Good News!

While we were unable to secure ALL the raw stock we wanted, pardon me while I grumble about "global shipping", but I am now in possesion of enough raw stock to get us through the order backlog and to Thunder with some to spare.

This of course means that the "Death March Days" begin anew. Tonight, some time alone with my beloved partner and dearest Tambo... then tomorrow the push begins.

For those of you waiting for orders, thank you for your patience. We should be shipping finished stock out in about 10 days time. For the rest of you, send cookies. We are going to need them.

Today is one of those odd days that I never planned on.

Today I’m in California inspecting a rope shipment before taking possession of it. Funny, I feel a bit like the bad guy of the week on a Miami Vice re-run, all I need is a pastel suit and pinky ring.

a big limo pulls into a darkened warehouse. Cut to a low shot of the car door opening. A leg clad in a lime green suit and loafers (with no socks) steps our. Wide shot to shows several nervous looking men with automatic weapons milling about as Mr. Lime Green Suit walks to the center of the space to meet Generic Gangster Type #1 who is standing next to several large wooden crates with the words “Leg Warmers” painted on the side.
MrLGS: “So lemme see what you got.”
GGT#1 opens a large wooden crate to reveal spools of hemp rope packed in straw
MrLGS: “This stuff uncut?”
GGT#1 “Best crop out of Europe we can get”
MrLGS takes a pinky and scrapes a bit of hemp dust off a roll and sniffs it.

Cut to Crocket and Tubbs (both dressed in non clashing pastel suits and t-shirts) jetting across the water in their cigarette boat as Phil Collins' latest single plays

Why am I doing this? Well besides the fact that I trust my importer about as far as I can toss him, this is a very large shipment. Like 2000 pounds of rope. How much rope is that? Like 13 miles of the stuff or, 14,782 curiosity kits or 6 months of working stock. That big of an investment needs to be inspected first. Besides we are all out of raw stock at the Abbey and this stuff will need to be trucked up to us. So with any luck I’ll be dragging a couple of huge duffle bags full of raw rope home with me on Thursday.

So in addition to all this work I will also be in the delightful company of these nice people. I’m thinking someone will be getting tied up tonight, no?

Dispatches from the mountain.

They have this little guest book here in the mountain cabin where Dancer and I are staying. You know, one of those little books you are supposed to write about your time and leave for the next renter. Paging through the book you read things like, “the weather was lovely and we walked along the river” or “Spent the afternoon fishing and then hiked the historic iron goat trail…”

Ours, on the other hand, will read something like:
“Feast, fucked, napped, repeat”

Dancer,

Tonight marks the one-year anniversary of this, or first date. The last 52 weeks have been amongst the best I have ever lived.

Thank you.

The fashion police

I feel the need to point something out to my fellow men. Well specifically to my fellow male tops. Guys, we need to talk about what I’ll call “The Uniform”

What is the uniform? If you have ever been to a gathering of more than say 3 kinky people you have probably seen it already. All the guys who identify as a “straight male top” are all dressed the same. Well, but not too, worn blue 501 Levis, black engineer boots and a black t-shirt. Now they may accessorize with a leather vest or maybe some chaps, but in the end they are all wearing the same base outfit. Now I would not be so critical of my fellow men if not for the fact that I too suffer from this exact same wardrobe malfunction.

I have that one pair of jeans, just worn in enough to fir snug but not so worn that they have any faded or bright spots. Black engineer boots, in dire need of a good polishing. And an entire closet full of black, short sleeve kink friendly t-shirts.

Of course picking the right t-shirt for an event is a challenge all of it’s own. Say you are at a convention, now you can’t wear THIS year’s convention t-shirt (be sure to buy one however). No you have to show how cool you are by wearing a shirt from a previous year. Now that shows you are “old school”. Also you can’t wear the same shirt as someone else. Griffin and I made that mistake once. Let me tell you, it if we all did not look like members of the same cult before, we did that night.

I swear, the last party we both attended I actually called him to ask him which shirt he was going to wear!

Of course there has been some gradual progress here. Utilikilts have started to replace the Levis in some places. However the boots and t-shirts seem to have a strangle hold on our collective fashion sense. At least try a different color shirt? I know, I know black is a slimming color (thousands of goth kids can’t be wrong!) but try something bold and go with a white shirt! It’s brave, it’s bold and no it will not lessen your appearance as the “Big Bad Ass Top”. Really, I promise.

Now as for swapping the boots for a pair of red converse hightops…

Looking…
If you have not yet seen it, here is another posting about the Erotic LA show from JT Stockroom’s on staff blogger, Lucky Lana. Oh and there are some great photos too.

Speaking of photos, I’m looking for any shots you might have taken of us doing our demos at the Erotica LA show. If you have any and want to share, please e-mail them to me.

I’m also looking for a referral to a good physical therapist in Seattle who specializes in hands and arm work. Much like those who braid singletail whips, all this rope making will eventually take a toll on my fingers and I want to start taking action now before it becomes an issue.

Lastly, I’m working on a new mix cd for atomic fucking and I am looking for suggestions.
Songs in the tone and style of:
NIN “Bite the Hand That Feeds”
Jane’s Addiction “Sex is Violent”
KMFDM “Flesh”
Iggy Pop, "I Wanna be Your Dog"
Rammstien, "Halleluja"

You know, nice romantic music for a night of sex that leaves bruises.

So after what feels like months of non-stop 7-day workweeks, what do I do when faced with a sunny Sunday with nothing to do?

Why wash my baby, Boris.


Boris was in dire need of a proper bath and polish. His chrome is starting to show signs of pitting and the leather seats in the sidecar are starting to crack in places, a sorry sight indeed. Boris, if you have not figured it out yet, is my motorcycle. Boris was built in the Ural Mountains of Russia and has been in my care now for almost 5 years. I was going to get a new Harley when I turned 30, but found Boris instead and have never regretted it for a second.

Why do I call my motorcycle “Boris”? Unlike the western tradition of endowing vessels with a feminine persona, in Russia they name their vehicles with masculine names. Why that name? Well you see, if this bike could talk he would sound just like the Russian florist from the TV show 6 Feet Under. “Boris have one speed, Boris’ speed. If Boris no want to go up hill fast, Boris no go up hill fast…”

Certainly not the fastest bike on the road, he is the most fun. There is a unique charm in knowing that the pinstripes on my bike were, in fact, hand painted by an old Russian woman. I have some friends coming to Seattle for the first time and there is no better way to experience the sights, sounds and smells of this town in the summer than in the sidecar of a classic bike.

Curious what it is like to be in the sidecar? Tambo shot this short clip (2.8MB WMV), using her patented Blair Witch Camera Technology TM) while we dashed down to the store for fresh cantaloupes and ice cream.

Way, way back in November I wrote a piece about parts of our body we are not proud of. Specifically about parts of the body that we might consider having surgically altered. (As an aside, when I wrote that entry I weighed in at 220 pounds. These days I clock in around 203-205 and I still have that wee waddle under my chin. Sigh. While it has not impeded my ability to attract lovers, one can be vain about these things... in moderation.)

Now what really amazed me was the response from all of you. Lots and lots of you came out and commented on parts of your body you were not proud of and why. Folks that I know in real life pointed out parts of their bodies that frankly I had no idea they were embarrassed about.

So this has been stewing on my brain now for months. If we are all so eager to point out the ugly bits about our bodies, can we do the same about the bits we are proud of? Yeah I know there are entire college courses taught on negative body image in America and why we can’t see ourselves as beautiful. No, I’m not even going to try and address that here. Rather I will just do by example and say.

Of all the parts of my body, I am most proud of my hands.

I am a very kinetic person and the whole world to me is something that must be touched and caressed. My hands are my favorite medium for communication and the best sex toy I posses. They are long and lean yet very, very strong. The tips of my fingers are thick with calluses yet worn smooth from the oils we use on the rope.

My hands are also my living, with them I create the rope I am proud to sell and pleased to wrap around naked bodies. This also makes for some very powerful forearms too.

With them I can gently caress the skin of a lover and in an instant hold the ropes in a vice like grip. They are my favorite impact toy, the best tool I know for genital torment, and never, ever challenge me to a thumb wrestling match.


And so I pose this challenge to you, dear readers, complete this sentence.

“Of all the parts of my body, I am most proud of my …”

I really should be at work right now...

but I'm not.

OK, so I'm probably like the last guy on the entire net who has discovered this bit of flash. Funny and kinda sad too.

Then of course there is this bit of 80's flash back. Amazing what one guy can do.

In all seriousness, one of the cool things about living in Seattle is that films like this will actually be shown in theaters. I'm a recent convert to Giaman, so this could be very cool. Of course I don't think this one will make it to our local art house. If only we still had those seedy drive inn movie theaters on the edge of town. Ahh relics from a bygone era.

And then there is this one, I sorta wish I saw this one instead of the film Lucas unloaded on us.

ok, ok back to work.

Another one from the "Damn I love this job" folder.

Let it be known that I love hearing from my customers. So the other day I got this gem in my in-box.

Monk,

My girlfriend and I are avid readers of your blog and have just done my first full suspension using your rope...a full suspension of a Gideon's Bible.

I was out of town with my girlfriend and a good friend of hers, and we were sitting in the motel room and I started telling the story about you using the Gideon's Bible as a spanking tool. So, we looked around and found the bible in our room and I happened to already have some rope lying out of the bag in which I keep it. As we were talking I began to tie up the bible...then decided that suspending it from the legs of two lovely ladies would be great.

So this here is what 3 girls, 1 bible, and lots of rope came up with :)

Hope this brings a smile-

oh..and this was also the friend's first time being bound...with the ankles and then a chest harness later she is now hooked.

Keep up the good work and thanks so much!

I just love the use of the toes in this one.


Do you love your rope and want to share it? Over the past year we have been collecting stories and photos of customers and want to add a customer gallery to the company site. Perhaps I should add this as a semi regular feature? Reader's rope? Hmm.

there is an idea.

Little Victories

So before I do anything, let me say how wonderful our hosts were. I cannot say enough good things about JT Stockroom and the Erotic Museum. It delights me to no end to know that in Hollywood there is a museum dedicated to the preservation and advancement of erotica, run by the sweetest Russian couple and staffed by folks who are like family to them. They made sure we were fed, having fun, and even tried to fix me up with a date for Saturday night. By the end of the weekend we wanted to come work for them too.

Now I have always had a great deal of respect for JT Stockroom, their products are fantastic and well the folks who make up the company are even cooler than should be allowed by law. I’ll tell you more about them later.

I suppose I should tell you about the rest of the show. Tell you how it was a HUGE sea of conformity. A veritable wasteland of fake tits, fake tans, faked orgasms and fake sincerity. I also should rant on and on about how the sea of frat boys with cameras would stop and gawk at us when we did out demos. Confused and often flummoxed we heard more than one of them say something like, “dude that is fucked up! Let’s go see if they have any DVDA porn for sale next door” (or something to that effect.)

No, I’d rather not. Instead I want to tell you about the little victories. Those moments when we broke through the noise and glare of fake sex and made connections with customers. What do I mean? Here let me give you an example that I think says it best.

It is 10:30 on Saturday night. We have been doing this for almost 12 hours now and I’m beaten down tired. I think someone said that the box office clocked in at 20,000 people that day. So many folks, in fact, that the snack bar ran out of French fries. How the fuck does a place the size of the LA convention center run out of French fries?

We had been doing demos all afternoon. This day we taught 4-hour block classes, did something like 6 hog-tie demos, and 3 suspension demos. The Strumpet (a sweet English girl I met at Shibaricon) had been there all evening helping us out so I put her up as my last demo of the night. As I was just pulling her down from a inverted suspension (her first ever), when Griffin came over and told me that there was someone at the booth who wanted to meet me when I was done.

Her name was A and she drove almost 2 hours up from San Diego just to meet me. She came to the show earlier with her boyfriend in the hopes that I would teach him some ties, but alas we were gone from the booth. Undaunted, she took her boyfriend to work that evening and then returned to the show where sweet talked the security guards into letting her back in even though she did not have a re-entry stamp on her hands.

This girl was determined. What was she after?

A suspension scene? Perhaps a quickie behind the table?

No, all she wanted was for me to teach her some ties so that she could take them home and teach her boyfriend how to use them on her.

And so there we sat, cross-legged on the tiny stage they set up for us to teach on. I’d bind her hands and then talk her through how to bind mine. Back and forth till she was confident that she could do it. As we sat and talked I could hear Griffin suspending out host Jennifer. (This too was to her first rope experience and he made sure it was a great one.) Finally security wanted us out. The show was long since closed and folks needed to leave. So with a big hug she thanked me for sharing this with her. She had never been tied up before but now was eager to take her new knowledge home to her lover.

Funny thing is, this happened several times over the weekend. Tiny victories like this. Eyes opened and perspectives changed.

From a business aspect, the weekend was about a wash. We made enough money to keep the Abbey in San Pellegrino water and organic granola bars for another couple of months, however on the personal level the weekend was a HUGE success.

If it is my job to change the world, one bedroom at a time, then by our count southern California has a dozen more converts.

I'm home from LA and tired as hell. I have a tale to tell about the event, but first need to get more coffee and snuggles in with Tambo.

One of the highlights of the weekend was meeting and tying up the charming and sweet duo of SexKittenB and L. So while you wait for me, enjoy thier tale of the weekend.

LA bound.

It is Saturday morning and I’m writing you this from what has to be the coolest hotel in the world. Our hosts, JT Stockroom, put us up in an old LA hotel that I swear looks like it came right out of an Indiana Jones movie. With it’s Moroccan theme, the place just oozes with Mediterranean charm. Griffin and I want to sit in the hotel bar dressed in 3 piece suits, fezzes and sunglasses.

The show itself is pretty cool. Lots and LOTS of vanilla porn. I hate to admit it, but after a while the porn booth girls all sort of look the same, Blonde, skinny, and big fake tits. I think this is why we are here actually. The Museum’s space in the show is an island of thought provoking stuff in a sea of fake tans.

You see it in their eyes when they walk by. After being assaulted by non-stop videos of the same thing, cookie cutter girls engaged in vanilla fucking, they seem a bit glazed. Overwhelmed by it all and unable to process. Then the thaw starts, they slow down a bit, furrow their brows and tilt their heads a bit like a dog when they are listening to something.

We did not come here to make money. Well money would be great, but that is not our goal. No we are here to make them do just that, slow down a second and look at kink in a whole new light.

Oh and we also came to tie up as many pretty girls as humanly possible. So far we have had great success at that.

Today is a long one, 12 hours on the show floor doing damn near non-stop rigging and teaching. I can’t say enough good things about our hosts JT Stockroom. They set us up with not only a classroom, but also a suspension frame in the middle of the show space.

As well as some of the sweetest and sexiest bondage babes to tie up.


One last thing, can I just tell you how cool you all are? Last night I had the pleasure of meeting some readers and all I can say is wow, you are all so nice and interesting to talk to.

Operation Biscuit Dip

I volunteered to be the stunt butt for a latex bondage class. Well “volunteer” is probably not the right word. I was more dared to do it or was it challenged? Scott and his girlfriend from Big Head Studios were complaining about the lack of boy bits for their demo and when she declared “I don’t think there are any men at this convention with the stones to do that!” Well I just had to defend the honor of my fellow men.

And “ stunt butt” is wrong too. They wanted to paint my scrotom and penis in liquid latex.

Now I said that I would do it on 2 conditions.
First condition, I get to bring my own “celebrity dipper”
Second condition? “I get to tie up your girlfriend”
I should mention that every rope top in the convention had been trying to get their meaty man paws on this high-energy cutie. Many had tried, so far all had failed

Do you have any idea how many flirtations per mile you can get in when armed with the line, “So tomorrow I’m getting my biscuits dipped and we need a guest dipper. Interested?”

When I told the line to Midori she fixed me with that gaze of her’s and with a raised brow said, “If I were not booked at IML tomorrow morning….” While the idea of having the grand dame of kink that close to my bits was charming, I think in hindsight this is probably a good thing.

Who did get the honor? Well when word got out that I was looking for a dipper, there were more than a few who volunteers. The winner? A hot, sweet girl named Ivy.

So what is it like to get your boy bits dipped in liquid latex? Cold mostly. I had shaved recently so there was a wee bit of sting but not much. (Note to folks who are interested, one should wait at least 18 hours after shaving before applying said latex) Sweet Ivy took extra care to apply lots and lots of lotion to the area before the paint went on, so that probably helped.
Here is a photo of the operation. NOT WORK SAFE!
Now did I mention that she applied a near CRIMINAL amount of lotion?

Once the base coat was dry I offered my bits up for further painting and inspection, should anyone else want to play with the paints. No, this was not because I wanted a large number of random cuties to paint my now latexed bits, no never! Now get your minds out of the gutter! No this was purely for educational purposes! However one girl did write her e-mail address in latex on my thigh….

Here is an interesting bit for you. Once dry, you can wear latex for quite a long time. In fact I donned my kilt and took the Strumpet (a charming British girl, complete with a south London accent) out for coffee and negotiated a takedown scene with her in the hotel coffee shop. What did it feel like? I would describe it as “Passive CBT”, see latex will shrink by 1-2% so you are aware that there is something on your body and it is applying pressure. Not bad pressure, but pressure none the less. The odd part was when Strumpet gave off that “blood in the water” scent during our negotiation and well… well I responded by getting erect. Or at least as erect as one can get when their cock and balls are encased in several coats of latex.

And how was removal you ask? Easy. I wore it for several hours with no problems, till I found myself needing to answer nature’s call. A quick pull (thanks again it Ivy for her extra attention to the pre latex lotion coat) and the entire thing came off looking like a deflated balloon.

As for the other condition? Well that, dear readers, is a tale for another day.

Looking back…

Today marks the one-year anniversary of probably the boldest and most risky post I ever made. Read it for yourself and draw your own conclusions.

Looking forward...

Griffin and I will be in LA this weekend at the Erotica LA show. Look for us in the Ertotic Museum exhibit. Come down, say hi and get tied up. I do need to say a huge thank you to the JT Stockroom folks for inviting us down for the show. Not only are they all just super cool folks; they also carry some of the coolest gear available.

Looking side to side…
Is always advisable when crossing the street.

Monk Slept Here

Now all along the road trip we have raved about our hosts. The hospitality and generosity of folks who are pretty much strangers was amazing.
The one host we have yet to tell you about was our last night’s host in Wisconsin. An honest to god, farmer’s daughter (complete with bright red barn). She fed us homemade ice cream and even baked us scones in the morning. Griffin did a fantastic job in his blog talking about the events of the night, so I thought we would do something a bit different here.

Rather than me re-telling the evening I asked our host, Echo (Griffin refers to her as “C” in his blog), to tell you all what it was like to host us for an evening. This is what she had to say about the night.

When I sit down at my kitchen table in the morning, while I'm waiting for the water to boil for my first cup of coffee, I don't like to think. That is why I usually read the Wall Street Journal. However, since Monk and Griffin left the wsj stays wrapped in it's clear plastic only to watch as I, chin resting on upturned palm, daydream well into the whistle of the kettle.

These boys are charming… and smooth. One minute we were all eating ice cream and the next my wrists were being bound. I said I liked the idea of a corset. All of a sudden I was cinched from breasts to hips, with just the right amount of that soft rope running from between my legs to Monk's powerful hands. Being pulled toward someone, while resisting just enough to have the rope you're tied in glide across your clit, is hot.

It may have been that slight resistance which got me into trouble. The next thing I know Monk had me on my belly on the floor with my hair pulled back, connected in some way to my big toe. Everything pleasant and fun until the sadistic boy wonder then tickled my foot causing me to yank MY OWN HAIR as I tried in vain to get my foot away from him. I would've been pissed off but I was laughing too much. Sick. Fucker.

I'm not sure the amount of time I've spent masturbating since Monk and Griffin left is legal, let alone advisable. They say they love their jobs because with every piece of rope they send out it's as if they're sending orgasms to somebody. Thanks guys. I got mine.

On driving cross-country. First off let it be known that driving is boring. The Midwest is flat, bland and really dull. After spending 10 plus hours a day in the car together for like 5 days straight, Griffin and I had some very odd conversations. Here are some snippets:

upon looking over and seeing Griffin holding the roadslut at 90mph “Dude, if you get a speeding ticket the company is not paying for it.” “Look around, we have a better chance of getting attacked by Indians than hitting a speed trap.” I look out at the vast empty we have been driving through for the past 3 hours and shrug. “Good point, think this thing can do an even 100?” “Wisconsin has the chunkiest road kill I have seen yet” Along I-84, after getting cut off for the 10th time by some of the most aggressive semi drivers on earth “What a bunch of fuckers!” I shout “Goat Fuckers! The whole damn lot!” Shouts Griffin “Worse than goat fuckers! They are Inconsiderate Goat Fuckers!” “What?!” “They don’t give any post care!” “You don’t ca-al-al-al…” “Somedays I just want to be Godzilla to her Tokyo and just knock shit over” UPDATE: Griffin reminded me of this one tonight and I had to share it. "I'm the Monk and all the world is my stage" "No, more like all the world is your bukkae scene"

Beware my resplendent topping panties!

There is a certain way one must walk when about to do a rope scene while wearing a pair of frilly women’s pantaloon style bloomers and knee high Doc Martin’s boots. Full of fire and vigor, like you are the biggest, baddest motherfucker in the whole damn place.

Why am I wearing pantaloons while topping a rope scene in a public dungeon you ask?

Perhaps I should back up a bit….

One of the unique joys of working a convention is meeting folks. One of our new friends was Scott from Big Head Studios; he is what you might call kindred soul (aka a goofy fucker who knows that the key to life is to not take it all TOO seriously). Tomorrow I was to be his stunt model for a class on latex bondage, or has we were calling it, “Operation Biscuit Dip”. But that, dear readers, is a tale for later. No for this is a tale of the challenge he laid down that evening in the dungeon.

Tambo and I arrive and the dungeon is hopping. Filled with happy perverts tying each other up and doing all manner of lovely, naughty things to each other. She was dressed in a stunning black Chinese cocktail dress and I in my tight shiny latex pants and “Trained by Midori” t-shirt (a shirt that she her self guarantees that the wearer will get laid in if worn to a convention) After we make a quick pass we run into Scott and his lovely girlfriend (who’s tag reads, “Scott’s Niece” long story). This bundle of kinetic energy is frolicking about wearing vintage bloomer style panties (and not much else). Scott stands there smiling and holding a large bundle of panties in his hands.

What happens next is a bit blurry. Some say that he dared me; others would say that I offered, but either way I ended up removing my pants and donning a pair of thin mesh women’s panties, complete with frills. Now the only way one can wear frilly panties and not look like a complete queen is to really wear them. Go big, or go home. These were no longer just women’s panties I was wearing. No, these were now my “Resplendent Topping Panties” and I was not only going to strut about the dungeon with my head held high and shoulders back, but I was also going to deliver a hell of a scene while wearing them.

We drew a few stares as we laid out our gear under the hard point.

Now anyone who was watching our play in hopes of seeing some kind of zen like activity, well you are obviously reading the wrong blog. Tambo and I play, as in laugh and enjoy the moment. This was to be no exception, save for the fact that I was feeling a bit extra mean at the moment and hung her up in a very strenuous position.

Tambo blames the panties.

Once up and stable in my ropes, I take to tormenting this lovely girl. One of our favorite things is when I leave her hands free and then do things like tickle her exposed feet or slap her bottom as it swings by. In response she becomes a tenacious monkey, grabbing at me and trying to steal away the item I’m trying to swat her with. Of course this time she was extra motivated.

I was spanking her with a Gideon’s bible.

You see, before we left our room earlier I snuck the thing onto my bag as a joke. Thing is, hotel bibles pack one hell of a thump. Tambo found out the hard way as her naked body swung past me while she was using the rigging like an adult swing set.

In a howl that could best be described as a mix of surprise and laughter she spun around in the rigging and began trying to snatch the book from me.

I easily evade her grasp and sit just out of her swinging reach, opening the tome I read to her from the “Trials of Job”. This just makes her swing even harder in the rigging as she stretches out and deftly snatches the book from me with the tips of her fingers. I love her.

Spinning about with her hands, she looks like a sort of cross between a alligator or the scary girl from The Ring, that is if either of them enjoyed suspension bondage that is. We dance and parry like this. Me dodging from side to side as she tries to keep me in front of her and away from her exposed bottom and the book.

I reach out and grab a fist full of her long dark hair and pull. I pull her entire body up such that she is facing me, her body strains against the rigging that pulls against her. The muscles in my shoulders flex and strain under the load as she bares her teeth and snarls at me.
Say it
I smile and ask politely
“Fuck you” She barks
“Oh I just love it when you talk dirty. Now say it”
“Never” She sneers and giggles.
I release her hair and let her body swing back and forth in the rigging. Her howls of laughter rise and fall as she swings.

This goes on like this till we are both drenched in sweat and high from laughing too much. Finally, when she can take no more, she sighs and says,
“Yes, I now fear your Resplendent Topping Panties!”

I lower her to the floor and we both lay there heaving and laughing. “You evil fucker” she pants.
“Don’t blame me, its the panties”

Then the giggling starts again.

Tomorrow night she will don the panties in question for a play date with 2 sweet, giggly girls we know. I, on the other hand, will be busy with a “Cultural Smack Down Scene” with a lovely British strumpet. But for tonight we lay and laugh at each other.


Oh so you want to see a photo of the panties in question? (Mostly work safe)

The Blacksmith and the Baker

On the last day of Shibaricon I was asked, “So how do you recharge your mojo?”

As I stood there blinking in the bright mid day sun I realized that this was the first time in 4 days that I had seen the sun. We rolled into the convention on Thursday and I had not stepped foot outside, save for the occasional dash to the car for supplies, in all this time. With a weary stare I looked at the man who asked me the question and sighed. “I need to see my blacksmith and then I need my baker”

I love this job, I love to meet and flirt and sell people rope. I love the feeling I get when someone tells me that they got tied up last night in my rope and they loved it. However after 4 days of high-energy sales, little sleep and too many fun scenes, I’m done. Tapped out and empty, the vessel that is “Monk” is battered and cracked in places. Like a Crusader coming home from too many wars, my armor is battered and near destroyed. The body inside it, tired and in dire need of nourishment.

Dancer’s fists strike my back and shoulders in rapid succession; with every strike I feel the muscles release, draining the stress that has held them in a knot for the past week. Her teeth and nails dig into my flesh and reshape it, sealing the holes and patching up the places where it has become threadbare. It is not until I lay weeping in her arms do I begin to feel whole again. She strokes and holds me as I shake, still empty but now repaired, reshaped and in many places stronger than before, and ready to be re-filled.

The house smells of baking bread as I type this. I’d look in on Tambo’s progress, but I am banished to the couch. To sit here and write, listen to old Pete Townsend, and do nothing more than just enjoy the warmth that is home. She is my center. Tonight a home cooked meal, something hearty and filling, then we will retreat to our large bed and curl up together under the quilts.

Tomorrow I will rise whole, full again with the unstoppable fire to take on the world.

But for now I’ll savor a slice of fresh baked bread and enjoy that tingle between my shoulders where Dancer’s teeth left their mark.

UPDATE:

Griffin and I are home and safe... and very, very tired.