looked like a bad pop act. Me, dressed in my long black coat and pants, the rest of the group (Kitten, Galahad, and Tambo) all in black pants and white t-shirts that read “Rope Slut”. Sorta felt like we were “Pinky and the Flesh Tones”. While not planned that way, they all agreed that this was the best way to dress for a rope bondage show. While I can’t say enough good things about my supportive friends, it can make a person feel a wee bit self concious having a matching entorage like that. Time to hit the club, press some flesh and see some hot suspension bondage.

Now I must confess that I always feel a rush of affection and fear when ever I see Bridgette. I have a soft spot for bold, powerful women and she was just too cute with her crew cut hair, PVC gothic evening gown and Keds sneakers. Many kisses and flirtation was exchanged as she shared photos from the semi-finals held earlier that day. As expected, she smoked the competition… using rope made by me, of course. The added bonus? Her model was the ever delicious Imp of Satan, Rose Algren. It is in moments like this, as I look at the shots on her camera, that I really love this job.

As Galahad and Tambo stake us out a corner in the quieter upper balcony, Kitten and I set about to get drinks. You just have to love girl who looks great in short skirts, can talk nice to complete strangers, and will pound back a whiskey shot with you. Competitors, judges, and models swarmed us. Introductions made, cards exchanges, hemp fondled, and promises made for future fondling... All is good in our world.

When the competition started, the 3 finalists set about on the main stage. Their job? Bind and suspend their bottom in the most artistic and creative fashion. Time limit, one hour.

From the get go it was obvious that the competition was between Bridgette and another Seattle native named Emma. The boy in the middle was ok, but he was really there to serve as filler between these two rope dynamos. Both women set about with bundles of hemp and playfully created rope masterworks. The other guy? Well first off he used really icky nylon line and secondly towards the end when he could not deal with the remaining ends of his rope he whipped out his safety shears and cut the rope. Note to you playing along at home. Never EVER pull out the shears in a dungeon unless it is part of the scene or an emergency. But to cut your rope because you mis-calculated and can’t deal with the extra length? Unforgivable.

So between Emma and Bridgette this was really a study in contrasting styles. Bridgette’s model, adorned with an astounding amount of rope, was a mix of lovely blues and green hemp. (remember the bit about me liking to see my rope in action?) Emma’s was a study in asymmetrical minimalism at it’s finest. Her bottom went up with ease and looked astounding. Oh and the other guy eventually put his girl up the air, *yawn*

And the winner you ask? Why our dearest Bridgette of course. As if there could have been anyone else.

Time for a few precious hours of sleep before the big day. Its show time folks.