The Boy Who Sewed Me a Pillow, Part Seven

I sometimes wish the other people in the story had just as many paragraphs I could read about their inner lives, but they don’t. The Boy Who Sewed Me a Pillow is now the Man Who Sewed Me a Pillow, walking around another city being almost a complete mystery.

After the stupid Beatles letter, about twenty-five years went by. (What are we, Twin Peaks?)  Then, you know that feeling where you run into your (probably gay) first love at a family funeral and can’t stop flirting? No? Just me?

That’s how, about five years ago, I decided that the Boy-Now-Man Who Sewed Me a Pillow needed to be my friend. I got his number, took his picture to go with it, texted to apologize for being such a jerk in high school, was forgiven, then proceeded to do almost nothing about really making friends. I’d invite him to my yearly Christmas party, he couldn’t make it, we’d talk about making other plans, then not make other plans. Each year, Favorite Aunt would join facebook in reminding me to wish him a happy birthday. (If she was reminding HIM to wish ME a happy birthday, there’s no evidence.)

Then this year, a year in which I’d resolved to remember how to make new friends, a favorite artist got a retrospective in his city. I invited myself for a visit, set monthly reminders to actually remember to make plans, and then, to my great disbelief, there were plans.

I’d been thinking of this kind of the way I would any other awkward new friendship, but a few nights before our visit, texting him about museum logistics, I felt a surprising tide of warmth. It felt as though we’d always been making plans, ordinary and wonderful as making plans with Sweetie or Favorite Aunt or anyone else I readily and easily love. It startled me a little that I could feel that much closeness with someone I really didn’t know at all, even though I guess that’s what this blog is mostly about.

The warmth that spread through my body over this really very ordinary exchange reminded me of the feeling I sometimes got during trauma work—something was being gently prised loose, except this thing that had been stored in me wasn’t a hurt or a breakage but a treasure, a hope.

***

***Note: I watched The Unicorn Store right before writing the first draft of this part, but it probably would have been pretty glittery anyway.

Boy, The Unicorn Store really had my number.

There had been some doubt about whether we’d get to see the exhibit we’d planned for, the one I’d written into my 2019 goals, but there he was with tickets when I arrived, peering down into his phone looking EXACTLY the same except for a little grey and a cute beard and looking EXACTLY right for his way-cooler-than-I-am city. I called his name, we hugged, and we breezed into the museum, a little awkward but mostly in the care of bright colors, details, textures, and happy banter.

We had never hung out together so far from Favorite Aunt (though in a way it didn’t feel far from her at all…) so I thought it would be weird. Objectively, it IS weird to make plans with someone you knew for six months thirty years ago, or, more accurately kissed and loved but never really knew at all.

But really, as we moved from room to room catching up (in between times of me getting in trouble for taking too many pictures) nervousness and oddness gave over to a silly joy that had its own momentum. The sensation, which I’ve felt a couple of times before, was one of my heart unlatching, of becoming unseparated from him, from art, from myself, from love, from every beautiful thing that has ever been in the world.

(Is all)

It was both the old-friend sensation of no time having passed between visits and the mystical feeling of meeting a muse. It was both picking up where we’d left off (wherever THAT was) and noticing a labyrinth-string that I’d been following all along.

As much as I would have liked to be some imaginary cool, restrained person, I couldn’t really stop myself from becoming a high tide, an effervescently glitter-shining sea of exclaiming, gasping, giggling. It was both a Very Big Deal and the easiest, most natural thing in the world.

Maybe Not A Fetish Ball Kind of Girl, But There Were Highlights (Part Two)

I’ll do a list of highlights and a list of lowlights, fun stuff first:

1. Sweetie looked so cute all dressed up in a tie, suspenders, and a fedora—I definitely want to encourage her to be draggy more often.

2. I loved getting a chance to show off Sweetie’s rope art. It took a while to get me into the corset and harness, but I loved standing near the entranceway in my pretty tiara, sparkly black dress, leggings, and heels, with my arms up, her hands pulling and adjusting the rope this way and that, with my friend Switchpoet and lots of strangers watching nearby. She finished with a heart at the back of the harness, in pink and purple ropes as you’ve seen; I really am the Hello Kitty of rope bottoming.

3. Even though I was mostly a failure at it, it was fun to get to lead Switchpoet around on a leash. He was a really good sport about how ineffectual I was. When we first came up with the idea of me quasi-topping him, it kinda captured my imagination, but I just couldn’t make it convincing. Still, it was fun covering him in glitter and commanding him to go get drinks for me and Sweetie. It’s funny how I can be the bossiest person in everyday life, but I just drop the ball if I try to take a dominant role for fun…

4. Remember the couple I had a good date with, back when I was trying for unicorn practice? Painter and Ro-gan? They came to the ball and we got to catch up. They said they even would’ve set me on fire, had such a thing not been disallowed. They watched me play with Sweetie, which made an awesome thing more awesome. Painter was all dressed up as a doll, with big sproingy hair (She makes spring wigs herself!) and silver eyelashes. They took Ro-gan’s pants at the door because he wasn’t dressed kinky enough, so he had to walk around in just his Star Wars underwear, T-shirt, and Doctor Who scarf. I got to hear a little bit about their adventures at kink camp, but it was really too loud to talk.

4. Speaking of Dr. Who, while I didn’t get to realize my dream of getting tied up in a TARDIS, Sweetie and I did get to make out in one—what a nice place for aftercare! I didn’t mind the little dude in steampunk glasses who kept peering in the windows at us.

5. The kneeling bench we chose had shackles at the bottom of its front legs, so I couldn’t lift my head all the way up while Sweetie was spanking me. If I wanted to tell her something, I had to kind of just wait for her head to come down to me. (Did I mention it was really, really loud in there—couldn’t even hear myself getting spanked!) It made her feel unintentionally rougher than she really is, and that was exciting.

Plus, there was a beautiful suspension going on right next to me, the woman just looked so blissed out and happy as she got ropes tied to her middle, her ankles, her wrists-she looked so well cared for. She had these gorgeous long Amazon legs and pretty pinup heels. I always said I didn’t want to do suspension, but surprise, I do!

As an added bonus, tada!--Painter wants to learn suspension and says I can be her practice bunny. (Yes, I’m having a conversation with myself about calling myself a bunny. I think I’m okay with it…)

6. Added to my list of things to try: fire flogging. The guy doing it got shut down before I could try it, but not before it gave me an I-want-to-go-to-there.

But now for the bad stuff:

1. I hate the aspects of kink life that feel like high school. The girls at the door were mean to me. I was coming from another event so I just walked in in a regular pretty dress, and you should have seen the judgmental stares. They didn’t believe me that Switchpoet was right behind me getting my suitcase of goodies searched. I felt vindicated after I was dressed and roped up and the ticket-taker guy said “Okay, you win.” My rope-enhanced cleavage has that effect on people.

2. Maybe it was because the music made communication impossible, but there was something empty about the (crowded) ballroom. From the fashion show (With the cheesy announcer saying “If you think they’re hot, let them know...”) To the silvery alien girls in the same tutus and silver bustiers, to the fact that I couldn’t hear myself or my fellow players, I just felt disconnected from myself, from Sweetie, from the room. The spiritual aspect of things was missing. It really helps me to appreciate the intimacy and authenticity I’ve felt before at smaller parties.

But heck, I got to dress up, get spanked, and make out in a TARDIS, so I’d call it a win, even if it wasn’t the most edifying one.