“Unpack my bags, unpack my bags, kissed her on the mouth and she said; smile little lamb”. – The VLA
Another Weekend Reunion is in the history books and I learned this old bitch can still learn new tricks.
I’ve been to three of the four Weekend Reunion’s. Their Genesis and blossoming seemed to coincide. I missed last year’s event. I registered, because I didn’t want the chance that I may be able to swing the trip only to find out the event was sold out. I never once doubted they would sell out. The producers invented something unique and when you build it they cum.
When last year’s Weekend Reunion happened I was living in a homeless shelter. I’d started working by then but I could not justify spending the money I was making on WR when I lived in a location that had a curfew and shared meals.
When registration opened for this year, I planned to attend but that registration was so far from the actual event I wondered if I would go. Many things had to fall into place for me to make that trip and thankfully they all did. Not unlike the first Weekend Reunion, the universe smiled on me and said go get your life girl.
I have a list of personal triggers and behaviors that let me know things could go sideways. One of those is procrastination, delaying the necessary out of anxiety. I knew when I woke up Thursday morning and hadn’t packed this whole weekend could go sideways. In other years I was packed a week in advance, my suitcases a happy reminder that I was about to party like a rock star. At 10am Thursday I hadn’t even taken my suitcase out the closet.
With a lot of down time in Newark, NJ I again faced that procrastination. I sat in a hotel lobby across from the bus station and seriously considered going back to Philly. I’ve been absent from my kink community essentially since the “incident” and I feared the community I would enter was too unfamiliar with the one I’d left. Those fears were unwarranted.
From the moment my Lyft pulled into the driveway and I saw the covered windows of the hotel, I knew this was my kinky home and that I belonged there.
Still my anxiety was on fleek.
Every smile and hug I gave on the other side of those covered doors was soothing to my anxious beast. It was real love and real respect and although there yes was a shitload of new faces, the OGs were also there and would not let me drown.
One of the rules of Weekend Reunion is no photography. Only the official photographer can take photos. You must leave your laptop, tablet, cell phone anything that can record video or take photos in your hotel room. The drawback of that is you can’t text your people and say WYA? It forces you to move and mix and mingle to find who you seek or sit in the room and wait from them to come back. I chose moving.
When my adopted mother [although I am still not sure she knows I adopted her] came up to me in tears my first instinct was to fight who did that to her. Momma Max is a force of nature and if she’s in tears I’m fucking everyone up who did it…..everyone. Turns out that person was me. I ain’t new to this kink game. I’ve been around for a long time now and Momma Max has watched my evolution and been my silent mentor and cheerleader. As the “incident” proves you can let kinky people into your life, and Momma Max is in my life. She sees other aspects of me that Vizionz doesn’t get because it’s the day to day mundane not the read all about it. Her tears were based on something said long ago and I wrapped my arms around her and held her, like she’s held me and said it was gonna be alright.
I knew it was gonna be alright and my anxiety floated away.
What I appreciated the most about the weekend were the little moments. Sitting at the table with the OBS and realizing these are my people. MY PEOPLE. I’d earned my place as a veteran in this bitch and my peers respected me. The love and laughs with the OBS laughter to the point of good tears I can’t replace. It was validation of something Momma Lash told me two years ago that never registered until this weekend.
At Momma Max’s house for a cook out she asked me about Andrea. The bloody details of her betrayal were not widely known then. When I explained that we weren’t together any longer Momma Lash said we only liked her because of you. Then I didn’t get it, today I do. These men and women, my heroes and legends, accept me. I don’t have to be anything but me and they love my flawed ass something fierce. I love them back.
Meals times where I on purpose sought out people I didn’t know to bust it up with. Yes I was at the table with some of my oldest kink friends but I chose to meet some of these new faces who I didn’t know. I’d come around from being the new person to welcoming the new people. I recall how nerve wracking it can be to walk into a room where everyone knows one another and not know how to infiltrate the cliq. I had the opportunity to make someone else feel at ease and I took it, that is a LOT for me. Considering my scars I am proud I was able to do it.
Dancing with strangers. Making a Target run and loosing Tempest. Tygga and I playing mommy and daddy and looking for Tempest. That. Slow. Assed. Motherfucking. Elevator.
Meeting my newest crush and behaving like she was my crush. Look, you don’t understand, I wrote her a thank you note.
But now onto the KINK.
As comfortable as I’ve gotten in my own skin, I still have those times, moments, when I am gripped by the fears I am undesirable. Events like this really don’t help at times. I’m surrounded by 50 shades of melanin in shapes and sizes that I always assume are more attractive than my own. I think I am in competition with 22 year old bodies sans stretch marks whose vagina is visible because their non existent stomach fat isn’t flapping over it as a built in concealer.
I spent Thursday and some of Friday watching others mingle and hook up and run off to furniture and corners to do things to one another. As the hours progressed I allowed my self doubts to become louder: GIRL YOU AINT NEVA GONNA GET CHOSE.
A sexy man quieted those voices. He said some words, words I’ve heard before from other lips, but they were reminders that those who want me aren’t lying to me. “I’m addicted to your soft skin.”
A part of my soft skin are all those stretch marks, all that fat and cellulite, and even my feet which I am beyond self conscious about. This wasn’t a man trying to put a ring on it, he was certainly more concerned with inserting something inside me. In that moment though it was validation. He wanted to plow through all that grey pubic hair. He wanted to try to pull my almost long enough grey on top of the head hair. He wanted to experience pleasure and experience pleasuring me. So we did.
Despite that ego stroke – pun intended – I was dressed again and wandering the halls and courtyard with that persistent bitch doubt as a shadow. You were just low hanging fruit. Fucking is easy, no one wants to hurt you. Why would they bother with you when there are all these pain sluts running around who can do more and take more?
Look guys, I am still a work in progress okay?
It was a kilt inspection that flipped that switch and stuffed a ball gag in that bitch’s mouth.
A part of it is the kilt itself. Putting one on automatically alters your energy. That energy is attractive. It wasn’t my body, my age, my weight which was denying me that which I craved, it was my energy.
My strut was sure, my head was high. I was thatchick.
I said a couple of words in passing during inspection number one. My company immediately understood what I wanted.
That is one advantage of being an old head. You get to revisit things with people who have a familiarity with your tastes. One thing I can say about me, “playing with me” [S&M] is memorable. You will have hundreds of other moments with other bottoms but once we’ve connected, a part of you will always remember things about OUR scenes. I may not burn a permanent hole in your memory but playing with me is kind of like riding a bike….you don’t forget this ride. My company did not.
Handcuffs and vampire gloves created instant wetness.
I was ready to burst before he got the steel around my second wrist.
S&M for me is not just about the pain. Yes I want the pain. I want the sensations, I want to FEEL. S&M is also for me the energy. You can have the things I like in your toy bag but if our energy is off it doesn’t matter. I adore vampire gloves. I crave the metal against my skin. I love to touch my scratches after…no matter how ‘gentle’ there are always scratches. I love your proximity. I love your hands on me but still with that one barrier we are both trying to bust through. I love to smell you. I love to feel your breath as you lean in to touch a different part of me.
I few years back at a party in New York a top pulled out his vampire gloves. With eager flesh I watched him slip on those gloves and palpitated waiting for him to touch me. When he did it was horrible. I stopped him almost instantly.
With my company on Friday, the exact opposite.
Yes there is chemistry and sexual attraction but mostly there is energy. Those gloves were our non verbal communication. My ejaculation running down my legs in the hallway was our validation. I wanted more. Specifically from him, but we’d not talked about it before and one of my rules is not adding extra after we start. I regret that rule in moments like Friday. In those moments I wanted to drop to my knees and swallow him. I wanted to kiss and lick and massage his penis with my tonsils. I wanted my nose in his pubic hair and I wanted to drain his balls so empty they’d take a week to refill.
Instead though I lived by Nicole’s rule and let that opportunity pass me by. Fuck being an adult man.
I had a flogging date with my Uncle. Incredibly enough, it was not good.
There was something off about our time on the cross. I don’t feel like it was something he desired, rather it felt obligatory. We will have the opportunity to talk about it but I wanna figure this out because it will impact our future interactions. I love being flogged. It’s a massage with love to me. My blood flows, my muscles relax and that ….energy. With Unc though, I never felt like my flesh bare for him was the goal. That energy was tangible. When the energy is good my partner and I will draw a crowd. Its inevitable. Other than the entourage that follows people like my Unc, no one stopped to acknowledge. For an exhibitionist like myself that is a turn off. That may be the best way to describe that flogging, a turn off. There was nothing about it I want to create again.
There was a demo in the daylight hours about electricity. Of course I was there in the FRONT row. Electricity and my crush? There was no lose in that for me. I’ve been fascinated with the concept of insertable electricity but with a violet wand not so much. Sticking glass in my pussy is a hard limit. The demo showed me a different way to get off and get zapped from the inside.
My crush took the time after her demo to show me the tools and get some hands on experiences. That night with my friend the electrician I got to pop a cherry – internal electro play.
The experience was overwhelming. I was speechless. Yes, I was without words.
As the electric coursed through my vagina tears escaped from my eyes. Yes, my tear ducts malfunctioned. They were tears of release and happiness. My friend seeing that I was experiencing something stood close and followed my non verbal cues. Energy literally and figuratively.
He also finger fucked me. He doesn’t think he can fit his whole fist inside me. I told him he can, if he tries. Now that may be a mistake, I essentially challenged a sadist, but you know… I like transparency n’shit.
There’s more to be told, but this is a REALLY long post. I’m gonna retire for now, but there are Twerk contest stories and such that are best served with their own space.
For now I will just sign off,
For those of you who met me at Weekend Reunion call me Nicole.
For you constant reader my standard,