After OLF -- Lots of Thoughts

We went to OLF. That was a week ago.

There was so much bubbling around inside of me about the weekend when it was all over with. My reactions and feelings and thoughts and responses were so varied and so interwoven that it was hard for me to know what I actually wanted to say about any of it; hard to know where to begin; hard to sift and sort.

Then, bright and early Monday morning, I was in school for my graduate program -- a week of classes from 9AM to 3PM each day, with home work every night. This week, the topic was "geometry." Talk about mental whiplash.

Talking about OLF (or Thunder for that matter) seemed easier in other years "when things seemed simpler: when everything was new and "gee whiz;" when every workshop had something to offer that I hadn't known about before, or hadn't tried, or hadn't seen done before; when going to BDSM events meant getting naked in the dungeon and getting the snot beat out of me.

There was a time, writing about it all, when I just thought what I thought and said what I said, and didn't contemplate that any of it had any reach or any significance or any "political" or "social" impact. Nowadays, I've learned (to my chagrin) that I sit here at my keyboard and think my thoughts and people imagine that I'm taking pot shots at them -- and all hell breaks loose all over cyberspace. Mercy! It gives me pause, and slows my thinking some; complicates my processing.

But, the truth is that I've got lots of things that I want and need to say about the experience of being at OLF last weekend. I want to be able to process the experiences for myself, and I don't want to filter that through some sort of set of edits that will keep everybody "out there" happy or calm. I am finding that the weekend was deeply evocative for me on a number of very deeply personal levels that touch on my history and my orientation and my thinking. As I've contemplated that, I just know that what I think and feel about a lot of those things are rooted in who I am, and clearly don't reflect the thinking or experience of most other people. Nonetheless, I NEED to be able to express what it all looks like and feels like to me. I want my responses, and I am fully aware that there are some who may find them difficult, challenging, judgemental, or even offensive to read. I regret that. If I could find a way to talk about what is in my head and my heart without taking that risk, I'd do it.

That's the only disclaimer I'm going to make, and I will make no apologies. What is here is not aimed AT anyone. If you read further, you have the responsibility for your reactions.

First, I want to extend my sincere gratitude to those who have invested their time and energy and hearts and minds and beings into making Ohio Leather Fest happen for so many years. There is no question that it has been an event that has touched my life, and changed it forever. The simple fact is that, without OLF, our family quite possibly would have never come together; would not have met face-to-face, and none of the ensuing magic would have occured. Year after year after year the volunteers who have labored to bring Ohio Leather Fest into being have made magic things happen for me and for us -- they've connected us with wonderful vendors, put together great play spaces, brought in some interesting (and occasionally terrific) presenters, and made it possible for us to live openly in the community for precious glorious brief days. This last year, once again, they reached out to the rest of the community and provided an environment where we could all gather together and celebrate the unique gift of who we are with one another.

Another pretty simple thing to report is that there are some new toys in the arsenal. This is a tradition when we attend these kinds of events. Actually, the unusual occurence this year is that Master only purchased two items (to be honest, there just weren't that many vendors at the event). One is a three-pronged, rubber coated rattan cane from Spank N Cane, and the other is a rather unique quirt with a handle made of the same sort of material from which many dog chew toys are made. I will attest that both are wicked. He contemplated the purchase of a thing that is something of a cross between a cat and a whip, but that has been defered for now. The purveyor lives here in Cincy, so I'm imagining that it will not be far down the road that it will come to live with us...

There was a hospitality suite on Saturday evening, hosted by NLA Columbus . In a world that tends to look at us and consider us too old, too square, and just too whatever, this group never blinked. They invited us in, got us refreshments, made us welcome and comfortable, and simply visited with us like we belonged. It was the most amazing experience.

We found (and this is not an entirely new experience for us) that most of the workshops were less than stellar. There were exceptions:

• Arcane did a darn good, hands on training on "florentine flogging," where his patience with my particular clumsiness was remarkable and notable. In the end, I probably got enough of a sense of how doing it feels that, with some practice, I could likely do it. The only real question is probably one of "why?" There was a funny moment when Master gave me to him to use in showing someone, who had come late, how to move through the steps. He seemed more than a little stunned when his direction to "drop the floggers" resulted in them both immediately hitting the floor. He, of course, didn't mean that quite so literally, but I am unaccustomed to "interpreting" such statements. "Drop" means drop. It gave the whole room a chuckle.
• We also found Michelle Belanger to be a very talented, dynamic and informative, not to mention, intriguing, presenter.

On the other hand, we attended a workshop on polyamory that left us shaking our heads. To be fair, poly is a difficult topic, especially if a presenter is faced with trying to cover it in a very short time frame -- say an hour or an hour and a half. A very large challenge, in my view, is that the word "polyamory" encompasses so much territory. There are almost limitless relational variations that can be defined as "polyamory." In any given roomful of people, it is likely that you will find people of all sexual orientations, all levels of committment to each other, all sorts of living arrangements, all levels of experience, all different ages, and all sorts of expectations -- all calling themselves "polyamorous." So, trying to talk about "poly" in any sort of generic sense is a gargantuan and daunting task. On the other hand, we find that our family is quite often "glossed" over in most poly discussions. In most gatherings, we are the odd ones: the only ones that are a heterosexual, committed family grouping that actually LIVES together. Add to that the fact that we are of a certain AGE, and we tend to make most folks a little nervy. Sometimes we warrant a mention, but then folks tend to go on, and sort of hope that no one pushes it too much. A lot of our conversation in the aftermath has been about our sense that perhaps there would be something of value that we might be able to offer to the community about the business of actually living in a poly family -- if you were interested in doing it from the standpoint of living as family rather than "getting as much as you possibly can in as many different places as you can."

The other thing that was sooooooo interesting about the weekend for us was the dungeon experience. We played two nights in the dungeon -- Friday and Saturday.

On Friday, there were only about five or six stations being used when we set up to play. Honestly, I can't give much of a sense of the dungeon that night. We played together, and from my perspective, we might have been the only ones there. He restrained me to a spanking bench using our hand-made macrame restraints. The station was in the center of the room, and I had momentary, now and then, flashes of the people standing around the room, but for the most part, my focus was on Him and the sensations He was creating. I don't actually know what all He used that night, although I am quite sure that the new toys were certainly part of the percussion that He went through on my backside -- there is no way He would have missed the opportunity to try them out at the first opportunity. When He finished, I was ecstatic, and flushed with joy at the connection that seemed to surround us.

Saturday was tougher. I was stricken in the early afternoon with an intestinal beasty that had my insides in an uproar. I won't burden you with the gory details -- suffice it to say that this is not a circumstance that lends itself to feeling sturdy as one approaches a heavy session in the dungeon... Nonetheless, it was the last OLF ever. I was determined to not wimp out. So off to the dungeon we went. This time we ended up using a St. Andrew's cross in a far corner of the dungeon. T did her usual supportive bit, guarding the space and handing toys to Master. She tried really hard to take care of me -- handing Him the bunny fur paddle at every opportunity. She's so cute! I really struggled, unable to focus, unable to take energy from the room, unable to hear, just trying to hang on. I bled very quickly. I got terribly panicked. I got angry. I sobbed my despair. I just tried to hang on and remember that it was the "last ever OLF." At one point, He came to check on how I was doing, and while we talked, T packed the toys -- just that quickly. I don't know how long it lasted. It seemed to me that I was not as good this night as I was the night before -- that the session was not what I had hoped it would be. That was a judgement that was in my mind, not one that was imposed on me. Still, when some time had passed, the welts and bruises told a different story -- it is only now, tonight, that they have finally, mostly, faded.

When we were done, we took the toys back to the room, settled a bit, put a very tired T to bed, and headed back down to the dungeon to watch awhile. That is what got really interesting. Master and I must have sat around in the dungeon for another two or even three hours. Things are just different. There's an apparent ethic in dungeons these days that makes it uncool to hurt anyone -- unless you are talking about women tag-teaming men. Some of those scenes got pretty intense, but in most other cases, it seems that the style is to make sure that Tops keep bottoms comfy and happy. There is also an awful lot of very pretty bondage going on in the dungeon these days. One fellow spent the better part of an hour and a half with a lovely lady perched on top of a spanking bench while he constructed an elaborate rope harness on her. When he was done, he very pains-takingly untied her, helped her down from the bench, and they walked off -- hand in hand. OK. One sort of exotic looking lesbian wench spent a lot of time tickling her partner, who screamed the entire time. One couple chained the woman to a frame so that her wrists were in cuffs in front of her -- then he proceeded to use a very impressive (and expensive) collection of single tail whips, while she smiled placidly. You see, he never did more than tickle her. Right at the very end, when he actually did make contact and she whimpered and squirmed a bit, he quickly unchained her, took her off to the side, covered her up and sat and rocked her for about 45 minutes. Good Gravy, Grace! The longer we sat there the sadder I felt. Dungeons have always been places that were enlivening; places that felt full of energy; places where I found myself supported and upheld and strengthened. What I found, in this dungeon, was a narcissistic, party atmosphere that seems very far from the edgy realms of BDSM the way I learned to love it and embrace it.

That feels judgemental. I know it. Can't help it. The reaction is there. I know there is nothing wrong with what IS going on these days in the dungeons. It just feels tame and less elemental. And that feels sad.

swan