Saturday, October 30, 2004

The Perils of Penetration

Ever look thought the “alt” section of the personals? Wonder why there are so many couples seeking a bisexual female for “exploration and fun”? Well aside from the fact that it is like every man’s fantasy, bringing another woman into the bedroom is probably the most common starting point for couples who are thinking about embarking on an “alternative” sexual lifestyle. The local alt weekly personals is where Tambo and I found our first shared girlfriend experience.

I’d venture to say that a lot of you poly and swinger types out there are nodding your heads in agreement at this point.

Besides being a good starting point, it is also a hell of a lot of fun. Three hungry bodies all tumbling about the bed together make for what we like to joking call “The Sex Olympics”. Of course this assumes that the girls are bi-sexual, or at least bi-curious. Now, a 3 way with two adamantly straight girls… oh that would be like trying to drive 2 cars cross country.

Start one up, warm the engine a bit, drive it down the road awhile, pull over, stop the engine, hike back to where the other car is and start over…

Which brings me to the real point of this posting today, dear readers, for this is much what a girl who brings two boys to her bed will be facing. I have had my fair share of MFM sex, now most of this was in swing club environments, so I’ll grant that the view is a bit skewed. However, hear me out. Sex with 2 girls is easy. Sex with 2 boys… damn near impossible. Why?

Well first there would have to be the issue of bisexuality in men. Now most kinky/poly/swinger women I know are bisexual, however only a handful (a tiny handful at that) of men are bi. Some would say this is due to how women are wired differently than men while others would argue that it is due to the homophobic male dominated structure of the alternative sexual culture. Either way, that is an argument for another day. The fact is ladies, the boys you will be taking to bed with you probably are not there to suck the other’s cock. If they are? Well then consider yourself extra lucky and skip this part.

Now for the rest of you, here is what usually happens.

Picture if you will, a sexy curvy naked woman with two strapping, hard boys all ready to get busy. The only thing is, the boys do not look at each other and rarely even talk to each other. Oh and heaven help you if you try to compliment the other’s sexual prowes, a sure sign that you are actually a fag and guaranteed to make the other guy go soft. Nope, at all times there must be at least one woman firmly planted between the two men.

That’s what keeps it from being gay, you know.

So now you have 2 hard boys and they are comfortably far enough apart to still fuck you while not actually having to touch or otherwise make physical contact with the other. Then the next issue you have to overcome is rhythm. That is right, rhythm. You see, every guy fucks to a certain rhythm. Some fuck to the slow and steady blues beat. While others prefer a more driven, up-tempo beat. Ladies, picture yourself on hands and knees, one man in front, fucking your mouth while the other is in back. The one in front is happily pumping away to a nice basso nova beat while the one in back is doing “Master of the Puppets” to your ass. I think you can see where I am going with this. You end up getting bounced around and ping ponged back and forth between the two.

Oh and let’s not even talk about what to do if one of the boys cums too soon while the other is far, far away from being done. Now there is one for Ms. Manners…

Ok, so you got your two boys in bed. They are ok being naked in the same room and comfortable enough with their masculinity to both be with in one naked girl’s distance of each other. Good, now you have them both marching (as it were) to the same beat and not slapping you back and forth like the Detroit redwings. Fabulous. So now for the $64, 000,000.00 question. What about DP? I mean here you have two nice hard cocks. Why not live out the porn star fantasy and do the deed?

Consider this; most bodies have only so many “angles of entry” as it were when having sex. Let’s face it, your bodies can only accept penetration at certain vectors. Men too have only a limited number of “vectors” they are capable to providing as well. Add to this the issue of lenght and the need to compensate if one of the partners is ... well less than gifted in the whole "vector" department. The sad truth is that it is like a freaking math problem, working out the angles so that you can get both cock A and cock B into your body with out feeling like you are about to be torn in two. Or worse, having them constantly pop out due to the impossible angles needed to maintain penetration. Nothing is more frustrating than getting everyone into position, getting things lined up, making penetration, start to fuck only to have one guys cock suddenly pop out and jab the other guy in the nut sack.

Oh and on top of all of this, your boys better really like each other. I mean really like each other. If you can overcome all these obstacles, remeber that there is only a small bit of tissue separating your ass and pussy. So from the guy’s perspective they are petty much rubbing cocks together inside you while their scrotums slap together. Personally, there are very few men I’m comfortable being that close to. Very few.

Oh and don’t even get me started on DVDA

P.S. There is a way you can do DP with just one boy, a dildo and some rope. Let me shoot some example shots and I'll show you the trick.

Friday, October 29, 2004

Just a quick update as I dash about.

Tambo had a terrific birthday, thank you all for the nice comments and flowers. She has been glowing all day.

If you are in Seattle, take an afternoon and go see the new exhibit at SAM. The armor and horse armor on display are AMAZING. We are talking jaw dropping here. There were like some paintings and other stuff there too, but damn the armor was pretty.

Now, while I try and formulate a post about just how hard it is to actually perform a DP scene, enjoy this clip of a DP facial gone terribly, horribly wrong. Oh and this is SO not work safe.

Must dash, breakfast date with Tambo, proofing new t-shirt designs, shipping an order to some nice pervert in London, coffee with Milian, then meeting Dancer to work on editing down the video from the Top Secret Date. Gonna show her my mad video ninja editing skills. With any luck we will have something cool to post here very soon. Seriously, we are just working today… no really, I mean it. What? You don’t believe me? ok well maybe not *just* working...

Thursday, October 28, 2004

10 Reasons Why I Love Tambo
(in no particular order)

1) She still laughs at my stories, even though she probably has heard them a thousand times. This blog is largely due to her constantly prodding me to write down many of those stories.

2) She is a chameleon. Going from wearing a suit of armor in the morning (looking sexy as hell in it), spend the day getting sweaty, dirty and playing the rough and tumble girl on the show field. To a Chinese silk pant suit and out on the town. The picture of elegance and ophistication. (And look so sexy that strangers stare.)

3) Three Words, Asian Horror Movies.

4) When I am angry, she listens patiently while I rant and vent, then when I’m ready to listen she calmly points out the other side of the argument. Never once discounting my position or feelings. She knows when to give solutions and when to just listen and understand.

5) She knows the move… you know, the one that makes your toes uncurl. Many lovers have tried, but none can compare to her. After 16 years together she still blows my doors off in bed.

6) She is brave, braver than she gives herself credit for.

7) She has this wisdom that comes from being observant. She watches things and pays attention to the details. I often call her my “Mentat” or “Truth Sayer”. She just knows and understands things far better than I most days.

8) She talks to me, about anything. Yes, one of the central aspects of successful poly is constant, open communication. We had this long before we knew that was what we were supposed to do. Our conversations run from the news of the day to interpersonal relationships to singing our favorite Monty Python songs together.

9) She is constant. No matter how busy, outrageous or crazy my world becomes she is this calm center. The paperweight that keeps the pages of my world from being blown away.

10) She loves me, even when I was unable to love myself.

To be honest there are a thousand and one more reasons, from her vastly superior taste in music to how adorable she looks when she tries to run away while in partial suspension. For all these reasons and for the ones I have yet to discover, I am so glad that she was born. The world, my world in particular, is a much better place. So please join me is saying,

Happy Birthday Tambo!

Wednesday, October 27, 2004

Somewhere along the course of our lives we reach a turning point when it comes to our parents. Up to this point, they have and always will be those persons who raised, cared, and loved you. Even when you were an unlovable, rebellious teenager. There is however a point when you realize that they do not have all the answers, that they are in fact, like you, just making this up as they go along. Fallible and mortal, you begin to see them in a new light. Not as the 9 foot tall, fire breathing authority figures they once were, but as people. Eventually, as they age you start to see them as frail humans who now need you to help care for them

I have often said that I owe my father for most of my charming traits and several of my fatal flaws. Married too young and driven with the conviction to provide for his family, he has worked hard his entire life. Armed with less than a year of college and a deep well of perseverance he has never been unemployed. Ever. Under his watch, we never missed a day of church, never went hungry, and could only miss school if we were on death’s door. I did not appreciate or understand him when I was a teen, often angry that he was at work and not at one of my shows or events. Not until it was my turn to strike out and set my own destiny did I realize the amount of sacrifices he made to keep a roof over our heads.

He once said to me, after walking away from a ludicrously well paying job in order to gamble it all on starting his own firm, “I never want to be old and regret not taking the chance”.

Eventually, after years of hard work, 3 kids raised, a 30 year marriage ended, and a business grown strong by his hands he set about to live out his dream. To sail the warm, deep blue waters of the south pacific. To do nothing more in a day than set a course, follow the wind and chase the dolphins as they raced along side the sailboat. I am very proud of him for doing this. It takes a lot of guts to give up all the comforts of home and set about the coastline of a third world country armed with just what you have onboard.

Last year he launched that dream and spent 9 months cruising the Gulf of Mexico..

While he does not fully grasp what I do for a living, he does appreciate the risk and understands what I mean when I let out a sigh of exhaustion and tell him, “love to stay and chat Pop, but I have a lot more miles to go this day before I can see my bed.”

So what do you do when your father tells you, “Son, I’m sick... ” ?

My father requires a kidney transplant or he will live the rest of his life attached to a machine, a fate worse than death for a man who longs for the open sea. I, of all the kids have the best chance of being a potential donor. Young (well younger than the rest of my siblings), in shape, non smoker, rare drinker, and willing to try. The question is, just how far am I willing to go to save a parent? If it were your father, would you step up and do the same?

And so dear readers, just when you thought you had enough to keep you entertained we now add “adventures in organ transplant” to the list of things to look forward to reading about.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

The mean ones taste better

Tambo and I have this tradition, on each other’s birthday we make the other a grand meal. Anything they want, no holds bared and no request too great. So one year, on her birthday, Tambo asks me to make her fresh crab from the market. Now for those of you who don’t know. Crab is best when served VERY fresh. As in just killed, cooked and then eaten.

Now this was early in my culinary career so I was not exactly sure just how to go about preparing a live crab. So I called the one guy I knew who would have the answers. My dad, a deep water sailor of many years. He tells me, “Oh it’s easy. Get him into the sink, flip him over and grab him from around behind and grip his belly with your thumbs and hold the top of his shell with your other fingers. Now pick it up and find yourself a outdoor faucet or something. I just use the side rail of the boat. You take it and whack it really hard across the back and that should spilt the shell in two. Clean it and then drop it in your boiling water.”

So now armed with what has to be the most barbarian method of food preparation yet, we journeyed to the famous Pikes Place Market to pick out our meal. After poking and staring at the crabs as they swam about in the tanks we decided on a good subject. A nice big ol’ bruiser of a crab.

Returning home, we set about to prepare our feast. First thing, free the crab from its paper cocoon and let it soak a bit while I prepared the rest of the meal. Unwrapping the beast into our sink I was delighted to see that it was still alive. Very much alive in fact and very pissed off. With an eerie skittering, its tiny legs tried to find purchase on the porcelain sink while angry claws snapped at the air in vain.

Water now boiling, spices set, bread warming and beer on ice. Now was the moment of truth. Time to turn this large sea bug into dinner. Flipping him over with a set of tongs, I noted to Tambo as I began to reach down and grab the beast. “Ya know, this sorta looks like one of those face hugger aliens”

At that precise moment, as my fingers made contact with its shell, the crab’s legs flexed and wrapped themselves around my thumbs… locking them in place. With a start I jerked back, picking up the crab, and looked about for something solid to whack it on before it tried to implant an egg in me. Rushing out the back door, I reach my destination. The outside water faucet, a nice sturdy old fashioned thing. With a swift and adrenaline fueled blow I brought the crab down on top of the thing. Hopefully planting the spigot right in the center of the thing’s back.

Now one would think that this would kill the beast. Nope. Now frantically thrashing its legs, the crab is not dead. Either that or this is some kind of re-animator crab. Attempting a second strike, I try to draw the crab away from the faucet. Only to be met with a wet sounding resistance. In my panic, I had driven the crab deep onto the faucet, nearly impaling it in fact. Bracing myself I gave the beast a mighty heave and was rewarded with a sucking pop as the thing came free. Of course the spigot was now covered in green ooze and the crab… well the crab had a perfect hole in the top of its shell…. In the exact shape of the faucet.

Still twitching (that would be the crab, not me) I set about beating the beast wildly against the nearest deck railing until it had been torn into several pieces.

When all was said and done we did enjoy a terrific meal. Of course as I recounted the tale to my brother, another accomplished cook, he explained to me that I could have just dropped the live crab in the boiling water and been done with it. Our dad just did it that way due to the small size of his stew pot on the boat.
“Boil it alive?!” I said with shock, ”That’s just inhumane!”

I think this year we are going to break with tradition and go out for dinner. Something Mediterranean I think.

Monday, October 25, 2004

So it is Tambo’s birthday this week so I thought I would spend some time this week talking her and just why she makes my world such a cool place to be in.

Cool things about my cool partner

Among her many talents, music is one of her strongest. This girl has a gift, she can pick up an instrument and just play. Our house is littered with instruments, congas, guitars, strange African thumb organs, and of course her cello. Tambo is a classically trained concert cellist and has performed professionally with the symphony. And, no we are not talking the local grange hall folks, think BIG concert hall, black ties, and guest conductors from all over the world kinda symphonies.

In fact, when we were still in college and too poor to afford tickets to see said shows, I would dress all in black and would follow her back stage before the show, slipping past the security by carrying her instrument case for her. Once inside I would lay low till show time and then slip into an open seat.

While I am very proud of her pro days, I must say that this is not my best musical memory of her. No that would be one from when we were still in High School. Like I said, she is a musical omnivore and played in everything. Symphonies, jazz band, even the marching band. Of course her specialty was playing stringed instruments, like the violin or the cello or the upright bass. Ever see one of those on the ball field at half time? Nope, me either. Rather, somehow she convinced them to let her on the filed with an electric bass.

Now picture if you will, Tambo on the field, dressed in her ridiculous marching band costume, you know the one with the big hat and stripes, with an electric bass strapped across her shoulder. Oh, what about power and an amp you ask? Well that would be the guy standing behind her with a giant car battery and amplifier on a hand truck. His job was to wheel this contraption along behind her, staying close enough so she she would stay plugged in and yet far enough as to not run into her as they also did all the half time show choreography.

Talented, beautiful and ever so slightly bent… that’s my girl.

Sunday, October 24, 2004

With a tip of the hat to The Mistress who makes this look easy...
Three little words my dear, three little words.

I swear to you, dear readers, as a pervert. This was an actual call I got this week at the shop.

“Um.. yeah, hey so, um like you sell rope?”
“Yeah we make and sell the finest hemp rope in the world”
“Hemp, yeah…like… as in sativa?”
“No, that would be marijuana. Our rope is made from industrial hemp…”
“So like you just use the stems? I mean I could like totally take the flowers and leaves off your hands, dude.”
“Um no all the raw rope is made for us in Romania and shipped here?”
“Really? So like what, you smoke the rope then?”
“Err... no”
“Dude, that is like a totally wicked trick. Shipping it in as rope. Sorta like that movie where they made the van out of dope and drove it across the border…”
“Nope, not like that.”
“Come on, I be you are smoking some now.”
“Look, you will need to smoke a joint the size of a telephone pole before you’re gonna get a buzz”

Confidential to Sir, ouch you sadistic prick! Thank you.

Friday, October 22, 2004


Recently over dinner with Galahad we fell into the topic of sex. I know, I know it is rather scandalous, me talking about sex in public. Have no fear; we made a point to sit out on the empty patio so we would not spook the locals too much. As we waited for our meals to arrive I shared with him some of the highlights of a date I had recently with a new play partner.

“Yeah, so there we were in what had to be the skankiest hotel room ever. The place reeked of stale cigarette smoke and mothballs. This place was so low rent; the Gideon’s would not leave a bible in the room”
“How do you know that?”
“I looked for one.”
“Um and why would you do that?”
“I wanted to spank her with it.”
“Ok that is just wrong”
“Nah, just par for the evening”

I proceeded to explain to my disbelieving friend that the goal of the evening was degradation play. My date had specifically asked me in the calmest most reassuring tones that tonight I was to do my worst, to use her body as my own personal plaything. I must confess that while no stranger to rough play, full on degradation play was a challenge for me. I was curious how far I could push myself emotionally that night, just as I wondered how hard I could push my date while still making sure we were both having a safe and good time.

“…so then I tied her up in the shower and proceeded to pop her golden cherry.”
“You did what?! You pissed on her?!”
“Sure did, was kinda hard actually… you know, I thought for a minute I would get piss shy and not be able to. Honestly thou, that was not really the worst thing I did to her.”
“You have got to be kidding, what would that be?”
“Slapping her face, I was not sure if I could do that”
*blink* *blink* “you… you slapped her… on the face?!”
“Yes, repeatedly”
“And she liked that?”
“Dude, she begged me to do that”
“…but why?!”
“Probably because it made her pussy wet?”

I must say that I can empathize with my distraught friend. Being a “Sensitive, Caring, Enlightened Male” in our culture, there are certain things you just do not do. Strike a woman on the face? Oh no, that is only something the loosers on Jerry SPringer do, the lowest of the low. So let it be said that I am and always will be a “nice guy”. I’m the kind of guy who opens doors for old ladies, let’s people merge in front of me in heavy traffic and have been known to even feed stray pets. Let it also be known that I have a sadistic streak that I have slowly been coming to grips with and learning how to embrace and nurture.

I long ago came to accept and encourage the fact that I rather enjoy the sight of an upturned ass, ready for all manner of torment. Bend you over my knee and spank you while you thrash about and protest? Why just typing that makes my cock twitch. However there is a substantial difference between striking a soft round, well padded ass and the face of a beautiful young woman.

Up to this point, I had never done this. Sure I have been rough and savagely griped a lover’s face… but outright striking her? Oh no. That was a new place for me, uncharted waters. Even though we had previously negotiated this and I knew she was ok with it, when push came to shove and she was kneeling there before me, looking up at me with her large sweet eyes. I, I faltered. I was so close, so close to skipping this thing and moving onto some other torment, a torment that I was more comfortable with.

You see, when I play the sadistic top role, I keep a mental tether, if you will. A safety line, tied tight to the moorings of the “nice guy” I am. As I grow comfortable with the scene and my partner, I let the tether out a bit father, allowing myself to immerse myself further in the waters of my own sadism, yet still keeping grip on where the shore is. I know that both I and my bottom are relying on that tether. In the end, it is my responsibility reel us both back in to shore, to come back to reality. To not go too far and end up really hurting someone. There comes a point however, when the place you want to go is just beyond the reach of that tether. You stretch out to reach it, but it is just beyond your grasp. At that point you can hold fast to your tether and declare that out of reach thing a “hard limit”, a place you will not go. Or you can take that leap of faith, trust your skills as a swimmer and let go of the tether and venture out into the deeper waters.

In that moment, after pushing all the anger and fear out of my head, I chose to let go of the tether. To trust my own ability to swim in these waters and that I had the strength to swim to shore, carrying my partner if need be.

With open palm I raised my hand and brought it down on her face, hard. The sound of the rough skin of my hand connecting with her soft cheek was quickly drowned out by the moan of ecstasy that escaped her lips.

Talk about a liberating moment.

For the remainder of the evening we swam in the deep waters of my sadism. Binding, beating and humiliating her in all manner of ways. And it felt really good. With strong strokes I swam in those waters, keeping an eye on shore at all times. When our night came to a close, bodies wracked from sexual exhaustion, we lay together amongst the debris of our night. Feeding her dark chocolate and Perrier we both smiled and laughed at the sight. Condom wrappers stuck to our backs as we rolled about in laugher and cuddles, both safely again on the shore.

a closing thought, does this mean I now want to slap the faces of all my lovers? No, but I know that I am a much stronger swimmer than I previously gave myself credit for and will swim deeper and farther with them... when the time comes to do so.

Thursday, October 21, 2004

These, these are good problems to have.

As I stumbled out of my shop to welcome my darling Tambo home last night, I looked quite the site. My heavy work clothes rumpled and dirty, jaw unshaven, and my tangled hair stuffed under a stocking cap. I fear I may have looked a bit like one of those guys you see on the side of the road holding a cardboard sign… save being COVERED in hot pink and black bits of hemp. Later, after restoring myself to a somewhat more presentable state, while preparing dinner and stealing delightful kisses we had this conversation.

“Whew. Just put the last of the HogTied order out.”
“damn, that was a LOT of rope.”

I should point out that when I left San Francisco last month, along with many good stories to tell I also left with a huge rope order from the nice perverts at HogTied.Com. In fact, the last 3 weeks I have cranked out more rope than I ever have. More than I took to sell at Folsom to be exact.

“Yeah, that was a hard push…the money is great but I’m glad that is done. I hate making customers wait. Now I can get this backlog knocked out and then start getting ready to fill all the Christmas orders and build stock for the December show.”
“Good plan.”

Then the shop phone rang.
10 minutes later I wander back into the kitchen, eyes wide and feeling like I was just punched in the sternum.

“You know that order for Hogtied I just put out?”
“Some nice lady in Florida just ordered twice that much. She even paid in advance.”
“Oh crap…I mean yeah!!”

With that, anyone want a part time job? I need a minion for about 20 hours a week. The work is menial; you will be cold and by the end of the day covered in hemp fibers. The pay sucks and your boss, well your boss is an egotistical jerk. Oh and you better like listening to Abba. That said, it you know someone in Seattle who would like some extra cash… point them my way

P.S. To the reader who introduced themselves to me last night, thank you. You made my night; I wish I knew someone like you when I was a boy scout.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

The Short List

While we are on the topic of “tops and why they should bottom” I’d like to present to you, in order, “Tops I will bottom to”
1) Tambo. For me, it is all about trust and there is nobody I trust more than her. After nearly 20 years together, she knows more about how I work that I do. While usually on the receiving end of things, she has dipped her toe in the topping pool with some grand success. Don’t let her sweet and kind exterior fool you; she has a devious streak that runs deep. I know that given time and practice she will be a force to be reckoned with.

2) Dancer. Now this girl has some mad skills in this department (Some might even say she is a pro at it). I remember the first time I bottomed to her, looking over at the line of toys she had carefully laid out and thinking, “...relax, she has it completely under control.” That was a great moment. I trust her more and more with every day we are together and find myself now having a “Yes, No, and maybe… but only with Dancer” list.

3) Bridgette Harrington. While I have done my share of “stunt bottom” for learning rope tops, nobody has yet to really do the full on Japanese Shibari experience for me. Bridgette is a pro and well I think she is quite sexy.

4) Sunday’s Hangover. Sunday is sexy, smart, sadistic as fuck and quite frankly scares the hell out of me. I find it most intriguing.

5) Max. Again, if I’m going to get tied up by someone it better be by the best. But Max, darling, no trophy braid please. I'll bring the rope.

God save us from the “Self Important Male Top”

How many times have we seen it? Somewhere in a public play space there is inevitably one of them swaggering about. You know the drill, a thirty something white, meat eating, very straight, and exclusively top only male. They parade about, dressed in shiny leather chaps, a black t-shirt, and always wearing a flogger or single tail off their hip. Yes, you know who I am talking about. They have scene names like “Master Dragon-Butt” or “Sir Wolf-Sword-Trogdor”. Frankly they are rather pathetic, trying vainly to exert an air of superiority and power. When I see them, I’m not sure if I should feel sorry for them or tell them, “Hey, the Village People just called and they want their costume back”.

Ok, ok so yeah it is more than just the costume that bugs me. Heck, I have been known to wear that costume from time to time. The difference? They have no sense of humor about what they are doing. Somewhere along the line when they discovered that they were kinky, they forgot that this was supposed to be fun. Remember, we call it BDSM “play” for a reason. In the end, it is all about having orgasms right? Orgasms are supposed to be fun! Lighten up boys, I promise that it will not ruin your reputations one bit. I honestly think that straight boy tops take this thing way too seriously. It’s like they all went to the Capitan Kirk School of Topping. “You…WILL…sub…mit. KAHN!!!”

First off, quit dressing like you got lost on your way to a gay porn set.

Next, relax. There is more than one way to push your bottom into a subspace than acting all big and toppy 24/7. Laugh, be tender, be silly, and be cruel was well. The best tops I know can smile the biggest, sweetest smiles at you while they drive needles into your cock. They are the unassuming ones who will stroke your long hair and encourage you, right before they spin you about in suspension bondage. They have humor, they have genuine skill and they do not take themselves so damn serious that they forget to have a good time with their partner. Have no fear, they are going to hurt you and make you cry out, but they will also make you laugh in the next breath

And lastly, I know they say that every top should test out their toy in themselves before using them on a lover, but I say you should really spend some quality time on your knees. Don’t just whack your jeans covered ass with that flogger while at the store. Find some nice sadist to really give your naked ass a good whack or twelve. Like those clothespins? Have someone put them on your pink bits and then tell me how it feels. The change in perspective will do you wonders.

Then again, maybe they should not change. Seriously, the rest of us really benefit from it. After you jokers, the rest of us look like uber tops. I have had more than one lover ask me with a worried look, “is it ok if I smile and laugh? My last top hated it when I did… but… I could not help it.” To which I reassure them that not only is it ok, I rather enjoy it when they laugh. I really enjoy it when they are laughing and crying at the same time, all the while howling, “ sadistic rat bastard!”

Monday, October 18, 2004

My secret weapon #4

Guys, never underestimate the power of flowers. That’s right, flowers. I’m amazed at the number of straight men who do not realize just how powerful a tool this is. A simple bouquet given with genuine sincerity will do more to make you attractive to the opposite sex than any car you drive or set of washboard abs. In fact I would dare to say that flowers have opened more doors, and more thighs, for me than I care to count.

There are, of course, some guidelines one follow in order to really use flowers as an effective tool.

1) Don’t wait till you are in trouble.
This is probably the most common mistake men make. We wait until the last minute, when the object of our attention is angry with us to bring out the flowers. Do not do this. This just makes you look like a moron and is often looked upon as a last ditch attempt at appearing sincere. Rather, give flowers when they are not expected. When she asks you why, just smile and say “Cuz it’s Thursday that’s why!” or “I saw these and thought of you.” Doing this builds what I call, flower karma in your favor. So that the next time you do really screw up, you have some extra points in your favor.

2) Screw the roses.
You do not have to go broke sending dozens of roses. Roses are nice, but let’s face it they are expensive and a bit overrated. Every would be Romeo brings his love a rose on prom night. Rather, find yourself a nice upscale supermarket with a decent floral department. Talk to the florist there, if you are not a complete jerk, they will be happy to help you pick out a nice mix that will not break the bank. In fact it is quite normal to say, “I’d like to spend about 10-15 bucks and she really likes burgundy. Any ideas?”

3) Never bring plastic
This is really a continuation on the previous rule. As tempting as it may be to just grab a pre-made bundle of flowers as you make your way to the check stand. Don’t do it. While I am sure your intentions are good, presenting a woman you care about with a bouquet still in plastic and bearing a price tag is tacky. It says that you are cheap and did this at the last minute. Take an extra 5 minutes and have the store re-wrap your flowers in a nice paper wrap. Most will do this for free and it makes for a MUCH better presentation. Remember, when giving flowers it is all about the presentation.

4) Flowers, not just for lovers
Going to a party and want a sure fire way to guarantee your name will be on the guest list next time? A bundle of flowers for the hostess and a nice bottle of Champagne for the host works every time. They don’t drink? Then perhaps a pound of really good coffee? The trick here is to never come empty handed.

The line goes, “say it with flowers”. I’m still trying to figure out just how to say “I’d like to tie you up, beat your pink bits and violate you”, till then I think I’ll just enjoy the look on her face when I hand her that bundle of fragrance and color.

Sunday, October 17, 2004

Why yes, yes I do have a merit badge in this. And now you can too.

By popular demand, the merit badges are here. These are fully embroidered 3 inch wide badges featuring our shabari girl logo and URL. At only 5 bucks, these won't last long. Order now and get free shipping while supplies last.

Saturday, October 16, 2004

Random Stuff
Can I just say that I love this job? Another satisfied customer.

This has to be the dumbest idea for a porn site yet. NOT WORK SAFE!

now to go write something interesting...

Friday, October 15, 2004

The 3 strikes rule.

"So, what do you do for a living?"
Eventually, everyone will ask that. Talk to someone long enough and the conversation will go down that path. Now for the most part I'm very open about what I do, however not everyone is too keen on the whole "sex industry" thing so I sometimes have to fudge a bit about such things. I suppose I could just out and out lie. Tell them that I am a "Drug Mule" or an "Image Consultant for the Moral Majority" perhaps? No, instead I prefer to play the "3 strikes and your out" game with them.

Take, for example, a recent conversation I had with an insurance sales person. Now she was a nice enough gal, a 50 something mom who drove an absurdly large SUV, lived in the suburbs and probably considers "adventurous sex" to be fucking in any room other than the bedroom, with the lights on.

"Blah, blah, blah... so what do you do for a living?"
Strike one, give them a generic answer and then try to divert the conversation elsewhere
"Me? Oh I have a small retail internet company, so tell me about this dental benefit again?"

"Oh that is nice. What do you sell?"
Strike two, now I am trying to be nice here but you were not satisfied with my answer so I'll give you a bit more and hope that settles it.
"Organic hemp products"

"Really? What kind of products? "
Strike three...
"I make and sell bondage rope to the sex industry."
Several seconds of dumbstruck silence
"You what?!"
Ok hon, I tried, I honestly tried but now you asked for it
"Bondage rope, you know so people can tie each other up and fuck? I supply most of the sex shops on the west coast and some of the best hardcore bondage websites in the industry. In fact I'm currently in negotiations with a major porn studio to supply rope for an upcoming series of videos."

That usually shuts them right up.

Of course Tambo has come up with a rather creative cover story.

You don't make "bondage rope". Rather, you make rope for historical re-enactors and wooden boat restorers. Yeah, that's the ticket... rope for renaissance fairs and whatnot. We can even setup a website, call it ""

Maybe, but there is that part of me that just loves the look of shock in their eyes when I tell them.

Thursday, October 14, 2004

125 times

125 times we have done this, dear reader. According to the blogger control panel, this will be my 125th posting. 125 times I have sat down at my well worn laptop and shared photos, recipes, strange tales and dirty secret or two with all of you.

So to mark this achievement, I would like to turn the tables and a bit and ask you, “So, was it good for you?” Any favorite moments? Things you liked or hated? Stories that you wish I would share?

Wednesday, October 13, 2004

I must say that I am feeling quite better...
Not yet 100% and certainly not strong enough to swing a sword again, no that will have to wait a few more days. However I am feeling mentally alert again, I fear that is the part I hate the worst. Yes the body aches and 30pounds of snot in your melon suck, but the bleary incoherent thought really annoys me. I must say a big thank you to Dancer for the guest post, who knew we had such a Batman fetish going? And all this time I thought you were hot for Aquaman?

While rest is quite possibly the best way to kick a flu bug’s ass, I have however found a few more items that really seem to do the trick.
Hot and spicy Thai soup, 4 or 5 stars. The hotter the better, clears the head right out.
A hot toddy made from lemon juice, honey, hot water, and a shot of Yukon Jack. An old home remedy from back on the farm. Dad swore by them. Clears the nose out, smoothes the throat and relaxes you to sleep.
Bad kung-fu movies. Don’t ask me why, but when I am sick, all I want to do is lie on the couch and watch badly dubbed Shaw Brothers films from the 70’s.

Maybe I put a wee bit too much Yukon Jack in my last hot toddy?

Give me a few more days of this and then I'll be back to writing about top secret dates, having to be switch gears and be "the supportive Poly husband", and how to go from nice guy to sadisctic bastard in .4 seconds.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004

A Post By Dancer...

As Monk is sick, he asked me to guest-post something for him, a request I was pleased to fulfill. So, without further ado:

Five Reasons Why Monk Is A Great (Secondary) Partner For Me.

He gets that while honesty and integrity are important, one's social life is a form of theatre, and it's crucial to perform beautifully. Monk and I are both total divas, and we bask in each other's glow.

When it comes to understanding and appreciating unusual cuisine, I rank somewhere alongside Bill Clinton. I get far too many meals handed to me through a drive-up window. Monk shoves me, protesting, down a road away from chain restaurants and Styrofoam take-out containers, and towards food that's a bit more unique.

He's absolutely fabulous at just going right along with any kind of wacky verbal role-play I throw at him while we're fucking. Am I suddenly Catwoman? Poof, he's instantly Batman. Am I a naughty schoolgirl? Okay, he's Father O'Flaherty. I swear, if we were in bed and I suddenly started pretending I was Mary Tyler Moore, Monk would answer in the voice of Lou Grant. (Or, knowing him, Ted Baxter.)

I think Monk sort of generically adores women, but when he's with me, all that lovely adoring energy gets focused on me, and it feels really, really nice. Monk is the only man of my acquaintance who I truly think would make an excellent gigolo. By that I mean, not only is he well-equipped (Trust me!) to have sex with female clients with their pleasure in mind, he could also cater to their desire to feel…well, adored.

He is often silly – and I love to be silly with my intimates. Too much heavy shit in the world! Let's speak in ridiculous pretend-French accents, make up dirty limericks in bed, and sing eighties pop lyrics at each other. Laughter is the aphrodisiac…

Monday, October 11, 2004


My apologies for the lack of updates, dear readers, but I fear that my body has finally fallen victim to the crud. After what feels like months of running on overdrive, my immune system can no longer ward off the invading illness. Now I’d much rather tell you stories about degrading a pretty girl in a cheap motel room or spending an amazing day with Dancer doing something “Top Secret” together, but rather all I can think about right now is the constriction in my throat and the overwhelming desire to just lay in bed in a stupor.

I must, however, say a few thank you to some folks,

Milan: I never thought that cheap hotel walls were so thin and that NASCAR racing on TV would be so effective at masking the sounds of someone getting caned?

Silk: Bless you for taking yet another weekend off and waving the flag at Pacific Friction. In my book you are THE “kung-fu fighting, race car driving, super model”

Galahad: Nobody can dance the dance of steel like you and I. Thanks for pushing this “old man” so hard.

Dancer: Yes, and I you. A thousand times over, so do I.

Tambo: I am so proud of you. Hearing the thrill in your voice as you told me about your weekend with the crush… what joy that brought me. Yes it can be a bit scary, but you are far too brave and beautiful to let that stop you.

And with that I must now dose up on Nyquil and try to mount a counter offence. Far too many kinky people are waiting for rope for me to take time off for this thing.

Friday, October 08, 2004

Top 10 Things I Want to Accomplish Before Year’s End no particular order
1) Relocate the shop to a new and larger space where we can also throw parties.
2) Model for a fetish shoot
3) Loose that last %^&king 10 pounds!
4) Submit artwork for 2005 SEAF
5) Perfect inverted rope suspension and perform it with Tambo
6) Finish work on my hentai inspired fucking machine
7) Begin stocking five more retail stores with rope
8) Get another tattoo
9) Perfect my curry recipe
10) Begin work on a samurai suit of armor

Thursday, October 07, 2004

Like traveling with out moving…

Previously I made mention about the idea of falling in love while poly and would like to explore it a bit more.

So, just how does “Love” work when dealing with a secondary partner? Sure we all grow to “love” a person or feel “love” for another human, but what of the act of being “in love" with a person who is not our primary partner?

Please allow me to clarify.

Most primary, non-poly relationships have a sort of path they travel down. A trajectory if you will. First you meet someone. After finding common interests and mutual attractions, you start to date and if all goes well, you choose to take things to the next level. Now I think we all can agree here that this moment is a turning point, a mile post, in a relationship. Once you fuck someone, you can never ever go back to being “just friends”. Sex changes everything. How many of us have regretted taking that step and lost a friend because we slept with them and then the nature of the relationship changed?

Things now “changed”, you have a relationship on your hands. No longer merely a friend you are now dating this person. If all goes well, you will continue to date this person, traveling together along this relationship trajectory. Eventually you will both find yourself at another mile post. That moment when you admit that these feelings you have for each other are more than just hormones and mutual attraction. That’s right; you are in love and confess that to each other. In a flash, your “relationship” becomes a “Relationship”. Now you have done it, another mile post has been passed and cannot be undone. Just like the first time you have sex, you cannot undo this. At this moment everything changes.

If we continue with the idea of a traditional trajectory, then the “Relationship” needs to go somewhere. You are now talking about the future, your future together. Meeting family members, moving in together, picking out drapes together and all that. There is a destination for all this, that white picket fence dream of finding your soul mate and living together as one till you are both old and gray.

That is, in a frictionless gravity free world, the way it is supposed to work.

However what do you do when this is not your primary partner? What if you already are on that trajectory with someone, having a grand time with no intention on leaving, and find yourself falling for another?

Now in the “ploy fantasy” world, you fall in love with your secondary, they get along great with your primary, and you all move in together and buy a house in an artist community on an island somewhere and live happily ever after. Meanwhile back in reality, your secondary has a career, a primary of their own and possibly other secondaries as well. So the traditional trajectory of a relationship is just not going to work. You can try, but it will lead to heartbreak and frustration, trust me on that one.

Been there, done that, and not going to do it again.

So the question I pose is this. Is it possible to be “in love” with someone and not have a final destination? To short circuit the flight path, if you will, and change the trajectory of a relationship such that you are content be in love with out expecting it to go somewhere?

Or, are we hard wired to this idea that a relationship must have a destination and once we pass the sign post marked “I LOVE YOU”? Committing ourselves to a certain path or we must pull off the road all together? Must we deny these feelings for fear that we will jinx it, content to forever be “madly in like” with this person?

I would like to think that we can, like the Guild Navigators from Dune, travel with out actually moving. To explore all the points in the universe and touch upon them all yet not actually go anywhere. Content to simply be in love and expect nothing more than to have that love respected and returned?

Wednesday, October 06, 2004


Ok, I’ll admit it; I’m an i-tunes whore. When Tambo first got her i-pod I furrowed my brow and said something derogatory about those “arty mac snobs…” Then I borrowed it for long road trip, and fell in love. Having now bought one myself, I just have to say that i-tunes is quite possibly one of the best (and most addictive) things on the web. Like 99 cent crack fixes. Hear a song on KEXP? Hunt it down and buy the fucker with a click. No fuss, no muss, and best NO waiting… dangerous.

Most recent i-tunes finds.

Public Enemy & Moby, “Make Love, Fuck War”
Regardless of whom you decide to vote for this November, you have to be amazed at the groundswell of artists and activists coming forward and creating politically fueled art. Besides, Chuck D is the man. If we were in prison, I’d so be his bitch.

Bowling For Soup, “1985”
Talk about the polar opposite, light hearted emo punk with a silly sense of humor. Best line of the song? “…she was gonna be an actress, she was gonna be a star. She was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake’s car.”

U2, “Vertigo”
New U2! Oh hell yeah! I have been a fan since “Joshua Tree”. How can you not like these guys? Bono can rock out AND address the UN?

Green Day, “American Idiot”
Yep, more angry anti establishment, political punk rock. Who knew that the guys who’s first single was about masturbation would grow up and have something intelligent to say about politics?

The Killers, “Somebody Told Me”
Ahh, my Achilles’ heel. Guitar fueled, power punk. Disposable rock music with a driven beat and a fat, killer hook. Just the kind of music you want thumping away on your i-pod when you are walking down town.

Nada Surf, “Blonde on Blonde”
Agian with the opposites. A gentle heartfelt ballad, so simple with its single guitar yet lyrically powerful and really addictive. Tambo and I sing this to each other during those quiet moments when we are alone.

Now if they would just carry some Indian bhagrah music so I can get my Bollywood musical fix, then all would be good.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

The Fallacy of Equality
Hi Monk,

I have been thinking a lot lately about the intricacies of being poly and handling relationships within that construct, and I was hoping you would allow me to understand how it works for you.

Obviously, your primary partner is your primary partner. My questions come in when you have two or more other partners.

Say you have a secondary partner, and then you become involved with another. Does that person become your tertiary partner? Or just another secondary? And how does this new relationship affect the existing relationships with your primary and secondary. I wouldn't think that your primary partner would be affected much, but would your relationship with your secondary lose some of it's energy? How does that work?


Wow, good question nula! First off, when you have multiple lovers one’s attention and energy does run the risk of being too divided and spread thin. The thing that took me the longest time to learn was that this is not an equality thing, rather there is a hierarchy. Tambo, my beloved primary, gets the lion’s share of my attention and energy. She was with me before I ever had a secondary relationship and will be there long after. So she gets first dibs on my time, attention and affection. She also gets say on whom else I date. Yes, Tambo wields executive veto power.

Next in line comes my secondary, Dancer. Let it be known that I absolutely adore this girl and think she is just the coolest person ever. Now for some poly folks, my self included at one time, the idea is that your secondary will eventually become so intertwined into your life that they will eventually be on equal status as your primary. I call this the poly fantasy. You and your X number partners, all feeling secure in their equality, decide to buy a farm house somewhere and live together as one big happy family. (Yes, even poly people can have those white picket fence dreams) I have yet to meet anyone in my 10 years of being poly who has pulled this off.

Now I should go on record here and just say that Dancer has been by far the best secondary partner I have ever had. She too has been through the whole poly fantasy and also understands that it does not work that way. Also she has a primary who, like Tambo, gets the majority of her attention. Personally I think this is an idea situation. When both partners already have a primary, the majority of their emotional needs and well being are already met. The time and energy you spend together really is all bonus time. I would describe it as “all the fun of falling in love with out the stress of wondering where the relationship is going.” (Now that is a good topic for another day) She also has veto power when it comes to who I play with next.

Now this brings us to the meat of the matter. What happens when there is a third lover? In the past I have tried to have 2 secondary lovers, tried to treat them as equals and did my best to divide my time and attention equally between the two of them… and failed miserably. Invariably one’s needs were not being met sufficiently or I found myself torn between them, spread too thin emotionally and unable to meet either of their needs effectively. So rather than fall into that trap again, I fall back to the hierarchy model.

Knowing that my primary gets the lion’s share of my attention and my secondary gets the rest. Any new individual that finds her (or his, let’s not be selective) way into my intimate life first understands that they are getting only a VERY small percentage of my attention.

Secondly I do not consider them to be my “tertiary partner”. The word “partner” to me implies a longer term commitment and emotional involvement. Rather, they are someone I enjoy getting naked with from time to time. If I were still active in the swing world, I’d call them a “club date”, someone you take to the club and play with only there. By keeping the sex in an encapsulated bubble like a swing club or public dungeon, you set up some well defined borders. This helps to keep the energy requirements at a manageable level.

Am I being a hard hearted bastard here? Only giving this new lover a tiny bit of attention and limiting what I am willing to do with them? Perhaps, but one must look at the hierarchy and ask, are the needs of those most important to me being met? Is Tambo, my primary and most important partner, happy and feeling secure in my love for her? Yes. Good then I can spend my extra attention on Dancer. Does she feel special and wonderful and beautiful? Great! Anything left over? Yeah, a little? Then let’s see about setting up a play date with a cutie sometime.

Monday, October 04, 2004

I *heart* this shirt

I picked this shirt up last weekend at Folsom and just love it. I have been looking forward to the opportunity to wear it and got my chance at the bondage class & party yesterday. I must say that it pretty well summed up my character for the day. Monk, the pretty boy slut.

Max’s class was fantastic, as always. The place was packed with students all eager to bind and be bound. Many thanks to those of you who came out and bought rope for the event, I just love to see folks tying each other up with rope made by me. My inner slut just wants to do the happy dance. Oh and to the reader who came by and introduced herself and proudly showed off her pretty bundle of crimson, thanks that made my day. If you ever want that bundle cut down and whipped into some more manageable sizes just let me know.

And speaking of my inner slut, well maybe my outer slut… I would be remiss if I did not tell you about all the cool people who were there. One of the truly wonderful aspects of being poly is that it is completely normal to, after having a chest and arm harness tied by Tambo, bound over to Dancer and shimmy up next to her while she cackles and tries to pinch my nipples. Then, arms still bound, look across the room at Milan, who is enjoying tying up a very attractive boy, catch her eye and give her a depraved look. Only to then wriggle out of the arm bind, and help my friend Dave bind his sweet wife, wriggle back into the arm harness and then bound back over to Tambo where she and her crush are exchanging laughs and looks. The whole time, Silk is looking at me shaking her head going “This is what we call a free range bottom”

Now I must tell you that this is really not as easy as it may seem. Being poly and in a social situation where several of your lovers are present does require some control and respect for all involved. It would be really easy to just bounce around like a hyperactive 12 year old from lover to lover, but that is really not a good plan. You end up not giving anyone enough attention and short changing everyone involved.

First rule, respect the lover’s date. If your lover is there with someone already (be that their primary or other secondary or the lucky person for the night), that person has first dibs on their attention. You can’t just wedge yourself in between them and start kissing the object of your affection. No, wait till they have a break or free moment and then you can spend some time with her. Or they will pause what they are doing and come find you. Flirt, steal a kiss or two but that is about it. They are not your date so don’t be expecting more than that. Trying to monopolize on their time or trying to attack them with kisses in front of their date is just not cool. Save that kind of attention for when they are YOUR date.

Conversely, you can only split your focus from your partner so far. They are, after all YOUR date so they get the lion’s share of your attention. You came with them, you will leave with them and if you’re lucky you will cum with them soon too.

Sunday, October 03, 2004

More Folsom Stuff
Kitten tells her side of the story.
Enjoy photos from the Club Shabari demo.

Now off to go tie someone up.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

Some days I feel like I’m living in a Mexican soap opera.

Tomorrow I’m attending Max’s rope bondage 101 class. I’ll be selling rope as well as hanging out at the party. Of course I should also point out that in addition to supplying hemp rope to most of the students and having a number of good friends as students, Dancer and her partner will be there. Along with Dancer’s OTHER lover and his date. Dancer’s partner, Sir, will also have HIS secondary there too. Oh and Milan, a cutie that I have been playing with recently, will be there with her date… and if all goes well a certain someone Tambo has a crush on will be there too.

I swear, if this keeps up I’m going to need to make a chart so I can keep it all straight. Of course the cool bit is that everyone mentioned are all super cool so I strongly doubt there will be any “Jerry Springer” moments, rather moments of “Um, so who’s lover are you again?”

Dancer and I are planning on sitting back, smiling and watching the whole thing with bemused delight. Maybe we need name tags?

Friday, October 01, 2004

And so concludes The Folsom Journal, part 3

Folsom Diary, Day 5. Time: Monday 9:21 am, Location: Hotel Room Sofa.

So here I sit. The hotel suite now empted. Kitten and Galahad flew out this morning along with Silk & Kreig. The cases of rope, now empty, lay stacked in a corner. While Tambo sleeps in the next room I sit here, ipod thumping out Public Enemy, with my cell phone in my lap as I wait for Dancer’s call and try to set the events of the last 24 hours to paper.

I suppose I should just start at the beginning and go from there.

We woke on Sunday to the sounds of fire trucks. Lots and lots of fire trucks. This being the large and busy city it is, we were pretty used to hearing sirens wail past in the middle of the night. However this morning we listened to them for 30 straight minutes. Me thinks that this was the gods of kink making sure we got up in time. The last truck roared past our window JUST as the alarm started to go off.

After much cussing, coffee, pastries, and more coffee we made our descent from the room. Six friends ready to take on the world and sell rope to all the wonderful perverts at one of the largest kink events in the world. We must have looked a bit like a cross between rock stars and super heroes as we took to the lobby in our tight leather, PVC, boots, and perverse clerical garb.

Even in the preshow calm that morning, the show site was packed as vendors unloaded case after case of all manner of things that go slap, thud, or otherwise make one’s pink parts pucker. Finding our booth, right in the heart of the action (thank the gods again), smack dab in between the booze vendors and the porta potties. Our neighbors? Some nice ladies from Florida selling rattan canes and a gay porn company with the coolest name ever, “Man’s Hands Films”

The event won’t open for at least an hour and already the streets are filling up. As Kitten and I pose for a photographer working on a coffee table book about the event, dozens of tourists with cameras snap away at us in unison. At first I found it a bit odd, complete strangers walking up and taking our picture. By days end I will have posed for hundreds, Kitten… literally thousands.

I suppose I should stop for a moment and tell you a bit about the event it self. The Folsom Street Fair is now in it’s 21st year. This one day event draws something like 400,000 people to 6 square blocks of downtown San Francisco. Shutting down the streets to cars, all manner of orientation, kink and fetish are welcome here. Cops stand on the street corner next to our booth as naked men and women saunter by. All manner of fetish are represented here, you name it. Just down from our booth, a 10 by 10 cage full of naked men jacking off in public. Further down the way, Carol Queen is demoing her new human powered fucking machine. Only 10 bucks and you can pedal the dildo bike. A bit farther, a booth with a sign that reads “Line for blowjobs starts here” and a queue of men 50 deep. We are now standing smack dab in the middle of Sodom and Gomorra… and loving every minute of it.
It would be simply impossible for me to try and tell you everything that happened there. If I did this diary would resemble a tome and not the light blog reading you enjoy over your mid morning coffee. Rather, let me share some choice moments that I remember from each of my wondrous helpers.

Silk has this power. You can’t help but just love her. She just radiates this aura of warmth and friendliness. Also she has the uncanny ability to strike up a conversation with anyone, which makes her a powerful ally to have. Now this also makes her irresistible to gay men.. They just LOVE her. Every time I turned around some boy was giving her a hug or gingerly plucking out a business card from between he ample breasts. She would just lean back and grin as folks placed their noses between her breasts and plucked cards out with their teeth. Also, if I am not mistaken, I think the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were SO taken by her that they even tried to kidnap her at one point.

What can I say, he IS the gayest straight man I have ever met. He swished for the boys, let me and tie him up in all sorts of strange poses as the big leather daddies looked on in abject lust. Now a lesser man would have guffawed and puffed out his chest to prove his machismo in that sort of situation. No, not our boy. He knew his role today and like the consummate actor he is, he played it to the hilt. He owned it. The boys came in droves to buy rope in the vain hopes of attracting his attention.

Now this is the guy you want in your corner when the shit hits the fan. Un flinching and unflappable. We practically had to kick him out of the booth so he and Silk could go see the rest of the fair. The first one up and ready to go in the morning and the last one out of the booth… carrying the heaviest bag. That man was a rope selling machine.

Where do I start? Every booth needs some eye candy and she was it in droves. Scantily dressed, company logos covering her nipples, she made QUITE a sight. All day long they came and ogled, admired, photographed and propositioned her… and she took it all in stride. Like water off a duck’s back, as they say, she smiled for the camera and played the sex kitten and never EVER let the scummy advances bother her. After one such event when some clod had the gal to offer to buy some rope in exchange for getting to film me spanking her I told her, “Honey when you feel sufficiently exploited let me know and you will be in a cab back to the hotel in 5, no questions and no apologies”
Laughing, this was her response.
“No, you see I’m exploiting YOU. You are my gateway drug into the scene”

Oh my… I would have to say watching the ever delightful Bridgette Harrington tie her up and publicly torment her while the swarm of on lookers stared in amazement would have to be it. Tambo, bound, blindfolded and sporting an absurdly large strap-on giggled with glee as Bridgette tugged her ropes and deep throated the plastic fantastic dildo. Afterwards, as she sat in the back of the booth with a glazed smile on her face, unable to do even simple mathematics she told me this. “You know how you always say that you have a crush on Bridgette? Well that makes two of us.”

Speaking of the darling Bridgette…

She graced our booth several times that day. Hanging out, answering questions, and tying folks up. My highlight would have to be when Bridgette and I took turns tying Kitten and Galahad up, then each other. After months of mutual crushes and flirtation, the opportunity to press rope against each other’s flesh made for some very hot booth action. A mad torrent of binding, flesh pressing, hair pulling and biting…. Later Tambo would comment, “Now I know what it is like when Klingons mate. I did not know if you two were going to kill each other or kiss!”

And just because this is MY journal, I must add one last tale from the event. Towards the end of the show, our stock decimated, a most sweet and pretty girl wanted to desperately buy one of the ropes from my private stash. A unique piece of purple rope from the very first batch of rope ever made by me. Ends worn and frayed, this rope has seen countless uses, hundreds of demos, suspensions, waxings, washings, and all manner of lovers it’s fibers are now baby soft. Long since retired from my regular play kit, I use the rope to show folks how well the rope ages and what they can look forward to. Now I could not *just* sell this rope. This was from batch #1, but no matter how hard I tried to say no, her big brown eyes just begged more. Placing the bundle in her small hands I told her the rope’s history. For the small fee of a kiss on the cheek and her word that she would love and enjoy this rope I sent her on her merry way.

*In that moment it was very good to be me*

Later that night as we all sat around the grand restaurant table, Tambo, Bridgette, Kitten, Galahad, Krieg & Silk all looking very tired and very happy joined me in a toast.
“Next year,” I said as I raised my glass of whiskey, ”we will do a lot of things differently. More stock, more colors, and definitely more sun block. But one thing that will not change is who surrounds me at dinner when we do this again next year”

And with that dear reader does this journal come to an end. Our remaining stock now tucked away and fetish wear packed, the remains of the day are now devoted to my dearest Tambo and to the sublime pleasures of wearing comfortable cotton clothes again.

SF 9/27/04