Time to reflect just a bit.
Ponyboy Rusty was foaled on September 15, 2007 in a small back yard in New Hampshire. Here it is only eight months later, and I just arrived home from the pony camp at Camp Crucible. It's hard to talk about all that happened right now because so much of it is still working on me and shaping my memories. They will need some time to percolate and clarify themselves before I can write coherently about them. So much happened in so little time - all of it good. I won a race, I danced in hooves at the pony show and got ribbons for it, I pulled carts, I got petted by the "littles", I scened with two fantastic people (Mistress being one) with two very different but equally fantastic outcomes, I got written into Camp Crucible legend in my virgin year (that story will be interesting to tell and hilarious to read), I visited the vet for a checkup, and took part in a stampede!
I'll be telling all of these stories and sharing other thoughts and reflections on my camp experience. Look for them soon.
But isn't it amazing what can happen in only eight months? That's especially true when the opportunities for play sessions have been pretty sparse. Basically, it was two trips to New Hampshire, the Winter Flea, a demo and a one-day romp in New York up to this point. Wow.
More...much more later.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Pony Romp in Central Park
Sometimes you just have to try something and see how it turns out. That's what Ms. Reina Darkness of Niuka Stables decided to do on May 3, 2008. I was there and am I ever happy about that.
The invitation to the Pony Romp in Central Park went out many months ago and people just kept talking about it, keeping the idea alive over the cold, dark winter months. That kind of talk and planning can help deal with the inevitable cabin fever that creeps under the skin starting in February. A long stretch of time with no pony play was bearing down on yours truly, and the thought of taking a very public run through a very famous venue like Central Park - while a bit intimidating - was nonetheless inviting to the play-anxious. I made clear my intention to go as soon as I knew the date. Life would get planned around this!
Not an easy task, that. Life is a busy creature with far too little pony play since the Winter Flea. Mistress has been busy with her Master's Degree studies and I have been up to my eyeballs with work. In addition, the weather...don't get me started. But that was then and this is now. The first weekend in May was devoted to the Romp.
I left home in the wee hours of May 2. Mistress and I have a friend in common who lives in the metro New Jersey area and we made arrangements to stay at her home. My stable pal Stormy was working in New Jersey that weekend, and although he would be at the Romp, he was not stationed at home so staying with him is a treat we will have to reserve for another trip. It doesn't really matter how anxious I am to get going on an adventure like this, 5:00 a.m. is an early hour to be leaving the house. Still, I managed it and was on my way - all tingly thinking about what was in store. Travel to the Boston area was pretty uneventful and I arrived at Mistress's door around 9:30. There were things to do before leaving and we set about taking care of those small items.
Mistress is a very resourceful person and had spent a lot of time haunting Craig's List in search of a pony cart. Persistence paid off and she found one for a mere $25. She got what she paid for but wasn't surprised. Mistress is one of the most multi talented people I know and immediately set about fixing the cart up about a month ago. I arrived to find that it had been beautifully reconstructed with some help from Ponyboy Fuzzy and painted in the colors of Aphrodite's Meadow - Hunter Green and Goldenrod Yellow. With brand new wheels and newly tooled axles it was ready to go and had been loaded into the van. Mistress is not only talented, she's extremely lucky. Imagine finding a machinist able to custom tool cartwheel axles on short notice. The usual and customary ritual of loading up the van with luggage, loaner tack, stalls, grooming supplies and the all important treats was finished in jig time and we headed out for New Jersey.
The travel was uneventful and we arrived at our friend's door at around 4:00. Eleven hours of travel had taken their toll on me and all I wanted to do for a while was hang out and yawn. The three of us took time to catch up on Life-Since-Last-We-Saw-Each-Other and a few other subjects. Eventually hunger reared its head and we started discussing meal options.
This particular neighborhood of Harrison and East Newark is justly famous among the road weary for its incredible variety of ethnic eateries. On one street, you can find Brazilian barbecue, on another, Spanish cuisine. Around this corner you will find the Portuguese Deli and the Chinese establishment is just over there. In the end, travel distance made the choice for us, and we settled on a Portuguese restaurant just up the street. After that fabulous meal, we waddled home to visit more.
I normally don't start to fade until close to midnight, but after a long day of car travel I was having a hard time keeping my head up and my eyes open by 9:00 p.m. I knew I would need plenty of rest for the next day, so I hit the hay and was fast asleep in no time.
Morning came quickly and I was up and ready. Maybe it was just the excitement, but I was raring to go. Mistress and our host got up shortly after I did and we headed over to the Tops Diner for breakfast. I have a passion for breakfasts at diners like this one and I seldom pass up the chance to partake. My two companions were very virtuous in their selections, one choosing a light egg and toast breakfast while the other went the fruit and yogurt route. I dove in hammer and tongs and ordered the full farm-style breakfast that included every type of meat you could imagine along with the eggs, homefries and toast. My rationale was shared by Mistress who pointed out that this was going to be a work day for me no matter how much fun it was, and I would need plenty of fuel. On this point, I had no problem cooperating. I'm a well-behaved pony.
Most of the time.
Right after breakfast it was time to get into the van and head over to the Big Apple for the romp.
Have you ever driven in New York City? You may live a fulfilled life if you never do, but it will certainly be a less adventurous one. Everyone I talk to about the driving in NYC says it's so easy because the streets are laid out logically. That may be true at one end of the island, but not everywhere. Fortunately for us, we were in the logical neighborhood. Not that that was a big help. I tend to be very disoriented when I come up out of a hole in the ground, and the Lincoln Tunnel qualifies as a hole. It took a few minutes to figure out exactly which direction was which and then the various construction projects and traffic snarls had their way with us. But we both remained calm and Mistress - raised a driver in Boston where everyone is insane behind the wheel of a car - sliced and diced her way through until we found where we needed to be.
This was a small patisserie on West 22nd Street that had a small party room in the back. A local Femdom organization holds their functions there and has a good relationship with the restaurant. Apparently leather and pony people walking through the bistro don't bother - or even faze - the customers. Ah, New York!
There were only three people there ahead of us - Mistress Nicolette, her husband Blue, and Buck. I was a little surprised but very delighted to see Buck and very pleased to meet Mistress Nicolette- a charming woman with the sort of smile that makes you wonder if you should back up just a step or two. Mistress Nicolette runs Bitches In Britches in Connecticut and will be holding her own pony event there in June. Unfortunately, yours truly won't be able to go to that one, but I can't wait to hear about it.
Soon enough, we were joined by Ms. Reina Darkness and her groom, Tom. Then Foxy Davis and Sherrifox also showed up. Talk about dedication to an art form. These two drove all the way to New York from Florida to attend this one-day event. In fact, we had ponies and trainers from places encompassing the entire East Coast and up into Toronto. When ponies play, they get attention!
Dress for the occasion had been billed as PG-13. Now if you read my posts on the Winter Flea, you know how easy it can be to trip my trigger on the issue of dress. Still, this was to be a very public event. It was the first time out with something like this, and nobody wanted to cause problems or be asked to leave the park. That would have reflected badly on the organizers and pony play as a whole. So we all took the time and trouble to make ourselves as family friendly as a group of rather twisted fetishists can get. "Disney Ponies" Ms. Reina called us.
It turned out that ponies - yours truly included - like playing dress-up now and then. Everyone got into the spirit of it and lined up for Ms. Reina's inspection. There had been some question about the leather jock that Stormy, Buck and I wear with our tack, but a look at the pictures on this page will show that they clearly passed muster. I debated over and over whether I should wear just the leotard I had bought and dyed for the occasion or if a thermal shirt over that would be a wiser choice. In the end, I wimped out and wore the thermal shirt. That proved to be a good choice as the temperature never got up to 60 degrees and there was a persistent breeze laden with moisture in the park. Shivering would be a part of the day, like it or not.
Once the inspection was finished, we divided up into groups to be ferried over to Central Park. Tom from Niuka Stables was assigned the task of getting the ponies and trainers of Aphrodite's Meadow to the appointed place. That meant four of us to include La Dresseuse Maureen, Stormy, myself and a friend who had shown up in a pleasantly unexpected manner.
Imagine that you are a New Yorker going about your business in a city that never stops. You tend to spend a lot of time just getting from place to place and you have a lot on your mind. The constant stimulation of the big city can leave you immune to surprises and you probably long since learned to take a lot in stride.
Today, however, you are walking down West 22nd Street deep in thought when suddenly a gaggle of people dressed in leather tack with tails on their butts, bridles and plumes on their heads and bits in their mouths comes busting out the front door of a tiny eatery right in front of you. They are whinnying and stomping about as they load carts and supplies into vehicles and head off down the street.
You may wonder what will happen next or you may decide not to ask, fearful that you might find out at some point. Whatever the case, people stopped dead in their tracks and looked relatively speechless when we emerged from the bistro. That's a feat of no mean distinction in New York City, but we made it happen!
It didn't stop at that,either, for once the truck was loaded and on it's way, those of us riding with Tom needed to get to his car. That meant a walk of several blocks, a whole lot of turned heads and lots of amused questions. Even the ladies outside the Evangelical Lutheran Church had to smile just a bit. Perhaps it was me winking at them that put them over the top. I don't know. Parents were pointing us out to their young children and saying, "Look at the pretty ponies!" much to my surprise and delight. Imagine making fetish play family friendly! Whenever anyone asked what we were up to, Mistress turned on her usual charm and answered with aplomb, "It's a pony parade in Central Park!" On hearing that, everyone would nod and say something along the lines of, "Cool!"
I love New York City.
The situation didn't change when we finally got to the park. We entered at 110th Street and gathered near the Pool. A small crowd of people gathered around with cameras and questions. Everyone seemed to get into the spirit and I heard nothing but friendly and positive reactions. One woman, seemingly anxious to try it out, took a ride in Firefox's cart along with her dog. She held a crop aloft and hollered, "I love New York," at the top of her lungs as she was whooshed off along the pathway. People smiled and laughed as they watched the spectacle.
Maybe there was something more at work than cherry blossoms here.
Once organized, the caravan of ponies and carts headed off along the walkways to the Bridle Path. The Bridle Path was used until recently for riding actual bio horses until the stables closed a few years ago. At times, our adventure was billed as a simple pony parade, at others, a celebration of the Kentucky Derby, which was being run that day (none of us knew about the tragedy of Eight Belles at the time or we may not have mentioned the Derby). At one point, an onlooker asked if we were protesting the closing of the stables. Yeah, that would work as well as any justification.
But the real point here was having plain old, no reason needed fun. And we had that in spades.
This was my first ever experience at cart pulling. If it was any indication, I'm going to like doing that a lot. Mistress's cart isn't quite finished, so I was pulling with my hands rather than having the shaves hooked to my tack as it would normally be. That made things just a bit more challenging and at several points in the ride, my stable pal Stormy and I pulled together. That may sound like it made things easier, but each of us could only use one hand. That was a challenge made a little more difficult by the fact that the Bridle Path is loose gravel and sand. Fortunately for both of us, Mistress is sensitive to the needs of her ponies and rotated us from side to side to avoid excessive strain.
All the same, I was having way too good a time to let a little thing like sore arms get in the way.
And all the time, people kept asking questions, taking pictures and talking about putting entries in their blogs about this. One woman lamented the fact that we had not listed ourselves in the New York Observer. She felt lucky to have happened on us. Another followed us for the entire route taking pictures. Still another watched as a ponyboy was being trained on a lunge line by his Mistress. She was dressed in the sort of outfit that, while tasteful and appropriate, left no doubt that she was a woman in control. Her ponyboy was dressed in regular street clothes (unless you counted the bridle and bit). After a while, the observer spoke to the trainer saying, "OK, I get that he's a pony. But you're a Dominatrix. What's up with that?"
One live wire in each hand but no connection. You gotta love it.
All too soon it was all too over, though. The time and the cold were creeping in and a fabulous barbecue was awaiting us back at our headquarters. Soon enough, we were back at the Park entrance awaiting rides back to 22nd Street. Even then, people came up to us to have their pictures taken. But eventually the bit had to come out of my mouth. Tom got that job and had to endure the look on my face. I don't like having to come out of pony space and taking the bit out of my mouth is one surefire way to make that happen. I stood there in silence, perhaps looking a little down. Tom reached over and petted me on the nose a few times, making the transition a lot easier to bear.
Finally, we got into the car and headed back to headquarters. The bistro was going full tilt when we got back and the barbecue had been laid out in the back room. What a feed that was. A Midwestern barbecue from Famous Dave's that was wonderfully tasty and not too spicy. We all ate and took a little time to relax before the real party began.
It was all PG-13 in the park, but the play party that evening was decidedly not. This was the time for the true BDSM types to show their colors. I kept my tights and leotard on for a while because they can be a pain to remove, but when it came time for some serious play with Mistress, they came off - along with the rest of my tack. All except the bridle and bit. Oh, and the plume. Don't forget the plume! And the dance belt.
Mistress eased me into my stall and began warming me up for a session. I love that liminal period between normal consciousness and sub space when I know something is going to happen but I'm not quite sure what. I knew she had left her flogger at home in favor of the single tail and a few smaller implements, but exactly what will happen is a secret she keeps to herself until I am floating.
A few well delivered swats with her gloved hands got me started and then she went straight to the single tail whip. Before she was done, I had some respectable stripes on my back and was feeling all warm. At that point, Mistress handed me over to the friend who had come along for the day and asked her to give me a grooming.
Now I love a good grooming session if you haven't already guessed. Mistress loves to get out the brushes and other tools and use them in deliciously evil ways. But this other woman had different ideas. Her touch was very soft and light. She alternated between a light brushing with a fly whisk and a gentle stroking with her bare hands. It didn't take me long to reach the moon with that treatment, but it was at just that moment when Mistress silently took up the stiff bristle brush and gave it to me a few times - right over those nice whip marks.
That sent me completely over the edge and into another dimension. The delights of not knowing what will happen next triumph again!
After the grooming session, my tack went back on and I spent some time on short reins. I think I behaved well. In fact, I think I behaved too well. While on reins, I saw the other ponies getting treats of chocolate covered espresso beans but I wasn't getting led over to get some! Maybe the person holding my reins didn't see what was happening, but I certainly did. Now had I been thinking like a pony, I would have dragged her over to where the treats were. But the human override kicked in and I played nice. Think of that as a missed opportunity not to be missed again.
The party finally broke up around midnight and the trip back to New Jersey was uneventful. Out host was still awake and alert. She had thought we would be at an all-night bacchanal. I told her that it was certainly a bacchanal, but that it didn't last all night. The three of us chatted for a while until I fell asleep on the sofa. Realizing that I wasn't going to be able to stay up any longer, I dragged myself to bed and crashed.
What can I say about the next day? It was the trip home - at least to Boston. I had decided to take the following day off from work and travel home over two days - a decision that turned out to be very wise. So there wasn't much eventful on Sunday unless you count the fact that I forgot about the righteous whipping I got the night before as I began toweling my back off after a shower. That led to what I think had to be a comical dance around the bathroom until the fire went out enough for me to emerge with some dignity. These things happen sometimes. I think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.
Beyond that and a great visit with some friends in the Boston area on Sunday night, nothing more of true interest happened. It couldn't have. There just wasn't room for it.
Camp Crucible comes up in about a week and a half. I have no doubt there will be some serious stories to relate when that is over. More at that time!
The invitation to the Pony Romp in Central Park went out many months ago and people just kept talking about it, keeping the idea alive over the cold, dark winter months. That kind of talk and planning can help deal with the inevitable cabin fever that creeps under the skin starting in February. A long stretch of time with no pony play was bearing down on yours truly, and the thought of taking a very public run through a very famous venue like Central Park - while a bit intimidating - was nonetheless inviting to the play-anxious. I made clear my intention to go as soon as I knew the date. Life would get planned around this!
Not an easy task, that. Life is a busy creature with far too little pony play since the Winter Flea. Mistress has been busy with her Master's Degree studies and I have been up to my eyeballs with work. In addition, the weather...don't get me started. But that was then and this is now. The first weekend in May was devoted to the Romp.
I left home in the wee hours of May 2. Mistress and I have a friend in common who lives in the metro New Jersey area and we made arrangements to stay at her home. My stable pal Stormy was working in New Jersey that weekend, and although he would be at the Romp, he was not stationed at home so staying with him is a treat we will have to reserve for another trip. It doesn't really matter how anxious I am to get going on an adventure like this, 5:00 a.m. is an early hour to be leaving the house. Still, I managed it and was on my way - all tingly thinking about what was in store. Travel to the Boston area was pretty uneventful and I arrived at Mistress's door around 9:30. There were things to do before leaving and we set about taking care of those small items.
Mistress is a very resourceful person and had spent a lot of time haunting Craig's List in search of a pony cart. Persistence paid off and she found one for a mere $25. She got what she paid for but wasn't surprised. Mistress is one of the most multi talented people I know and immediately set about fixing the cart up about a month ago. I arrived to find that it had been beautifully reconstructed with some help from Ponyboy Fuzzy and painted in the colors of Aphrodite's Meadow - Hunter Green and Goldenrod Yellow. With brand new wheels and newly tooled axles it was ready to go and had been loaded into the van. Mistress is not only talented, she's extremely lucky. Imagine finding a machinist able to custom tool cartwheel axles on short notice. The usual and customary ritual of loading up the van with luggage, loaner tack, stalls, grooming supplies and the all important treats was finished in jig time and we headed out for New Jersey.
The travel was uneventful and we arrived at our friend's door at around 4:00. Eleven hours of travel had taken their toll on me and all I wanted to do for a while was hang out and yawn. The three of us took time to catch up on Life-Since-Last-We-Saw-Each-Other and a few other subjects. Eventually hunger reared its head and we started discussing meal options.
This particular neighborhood of Harrison and East Newark is justly famous among the road weary for its incredible variety of ethnic eateries. On one street, you can find Brazilian barbecue, on another, Spanish cuisine. Around this corner you will find the Portuguese Deli and the Chinese establishment is just over there. In the end, travel distance made the choice for us, and we settled on a Portuguese restaurant just up the street. After that fabulous meal, we waddled home to visit more.
I normally don't start to fade until close to midnight, but after a long day of car travel I was having a hard time keeping my head up and my eyes open by 9:00 p.m. I knew I would need plenty of rest for the next day, so I hit the hay and was fast asleep in no time.
Morning came quickly and I was up and ready. Maybe it was just the excitement, but I was raring to go. Mistress and our host got up shortly after I did and we headed over to the Tops Diner for breakfast. I have a passion for breakfasts at diners like this one and I seldom pass up the chance to partake. My two companions were very virtuous in their selections, one choosing a light egg and toast breakfast while the other went the fruit and yogurt route. I dove in hammer and tongs and ordered the full farm-style breakfast that included every type of meat you could imagine along with the eggs, homefries and toast. My rationale was shared by Mistress who pointed out that this was going to be a work day for me no matter how much fun it was, and I would need plenty of fuel. On this point, I had no problem cooperating. I'm a well-behaved pony.
Most of the time.
Right after breakfast it was time to get into the van and head over to the Big Apple for the romp.
Have you ever driven in New York City? You may live a fulfilled life if you never do, but it will certainly be a less adventurous one. Everyone I talk to about the driving in NYC says it's so easy because the streets are laid out logically. That may be true at one end of the island, but not everywhere. Fortunately for us, we were in the logical neighborhood. Not that that was a big help. I tend to be very disoriented when I come up out of a hole in the ground, and the Lincoln Tunnel qualifies as a hole. It took a few minutes to figure out exactly which direction was which and then the various construction projects and traffic snarls had their way with us. But we both remained calm and Mistress - raised a driver in Boston where everyone is insane behind the wheel of a car - sliced and diced her way through until we found where we needed to be.
This was a small patisserie on West 22nd Street that had a small party room in the back. A local Femdom organization holds their functions there and has a good relationship with the restaurant. Apparently leather and pony people walking through the bistro don't bother - or even faze - the customers. Ah, New York!
There were only three people there ahead of us - Mistress Nicolette, her husband Blue, and Buck. I was a little surprised but very delighted to see Buck and very pleased to meet Mistress Nicolette- a charming woman with the sort of smile that makes you wonder if you should back up just a step or two. Mistress Nicolette runs Bitches In Britches in Connecticut and will be holding her own pony event there in June. Unfortunately, yours truly won't be able to go to that one, but I can't wait to hear about it.
Soon enough, we were joined by Ms. Reina Darkness and her groom, Tom. Then Foxy Davis and Sherrifox also showed up. Talk about dedication to an art form. These two drove all the way to New York from Florida to attend this one-day event. In fact, we had ponies and trainers from places encompassing the entire East Coast and up into Toronto. When ponies play, they get attention!
Dress for the occasion had been billed as PG-13. Now if you read my posts on the Winter Flea, you know how easy it can be to trip my trigger on the issue of dress. Still, this was to be a very public event. It was the first time out with something like this, and nobody wanted to cause problems or be asked to leave the park. That would have reflected badly on the organizers and pony play as a whole. So we all took the time and trouble to make ourselves as family friendly as a group of rather twisted fetishists can get. "Disney Ponies" Ms. Reina called us.
It turned out that ponies - yours truly included - like playing dress-up now and then. Everyone got into the spirit of it and lined up for Ms. Reina's inspection. There had been some question about the leather jock that Stormy, Buck and I wear with our tack, but a look at the pictures on this page will show that they clearly passed muster. I debated over and over whether I should wear just the leotard I had bought and dyed for the occasion or if a thermal shirt over that would be a wiser choice. In the end, I wimped out and wore the thermal shirt. That proved to be a good choice as the temperature never got up to 60 degrees and there was a persistent breeze laden with moisture in the park. Shivering would be a part of the day, like it or not.
Once the inspection was finished, we divided up into groups to be ferried over to Central Park. Tom from Niuka Stables was assigned the task of getting the ponies and trainers of Aphrodite's Meadow to the appointed place. That meant four of us to include La Dresseuse Maureen, Stormy, myself and a friend who had shown up in a pleasantly unexpected manner.
Imagine that you are a New Yorker going about your business in a city that never stops. You tend to spend a lot of time just getting from place to place and you have a lot on your mind. The constant stimulation of the big city can leave you immune to surprises and you probably long since learned to take a lot in stride.
Today, however, you are walking down West 22nd Street deep in thought when suddenly a gaggle of people dressed in leather tack with tails on their butts, bridles and plumes on their heads and bits in their mouths comes busting out the front door of a tiny eatery right in front of you. They are whinnying and stomping about as they load carts and supplies into vehicles and head off down the street.
You may wonder what will happen next or you may decide not to ask, fearful that you might find out at some point. Whatever the case, people stopped dead in their tracks and looked relatively speechless when we emerged from the bistro. That's a feat of no mean distinction in New York City, but we made it happen!
It didn't stop at that,either, for once the truck was loaded and on it's way, those of us riding with Tom needed to get to his car. That meant a walk of several blocks, a whole lot of turned heads and lots of amused questions. Even the ladies outside the Evangelical Lutheran Church had to smile just a bit. Perhaps it was me winking at them that put them over the top. I don't know. Parents were pointing us out to their young children and saying, "Look at the pretty ponies!" much to my surprise and delight. Imagine making fetish play family friendly! Whenever anyone asked what we were up to, Mistress turned on her usual charm and answered with aplomb, "It's a pony parade in Central Park!" On hearing that, everyone would nod and say something along the lines of, "Cool!"
I love New York City.
The situation didn't change when we finally got to the park. We entered at 110th Street and gathered near the Pool. A small crowd of people gathered around with cameras and questions. Everyone seemed to get into the spirit and I heard nothing but friendly and positive reactions. One woman, seemingly anxious to try it out, took a ride in Firefox's cart along with her dog. She held a crop aloft and hollered, "I love New York," at the top of her lungs as she was whooshed off along the pathway. People smiled and laughed as they watched the spectacle.
Maybe there was something more at work than cherry blossoms here.
Once organized, the caravan of ponies and carts headed off along the walkways to the Bridle Path. The Bridle Path was used until recently for riding actual bio horses until the stables closed a few years ago. At times, our adventure was billed as a simple pony parade, at others, a celebration of the Kentucky Derby, which was being run that day (none of us knew about the tragedy of Eight Belles at the time or we may not have mentioned the Derby). At one point, an onlooker asked if we were protesting the closing of the stables. Yeah, that would work as well as any justification.
But the real point here was having plain old, no reason needed fun. And we had that in spades.
This was my first ever experience at cart pulling. If it was any indication, I'm going to like doing that a lot. Mistress's cart isn't quite finished, so I was pulling with my hands rather than having the shaves hooked to my tack as it would normally be. That made things just a bit more challenging and at several points in the ride, my stable pal Stormy and I pulled together. That may sound like it made things easier, but each of us could only use one hand. That was a challenge made a little more difficult by the fact that the Bridle Path is loose gravel and sand. Fortunately for both of us, Mistress is sensitive to the needs of her ponies and rotated us from side to side to avoid excessive strain.
All the same, I was having way too good a time to let a little thing like sore arms get in the way.
And all the time, people kept asking questions, taking pictures and talking about putting entries in their blogs about this. One woman lamented the fact that we had not listed ourselves in the New York Observer. She felt lucky to have happened on us. Another followed us for the entire route taking pictures. Still another watched as a ponyboy was being trained on a lunge line by his Mistress. She was dressed in the sort of outfit that, while tasteful and appropriate, left no doubt that she was a woman in control. Her ponyboy was dressed in regular street clothes (unless you counted the bridle and bit). After a while, the observer spoke to the trainer saying, "OK, I get that he's a pony. But you're a Dominatrix. What's up with that?"
One live wire in each hand but no connection. You gotta love it.
All too soon it was all too over, though. The time and the cold were creeping in and a fabulous barbecue was awaiting us back at our headquarters. Soon enough, we were back at the Park entrance awaiting rides back to 22nd Street. Even then, people came up to us to have their pictures taken. But eventually the bit had to come out of my mouth. Tom got that job and had to endure the look on my face. I don't like having to come out of pony space and taking the bit out of my mouth is one surefire way to make that happen. I stood there in silence, perhaps looking a little down. Tom reached over and petted me on the nose a few times, making the transition a lot easier to bear.
Finally, we got into the car and headed back to headquarters. The bistro was going full tilt when we got back and the barbecue had been laid out in the back room. What a feed that was. A Midwestern barbecue from Famous Dave's that was wonderfully tasty and not too spicy. We all ate and took a little time to relax before the real party began.
It was all PG-13 in the park, but the play party that evening was decidedly not. This was the time for the true BDSM types to show their colors. I kept my tights and leotard on for a while because they can be a pain to remove, but when it came time for some serious play with Mistress, they came off - along with the rest of my tack. All except the bridle and bit. Oh, and the plume. Don't forget the plume! And the dance belt.
Mistress eased me into my stall and began warming me up for a session. I love that liminal period between normal consciousness and sub space when I know something is going to happen but I'm not quite sure what. I knew she had left her flogger at home in favor of the single tail and a few smaller implements, but exactly what will happen is a secret she keeps to herself until I am floating.
A few well delivered swats with her gloved hands got me started and then she went straight to the single tail whip. Before she was done, I had some respectable stripes on my back and was feeling all warm. At that point, Mistress handed me over to the friend who had come along for the day and asked her to give me a grooming.
Now I love a good grooming session if you haven't already guessed. Mistress loves to get out the brushes and other tools and use them in deliciously evil ways. But this other woman had different ideas. Her touch was very soft and light. She alternated between a light brushing with a fly whisk and a gentle stroking with her bare hands. It didn't take me long to reach the moon with that treatment, but it was at just that moment when Mistress silently took up the stiff bristle brush and gave it to me a few times - right over those nice whip marks.
That sent me completely over the edge and into another dimension. The delights of not knowing what will happen next triumph again!
After the grooming session, my tack went back on and I spent some time on short reins. I think I behaved well. In fact, I think I behaved too well. While on reins, I saw the other ponies getting treats of chocolate covered espresso beans but I wasn't getting led over to get some! Maybe the person holding my reins didn't see what was happening, but I certainly did. Now had I been thinking like a pony, I would have dragged her over to where the treats were. But the human override kicked in and I played nice. Think of that as a missed opportunity not to be missed again.
The party finally broke up around midnight and the trip back to New Jersey was uneventful. Out host was still awake and alert. She had thought we would be at an all-night bacchanal. I told her that it was certainly a bacchanal, but that it didn't last all night. The three of us chatted for a while until I fell asleep on the sofa. Realizing that I wasn't going to be able to stay up any longer, I dragged myself to bed and crashed.
What can I say about the next day? It was the trip home - at least to Boston. I had decided to take the following day off from work and travel home over two days - a decision that turned out to be very wise. So there wasn't much eventful on Sunday unless you count the fact that I forgot about the righteous whipping I got the night before as I began toweling my back off after a shower. That led to what I think had to be a comical dance around the bathroom until the fire went out enough for me to emerge with some dignity. These things happen sometimes. I think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.
Beyond that and a great visit with some friends in the Boston area on Sunday night, nothing more of true interest happened. It couldn't have. There just wasn't room for it.
Camp Crucible comes up in about a week and a half. I have no doubt there will be some serious stories to relate when that is over. More at that time!
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