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.