One of the reasons that I put off divorce is that I felt like Sweetie was my armor—I thought walking around the scene without her would make me too vulnerable, that I’d be too needy to make any more connections, but it had the complete opposite effect—I ended up feeling like a nearly-naked superhero, invincible even without her ropes to hold me together.
I had three goals for the night:
1. Talk to people and get to know them better.
2. Practice confidence.
3. Get some catharsis if it feels healthy.
I still felt a bit skittish about the car, so I took the bus over. I put on a respectable dress because I almost always run into my students around the neighborhood. In my suitcase I carried my purple velvet-and-fleece blanket (in case I needed to give myself aftercare) a little black and white nightgown, and the shoes I bought for my first scene with The Man. Among my many small accomplishments was the fact that the shoes were redeemed.
Back in June when I decided to reenter the scene, I’d asked Old-Timey Guy and Punk Rock Girl to be my protectors, so I had the extra security of knowing they’d be looking out for me. That’s a nice feeling. I always wanted protectors and they are good ones.
I’d gotten myself added to the end of HempRopes’s dance card. I figured that was a longshot and probably just an opportunity to practice the useful skill of waiting confidently, but if it did happen I thought suspension would be a good way to give myself a rest. I stopped playing with HempRopes last year because it felt too casual, but it didn’t feel like that would be a problem now.
When I walked in, the party was in full swing (or full spank, I guess.) I immediately wanted about eleven things to happen to me. Before I even put my stuff down, I got a bunch of hugs and knew that I was completely at home. I changed into my nightgown and heels, and Isweartogod this happened:
A very pretty young lady that I was kind of acquainted with stopped mid-chat and said:
“Just so you know, this? Right here?” (Gesturing to her corseted self) “You have full access. You can do whatever you want.”
I hadn’t even gotten a drink yet. I promised to come find her. At the bar, I ran into Old-Timey Guy, who pulled up the back of my nightie and spanked me while I ordered my glass of wine. (Actually not so much a glass as a plastic cup, but still.) I asked him if he had any advice for my newly single self.
“Just let it all go.” he said. Okay Sir, if by letting it go you mean writing seven million paragraphs and also maybe some lists, then sure. But I didn’t say that, because in the moment I actually felt like I might be someone who could let things go.
“Tonight you have to do three naughty things,” he said, “And this doesn’t count.” He proceeded to tickle me until I asked again why he’s the only one who’s allowed to do that.
Unfortunately for the purposes of writing about Naughty Thing #1, I didn’t remember to ask the girl if I could write about her and I couldn’t find her online to ask, so I won’t go into detail. It felt hot and pretty and fun and definitely cathartic (And sweaty, jeez! Tops work hard!) and I loved that I was making her happy, but in the end (ha) it just wasn’t my cup of tea. But! Definitely something to be proud of trying.
She went back to her boyfriend and I stood back and watched, seeking inspiration for Naughty Thing #2.
Next: Some reunions, plastic wrap, and a vibrator fit for Judy Jetson.