Rusty's Stall

Yeah, I'm Still Alive

2011-10-25T14:41:00.004-04:00

I've been missing. Luckily it isn't my health this time. I've just been busy starting a business. You don't know hard work and time commitment until you start a business, believe me. For the most part, my products are mainstream, but I am starting a line of kinky items that I may put out there for sale at some point. When that happens, you'll know it!

Anyway, it would seem everyone else is either busy or missing in action somewhere. Mistress is busy with Roller Derby, Ms. Reina moved across country recently, and just about everyone else has evaporated at least temporarily. Stormy and I are spending what time we can together, but not a lot of pony play is happening.

Boo.

But there are plans. I'm hoping the Flea will be a bit better this year. Everyone was talking about how much they missed the ponies last year, so there should be some support for a paddock this time around. It kind of depends on Mistress at this point.

Nudge nudge...

Stormy and I are planning on Camp next May. It has been two years and enough is enough! Time to have some fun. I'll keep all of you posted on what happens next on that. And if our determination pays off, you'll get those stories as well.

In the meantime, keep an eye out here to see what I'm making in the way of kinky toys. If you don't want to wait, you can check out my FetLife page. Look for PonyboyRusty and friend me if you want! The more, the merrier.

Submission

2011-03-13T19:35:00.010-04:00

I start the evening in a chair but it isn't going well. I feel fine, but I'm tired and I keep dozing off. That's generally not a good idea at this sort of party, but I can't help it. She is sitting next to me on the sofa and notices my "inattention." We had talked that afternoon and from the tenor of the conversation it was clear that we were going to end up scening. But I never know what form that will take, which is part of the fun of it. Still, dozing off is probably not in the cards or even acceptable.

She suddenly reaches over and yanks on my pony tail. The one on my head, that is. I'm not in pony gear this evening. It's not that sort of get together and I'm not with my Mistress. I haven't had quality time with Her in ages for various reasons, and I miss Her terribly. Still, I observe the rules and don't play pony unless She is there or I have Her express permission. I didn't seek it for this evening because I didn't need it. I can do dungeon play at will. I'm a big boy.

The tail pull brings me around quickly. Suddenly I am wide awake and apologetic. She is understanding and asks if I would like to put my head in her lap for a while. I can't do that without upending myself, so I sit on the floor and put my head on Her knee. For what seems like hours, she sits there and gently strokes my hair. I may nod off from time to time, but I sense and feel Her presence. At turns, it's reassuring and unnerving. At this moment, I am Her property to do with as She pleases within the bounds of our negotiations (and those are pretty permissive). These gentle ministrations may be just that or She may be lulling me into a false sense of security.

Either way, what bliss!

I have watched Her play with another. She will sit and look idly about the room watching other play scenes or talking to people while Her sub sits next to her or on the floor in front of her quietly. Suddenly there is a bellow of pain and the sub is writhing about in an effort to adjust to the pain she is undergoing. I have never been able to see what was causing the pain. Whatever it was, it was subtle.

Tonight, I find out. We have had some food to eat and one of the plastic utensils has been called into service. She has broken off a length of the handle and now secrets it in Her hand. She reaches over and takes my hand in Hers, gently massaging it. I feel lulled again. Briefly. Then the business end of the broken plastic handle is suddenly jammed into the web of my thumb.

Now I'm the sub who is bellowing out in pain. The jab ends almost immediately and the massaging continues. Then the plastic handle finds its mark between two fingers. I howl again and instinctively try to pull my arm away from the source of my torment. Trouble is, She is stronger than I am. She is also an artist at making certain that any attempt to escape will hurt even more.

So here is the predicament. It hurts to remain still and it hurts even more to pull away. And I can't get away anyway.

She releases my hand and I have a look. Lots of marks, but no broken skin. It's amazing how much pain you can endure without ever crossing a hard limit.

She pulls my pant leg up a bit and starts using the sharp plastic to scratch my lower leg. This results in more cries of pain and struggles to pull away from the source. Again, attempted escape just makes it worse. But lying there and just letting it happen isn't an option that my body is willing to consider. I think that's a good thing. The struggle seems to be as much fun for Her as anything. Watching a sub in a predicament like this can be very entertaining.

I notice that others in the room have tuned in to watch. That is how I draw the conclusion.

"Why don't you take off your pants?" She asks. I have played with this Domme enough times to know that She is not being contemplative. She is issuing a command. Take your pants off. I do.

I am wearing flannel lined jeans this evening and the room is warm. I have also been struggling and under some stress for some time by now, so my legs have a thin sheen of perspiration on them. No matter. Before long, they also have some handsome scratch marks all over them. She has a fondness for scratching. I'm not crazy about it, but I have never told Her that She can't do it. So what does that say about me? Duh!

Gradually She works Her way down to my feet. The plastic handle finds its mark between a few toes with the predictable result. But then She gets another idea. I almost wish that She had stayed with the plastic handle.

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, you know that my feet are terribly ticklish. I mean violently so. If you want to tickle my feet, you had better have either the strength of ten men or a willingness to get badly bruised up.

She had the strength thing going for Her. She tickled my feet unmercifully until I about turned blue from laughing. She allowed me to rest for a short time and then She was at it again. I contorted and twisted myself in any way I thought would get me away from the torment, but to no avail. I don't know if it was frustration or just a desire to 'do something' about my situation, but I was inspired to shout, "Why can't you just tie me up and flog me?!?"

Laughter all around. Actually, I really was making light of the situation. She laughed harder than anyone else in the room. Really, in the end, it's entertainment. So why not put some effort into being entertaining?

What came to be known as Round 1 ended with me in complete shambles across Her lap. I was scratched up from my toes to my groin. I was a sweaty mess, and I was breathing as though I had just run the one minute mile. Then She gathered me into Her arms for a few minutes to bring me back down to Earth.

Her aftercare is second to none. I mean that. As I sat there, my head held in Her arms, She stroked my hair and told me what a wonderful pony I was. True, we weren't playing pony at the time, but that is the context in which She sees me at times like this, and I love it. But She doesn't just complement me. She leads me on a guided meditation to a meadow that She designed just for me. She turns me loose to run all I want to. Under Her gentle suggestion, I feel the warm sun on my face (no small deal given the harsh winter we have had) and the warm breeze in my mane. She lets me live in this reality for as long as I want before gently letting me wake up and open my eyes. Then She finds me some water and sits quietly with me.

Let me be clear about something. I am a submissive through and through. But that doesn't mean that I submit to just anyone. You can call yourself a Dom/me seven ways to Sunday, but that doesn't mean I owe you anything. If no connection exists between us, forget it. Not that there is no possibility, but I need to get to know you and I'd prefer to watch you work at least once. It helps if we have friends in common whom I trust and who will vouch for you. But if I am going to offer up my body as your canvas, you had better know how to paint.

Respect is earned. So is my submission. Both are also conditional and can be withdrawn. She has my respect and my willingness to submit mostly because I know I have Her respect and Her willingness to care for me properly.

With that in mind, here I am once again on the sofa sitting next to Her and awaiting Round 2. It starts when I make the comment that my Mistress bought an evil stick at last year's Summer Flea and I didn't find it all that bad. I have a habit of tossing myself under buses that is outstripped only by my ability to toss other subs under buses. It's entirely inadvertent and caused by my inability to keep my mouth shut when certain ideas or topics are being bandied about. So there it is. I'll learn, so help me.

"Wait just a minute," She says. She goes into a bedroom and emerges with two bola-type objects. Each has a pair of small balls with crocheted coverings hanging from the ends of a string and held by a small handle at the string's midpoint. "Take off your shirt and get on your hands and knees." I comply. Soon I feel the almost constant sensation of four evil sticks across my back. Maybe I'm just warmed up at this point or something, but they don't bother me at all. In fact, they feel strangely good.

For fear of sounding bratty and antagonistic, I refrain from saying any of this.

Finally, She grabs my ponytail again and says, "Try and get away from me." Again, I twist and turn in any way that I can, but She has my tail and there is only so much I can do. When I am spent with rug burns to my knees and elbows, She relents. This time, she lies down on the floor with me and gathers me into Her arms again. That stunning aftercare finds its way to me and I float off again. When I open my eyes, She is looking right at me with a broad smile on her face. This has been good for both of us.

Still, it's not entirely over. The buses are still running. I notice that some other subs have been getting corset ribbons tied on their bodies using staples. My curiosity gets the better of me and I ask to experience one staple. It doesn't really hurt. But oh, what an idea this gives Her!

Stepping out briefly, She returns with a length of string and a safety pin. She ties the pin to the string and hooks it into the staple. "Bend your leg up as tightly as you can," She tells me. I do so, and She ties the other end of the string around my big toe. One false move and the staple will get yanked out. Not good. "This is what is known as predicament bondage," She tells me. So far so good. Then I get a sense of impending doom when She threatens to tickle me. It doesn't really happen partly because this was a mind fuck, but also because the string won't stay secured around my toe.

Thank the powers for Their small favors!

She says something about wearing the staple for a couple of days with the safety pin attached. I think She is offering me an idea. A choice. So when another sub offers to take the staple out, I let her. You know, staples hurt a lot more coming out than they do going in.

And what's worse, She was not offering me a choice. She returns to find the staple removed without Her permission. Now there are three subs in deep trouble. The one who asked if I wanted it removed, the one who said yes, and the one who did the removing. We are in for it.

I have no doubt that punishment will be on the menu the next time we get together. Only as I write, there are at least two Dommes who have one month to decide what to do with us.

I didn't mean to transgress - honestly, but I can't help looking forward to the consequences.

A Not-So-Live Journal

2011-02-11T15:36:00.004-05:00

Some time ago I remember a glitch causing this blog to be suspended because a program routine with an overactive hypothalamus thought I might be peddling spam. That got resolved in jig time (thanks Blogger!) but still left me with the idea that a back-up blog might not be such a bad idea. So I started a duplicate blog at Live Journal.

I kept both blogs going side by side despite the fact that I found Live Journal to be somewhat obtuse and less user-friendly than Blogger. But after a while, I decided that I no longer needed to pay Live Journal for the account. It was pretty inexpensive at about $20 per year, but I could do everything here that I wanted to do there for free. So why bother paying for an account when free accounts were available?

So I dropped back to "Basic" account status at LJ.

Today, I went to see when I last posted to the LJ blog with the intention of bringing it up to date. Guess what? I got a screen with a goat's face staring back at me that read "PURGED ACCOUNT."

Well, I don't recall doing that. I'm not sure why I have disappeared. And it's not just my journal that went away, it's my entire account.

Not saying I didn't do it, but if I did, it isn't what I meant to do. In any case, It's been far too long to do anything about it now, so the Live Journal copy of this blog is history.

So be it!

A Flea in my Ear

2011-02-11T08:02:00.002-05:00

Ok, last December I expressed doubts about going to the Flea this year. Well, I reconsidered and so did Stormy. It's going to be odd this time around, though.

We are going as humans.

There will be no organized pony activities at the Flea, which is a shame, but Mistress could not commit this year and alternatives did not work out. I didn't feel comfortable or capable of organizing anything - and after all, ponies aren't the organizers most of the time. So there really is no pony reason to travel the six or seven hours to get to Providence.

Well, except for the chance to spend some quality time with Stormy. That's incentive enough.

I'm also going to meet up with my pony pal Clover and his Good Wife (no accident on the caps there). We had some fun last year and are looking forward to having more this time around.

So yes, we will be going to the Flea. No, we are not planning on doing any pony activity. We may actually get a chance to attend a class or two, which is something ponies don't often get to do. That could be an eye opener. Well, at least it could open something...

We won't be staying at the Westin, which is the host hotel for the Flea. We just can't afford it at $150 per night. That may be a price break, but it breaks my bank. We have had a REALLY tough winter up this way and it isn't over yet. Not by a long shot. I take a risk every time I pull out of the driveway. That would be the driveway that is currently costing me about $60 a week to keep clear and has pretty much shredded a set of tires that are not yet a year and a half old.

Nest year...studded snow tires. I hope.

The Flea will not be a bore, however. Stormy and I are playing things by ear, but we will see a lot of friends. And in an expression of the hope that springs eternal, we are still packing our tack. We don't expect to use it, but when you're a devoted pony, it becomes a part of who you are. To leave your tack at home is to leave an important part of yourself behind. Neither of us can bring ourselves to do that.

Besides, Mistress did say She might be in on Sunday to see Foxy Davis. Apparently he has a pair of custom gloves for Her to pick up. I didn't ask what those gloves were, but I hope to find out. It's unlikely that we will play pony on Sunday, but the option is open however remote.

That's pony hope. I'll let you know how things go.

Pony Thoughts

2010-12-24T15:19:00.006-05:00

No Flea this year by the looks of it.

I'll miss it, but without Mistress (who is currently working on Her thesis), there isn't much point in bothering. Oh, there are friends who will be there and who I would dearly love to see - so the thought of a road trip isn't entirely out of the question.

But no tack. No prancing. No play.

Fact is, it has been what could fairly be called an off year. Other than Ponies in the Park (detailed in two posts), there wasn't a lot to tell in the way of stories. We did the Winter Flea in February, which went well. We marched in the 40th Boston Pride Parade in June with Ms. Nikki and Ponyboy Blaze - the drenching rain doing little to curb out spirits. We appeared at the Summer Flea with Mistress and went to a great play party after that. Stormy and I went to TFW in August, but again without Mistress - Ms. Nikki again taking us under Her wing. Stormy and I went to a nice play party up this way with permission and had a good time.

Yeah, stuph happened. It was fun. But it felt different somehow.

But my relationship with Stormy has certainly deepened. If nothing else happened this year, that alone would suffice. We had some time together on the past two weekends attending holiday parties at Centaur Stables and at Mistress' home. Both glorious times. I hope to have more time with him in the coming months.

It makes the lack of playtime far more tolerable.

I also hope to be back regaling you with more stories of my adventures. I'm just waiting to have some right now.

Patience, ponyboy...

Another Romp in the Park - Part 2

2010-06-06T13:49:00.013-04:00

What can I say about New York City that I haven't said already? I have seen it in all four seasons of the year and under many different circumstances, but to be there in the spring on a warm day with the sun shining is as close to Heaven as it gets.

Well, Heaven with graffiti, traffic, noise and a bustling throng of people anyway.

But there is something about the Big Apple that causes me to put away all those concerns - or put up with them, at least. It's a place where you can get anything you want at pretty much any hour. It's a place that contains so much of our history. It's a place that challenges you to stay for more than a few minutes without finding something that piques your interest. It's a place where a bunch of people dressed in leather tack with tails on their butts can haul carts around the public park with no fear of a bad reaction.

These people have seen just about everything and they are always willing to be amused by the unusual. Ponies, of course, love to be the unusual things that get attention.

On May 1, Mistress, Stormy and I drove to the meeting place - headquarters if you will - of the 2010 Pony Romp. We met at the same location as we did in 2008 when last we roamed the Bridle Path, giving the ladies out front of the Redeemer Lutheran Church a giggle in the process. Times change everywhere, but in NYC, times change almost constantly. The little restaurant that had occupied the store front of this building was no longer there. Nothing had come to take its place as yet. Probably a sign of the economy. Those little hole-in-the-wall cafes tend to be here today and gone tomorrow or the day after. It's just part of the rhythm, but it's a sad commentary on our times.

Not to wallow in our grief, we wasted no time getting our stables, tack, toys and other apparatus out of the van and into the meeting room. There was a lot to do, so Mistress busied Herself with logistics while Stormy and I tacked each other up.

Tacking up is something of a ritual for Stormy and me. If we are tacked by another person, we tend to go much deeper into head space. If we tack ourselves up, we feel more like a couple of guys putting on costumes. Getting into pony space takes a lot longer and sometimes doesn't really happen. But today was different. Head space is less of a concern when you are going out in public. While it's highly desirable, the schedule was pretty tight, there was a lot to do, and the ponies needed to get ready quickly. So Stormy and I set about the task.

It wasn't long before everything was ready and we all headed for the park. We got there just about on time for the romp and piled out of the vans. Ms. Nikki and Blaze from Centaur Stables were there as were Foxy Davis and Sherifox of Native American Exotics. Wow...Foxy and Sherifox had traveled all the way from Florida for this day in the park. Ponygroom Tim and his ponygirl Lindsay were there - also from Florida (!). So was Pepper. There were others who play rather privately and who probably would not want their names listed here. But there was quite a crowd ready and raring to go.

I once noted that New Yorkers generally don't get phased by much. They have been through a lot over the years and get exposed to a whole lot of stuff you and I probably see once in our lives if ever. But I suppose a couple of ponyboys putting the wheels on a cart might be a bit unusual. The crowd gathered quickly and the cameras came out just as fast. Stormy and I put Mistress' cart together as quickly and efficiently as we could, relying on Her to make the final adjustments. Once hitched up and ready, the romp began.

This romp would be different for one big reason...it was heavily documented on video! You can find lots of snippets on YouTube, but here are some of my favorites:

La Dresseuse Maureen (that's my Mistress!) discusses what She likes about pony play.

Doctorcharley of Pleasure talks about pony play (with yours truly in the background!).

Ms. Reina Darkness talks to Doctorcharley about the three parts of pony play.

Heck, go to YouTube and put "pony play" into the search box. You'll be amazed!

After the romp and subsequent rest period on the green, we headed back to headquarters for our barbecue and party. That trip was uneventful until we came close to Times Square. That's when we encountered the road blocks and the detour. Huh? Well folks, it was May 1, 2010 and although we didn't get the full story for a couple of days, it seems some crazy decided he would try and blow a few people up that particular day. May Day. What timing. Thanks Faisal, you really made our day.

Ms. Reina certainly does put on a fantastic spread! I think you would have to go back to the barbecue at the Central Texas Kink Ranch in November 2008 to match what we found awaiting us in the small room behind the defunct patisserie. We ate, socialized, compared stories of what we had seen on the bridal path, explained a few things to a few people who were mystified about something this pony or that pony did or didn't do, and put our stalls together for what would prove to be a splendid play session.

I have to tell you about a very special gift that I got from ms. Reina. I was seated on the floor at one point following a scene I had done with a friend when I noticed Her holding not one but two single tail whips. They were brand new, She said, and needed to be broken in. Was I up for it? I think a very quick look at Mistress told the whole story. Rare is the night that I get to play more than once, and I had not felt the sting of any single tail other that the one Mistress holds, so yes! I was ready and willing!

Ms. Reina proceeded to use both single tails in the Florentine style. I had experienced Florentine flogging before, but this was something quite apart and exquisite. I also left me with some very impressive marks on my back. They stayed with me for several days and reminded me of the wonderful time and attention I received each and every time I toweled off after a shower.

Tired and exhausted after the party, the three of us drove back to Queens where we found our hosts awake and eager to hear about our escapades. To my delight, we had more conversation over a late night breakfast (I told you that you can get just about anything you want at any hour) at a diner close by.

Then back to the apartment and to bed. The next day we had another great breakfast at another great diner, then it was on the road for home.

Another wonderful time with wonderful people in a fantastic city.

Another Romp in the Park

2010-05-07T19:47:00.010-04:00

Two years ago, I wrote of the great adventure called the Romp in Central Park. While we had hoped to do that each year, it did not happen in 2009. From my perspective, that was not a bad thing given the general state of my health, but it was sorely missed all the same.

So it was with great joy that I heard that the Romp would happen again this year. The spring has been unusually warm, and a pony's thoughts do tend toward frolicking and romping...not to mention pulling carts, getting his picture taken and nuzzling noses with Firefox.

More on that later.

The date was set for May 1, 2010. Now it's always great to spend a day in Central Park, but Mayday! Of all the days, that one seems to touch chords in my psyche. It may be because it happens to be the pagan celebration of Beltane (yes, I'm pagan) or perhaps it's just because it would provide me a chance to spend some time with Mistress and Stormy. Maybe it was both...especially where Stormy is concerned. In point of fact, though, the date probably has more to do with the romantic notion of canoodling beneath the cherry blossoms with the New York City skyline behind you.

Or the thought of it anyway. The spring had been so warm that the cherry blossoms were pretty much gone by Mayday this year. There was an impressive carpet of them on the ground, however, so there was no need for dampened spirits on that count.

But I get ahead of myself.

I may be getting older. The last time, I was out of the house and on my way to Mistress' place by five in the morning. This time around, it was 6:30. Not a big deal since the people who would be hosting us this year would not get home much before 8:00 in the evening. I had had a scare the night before leaving that left me reluctant to believe that I would be able to make the trip at all, so getting underway was really important. Once on my way with a considerable amount of the state of Maine behind me, I relaxed enough to believe it was actually going to happen. I was on my way to a wonderful pony play event and nothing would stop it now.

The trip to Mistress' house went smoothly and I arrived in the late morning. There was the usual packing and rearranging of the van to do. We were asked to bring three stalls for ponies in addition to the cart and the usual assortment of whips, tack, stable supplies and evil grooming tools. Oh, and the treats. Never forget the treats!

Or anything else for that matter. The last time we romped in Central Park, I had forgotten to pack the tire pump. The wheels on our cart are air filled rather than solid. They give a better ride, but do tend to soften over time no matter how much gunk you inject into them. I don't know what got into me - or what failed to do so - but two years ago, I looked at that pump on the cellar floor and thought, "Tire pump..." and then left it sitting right there. Something I came to regret a day or two later.

This time, I remembered the tire pump. I made sure it was in the van and even asked Mistress about it just to be certain. Two sets of eyes are far better than one, especially if the one belongs to a very anxious pony. No mistake. It was there. So was the cart, the clothing, the tack bag, the stalls, the stable signs, the carriage whip, the toy box, the food, and the two of us.

Once we were all strapped in, Mistress fired up the engine. "First stop," She said, "air for the tires."

The tires.

I had forgotten the tires. They were still sitting on the ground just outside the cellar door. Well, it had to be something, I suppose. And at least we were still sitting out in front of the house. I would have looked pretty foolish holding up the rear of the cart on the bridle path because I didn't pack the tires. And make no mistake, I would have had to do that.

"At least I remembered the pump this time!" I said.

"Yes, because if you got winded, we could stick it in your mouth and pump you back up."

Really, She would have.

So, with everything finally packed, and me feeling very fortunate that She had mentioned filling the tires, we at last headed for the Big Apple.

We stopped to pick up Stormy and had a late (read very late) lunch. It was more of an early dinner, but it was not at all bad. Maggie McFly's is a pretty nice spot that doesn't cost a whole lot. That's important on road trips like this. Once sated, we were again on our way. This time, with three in the van.

I don't know how She does it, but Mistress manages to drive in places like New York City without losing Her cool. I suppose it comes from being raised and learning to drive in Boston. In fact, New York drivers are pretty tame compared to their counterparts in Boston. I'd be nervous about that comparison except I'm certain Bostonians are quite proud of that. Still, the liminal snarl of roads and bridges on the outskirts of NYC are some of the most counter-intuitive passages you will ever encounter. Just because you can see the big buildings doesn't mean you are actually headed toward them, and one moment of lost concentration will send you off course.

Truth is, I have a very troubled history with the outskirts of New York City. I have attempted the Triborough Bridge at least three times that I can remember, and have ended up in Queens each time. That's not a bad thing if Queens is your destination, but if you're trying to get into Manhattan, well, it's bad. It helps if you realize that the Triborough Bridge is actually three separate bridges, but not much. This was the first time I had ever been in the passenger's seat while crossing the first bridge. I knew there was supposed to be an exit to FDR Drive on the right side, but I had never been able to find it while driving. The best I could figure, you were supposed to drive over the right side of the bridge at some point and hope you landed on a road bed. But no, there is an exit. I just never managed to find it in all the traffic.

But let me tell you, I know how to get to Queens! Entirely by accident, but I can do it! But Queens is a lot like the land of the dead. In the words of Captain Barbosa, it's not getting there that's the problem. It's getting back.

Still, Queens was where we were headed, and with Mistress at the wheel, we made it without too much trouble. You can't help the glitches that Google Maps provides, so you just have to deal.

The friends we were staying with live in the Astoria section of Queens. It's a rather nice, upscale area that doesn't seem to take itself too seriously. There are a lot of restaurants - including a lot of Greek establishments. I happen to love Greek food and it's not very available in Maine these days. So I was looking forward to that. The area is also pretty handy to the part of Manhattan that we were going to be visiting in preparation for the romp, so everything was fitting together nicely.

When we pulled up to our friend's town house apartment, we found that there were three door bells. They hadn't told us which to push, so I did what any self-respecting pony would. I pushed the shiniest one.

It was the wrong one. Fortunately, that nice person had to get up at that point in preparation for his night shift. Oops. We asked which button would get our friend to the door, and he showed us. Once that was cleared up, we were admitted and spent some time visiting.

It wasn't a late night as we were going to be busy the next day. We had dinner at a lovely Greek restaurant and went back to the apartment to visit. Soon, we were hitting the hay for the night.

Morning came none too early. Stormy and I had shared a bed and slept well. That's odd as neither of us tends to sleep well in an unfamiliar bed on the first night. Then again, we are both very comfortable sleeping together, so maybe that compensated or something. Beatrice the cat came in to inspect us several times during the night, but that was about it.

Once we had breakfast and got showered, we headed into the city for the Romp.

That will be the next story...

I'm an Author!

2010-04-17T21:39:00.003-04:00

Ok, I've written and published before - albeit on a completely different topic - but now I have managed to get published in an erotic anthology called "Love Me Tender: Romantic Tales of Pleasure and Pain". It's edited by Mira Paul and can be found on the Ravenous Romance website.

The story is an edited adaptation of my blog entry called Aphrodite's Embrace. They did make a small mistake on my nom de plume, calling me simply Pony Boy instead of Ponyboy Rusty, but those are the knocks you take sometimes when working with a publisher. Still, know that it is my story (and I'm sticking to it)!

Do go to the website and have a look! The books are downloadable as PDF files and are very inexpensive. In fact, I may just go get me a couple of the other titles they have just for kicks.

On another topic, I will be going to The Floating World this year! This will be my first time at TFW as I don't have the hectic summer performance schedule I have had for the last four years. I got in by volunteering as an EMT, but I also plan on spending some quality time with Stormy and my many friends in the pony community. Most of them are Camp Crucible folks, and since I can't make it to camp this year, this will be my chance to see them.

I can't wait! Or maybe I can. TFW takes place in August, and I don't want the summer to fly by too quickly. Frankly, we've all earned some pleasant skies for a while, and I intend to enjoy them.

More soon enough!

Thoughts on a Gray Day

2010-03-14T15:03:00.004-04:00

I wasn't supposed to be working today. The phone rang at 7:15 this morning and I awoke to the news that someone scheduled to work would not be able to come in during the day shift. Part of being a manager is that you sometimes have to patch up a hole like that yourself. I don't like that aspect of my job, but I did say, "Yes," when it was offered to me, so...tag, I'm it.

*Sigh*

I also made the final decision about camp this year. It's a no-go. My triumph over the thyroid cancer pretty much ate up the treasury for vacations this year, so a whole lot of travel is out of the question. I'll set my sights on next year and hope for the best.

In terms of my health, I can only hope the last shoe has dropped. I'm still waiting for the hormones to adjust and work the way they are supposed to. Days go fairly well until mid-afternoon. Then I tend to hit the wall rather suddenly. I go in for a blood test this week, and if my levels are still out of whack, I will consider switching to the brand name product. My doctor tells me that patients tend to do better on the name brand than they do on the generic equivalent. At three times the cost, it had better work.

In July, we will check in on the kidneys to see if they are fomenting mischief. I continue to make stones, but so far, they have made their own way out without causing much pain - a situation I can live with if I have to.

But enough grousing. Ponies in the Park will be happening again this year! That hasn't happened since May of 2008 and it was so much fun. Gathering the stares of the general public - especially in New York City - is always entertaining on my side of the blinders. "Guerrilla Theater" my Mistress calls it. Whatever it is, proudly pulling the cart with Stormy beside me can only be described as a slice of heaven.

Now the praying starts for good weather. After the disaster of last summer, I think we deserve a break. A summer of temperatures in the mid to high 70's would suit me just fine, thank you. Plenty of sunshine with appropriate amounts of rain to keep the grass green will be in order. Ponies like green grass. It's great fun to roll in.

I ache for the chance to do just that!

Update

2010-01-29T17:46:00.002-05:00

I got the news I have been waiting for. The labs look good, the scan looks good. I'm clean. It's done.

We will check things annually just to be sure, but for now, it's over.

And I want to celebrate :) So...

I'm off to CT tomorrow to play pony until I drop! Given some of the people I'll be playing with, that may not take long, but I will certainly give it all I've got.

Glow Little Glow Worm...

2010-01-20T15:29:00.002-05:00

The pill went down very easily this morning.

It was a black capsule a little smaller than the vitamin I take each morning. There was little fanfare beyond the shield container the technician carried it in. The pill itself was in the bottom of a small plastic tube. I picked up the tube and a small cup of water, tipped the tube into my mouth and then drank the water. That was it.

That was a good thing. If I had had to do anything more complicated than that, it would have been very difficult. I have walked the Earth like a zombie for the last couple of days due to the preparatory medication I received. Hormones are a complicated issue. In this case, medication was given to raise one hormone level so that any stray thyroid cells still clinging to life in my body would be stimulated to absorb the radioactive iodine I swallowed. They would then find life impossible to cling to any longer. Trouble is, raising that particular hormone level causes fatigue. In my case, in spades. And it turns out that my own endogenous supply of that particular hormone is through the roof for some reason. The normal level ranges from 0.3 to 3. You are considered hypothyroid if your level rises above 3. Mine was 11 last Friday despite daily medication, which is supposed to suppress it. The doctor's office called today to say that they are increasing the dose of my daily medication as a result.

Damn. I just got that prescription refilled yesterday. Oh well, that's what adjusting hormone levels is about. And the stuff is pretty cheap as medicines go. And at least I know it's not just my imagination.

So now I sit here irradiating my environment, a walking, talking hot zone for the next three days. Fortunately, there is little danger to my computer unless I vomit, pee or sweat profusely on it. So I can remain connected.

Right now, a nap seems in order.

Treatment??

2010-01-01T12:18:00.003-05:00

Oh yeah...I left that little detail out, didn't I?

Yes, treatment. If you recall, I mentioned that something beyond the thyroid surgery might be necessary. Well, it turns out that it is necessary. No doubt about it.

I got a call from my doctor to discuss the pathology report on my now defunct thyroid. She was stunned by what the report said. It turns out that I had not two, but four tumors and all of them were malignant. None of them were very big, but apparently so many in one thyroid is not at all common. In addition, there was evidence of extension (meaning spread) that made it impossible for them to rule out the possibility that the cancer had gotten into my neck.

So here is the score. I am a male of almost 51 years with a multi-focal cancer of the thyroid. You can stop right there and send in the troops with guns blazing. That's enough to warrant further testing and treatment.

That means radioactive iodine. Wait until you hear how that goes. It should be interesting. My cat will have to move out for a few days so that I don't poison her. Nobody can get within 7 feet of me for that same time period lest they suffer exposure to gamma radiation. It would be a logistical nightmare if I had other people living at home with me, but as it is, it should be pretty easy to deal with. I'm no stranger to isolation.

I live in Maine, after all, and it's winter!

More later. With any luck, I'll actually have something about pony play to write soon. The Winter Flea is coming up, and I am planning on being there. Right now, I'm angling to make sure this treatment thing is out of the way before then.

Goals are a good thing.

Thoughts for the Weekend

2010-01-01T12:08:00.000-05:00

I do hope I can get into my driveway when I get home today. No peace for the wicked - or for those who work in the emergency business.

It is supposed to snow all weekend so I have decided to take a positive approach. I will be home and pretty much curled up with the cat for both days. Although I usually enjoy breakfast out on Saturday morning, that won't be possible tomorrow as I am now on a low iodine diet pending my treatment.

If you have never been on a low iodine diet, it's a trip. No dairy, no canned goods, no soy products other than soy lecithin, nothing from the sea including sea salt, restricted meat intake, restricted grain intake, nothing with red dye #3, no commercially baked goods, no restaurant food, no pre-packaged food, and so on. You really have to read labels. Basically, you have to cook everything from scratch, and I do mean everything.

That's not a bad thing, though. Some serious shopping and a little time on one's hands can put a dent in this. I already have a freezer full of low iodine food and will spend most of this weekend putting more of it together. I will bake bread, prepare chili and corn bread, make chicken soup (I made the stock over the last two days) and probably produce another batch of pasta sauce in the slow cooker my sister bought me for Christmas.

That ought to make the house smell like someplace I'd like to be.

Other than bread, baked goods are something of a challenge. Egg yolks are off limits, so making a muffin that is not rubbery can be difficult. Most egg substitutes are off limits because they contain either salt, soy or whey proteins. For cookies, the only shortening that can be used is Spectrum (available at John Edwards), which is a palm oil shortening - and costs about $7 a tub. I guess that's one way to keep to the lower calorie side of things. Also, I am learning to substitute Splenda for sugar in baking - a fraught process for certain.

You learn a lot about the foods you eat when you have to be this careful and I'm glad this diet will only be necessary for a few weeks each year. It will be needed in preparation for annual iodine uptake scans for the next few years as we watch to make certain that the cancer does not start up again. You learn where to find the things that you thought were common (like tortillas that are actually made from corn flour) but turn out not to be, really. You learn how much salt the average breakfast cereal contains (any salt puts a cereal in the 'no eat' zone). You find out exactly which brands of granola (yes, I eat that) are ok in this situation and which are best left alone. And it doesn't hurt to have a little - ok, a lot - of help from the low iodine cookbook that I got for free online. It's times like this, though, when I wish my kitchen wasn't quite so small.

Still, I shall prevail, and it will be fun.

Winter Flea 2009

2009-12-20T21:02:00.001-05:00

The 2009 Winter Fetish Fair Fleamarket was somewhat different for a few reasons. I wish I could say a pony's life is all sunshine and smiles, but that's not the case even in a fantasy world. There would be some surprises this time around, and none of them would be happy.

You have to hand it to NELA. They put on a great event. But it seems that the powers that rule over the Providence Convention Center decided not to extend an invitation to the Flea for this year. Rumors flew over the reason, including one particularly alarming one that said it was all the fault of the ponies. Remember the commotion about ponies walking around in the convention center last time? Well...

The rumors were not true. A question or two directed at some NELA folks quickly turned up the fact that someone high up in the rulership of the convention center didn't like what he or she saw in 2008 and didn't want us back.

Well!

The Westin was a little more reasonable. Not only did they want us back, but they were willing to turn the entire two-tower building over to us for the Flea.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that, due to the unavoidable reduction in floor space that this would cause, there would be no floor space for a pony paddock. Not only that, but we would be restricted in our roaming to the third and fourth floors. Well, ok. The map of the facility sure made it look as though that would still be pretty good. Of course, the map doesn't include the crush of humanity in its illustrations, so it's not easy to know for certain.

Because it would not be possible to use the convention center, all of the vendors would have to be located in the Westin. In case you have never been to the Winter FFF, there are LOTS of vendors - I mean, it's a fleamarket, right? They were located on the second, third and fourth floors.. On the second and third floors, they used the ballrooms. on the third and fourth floors, they used guest rooms. And they needed every square inch.

So with no open space for a paddock, the first floor ballrooms earmarked for classes and demonstrations, and not much left over, the ponies were allocated the third floor coat room.

Yup, you read that right. The coat room. I mean really, it was about all that was left. What else was there to do? And at least that meant we had a home base to operate from. We could get it locked up at night and keep tack and other equipment there without fear for its safety.

But the smaller floor space also meant that we would not be able to use those great stalls that we had made for the previous year's Flea. it also meant that we wouldn't have any space for general romping other than the corridors and function rooms - already full of vendors and visitors.

This was definitely going to be a grin-and-bear-it event. No problem. We're used to that.

All of this we knew before heading to Providence, of course, so we had the time to get ourselves adjusted and ready to face whatever challenge greeted us on arrival.

By this time, I knew about the whole kidney stone problem. I had had my attack about a week before and seen a urologist for a consult. We knew things were not good and could get a lot worse in a hurry and without warning. I could not drive to Mistress' house until Friday morning because I had to have a CT scan first thing that day. A quick trip to the hospital for that, and I was on the road with strict instructions to go to the closest hospital if anything at all went wrong.

I arrived at Mistress' house on Friday in the late morning. We planned to load the van and head down in the afternoon as we would not have access to the hotel much earlier than that anyway. Without all the setup that we had the year before, there really was no need to rush.

Good thing, too. Boston on a Friday afternoon is pretty harsh. It took us as much time to get out of the city as it did to make the rest of the trip to Rhode Island! And this is with Mistress, who knows every possible way through and around Boston that you could imagine.

The trip was uneventful except for the second nasty surprise of the weekend. Mistress told me that for a number of reasons, She would not be going to Camp Crucible this year.

Now, up to this time, I had not gone anywhere or played pony with anyone unless Mistress was present or close by. So when She said She could not go to Camp, I was nothing short of crushed. I had been obsessing non-stop about going to Camp ever since May of 2008, when I went for the first time. All I could think about every day was how I was going to get the time off and save up the money to go again. Those issues were dealt with by this time, but it had never occurred to me that Mistress would not be going.

This news cast a pall over the rest of the weekend, but Mistress has a pretty firm policy on moping, so that was not allowed. Still, it was one of those things that I kept remembering over and over and that seemed to sober me up just when I didn't need sobering.

There's this thing about what you know you can do and what you don't know you can do. It sets up a conflict inside that will eat at you until you do something about it. I knew I could make it to Camp this year but I had no idea if that would be possible in 2010. It's just not possible to plan that far ahead no matter how clear your intentions may be. So I screwed up the nerve and asked Mistress if I might keep my own options open with regard to Camp. I wanted to talk to Stormy and see how he felt - once Mistress told him Her news. To my relief, She gave me permission to go. That took some of the edge off. But between this and the kidney stones, 2009 was not off to a good start.

We arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon and checked in. Once that was done, Mistress, Stormy and I started hauling equipment from the van up to the ersatz paddock on the third floor. No matter how you split the atom, ponies and their handlers do not travel lightly. There was a lot to carry and it had to go a substantial distance, often involving stairs. This is where NELA scored another high five for me. There were lots of volunteer helpers who would often take the load right out of my hands and carry it for me. Nice!

We got the room all set up in good time and then began the process of sniffing out dinner. That wasn't difficult. The mall was still there, and to our delight, the Indian take out place was still there. That pretty much took care of food for the weekend as far as I was concerned. Well, that and the coffee nook on the second floor of the Westin. It was at the take out place that Mistress gave Stormy the news about Camp. He looked equally shaken, and the two of us spent a lot of private time talking about it. We both decided that going to Camp would be good for us because there were plenty of people going that we trusted and that Mistress would approve of. Still, the pall never quite lifted from the weekend. Everything got just a little weirder from then on.

The two days fo the Flea went somewhat uneventfully. Stormy and I did a lot of wandering about, a little cart work, some reins work and a whole lot of standing around. Not much else, though. Mistress had Her hands full with inquiring minds that wanted to know about pony play. We were not scheduled to do a demo as we had the last time, so we never really got much space to work in. Over all, it was a long way to travel and a lot of money to spend so that we could stand around in a coat closet.

But I'm not bitter about it. NELA had to do a lot with very little. I can't say I didn't have a good time at all, either. There were interesting things to see and watch, there were lots of friends I normally don't get to see, and as short as it was, there was time to spend with Mistress and Stormy.

Given the circumstances, I refrained from doing the sorts of things I normally do when I get bored. It made no sense to make trouble for Mistress given the narrow scope of our activities. That would not have been humorous. It would have been an inconvenience for Her. While I enjoy the occasional high jinks, I am not about making trouble and this was not the time or place.

But there was something beyond my control that made for a few smiles. You see, while the Convention Center did not want the Flea on its premesis, there is apparently some sort of deed that requires the Westin to grant access for the general public wishing to get into the mall. There is a public walkway through the lobby of the Westin from the street and the Convention Center as well. This meant that patrons of the Convention Center and off the street had occasion to come face to face with FFF participants.

That made things interesting when some of those patrons from the Convention Center happened to be little teenie tweenie cheerleaders who looked for all of me to be in the upper elementary schoold age range. These kids were all dolled up in sparkly mini skirts with bare midrifts (many of which had no business being bare, frankly), with big hair, gallons of makeup and glitter on their faces.

What are some parents thinking?

Every effort was made to keep these...innocent...kids from seeing the FFF activities. Curtains were put up in common areas and crowds were expected to remain on their respective sides to avoid contact.

Right. Have you ever seen what happens when you tell kids not to look behind a curtain? There were cheerleaders keeping watch while their friends had a good look. Another told her parents that she thought the ponies were really cool. Tha parent thought that was cute until they got a load of what sort of ponies the kids were talking about.

Hey! Don't blame us. We were on our side of the curtain! Minding our own business and all! We were allowed to go anywhere we wanted at the Flea. Our restriction to the thrid and fourth floors was for pony activities, not casual walking around.

Then there was the food court at the mall. People from the general public, the cheerleading competition and the Flea were intermixing for two nights. There were some funny visuals at odd moments that still stick in my mind.

But in all, it was a somewhat more somber affair than the year before. There was unhappy news and unpleasant surprises enough to keep clouds in the sky. I can only hope that this year's Flea will be a little better. At least Mistress is listed as a presenter this time around. A demo is always fun to do.

The Year That Was...(continued)

2009-12-20T20:06:00.003-05:00

Back in early September I gave you a brief rundown of events in the year that had kept me out of the blogging business. I said I would blog more frequently after that and then pretty much disappeared once again. The reason for that is because the perils and putfalls of Rusty did not end with that chapter. They continued on.

I'm not into making excuses for things, but for crying out loud, someone make it stop! There is no safe word for real life and we generally have to deal with what is handed to us, but one can get to feeling as though his fair share has been had.

So okay, what happened? Well...

If you recall, I had a tooth that gave me some problems. My bit may have played a role and such. I had the new crown for a short while when the tooth broke above the gum line. That necessitated another trip to the dentist. The situation is now under control once and for all, but what happened next is the real nugget here. I got out of the dentist chair - very sore in the mouth, mind you - and headed off to another doctor's appointment.

This one had been set up in April. It was now November 2. Specialists book way ahead. At issue was my blood sugar. It tends to run high at odd times and we wanted to look into that. So a visit with an endocrinologist was in order. She looked at my readings and noted that I have been steady for over 10 years, so there was nothing to worry about and probably wouldn't be for many years to come. We would follow the sugars annually just to make certain. But the diet and exercise program seemed to be doing its job.

Great news! At last!

Then she told me to get up on the table so she could examine me more closely. I sprang from my chair like a gazelle and sat nice and still for her so that she could do her thing.

That's when she found the lumps on my thyroid.

Long story short, it was cancer. It was a very slow-growing sort that posed no immediate threat to life, but it meant that the thyroid would have to go. That happened on December 17 and I am now sitting at home recovering from the surgery.

I am so glad this year doesn't have any more months to it. No telling what it would fork over at this rate.

So this will go down in the history of my life as the year that wouldn't quit sucking. But while that may be true, it is also true that my life still has wonderful people in it. They include Stormy, Mistress and all the wonderful pony folk who make life fun and interesting whenever we can find the time to get together. My family has been a great source of comfort and support, and the people I see on a daily basis have been really great all along.

This isn't over yet. There are tests yet to do and there may be further treatment, but that treatment, if required, is pretty easy to go through and doesn't cause a lot of the things we normally associate with cancer treatment. It's a one-time thing and it's done. Then it will be an annual scan just to be sure for a few years.

People do well with this sort of cancer, but it's really something the way that word plays with your head when it is applied to your body. And then there are the permanent changes...insurance plans for which I will no longer qualify because of the diagnosis; medication that I will have to take for the rest of my life if I don't want to get very sick...

Yeah, life will be different. But this pony will march on and look proud in the process. I am headed for the winter Flea again this year (good gods...I haven't even finished my piece on last year's Flea yet!) and then who knows? I do hope for Camp again. But if I've learned anything from 2009, it's that nothing can be taken for granted.

We are fortunate for everything we have.

"What's In It For You?"

2009-09-16T19:50:00.004-04:00

I've heard that question more than once. The first time was in May of 2008 following the Romp in Central Park. I was standing on a tiny yoga mat in my stall and could not move much. The problem was the floor. It was hardwood and new. That meant it was not only easily marked up by my hooves, but also slippery in a way that would ensure a quick meeting with my butt in a very painful manner if I moved.

So I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when, standing there all dressed up with nowhere to go, the question of what was in this for me surfaced.

At other times, the question has arisen spontaneously. Most recently, it came up during a camping weekend sponsored by Northern Maine Kinksters. Mistress, Stormy and our new stable girl Jen had come up for the event and we spent two days doing no holds barred pony play. I'll tell you more about that soon. But again, someone asked what I got out of this pastime.

It's a good question and I have spent some serious time thinking about it. I know I have written about the why of pony play from my own perspective (it's the only perspective I've got, after all). But I have tended to focus mostly on why I do things rather than what I get out of them. Sound like the same thing? Not so fast.

Deciding why I do what I do implies some degree of forethought - as though the need to rationalize my way into something is inherent in the decision. Perhaps it is, I don't know. Rationale has little to do with submitting my back for a striping or my backside for a righteous whacking with a crop. But whatever.

So what do I get out of this? How about the continued effect that the 'fetish fitness program' as Mistress calls it has had on my health and physical well being. I'm not fond of going to the gym but I do it regularly. Because I do it to be a better pony, I consider gym time to be an act of submission to my Mistress and a way of fulfilling the promises I have made to her. I enjoy my hikes and don't need a reason to do them. My weight is down, my muscle is up and I feel great despite the health problems I have had this year. So I guess you could say I get better health out of being a pony.

But you can get that out of a lot of activities and for lots of reasons. You don't need to enter an altered state of consciousness or have the blood brought to the surface of your skin to attain the glow of good health. It's a nice byproduct of pony play, but it isn't the impetus that keeps me here.

What I truly get out of it - what's in it for me - is something that I discovered only after I had plunged in. It may sound a bit corny to the jaded, but it's true. What I get out of pony play can be summarized in two words.

Human touch.

Ok. This is going to sound sad to some but bear with me.

I live alone. I have lived alone for over thirty years. At the age of 50, I measure the time between intimate (read 'sexual') contacts with others in years. But at the age of 50, I feel differently about that than I did a couple decades ago. It's the way things are. So it's no surprise that I grab on to Mistress and Stormy when I get the chance. It's always an incredible pleasure to see them coming. And it's very sad when I have to watch them leave. Making the time and creating the circumstances for contact takes some effort.

Perhaps pony play is a wild construct for something like this, but one blogger saw the intimate relationship that exists between me and my Mistress when we were working together at the 2008 Winter Flea, so I know it's real.

What's also real is the increasing fondness I have for Stormy. We spend a fair amount of time on the phone keeping up with each others lives. We delight in each others company and do just about everything together when we make time to be together. At Camp Crucible this year, we were nicknamed 'The Bookends'.

You don't get this just anywhere. It's the soothing embrace of my Mistress after a good dungeon session that brings tears to my eyes. It's the gentle wash down after working so very hard for whomever is handling me during a pony session. it's the care and feeding that I get when I am a beast of burden.

It's the constant discuvery of a self that I never knew existed and by which I am constantly fascinated.

And it's the words, "I love you," spoken by someone I love - and didn't know before this.

That's what's in this for me.

The Year That Was

2009-09-14T09:58:00.005-04:00

I guess things can conspire to sidetrack anyone no matter how determined they may be. I have gotten several emails over the past few months from people who follow this blog asking me when I would be posting again. I started the CTK stories back in January. Following my usual pattern, they should have been finished a long time ago. I have stories backed up - well, a couple of them anyway - that I will get posted soon enough. But for those of you who had to wait long periods of time for your fix, my sincere apologies.

By way of a brief explanation, I offer the following. I will keep details to a minimum, but here is what 2009 has looked like to me so far:

New Year's Eve - traveled to Massachusetts with a horrible toothache. Visited the dentist on my return. Result; one root canal and one crown. What a nice start to the year. This was probably caused in part by my bit - or more precisely, by the way I often pushed my bit onto my front teeth so I could clean the drool off of it. That may have loosened the crown that had lived there for 22 years without trouble. Decided to look into a new bit made for human ponies. I found a nice one and will tell you about it soon.

February 6, 2009: Remember that kidney stone I had in the first part of My Kinky Texas Adventure? I awoke with another one at 4 a.m. this morning. Tried to man up and let it run its course without a trip to the emergency room. Three hours later, it was no use. Called the ambulance and took a ride. The PA who saw me went berserk when he saw my CT scans from six frikin' months ago. Seems I didn't have little stones that move along once in a while. It turned out that I had monster stones in both kidneys that were dropping the occasional piece off. The stone on the left side was 14 mm in diameter and about to cause big problems - at least, that was the case six months before! Nobody seemed at all worried about it then. They should have been.

This discovery precipitated three surgical procedures and one flaming kidney infection before it was over. By then, it was late July. And it isn't over exactly. I still have one stone in the right kidney, but that one will only come out if they drill a hole in my back and I'm not up for that at this point. Enough for one year.

Add to all of this a busy summer schedule, work, and my continuing efforts to acquire a business and, well, that makes for a pretty full plate. It's not that I couldn't scratch out the time to write, it's that I couldn't get into the right frame of mind. There were too many other concerns tugging at me. And believe me, this was a very short synopsis.

There is more to come. We attended the Winter Flea again this year. Stormy and I went to Camp again - without our beloved Mistress who could not make it this year. We marched in the Boston Pride Parade just before summer became a sodden mess, and now here we are. I am just back from a two-day camping trip with Mistress, Stormy and our new stable girl Jen. So there are stories to tell.

I'll be doing that very soon.

I'm fine. Really.

My Kinky Texas Adventure - Part 4

2009-09-13T20:20:00.008-04:00

Wow. This is the story that just won't write itself! Apologies to Clover for the long wait. But this is the final installment. I have new stories to tell and they really will be appearing soon.

As I said earlier, the CTK Jamboree was an intense event. There were games and competitions, meals, socializing and generally a lot of energy going constantly all weekend long. When more than 20 people cram into a house and get this active with each other, things are bound to happen. There are those moments of personal triumph and failure. That shouldn't surprise anyone.

I had both types of experiences, but they still took me by surprise.

Probably the greatest anxiety for me was the dressage event. For the uninitiated, dressage is the art of training a horse in precision of movement and discipline. It's easy to see how this would adapt well to the scene.

Mistress has been training Stormy and I to a system of wordless crop commands. The idea is for us to work off reins using sight cues. Because we had been at this for a while, Mistress felt that we should enter in the advanced class. To Her, it is far better to crash and burn in the advanced competition than to prevail as a beginner when, in fact, you are not a beginner. So we signed up for the advanced dressage competition. This meant no verbal communication, a more complicated pattern, and more compulsory gaits.

The anxiety came from the fact that the ponies were not allowed to see the pattern before the test. That is quite normal in these situations, so there was no argument on that point. It's just one of those things that will cause no problem for some and drive others up the wall. I landed somewhere in between. I knew our system and felt prepared to do as I was told by the signals. Still, the element of not knowing what was coming - ordinarily such a turn-on for me - was filling me with the desire to get it over with. Probably that's why I decided to go first when Mistress gave me the option. It's kind of odd, but Stormy and I sort of switched roles on this. Where he had been rather cagey about the dressage event and I more calm at first, now that the time had come, I was the jittery one. Perhaps it had something to do with the comment that Mistress had made after studying the pattern.

"There's one place where a pony's brain might explode, but then we will have a pony brain to play with!"

Ok, let's do this in good fun.

There were ponies in line ahead of me and I did the right thing by not watching out the kitchen window, which afforded a nice view of the dressage ring. I waited patiently and as calmly as I could. When my turn came, I walked out calmly and awaited my first signal from Mistress.

We began our test with a trot to center and a bow to the judges. Then the test began. I did the very best I could and tried very hard to make Mistress proud of me. I went off pattern once when I failed to understand one signal, and I might have turned in the wrong direction at another point, but overall, I thought I had done well. Nothing special, but well for a first time competitor.

When the ribbons were awarded I discovered to my shock and amazement that I had not only done well, I had taken Reserve Champion. For those unfamiliar with these things, that means second place. Foxy Davis' Firefox had taken Champion. What an honor to come so close and be surpassed only by such an accomplished ponygirl.

That was the victory for me. There would also be humbling experiences later on.

Mistress had spent some time working me to the carts before the events started. That was one advantage to arriving a couple days early. Stormy is a champion in cart work, taking Grand Champion at Floating World for a blindfolded cart pulling routing that Mistress had put together for him. We sort of figured he would do well on this, so Mistress spent extra time with me as I had so little experience with carts and blindfolds.

Strangely, the idea of pulling a cart while blindfolded didn't scare me at all. Not only did I feel capable and ready to have a go at it - my practice session having gone quite well, thank you), but I even felt comfortable. I wasn't nervous at all.

Never mind that I had not seen the course. Why would I need to see a course I was going to be driven through blindfolded?

Perhaps I should have taken a cue from the reluctance all the other ponies showed when the ring steward asked who wanted to go first. But when nobody spoke up, I jumped right in. Mistress was agreeable, so off we went.

I wanted to do this at speed. I really wanted to trot my way through this course, and after the practice session I had had a couple days before, I saw no reason why that wouldn't be possible. But very soon after leaving the starting line, I discovered just how disorienting it could be to have a blindfold on. Now, I wasn't new to them, and I had learned to get over my fear of them at our little training spot in Derry, NH. But in this strange field (or strange to me, anyway) down in Texas, nothing seemed to make any sense.

Really, that's the nub of the problem. A pony wearing a blindfold should never try to make sense of anything. He should just listen to the reins and trust his handler. But I guess I was still trying to map out the field in my own head while figuring out where Mistress wanted me to go. It was a mistake.

I did reasonably well through most of the course, managing to get Mistress close enough to the flags that She was supposed to grab as we went by. But at one point, I was reined to a halt and given a signal to back up. In the process, I also got a signal to turn. That's a tricky maneuver that bio-horses don't usually have to worry about, but here I was faced with it.

I turned as I was instructed - or rather, as I thought I had been instructed. But almost immediately, I was halted again and reined forward. One more signal to stop, back up and turn again led to a quick halt and a rein forward. Mistress tried a third time and again, I could not seem to do the right thing.

By this moment, I was unhappy. Unhappy that I was not getting the job done and unhappy that the clock was running (like that was my worry or something). In short order, frustration began to mount and I started to get angry with myself.

That's never a good thing, anger. It makes you do irrational things, and irrational things are even easier to do when you are blindfolded. Your brain starts to make up all sorts of stories about how much of a fool you look and how many are watching. Coupled with a desire to do well, you can find yourself in a vicious cycle until something gives.

In this case, something gave rather spectacularly. When I got yet another rein signal to move forward, I moved ahead about three steps and straight into a hay bale. That sent me ass over tea kettle into the dirt.

And that did it. One wall coming up, and I hit it hard. I said something that I won't repeat here - goodbye head space - and threw a handful of dirt at the ground. Mistress called out to the ring steward that we were done and would not complete the course. That stung more than the fall because I wanted to finish this cursed course and show it that it could not defeat me. I wanted everyone to know that I would get the job done no matter how many bruises it cost me. Mistress unhitched me from the cart and sent me to the pony pen where my anger was readily apparent to the rest of the ponies waiting their turn. Another bad move on my part.

Firefox came over to me and told me how brave I had been to go first and that even though I didn't finish the course, I had dome very well. All I could do was remind her that I had failed to finish. When it was clear to her that the message wasn't getting through, Firefox grabbed my bridle and said, "Hey! I'm trying to make you feel better!"

One case of perspective coming up. I stopped dead in my tracks and thanked her. Then she gave me a hug.

Still, I felt I had disappointed Mistress and that stung enough to bring tears. I stepped into the pony trailer where I could be alone for a few minutes and let them flow. It proved good therapy, and once finished, I looked out through the slats in the trailer to see Stormy starting into the course with Mistress at the reins. He seemed to have some trouble at some of the same points I did, but he finished the course in one piece. I came out of the trailer to see him, but he had already headed to the house for some reason.

I found him in our room. As it turned out, he had also hit his own personal wall. We talked about it and spent some time going over what had happened with each of us. When Mistress joined us, we had some private time together to talk about what had happened to each of us. It was one of those deeply private moments, and I won't go into any detail, but one thing I did carry away from it was that I had not disappointed Mistress at all. She knew me a little better than I knew myself on this score. When She saw how upset I was, She elected to stop even though She knew I would have gone further. But She also realized that if I had had any further trouble - almost a certainty given my level of frustration - things would have been much worse. I had to agree. She was right. It was better to take it on the chin and stop with dignity intact than to break down completely.

I got an honorable mention for the blindfold cart challenge even though I didn't finish the course. That was a surprise to me, and helped put me back on track. After all, there was still more to go. The weekend was nearing its close, and it had been very intense. Stormy and I both had issues to deal with, and with the help of our Mistress, we came through it.

And though it may embarrass him, you should know that Stormy took the Champion ribbon in the blindfold cart challenge.

The evening event was Freestyle Dressage. In this event, ponies and handlers put on dressage presentations that they had rehearsed. Mistress created another tandem dressage routine for Stormy and I again using Her crop signals instead of reins or verbal commands. Others put on their own presentations and there was some serious creativity at work here. In the end, Mistress took home the Third Place ribbon for Her work with us. Not at all bad for a first time out!

There were two final events that made the weekend complete for me. Neither of them was a competition. One was a collaring, the other a wedding.

A collaring is a ceremony in which a Dominant takes ownership of a submissive. In the pony world, it might better be called a bridling. I had mine at the 2008 Winter Flea (that story is told in an earlier entry on this blog). But this would be special to three people - Mistress, me, and Stormy.

Stormy was originally owned and trained by E.R. of the Equus Eroticus Ranch. When she and her husband Paul Reed moved to Texas, it became difficult for Stormy to get the time to go visit for training and such. They had made a wonderful video on human pony training (which is still available, by the way), but visits became very rare, and Ms. R began to transition out of the scene. Stormy met Mistress at camp Crucible and at just about the time that his interest in pony play was reaching a crossroads. The chemistry between them was good, though, and he asked Her if She would mind taking up his training. Mistress agreed, and arrangements were made with Ms. R. There were attempts to get a long-term lease from the EE Ranch, but the proprietors were unable to make it to Camp in the years that followed. So it seemed a great idea to get it done at CTK. After all, the EE Ranch wasn't all that far away.

So it was that Paul Reed arrived with the lease in hand. Stormy would belong to Aphrodite's Meadow Stable on a 99-year lease for the price of one American dollar. The deal done, Mistress presented Stormy with his stable collar - the exact same colors as mine - and placed it on him. That made Stormy an official pony of Aphrodite's Meadow. It also made him my stable mate in earnest. It was one of the most moving moments of my year.

The wedding joined Foxy Davis and Sherifox in a midnight ceremony. Although it was cold outside, everybody basked in the warmth of the glow between the two of them. The vows were down to Earth and so sincere. Everyone who attended joined in congratulating the newlyweds and celebrating the special moment.

The week had been long and the games well played, but as with all of these events, it had to come to a close soon enough. Mistress, Stormy and I were taken to the airport on Monday morning for our flight back. I was happy to know that I could get a seat on the flight that the two of them were scheduled to take. Originally, I had to fly out on a different plane and sit in Minneapolis (I think) for five hours. Not a happy thought for me, so it was worth the additional $50 to get on the plane headed for Atlanta instead. We made it that far as a threesome before Stormy had to switch for a plane to Hartford. Mistress and I continued on to Boston, and the trip finally came to an end.

It was good to be home. I had played hard, hit some walls, and learned a lot about myself as a pony. I learned a lot about my abilities and limitations. Now I have some limits to stretch.

No doubt Mistress will help all She can.

My Kinky Texas Adventure - Part 3

2009-07-01T19:45:00.000-04:00

What was it I said at the close of the last post? I promised not to make you wait as long for this next installment as I did the last time?

Wow. Am I in for it. There are reasons for the long delay - believe me, but I won't go into them right now. But if I don't smarten up, Clover will report me to Mistress for breaking that promise. I can't imagine what the result of that could be.

The Jamboree got underway in earnest on Thursday evening. Or at least, it was supposed to. Mistress, Stormy and I had arrived late in the day on Wednesday and spent a couple of days helping out around the place. There wasn't a whole lot to do because people had already been very busy getting ready for the event and most of the work was done. That left the three of us with time to work on our dressage system and get some idea of how things were going to work. We had been given the honor of performing in the opening ceremony on Thursday night, so we wanted things to go well indeed.

Mistress selected some suitable music and arranged a dressage choreography that had Stormy and I working in tandem. It was great fun putting it together and would be very impressive when performed.

Everyone gathered for the opening ceremony in the waning hours of Thursday. Mistress had sequestered Stormy and I in the barn. We were resplendent in out nice clean tack with the flags of the United States and the State of Texas secured to our backs. I had the US flag and Stormy carried the flag of Texas. Both flags were very big and impressive, and they flew behind us as we moved about. Mind you, they didn't fly like that because we were running about. They flew like that because it was very windy. It was also cloudy and damned cold!

I had thought of Texas as a southern state and convinced myself that southern states never got cold. I was in for an awakening and it started that night. Temperatures were in the low 60s. I know that shouldn't be cold to a New Englander like me, but when you are shirtless and wearing saddle leather in a high wind, it bores down to the bone eventually. I recall one Texan, looking at me as I shivered, and saying, "I thought you northerners were used to temperatures like this!" I replied by telling him that northerners like me know to go inside or put on warmer clothes when it gets cold. That's how we manage!

But for the moment, Stormy and I were in the barn awaiting the signal to come rushing out with our flags and wow the crowd. We endured the wind and the dust it blew into our eyes and mouths (we had bits in place, after all) as we looked for the signal.

But the signal did not come. I don't know how long we were there, but the guest of honor was not able to make it to the ranch that night after all, so the opening ceremony was postponed until the following morning.

Not a problem. Just get this flag down out of my harness, take the bit out of my mouth and tell me I have been a good boy.

My first ribbon came later that evening after the talent show. Mistress and I decided to reprise my dance number from Camp, and although the space was a whole lot smaller than the basketball court, I managed to pull it off. It's amazing how it took no less energy to do it, though. This performance earned me a ribbon for tack and appointments.

Are you reading this, Buck?

Once the show was over and all the ribbons passed out, Stormy and I decided to go inside and curl up under a blanket - my first slice of heaven that weekend.

That was a good thing because the remainder of the weekend would be no holds barred, all out competition that would go pretty much non-stop from mid-morning until sundown and beyond. Rather than pick and choose events and run the risk of looking a tad elitist, Mistress, Stormy and I decided to have at it and toss our hats in for every event we could. That's not an easy thing to do when you're my age, but why not see how far I could go?

I would find out, too.

The opening ceremony took place at the start of events on Friday morning. We did our dressage number to The Yellow Rose of Texas, which proved a crowd pleaser. After a few speeches and the introduction of the guest of honor for the weekend, the games got underway.

I have to say I surprised myself. The roster of stallions competing this weekend was impressive as was the list of fillies. Everyone was out to have a good time more than anything else, but ponies do like to shine and they love to please their trainers and owners. Mistress has one golden rule when competing. It doesn't matter one whit to Her if we win or lose a competition, but She does expect an all-out effort. Not finishing first is no disgrace if the game has been well played.

So it was with a desire to play well that I stood at the starting line in the Gauntlet. This was a race against the clock - as most events were. I had to pull Mistress in a cart along a very twisty course. Along the way, She had to complete a number of tasks. First was putting a lance through a ring, the next was opening and closing gates while I waited, third was directing me through a slolem of hay bales, fourth was bandaging my leg, fifth was taking an egg on a spoon and driving the cart without dropping it, and the final task was to put me in the horse trailer.

Now I was going to find out if all of that time in the gym had been worth it. We were given the signal to go and Mistress reined me into action. To say that we played hard might be an understatement. I held back when told to, and galloped at full tilt the rest of the time. No eggs gor dropped and no hay bales were struck (as far as I know). When the time came for me to be put in the horse trailer, though, my long reins got fouled up around Mistress' leg and I went head over backside onto the floor of the trailer. That event - the first of them all - left me with a bleeding mouth from my bit and a skinned knee from the fall.

Yeehaa! Let the games begin!

A little patch-up work and a new pair of tights later, I was ready to go again. By that time, one other pony had taken a spill and joined me in the infirmary. Clearly, the stallions in this bunch meant business!

My efforts and bruises were worth it, though. I took Reserve Champion in the Gauntlet, surprising the daylights out of me. The Champion of the event was a pony named Clover whom nobody was going to catch. He beat my time by a full 20 seconds.

The Stallion Power Challenge was the next event for me. In this, ponies had to drag a large timber for a specified distance and then sprint to the finish line. Like the Gauntlet, it was a race against the clock. Being as fearless as Mistress desires, I stepped up to the starting line and took the harness. I was happy with my performance and took fourth place, which wasn't bad in a large field.

Other competitions included Hunter Jumper - both beginner and advanced, Dressage - beginner and advanced in both formal and freestyle events, Conformation, and the blindfolded cart challenge. The only event we didn't take part in was the Fox Hunt. I don't recall exactly why, but events conspired to keep that one off the schedule for me.

Hunter Jumper was a jump course. If you have never seen one of those, or if you have seen them in an equestrian event, bear in mind that the course looks very different from the stands than it does on the ground. For all of me, it was a field of sticks that I had to navigate around and it made no sense. Some kind soul had gone to the trouble of painting lines ont he ground that we could follow. Then they allowed us to walk the course a couple of times just to get it clear. Finally, they gave us the option of trotting or cantering the course with the only stipulation that we could not change gait in mid-course. Further, if we chose to canter, we had to get our leads correct.

Well, correct lead has never been a problem for me when cantering, so I decided to go for it. I went through the beginner's course on the correct lead all the way through.

It would have helped if I had not missed the very first jump. Remember those lines they took all that trouble to paint?

Oh, the ignominy of it all.

Embarrassment out of the way, we moved on. Conformation is an event that has to do with how well ponies get along in a group. We were let into the ring and given commands by the ring steward. We would be judged on how well we obeyed the commands and the rules of etiquette in the ring. Yours truly missed one command - or rather, I missed one detail of that command. It was a detail that I would not have understood, so it makes no difference. And, of course, I know what it means now, so I'll never get it wrong again. I remember not hearing the command to stop at the end, but I didn't feel badly about that because Clover didn't hear it either. Both of us continued to canter around, almost dropping from exhaustion until someone stopped us and told us the event was over.

I took fifth place on that one. Ugh.

Dressage...now that was a different story. And I'll tell that one in the next installment along with the story of how I hit the wall.

Yes, it happens on occasion.

My Kinky Texas Adventure - Part 2

2009-01-28T20:44:00.003-05:00

Tuesday dawned very early for Mistress and I. After the nerve-wracking events of the night before, we had gotten very little sleep. Still we were both wide awake and ready to head out for Austin. We had two planes to catch and no doubt a lot of acreage to walk in the process, but the first challenge was getting from the house to the train station about a mile away. They don't allow overnight parking there, and R doesn't drive. That meant walking with a lot of luggage. Somewhere in the mists of time, some genius added wheels to suitcases and now that seems to be the standard. I am grateful for that.

November is typically cold in New England, and although it was a little nippy out, it wasn't uncomfortable. It was dark, of course, being only about five in the morning. The first train for Logan airport left the station in Malden at 5:15 a.m. and we intended to be on it. Life can throw miracles at you just as easily as it can obstructions, and I had to recognize such an event when I made it through the turnstiles at the train station without anything catastrophic happening. After all, I hadn't had any coffee yet and the walls were looking a little shaky to me at just that moment. But the card swiped through the little slot and I passed through that revolving mechanism that I so often see as a castration machine. I have never been able to just run at those things for fear of what would result if it didn't move properly.

But move it did, and we soon took up seats on the train. It seemed forever before the doors closed and we pulled out of the station, but finally, we were officially launched. We arrived at Logan not long after and proceeded to check in.

I've said it before and I'll repeat it here. Ponies and their trainers do not travel light. Beyond clothing and toiletries (all properly stashed in their little bottles and plastic bags - oh how I hate those rules), there are grooming supplies, reins, extra bits, signs for the stalls, double-ended snap hooks and, yes, the twitch. None of that stuff would make it in if we tried to carry it on, so it all had to go into the checked bags. There was a time not long ago when that wouldn't have been a problem, but these days, airlines are charging nothing short of your eternal soul if you want to check a second bag or if the bag you have is over the weight limit. In this case, nothing could weigh more than 50 pounds.

Mistress is a very fashionable dresser at events, and she was carrying all of that extra pony stuff in her suitcase, so she ended up going over the limit by 10 pounds. We didn't know how much my case weighed, but when we were told she would have to pay an extra $80 for that ten pounds, I began to sweat. I mean, ouch! But as it turned out, my case was well under the limit. By that time, Mistress' suitcase was long gone, so there was nothing we could do about it other than make a mental note to change things around for the trip back. Not that we were scheduled to travel on the same flights or anything, but it would all end up in the same place.

Once inside the secure zone, we had a chance to grab some coffee and a bite to eat. This is where I always fail to learn life's lessons. If you're traveling through airports and are anything like me at all, you keep telling yourself that you can get something to eat once you are through security. No matter how many times you do this, you never seem to recall just how horrid an airport food court can be. Somehow, your inner optimist - the one you keep saying you are going to strangle one day - tells you over and over that this airport can't possibly be as bad as the last one you were in. Every time you listen to that guy. And every time, you come the raw prawn.

Mistress needs to eat before she can put coffee into her stomach. I can put most anything into mine without trouble. So we sat across from the Dunkin Donuts eating out breakfast. I don't remember what she got, but I clearly remember eating my crunchy egg sandwich on a croissant. Someone should tell these people that croissant are not supposed to be crunchy. And yes, they should be flaky, but not in such a manner that the flakes end up all over you.

Ohh well, that was breakfast in Boston. I'll spare you the gory details of lunch in Atlanta. We tried. Really we did. But airport food is...well, I'm surprised Rod Serling never made a Twighligh Zone episode about it.

Wow. I'm glad I didn't think of that during the trip. The last episode of Twilight Zone that I saw was the one starring William Shatner as the airplane passenger who kept seeing a gorilla on the wing.

In fact, both flights were uneventful. We found out seats (Mistress got the window) and settled in on both flights. They were tastefully boring and I spent most of my time either reading the in-flight magazine, staring out the window - as is my wont on plane flights - or eating the pony treats that airline feed passengers these days. Remember when you used to get an actual meal if your flight went over a standard mealtime? Those days passed a long time ago and I can't help wondering what a five hour flight across the country would be like today. In any case, I should remind myself that if airport food is nasty, the food they cooked on the flight itself was equally bad. So I guess I didn't miss anything.

We landed in Austin pretty much on time. Stormy would not come in until the next day, so Mistress and I gathered up our luggage and went outside to await our ride. We were to be picked up by Miss Indigo, but there was a small confusion on our arrival time. Miss Indigo arrived ahead of schedule and when we weren't there, went out to do some errands. A call from Mistress on her cell phone, and Indigo headed back to the airport. Shortly thereafter, we were in the car and headed out to the suburbs.

I'm a homebody. I don't have to go very far away before I start missing my cat and feeling somewhat out of place. That is particularly true when I visit places far away from home. My parents moved eight states away a few years ago, and when I visit them I step into a completely different climate and culture. I can never seem to get used to the sight of palm trees, and although I do like warmer temperatures they are weird in November.

Texas was something else entirely. I always knew it was big, but I had no idea. They were just coming out of a long drought at the time, and although things were reported to be on the rebound, the landscape was pretty brown and featureless. The highway went on for mile after mile without a lot to look at. I found out later on that the state has a small number of high population centers like Dallas, Austin, and Fort Worth and a whole lot of empty space between them. Texans think nothing of traveling five hours to attend a meeting or other function and then traveling five hours to get home. It's just the way it is in such a large state. Not a good place for someone with ADD.

Still, Miss Indigo has a talent for conversation that kept the atmosphere in the car fun and entertaining. Before long, we arrived at her utterly spotless home. She apologized for the mess. To this day, I'm still trying to figure out what she was talking about. Mistress and I found our rooms and put our luggage away for the day. We would spend the night here and then go to the CTK Ranch the next day.

I no sooner got my suitcase stowed when I began to realize how tired I was. Mistress and Miss Indigo were planning to do some shopping before Mistress fell on her nose for a while, so it seemed like a good time for this pony to hit the hay. I was out like a light in no time and slept for quite a while. At one point, I remember feeling someone putting a blanket over my feet. Somehow, it ended up covering my whole body before I woke up.

Later that evening, Miss Indigo took Mistress and I out for dinner at a local Tex-Mex restaurant. I guess there's something about Texas in that they take their Tex-Mex very seriously. This place was fantastic and unlike any I had ever been to before. We were well-stuffed by the time the meal was finished and still had plenty of food to take home with us.

A stop at the local video rental store, and we headed home again. We picked up two DVDs to watch that evening; Disney's Enchanted and Hellboy II.

That about caught both ends of the spectrum. We watched both movies, had a bit of nosh and then headed to bed.

I don't remember what hour we awoke the next morning, but we showered, had breakfast and hung out for a while. Soon we would head over to join up with some friends, pick Stormy up at the airport and then get some lunch before heading out to the Ranch.

Lots of restaurants refer to the food they serve as Texas barbecue, but I'm here to tell you that it isn't Texas barbecue unless you are in Texas. I have had barbecue plenty of times in my life and this tasted very similar. The differences were the side dishes and the atmosphere. Again, it's a different culture altogether and taken in context, it was a real treat that I hope to relish again some day. This place was a favorite of our hosts and was well chosen.

Once sated, we split up into two vehicles and headed over to the CTK Ranch. We took the scenic route through Austin proper and took the time to get a gook look at the nation's largest capital dome. Everything is bigger in Texas.

Once out of the city, we were on our way to CTK and a weekend of fun, competition and new friendships. More on that in the next installment.

I promise I won't make you wait as long for that as you did for this.

My Kinky Texas Adventure - Part 1

2009-01-09T21:05:00.005-05:00

When Mistress says that this herd travels, she isn't kidding. It isn't necessary to travel long distances to play pony, but it certainly can be a lot of fun.

And a challenge at odd moments.

So it was with a great sense of adventure that the Proprietor and ponies of Aphrodite's Meadow traveled to the CTK Ranch just outside of Austin, TX for a weekend of games, competition and general nuzzling. Mistress, Stormy and I had been talking about doing this all year. We had all purchased our plane tickets in the late spring just after Camp and had spent some time figuring out those logistics. It's not easy traveling together when you make your reservations separately, but through the miracle of modern chutzpah, we managed it pretty well. Sort of.

Itinerary change, anyone?

Stormy and I chose not to trust the airlines with our tack. We both have heard horror stories about people checking their tack at the counter, never to see it again. We both have some serious investment in time, emotion, thought and money in the tack that we wear and it's too meaningful to lose. So we shipped our tack to the ranch about a week ahead of the event. Besides, a tack bag would have constituted a second bag and airlines are charging nothing short of your first born child for extra bags these days. Shipping wasn't cheap - about the same as checking a second bag - but at least we knew things would make it to their destination.

Stormy was traveling out of Hartford while Mistress and I departed from Boston. In addition, Stormy had to head out a day later than us because of a work commitment. It's not easy being self-employed, especially in a down economy. So opportunities have to be grabbed when they present themselves. I arrived at Mistress' house the day before we were to fly out, parking my car in front of her house in mid-afternoon.

Now if you've been following my story, you know my back tends to cause me pain now and then. It's down to an annoying background issue from the flaming, summer-ruining tribulation that it was, so it was odd to me that it should hurt more than usual that afternoon. And on the wrong side. I figured that the ride in the car had bothered me a little and brushed the pain off, thinking it would go away once I had a chance to walk around and stretch.

I thought wrong.

Now look. I was taking a week's vacation, traveling to Texas to play pony, and I'd been looking forward to this for months. Quality time with Mistress and Stormy is precious to me and nothing - repeat nothing - was going to ruin it. Period. I hit the denial button as hard as I could and forged ahead, giving Mistress a hug and jumping into her van to go shopping with her for some last-minute items.

Trouble is, my denial gear wasn't working very well. I knew there was conversation in the van as we traveled around and did errands, but my half of it consisted almost entirely of monosyllabic grunts acknowledging that someone was talking and little else. I just couldn't get my mind off the pain in my back and the anxiety it was causing. I don't do canceled plans or ruined vacations with any sort of grace, and I had no intention of changing my plans. Attempts to compensate by sitting or standing differently failed and Mistress was starting to notice. She already knew about the pain, but its extent was something I had tried to cover up.

By the time we got home from shopping, the pain had subsided a little and I thought it was over. Mistress' partner R had made her way home and the three of us decided to go out for dinner. We went to an Irish pub in my car and had no sooner arrived and been seated when someone hit me in the back with a mace. Or at least, that's how it felt. We ordered, talked a bit and then I went silent again. This time, I couldn't hide anything. The white knuckles gave it away. That and my inability to sit still. Just as our food arrived, I had to confess that my appetite had vaporized. We got up from the table and asked the waitress to box up our meals. Mistress retrieved my car and drove me to the closest emergency room while R walked home with the food. Luckily, things were all close at hand.

By this time, I knew what was going on. When asked what I suspected by the triage nurse, I told her it was a kidney stone. This would be the second one of these buggers I had dealt with in eight years, which doesn't make me a prolific stone mason, but what timing! The triage nurse took the information and told me to have a seat in the waiting room. I chose a spot in a corner behind a screen that was reasonably private and Mistress and I sat.

And sat, and sat, and sat.

After thirty minutes, the pain in my back suddenly vanished. I mean, it went away completely and something left me with the ontological certitude that it wasn't going to come back. At about the same time, I realized that I had to pee like the race horse that I try to be. Knowing that hospital emergency departments only tend to ask for a urine sample right after you have relieved yourself, I walked over to the triage desk and requested a specimen cup, "Just in case." I went to the bathroom and, while doing what I was in there to do, I had the unbelievable good fortune to pass the stone while aiming for the cup. Proud as a peacock - not to mention relieved as hell - I emerged from the bathroom crowing and waving the specimen cup around for all to see. I had accomplished something!

And still we sat. Two more hours crept by while I continued to marvel at my sample with it's tiny little boulder knocking around like so much gravel in a little stream. The population of the entire waiting room had turned over twice, but still my name had not been called. Mistress was annoyed and suggested that I go and ask what was going on. I work in health care and know about long waits in emergency departments, so I was inclined to wait just a bit longer. Besides, I hate confrontation. I would probably still be sitting there today, but Mistress decided that enough was enough. She walked into the registration office to ask what was going on. I could see her standing there, back to me, no doubt asking very pointed questions of the staff that seemed to be getting just a little agitated.

A few moments later, a nurse came out and called my name. It seems that triage at this ED is a two-stage process and triage nurse number one had not handed me off to triage nurse number two. As a result, my information was not in the computer and nobody knew I was there.

Nice.

I went in to speak to triage nurse number two, giving her all of my information and hugging my specimen close to me. I had gotten somewhat attached to it and didn't really want to let it go. In the end, though, I had to turn it over, and it disappeared. I was ushered into a treatment room and awaited the physician.

The doctor was an affable, friendly man who also suffered from kidney stones, so we hit it off quite nicely. After his consult and an analysis of the stone, he suggested a CT scan. By this point, however, it was after ten o'clock at night. Mistress and I were ravenously hungry, my pain was gone, the trip was saved, and all we wanted to do was eat and sleep. Still, I welcomed a prescription for Percocet just in case something went haywire while 30,000 feet over Virginia. I declined the CT scan - having had one in August, after all - and the two of us headed home by way of the local pharmacy.

Once home, Mistress and I had our dinner from the restaurant - which was fabulous - and spoke briefly with R. Apparently Stormy had called while we were out and R had very nonchalantly informed him that we were both at the emergency room but would probably be back before long. By that time, R had heard from Mistress that I was fine and the crisis had ebbed, so R could reassure Stormy. Still, I wish I could have listened in on that one.

Very quickly, it was bedtime. After all, Mistress and I had to get up at 4:45 the next morning for the walk to the train station complete with luggage. This was going to be very exciting.

Ho! Ho! Ho!

2008-12-14T17:44:00.015-05:00

Let me give you an image; a man stands up in the back room of a gay bar, looks at his knees and tells the man standing next to him, “Those are going to be sore in the morning!”

And now for the clean explanation.

Up until last night, I had only been to two gay bars in my life. It was many years ago and as I recall, the cigarette smoke was so thick you needed navigational instruments and fog horns to find you way around. So the visits were brief. And unproductive.

Last night was something different.

First of all, the reason for going had nothing to do with cruising or any of the other classic reasons for going to a gay bar. The Boston Ramrod was holding a holiday party and Mr. Boston Leather was going to be putting in an appearance as Santa Claus. He got in touch with Mistress a while back and asked if she had some ponies who might be interested in being reindeer for the evening. The occasion was a fund raiser to benefit AIDS education and outreach for leathermen. Photo ops with Santa and his “reindeer” were being offered for five dollars and raffles were being held for several very intriguing grab bags that sat under a Christmas tree.

I arrived at Mistress’ house in the early afternoon. On these “day trips”, I like to do all I can to maximize face time so I try to land as early as possible and within the bounds of good taste. The party wasn’t set to begin until ten that evening and the other ponies weren’t expected for a few hours, so we had a chance to sit and visit. Quiet moments like that are precious, especially in what usually promises to be a hectic time of year.

Stormy was the next to arrive, stepping through the door about five hours after I did. I cherish any chance I get to see Stormy, and my decision to come to this event had as much to do with that as it did anything else. We talked for a short while of life since the CTK Jamboree in November (more on the Jamboree in another story) and generally readied ourselves for the arrival of Northern Belle. Northern Belle, is a voluptuous, vivacious and...gregarious...pony girl switch who is as outgoing as a person can be without incurring damage. She's great fun to be with, but taking a little time to ready yourself for the experience is usually a good idea.

Once we were all gathered, we had a terrific meal and got our tack and equipment ready. Mistress packed a bag of reins, jingle bells, and other essentials while Stormy, Northern Belle and I put on as much of our tack as we could prior to heading out. Ms. Belle also brought along some reindeer antlers that she picked up at a Petco store on her way over. I mean, if you are going to masquerade as a reindeer, you need to look the part, don't you? We adapted the antlers to fit our heads (they were made for dogs, after all) by cutting off the chin straps and removing the tags. They fit well enough for the purpose, so we tossed them into our tack bags and piled into the van for the trip into Boston.

Ah, Boston. I'm so glad Mistress was driving.

We arrived at the Ramrod about one hour before the party was due to start and went to work getting tacked up and ready. We were met there by Andrea, our stable hand, a new stable hand in training, and another pony/trainer couple who had come on their own.

Okay...let's deal with the question that has been going around in your head. Women in a gay bar?

Well, yes. It was Ladies Night out in front. In fact, it may not be entirely accurate to call the Ramrod a gay bar although a great deal of its advertising certainly makes it look that way. It's structured like a classic gay bar with a front room where most of the socializing happens, and a back room where...well...the rest of the socializing happens. But like a lot of other establishments of the sort, survival calls for a more inclusive approach. Gay, straight, lesbian, transgendered and questioning folk are all a part of the community, and it seems that they are welcome at the Ramrod.

Kinky folk come in all shapes and persuasions as well, and what better place to be kinky than at a leather bar? So it was a good fit.

So there we were in the back room of the Ramrod getting ready. Stormy and I began the process of laying out our tack so that Mistress and the stable girls could put it on us. I laid each piece out in order so that it could be easily applied without confusion. And then I made a terrible discovery.

I had forgotten my plume! I HAD FORGOTTEN MY PLUME!

I could see it lying on a table at home in its protective cardboard tube, wondering what it had done to be left behind. On returning from the CTK Jamboree I had carried my plume and tail in my luggage rather than shipping them, so they were separated from the rest of my stuff. The tail made it into the tack bag but the plume had not. In a weak moment I had made the decision to not consult the check list I normally use while packing. I figured I had been over that list so many times that all I had to do was visualize my tack from head to toe and make sure each piece was in the bag.

Wrong.

I wasted no time at all fessing up to Mistress. Better to get the bad news off my chest and suffer the consequences than to let Her find out by Herself. I suppose everyone forgets something like this at some point (Stormy told me he did once) but when your stable's motto is, "Honor the plume," forgetting yours can leave you feeling rather low. Mistress was understanding. There would be no punishment outside of having to go the entire evening without my plume, which was bad enough. At one point, though, She did muse to Stormy that he should not be allowed to wear his plume since I had forgotten mine. The look of horror on my face at that idea amused her, I think. Worse than having to go without my beloved crest would be having to watch Stormy without his and knowing that his deprivation was my fault. In the end, though, Stormy got to wear his plume.

Of course, we all had antlers, but Stormy had antlers and a plume. In the end, I was duly punished by that fact alone. I shan't forget it again.

Watch me forget my dance belt the next time.

We spent some time getting our bearings in the dark of the back room and then started having some fun. Northern Belle went straight for the front room and schmoozed with anyone who would talk to her - a considerable number of people, it seems. Gender made no difference. Belle was stunning in her red Lycra body suit and black leather tack. The very nice gay crowd gathered around her to see what a pony girl had to say. When she told them that there were pony boys in the back, they made a beeline in to see us.

Personally, I was thrilled! This is the sort of thing I have worked so hard on my body for and the chance to show it off a little was welcomed. Belle, Stormy and I all went in for some serious prancing and tail wagging (read "butt wiggling"). Mistress spent some time doing short reins work with Stormy and I, probably more as a showpiece for bar patrons than a serious attempt to train us. Seeing two men clad in leather straps and thongs getting led about by a stunner in a top hat holding a set of leather reins had to be a hot scene. So did watching as She put the two of us through our dressage paces using her crop to discipline and correct us when we made the inevitable mistakes. I experienced a new-found erotic sensation just having a bit in my mouth in this setting.

About an hour of this worked up a light, shiny sweat on us and readied us for the main event. Mr Boston Leather came in wearing his red shirt and Santa boots. He was a friendly gentleman with a great handshake and a wonderful smile. He laid out his plans for the event and we made ready to serve as his entourage. But before the picture sessions, he wanted a shot of him arriving on a reindeer. Mistress quickly commanded me down on all fours for the purpose.

I don't typically do four-legged pony work, mostly because my (almost) fifty year-old knees don't much like the idea and my back doesn't much care for it either. Still, I was more than willing to take on the role for a good picture. Down I went and stayed for several minutes while the shot was taken several times. In fact, Mr. Boston Leather never put his full weight on my back. That was probably a good thing as you would know if you have followed this blog. But even with only a little pressure on my back, I felt that wonderful sense of submission not only to my Mistress but to Mr. Boston Leather as well. I liked that. In fact, I was swept into pony head space pretty quickly and didn't really surface for the rest of the evening. Fine with me!

Once the pictures of Santa arriving were done, we all took our places around his seat for the charity photo shoot. This was to last about thirty minutes. Stormy and I were positioned to either side of the chair on our knees but upright. That presented a challenge because the floor was hard and the bells on my boots would not allow me to rest back on my lower legs, meaning I would have to put all the weight of my upper body on my knees. Ouch! I bore it for about fifteen minutes until I finally had to go down on all fours for a while. I noticed that Stormy did the same thing at about the same time, and Northern Belle had been on all fours all along.

Mistress went around to bar patrons asking if they wanted to have their picture taken with Santa. Some did, but many declined. It wasn't that they didn't want to help the charity, though. I mean think about it. Having your picture taken in a gay bar can be a fast track to unemployment, divorce or a lot of other problems. I'm sure more than a few bar patrons found the presence of cameras in the back room a little disconcerting, special event or not.

When it seemed as though everyone who intended to get their picture taken had done so, Mistress took her turn. She sat proudly on Santa's lap with our head stable hand Andrea on the other side and Her ponies all around. It was Aphrodite's Meadow stable and Santa, and if I may say so myself, the picture looks very nice. For Mistress, Stormy and I endured the agony of kneeling upright one more time. I don't know if getting there or being there hurt more, but I put a smile on my face and bore it. A few pictures for the ponies - on all fours once again - and the session was over.

That's when I stood up, looked at my knees and told Stormy, "Those are going to be sore in the morning!" See? I told you there was a clean explanation for the remark!

That took care of the main event, but the evening was far from over. Stormy and I had earned some attention and we were soon to get it. We spent a little time prancing about some more and showing ourselves off to an appreciative crowd. I danced with Northern Belle on and off, and then stood quietly by while Andrea massaged my legs, shoulders and back. She was playing idly with my ponytail when she leaned into my ear and told me, "You're being cruised!" That meant that at least one gay bar patron was checking me out. That made me giddy and I decided to give whomever it was a show. More wiggling and tail wagging ensued.

Then I noticed that Northern Belle was enjoying some "scenic" attention at the edge of the stage. I decided I could use some of that and moved right in next to her. Andrea seemed to understand what I was looking for and moved in behind me. I leaned over onto the stage and presented my back to her.

Andrea is evil. Delightfully evil. She has a talent for sensation play that is close to felonious and administered what sometimes felt like pure heat followed by freezing cold and interspersed with heavy massage. In very little time I was sailing deep into sub space. The sensations on my back were coupled with the vibrations of the stage beneath my torso as the music pounded out a steady rave-style rhythm. At some point, I noticed that Northern Belle had moved away and Stormy was now next to me. Mistress and Andrea were working both of us, trading back and forth as the mood moved them. On occasion, I was pulled up by my collar for one reason or another. At one point, Andrea asked if I wanted more.

Oh yes, please!

On another occasion, Mistress wanted to introduce me to a very handsome man. I desperately wanted to say hello and shake his hand, but I couldn't make myself do either. "He's a little spacey," Mistress told the man, "we've been working him over pretty well for a while." I did manage a polite nod and a smile, but I'm sure I looked pretty foolish for the high I had achieved on endorphins.

Before resuming my position for more treatment, I whispered in Mistress' ear and asked if we had drawn an audience. "Oh yes," She cooed, "There's quite a crowd watching this!"

Nirvana! I told Her that if any of the bar patrons wished to have a go at me, I had no objection. The invitation was gladly accepted by I don't know how many people. Some gave me a very nice pat on the backside, others just, shall we say, smoothed it over for a moment or two. It was all under the supervision of my Mistress and it was all good.

But all good things must end. Eventually, I had to rise out of sub space and begin the process of becoming a human being once again. The party was over and closing time would soon be upon us. Andrea and the other pony couple said their goodbyes and headed out. Mistress went to retrieve the car. Stormy and I retrieved our tack bags and changed with the help of our new stable hand. Northern Belle was ready before all of us. We collected ourselves and headed out to the sidewalk. There were many words of thanks and plenty of praise for the ponies. In short, we were a hit.

Out on the sidewalk waiting for Mistress to bring the van around, Stormy said how amazing it was the way the time had flown. We had arrived at 9:30 and it was now 2:00 in the morning. It had felt like only an hour to us. Such is the way of time in an altered state of consciousness. I can't wait to go back some day!

And I told you there was a clean explanation, didn't I?

Ms. Nikki's Pony Palooza Day

2008-11-02T19:40:00.003-05:00

The first Pony Palooza was held at Centaur Stables - Ms. Nikki's place in CT on Saturday October 18th. Ponies from all over gathered with their trainers for a woodland hike and games. Some had been to Ms. Nikki's Pony Perfection Day earlier this year and so knew what to expect. I had to miss that first event, so I was a newbie in the neighborhood.

I had spent the previous night at my friend Ponyboy Fuzzy's place. He lives only a couple hours from East Haddam compared to my seven, so it was a welcomed crash spot for me. We headed out in the frost at 6 in the morning with our tack bags, food and Northern Belle's pony cart on the car. The sun was rising by the time we got to Ms. Nikki's house, but it was still pretty cool out. Buck was in the yard futzing with a cart that would be used as a chuck wagon on the hike, and being a mechanic by trade, Fuzzy went right to work helping him. I'm no use at all on such things, so I headed in to say hello.

Ms. Nikki met me outside the house with a hug and told me to go in and get warmed up. I brought my tack bag in and found a place to start putting myself together. I had to take a few minutes out to pet the cat, an irresistible little fluff ball who like most cats could not get enough attention. There were the usual things to get out of the way - model releases for the photographer, introductions for people who had not yet met and such - and then I decided to go out and see how Buck and Fuzzy were doing.

That's when I discovered that my stable pal Stormy had arrived. I hadn't seen Stormy since Camp Crucible in May, which is an awful long time to go without seeing your best friend. Phone conversations are great, but they just aren't the same. We hugged until I thought someone was going to have to pull us apart and then started acting with a little more decorum. Just a little more.

By this time. more ponies and trainers had arrived and things really got going. Stormy and I were without our owner and trainer for that day although we had her permission to be at the event. La Dresseuse is working on her MA in classics through Harvard and is currently reading some 500 pages per week. I think she also had some other course work due as well. So you can imagine she has little time to spare. All the same, there were plenty of people at the event that we knew and trusted.

Once assembled and tacked up, we divided up into groups for the brief trek to the park where we would do our trail ride. The path in this park is an old train line. The tracks had long since been pulled up and the resulting trail is nice and flat. Stormy and I were the lead ponies in a four-horse team pulling one of the carts. Belle pulled her cart, and the other ponies rotated around, some pulling with Stormy and I, some pulling the chuck wagon and other carts. There always seem to be more ponies than carts at events, so it's necessary to take turns.

We followed the trail out for about a mile and a half, crossing a road (and stopping traffic in the process - believe me) and then turned back, trekking to a large field where the chuck wagon had been diverted and a large picnic lunch laid out. We stayed at the field for about an hour eating lunch, having pictures taken, talking and generally having a good time. I shared my sandwich with Stormy and ate some of the fantastic cookies that Fuzzy had brought. Fuzzy bakes great cookies.

When it came time to resume our trail ride, I discovered that my mouth was really sore. Remember what your mother told you about not licking your lips when you are outside on a cold day? It's true. My bit causes me to slobber quite a bit, and my mouth had gotten a little soggy at the corners. Now those corners were raw.

Oh well. This is S&M after all, right? In went the bit and away we went.

We finished the ride on the park trails in the early afternoon. Once the carts were loaded onto the trailers and various ponies and handlers were in the vehicles, we headed back to Ms. Nikki's.

If anyone thought that it was over at that point, they were in for a surprise. We no sooner got back to base when Ms. Nikki started setting up barrels for the barrel race. The paddock was large and the surface was soft dirt so this was going to call for some small amount of skill to avoid taking a header and nose diving into the ground, but it was all in fun and would soon prove to be a blast.

Each pony went through the barrel course with a handler. Stormy and I did not have our usual handler, of course, but there were ample volunteers to take care of that. It was clear from the outset that the competition would be pretty tight. One of the first ponies to run the course had only been at it since Floating World in August. This guy was what Mistress refers to as a "go fast" pony. He belongs to Ms. Nikki and it's obvious that she has put some serious time into his training. He took the barrels in jig time and it was clear that he would run away with the prize for that event.

No problem. That took the pressure off. If you know someone else is going to place first, why worry about it?

Still, that rush of adrenaline at the starting line does get the blood pumping, and when I ran, I went all out. Mistress requires that and the fact that she wasn't there meant nothing. Owners talk and she would know if I had shirked. The soft dirt made speed a challenge, but I did my best.

Once we were finished with the barrel racing, out came the poles for the pole bending competition. In this, poles are set up a short distance apart. The pony has to run to the end, weave back and forth through the poles in both directions and then run back and cross the finish line. The tighter you can make the passes between poles, the faster you can finish the course. Or at least that's the theory. Each pony took it in turns, again working with either their usual handler or a volunteer. I got a bit of a jolt this time as my handler for this event was none other than go fast pony I mentioned above. Ponies can also be handlers, so this was an interesting experience to say the least. Again, I did my level best and even surprised myself at how well I managed the course.

But there was yet another competition ahead. This was the talent competition. Basically, it was open dressage during which anything was possible. Ponies and handlers could do whatever they wished to showcase their talents. Some ponies worked with carts, so on hoof. but each of us gave it his or her all. My handler for this event was Ms. Belle - also known as Ponygirl NorthernBelle. Belle is a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. Her energy is infectious and her ability to just plain have a good time catches on pretty quickly. Although I had never worked with her in this way before, I knew what I could do. We quickly put together a sequence and then went out and just did what felt right. No pressure. I just did all I could to look graceful on the soft dirt, which by now had been thoroughly stirred up by all the activity.

And all the time we played that afternoon, Ms. Nikki's horses (the real bio-horses that she keeps) watched with a somewhat cynical affect. You sometimes have to wonder what horses think - if anything - when they see humans carrying on like this. But for us, it was a bunch of friends just having fun.

But even then, the afternoon wasn't over. Now it was time for the game. In this round, Stormy and I had to decide which one of us was the trainer and which was the pony. I don't think either of us has a dominant bone in our bodies, but I volunteered to be the trainer. Each trainer had to lead his pony to a spot at the edge of the paddock and blindfold him or her. Then we had to go to the center and pick a spot facing away from the pony. On a signal, we each had to call our pony to us. Once the pony got to where we were, they had to give us a kiss on the cheek and then we could raise our hand. Obviously, the first pair to do this would win. I think Stormy and I would have done better if I hadn't taken a calculated risk that resulted in his collision with another pony. Oh well. No injuries. But like I said, I'm no trainer.

Once that half of the game was done, we switched roles. The ponies led the trainers to the edge of the paddock and blindfolded them. Then the ponies went to the center. When the signal came for them to start calling us, all I heard was a lot of noise that made no sense. I just sort of aimed at the center of it and somehow picked up on Stormy's voice telling me to go left or right. He sounded odd, though. Not clear at all. When I reached him and gave him a kiss on the cheek (something I did not mind doing at all), he removed my blindfold and I discovered that all the ponies had their bits in their mouths. That explained the noise.

Devious, these people. Devious and delicious.

That brought the games to a close as we needed to get back into vanilla clothing and head out for our catered dinner. The festivities were wonderful and the food not at all bad. I was greatly surprised to get ribbons in both the barrel racing and pole bending competitions. By no means had I come in first, but getting a ribbon on your first try isn't too shabby. The photographs of the event were also displayed on a computer in a slide show and proved very nice indeed. I bought pictures of myself and will post some when I get them.

Once dinner was over, it was time to head back to Fuzzy's. I said my goodbyes to everyone and then turned to Stormy. There were a lot of hugs involved here and once again I thought someone was going to have to rip us apart. It had been so long since I saw him last and I didn't really want to let go just yet. But it was time to go and after all, I'll be seeing him soon at the CTK Jamboree in Texas.

Keeping my eyes open on the trip back to Fuzzy's was a real challenge that I failed on a few times. When we got back, I had all I could do to get to the bed before collapsing entirely. A very good night's sleep ended when I smelled waffles being cooked and heard the coffee maker. Fuzzy had made breakfast for me and a wonderful breakfast it was. Once finished, I helped him take the cart down from his car and put it away. We talked for a while, but inevitably, I had to get into my car for the long drive home.

So there it is. Pony Pallooza 2008 - or at least, my part of it. I'm sure each and every pony and handler saw it in their own way and could tell a good story. I hope this event happens again. I'll be there.

Pain, Pain Go Away!

2008-11-02T15:26:00.003-05:00

Ok, that was the summer that was. No offense to the powers that arrange such things, but I could live a fulfilled life if I never had another like that.

So it has been a considerable time since I updated, and my friend D over at Weldable Cookies has been prodding. It might be advisable to let you in on what has happened since my past entry before her methods become less subtle. She has access to a wide range of very impressive power tools, after all.

To avoid confusion, you should know that the last entry on torquing my spine was actually written in early August. Trouble is, Blogger doesn't allow you to alter the date of you post the way Live Journal does, so you'll have to bear with me (and if I'm wrong on that score, correct me). But knowing this will allow you to at least follow the flow a little better.

As the last entry indicated, the pain in my leg gradually let up to a very dull roar mostly because I was sleeping carefully with a pillow between my legs and only one under my head (I'm still sleeping that way). I also took Tylenol instead of my usual pain reliever. Hey, I'm pushing 50 here. Pain relievers begin to play a regular role in everyday living by the mid 40s. If you haven't reached that point in life yet, congratulations.

Wait for it.

There's just one problem with Tylenol. My stomach doesn't like it that much. Not even in the recommended dosage. Three weeks of taking that stuff caught up with me on Labor Day weekend (see what I mean about the date thing?) and I spent one night tossing my cookies. As if that wasn't enough, I felt a twinge in my right side that got me thinking that I had sprouted a case of appendicitis. The symptoms all fit into place, so I called the emergency room and told them I was coming in. God forbid I should call an ambulance, right?

Long story short and a batch of medical tests later, appendicitis was ruled out. The basic issue was referred pain from the spinal problem - the nerves having gotten so loaded up that they were firing indiscriminately in all directions - coupled with a coincidental case of gastritis. I was sent home with several medications and instructions to see my doctor for a follow-up. I dropped seven pounds in five days and felt pretty horrible, but things came back to normal pretty quickly.

Three weeks later I was feeling better and went for my follow-up. My doctor looked me over and tried out some neurological tests. There were some unpleasant surprises - like the fact that I couldn't walk on my right heel and had no strength in my right toes. An MRI was ordered that showed a minor "bulging" of one disc. It wasn't a herniation, but it was enough to exert pressure on the sciatic nerve and explain all that had happened.

So now we know. And that's about it. The treatment hasn't changed. It's still watchful waiting but I'm refusing to take Tylenol. I've gone back to Aleve, which isn't as good on nerve pain but does keep it down to a dull roar.

I can't wait for this to go away completely. It's not exactly painful, but it's annoying. My back is as strong as ever - I never stopped going to the gym although my schedule and work conspired to make those trips a little less regular than last winter - and I still plan on traveling to Texas for this year's CTK Pony Jamboree in a week! There should be a lot to write about when that event is over!

I just wish what pain is left would go away. Anyone know a good massage therapist?

Torque is a Bad Thing

2008-09-02T21:57:00.000-04:00

When you do it to your spine, that is.

I was visiting my parents a couple weeks ago and woke up one morning feeling as though I had twisted my right leg. It felt like a muscular thing, so I didn't worry about it too much. After all, I know what's good for sore muscles. A good workout, that's what.

That was a Thursday. On the following Saturday, I went hiking like I usually do on Saturdays in the summer. You see, I have commitments that keep me home during the summer and leave no time for pony play. It can be torture reading all those emails posts from friends who are out having a great time at TESFest or The Floating World, or Pony Perfection Day or pony munches or...or...or...

But I digress.

So I keep fit by doing something else I'm passionate about. I hike. I live close to Acadia National Park where you can find over 120 miles of hiking trails, most of them beautiful to behold and ranging from easy to deadly challenging. I like the strenuous trails and try to finish the hike in as little time as I can without running or jogging while taking some time to look at the view. If you want to catch the view, you have to stop walking. Some of the trails are less than one foot wide with a sheer rock face on one side going up and the same on the other going down. Look at the scenery while walking in an area like that and you may just end up a part of the scenery.

On that Saturday I took a somewhat less than strenuous trail so that I wouldn't cause more trouble with my sore leg. I wanted to work it gently with the hope that the muscles would clear and settle down. By the next day, however, I realized that the problem wasn't muscular alone. There was a nerve involved and it wa a biggie. The sciatic nerve is the largest and longest single nerve in the body, and if you ever needed proof that Mother Nature is more tinkerer than engineer, you need look no further. This thing runs out through the base of the spinal column, through a loop of bone in the pelvis and down the leg. Yeah, it splits into two nerves in the lower third of the thigh, but let's not get too technical here. When pressure is put on the sciatic nerve - either by muscles along its course or something in the spine itself, pain results and, in my case anyway, an intermittent twitching of the muscles the nerve controls does as well.

I'll spare you any more gory details in favor of a quick synopsis. After talking with two doctors - one my regular physician and the other an osteopath who worked on my leg for a while - it became clear that I have some issue arising in my spine that is putting pressure on the nerve and causing a lot of pain. The list of potential evildoers is pretty long, but the general treatment is the same in most cases - watchful waiting, exercise and lots of Tylenol.

But what really mystified me was the exact cause of the spinal problem - whatever it happens to be. With the exception of my youth (which could be the answer), I have paid careful attention to my back and its proper use. I have had lower back pain on and off for a long time but long ago learned how to deal with it and how to prevent it from happening. But this was something new. Most back problems don't just happen. They result from many years of use and abuse. So what could I have been doing all those years that was wrong?

Sleeping, it turns out.

I'm a side sleeper. I get all stuffed up if I sleep on my back or stomach, so I have always slept on my side. The only problem with that is that my knees and ankles tend to knock and get uncomfortable. My answer to that has always been to lie on my side with my topmost leg bent more sharply at the knee and jutting out in front of me. That would inevitably result in a twisting of the spine. I believe that over the years, that twisting has taken its toll.

Ok, I have no proof and it's just a theory, but for the last several nights, I have been sleeping with a pillow between my legs to cushion my knees and ankles. I also took one pillow out from under my head (I have always used two) to keep my neck as straight as possible. Result? A steady, if gradual, reduction in pain.

Gradual is the key word here. My ankle still feels as though it is sprained and the muscles twitch as much as ever. But last night following my workout (yes, I'm still going to the gym), I learned to concentrate on the leg when stretching. If the pain starts to get intense, I stop and tell those muscles to relax. In no time at all, I feel them let go and can stretch them as usual.

Hey, I hate to ruin a perfectly good reputation by being optimistic, but this pony wants to get back into the action and not find himself sidelined by pain. I'm too young to be taken out and shot! Still, a judicial and gradual road back to health is probably the best. I so want to carry Mistress in a saddle one day and pushing things now could foul up my chances.

Wishes for a speedy recovery are always welcome.

Camp Crucible Part 5: Kidnapped!

2008-06-27T20:19:00.004-04:00

Robert Louis Stevenson never envisioned this...

This was the tenth year for Camp Crucible in its current incarnation and in that time, they have become expert at showing people a great time. They have also had time to develop some particularly interesting features to the weekend that may just set camp apart from other gatherings and retreats.

One such feature is the kidnapping. Yes folks, if you are going to camp, you can sign up for a kidnapping scene. You can either be a kidnapper or get kidnapped. If your choice is to get kidnapped, you have an opportunity to play out a fantasy that you design yourself. Sounds great, doesn’t it? I certainly thought so, so when it came time to register for camp, I signed up to be kidnapped.

You have to pause and think about this for just a moment. Kidnapping has to be a tricky business. You have to round up the people to carry it out and figure out where the victims are going to be. You also have to deal with some of the restrictions that would be victims place on their availability, not to mention the fantasies that some creative minds can concoct. “I’m a naughty schoolgirl and the teacher needs to punish me,” is easy. “I want to be carried off by one hundred randy pirates who will then have their way with me for the entire night,” not so much. Would you settle for Mr. Smee and a cabin boy? And then there’s the risk involved in making a mistake. A lot of effort must go into making sure that the right person gets kidnapped and that they are matched up with the right fantasy. It could get ugly if something went wrong. That must be what all those liability waivers I singed were about.

Mistress asked someone in the kidnapping business about that. What would they do if they ever made a mistake? She was told that in ten years, no mistake had ever been made. Ever.

Enter yours truly.

I guess I have to admit that my fantasy was a little elaborate. After all, I’ve had most of my adult life to work on it. When I signed up to be kidnapped, I put it down in as much detail as I could while leaving some latitude for the kidnappers to play with. I didn’t specify exact numbers or conditions, I didn’t say exactly what had to happen, and the only limitation I placed on my availability was that I didn’t want to be kidnapped while I was engaged in any pony activities. It’s rather difficult spiriting a pony away to parts unknown if he’s pulling a lady in a cart to the Victorian Tea, after all. Plus, I didn’t want to be too deep in pony head space lest I kick and hurt someone. I can’t count on reacting the way I need to as a human when I’m in head space and doing pony stuff.

So the fantasy was complicated and the restrictions were pretty tight. I didn’t realize just how much time I would spend doing pony activities, but it turned out to be almost all day and well into the night all weekend long. On top of that, I was in tack from dawn until late at night, making it more difficult to figure out when I was available and when I wasn’t. I basically ceased to think about getting kidnapped. That didn’t bother me as I was having far too good a time to worry about it.

Monday changed all of that.

If I learned anything at camp it was to be careful when I chose to nap. The day before, I had taken a short nap only to open my eyes and find Ms Reina Darkness hovering over me with an evil smile on her face and a friend at her side. It seems the friend was due for a grooming lesson and I was to be the demo pony. That led to a fantastic grooming session, but they were a little disappointed that I woke up before they wanted me to. They had plans for dealing with a sleeping pony and those had been thwarted.

Mistress likes to take a power nap in the afternoon. It usually lasts about one hour but can make a big difference in your ability to stay alert well into the night. I picked up the habit from her and was getting ready to nap on Monday afternoon. Just for a few minutes. Mistress asked me if I was going to be in the cabin for a while and without thinking too carefully, I said I would be. I rolled over and shut my eyes thinking that would be it for the time being.

Silly me.

Moments later the door opened. Instinctively I turned my head to see who was coming in. To my surprise, I saw two women I did not recognize. They were looking right at me with evil grins on their faces and maniacal looks in their eyes. One of them held a hank of rope. “Hello, Rusty!” they said, “We’re so glad to find you sleeping here because this is your kidnapping!”

If you are just coming in on this blog, let me state for the record that I was raised Episcopalian. Manners are everything and one doesn’t want to be a spoil sport. I’m also gay, so it was a little surprising to me that I should be kidnapped by women when my kidnapping form stated that I didn’t want women involved. I suffered a momentary conflict over what to do, and that was probably a mistake. These two were fast. They climbed on top of me, put a gag in my mouth before I could say anything and had me pinned fast. Lying there, unable to move and not able to say anything, I thought, “Well, one of them had a hank of rope. I bet they’re going to tie me up, stuff me into a body bag and haul me off to parts unknown where my fantasy will be enacted. That they are women probably has something to do with the availability of kidnappers, and besides, these two are good at what they’re doing! I’ll go with it…for now”

At the time, I was wearing minimal tack. I had removed my bridle, moccasins, gauntlets and tail, but the chest harness, belt, jock and collar were still in place. Or they were for a few more moments. I’m not quite sure at this point how they managed it, but I got rolled one way and then the other as what tack I still had on came off like lightening. The next thing I knew, I was stark naked, still pinned to the bed, unable to do anything but issue muffled screams through the gag and attempt – admittedly weakly – to escape. The two women kept up a steady stream of talk concerning how happy they were to be kidnapping me and what they intended to do to me as they writhed all over my body and began torturing my nipples.

By this point in time, my nipples were pretty tender. Mistress likes to give them the treatment with the stiff bristle brush when grooming me. It makes me dance in a manner that amuses her no end. In addition to that, Madame Adria had spent some time working them over the night before. So when these two got a hold of them with their teeth, I was already hot wired and jumpy. Each of them took a nipple and gave it all they were worth until I thought I’d pass out.

“Okay,” I thought, “This isn’t quite what I had in mind, but being pinned to the bed stark naked with a gag in your mouth while your nipples get tortured is pretty hot no matter who is doing it! I’ll go with it a little longer. I’m sure they will soon tie me up, stuff me into a body bag and drag me away to someplace where my fantasy scene awaits me!”

Still, you would have thought by this time that they might have noticed I was not getting…aroused…by any of this. Didn’t that seem odd to them? I mean, they certainly seemed competent to me and I’m sure any straight man would have enjoyed this a whole lot. But…

While all this was going on, Stormy came into the cabin. He got an eyeful of what was happening but didn’t stay for long. I didn’t give him any reason to suspect that things were anything but fine, so that didn’t surprise me. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder why he had come in, taken a look and then walked right out again. I would find out later.

Then I heard something that got me a little worried.

“Rusty! We’ve been so good to you giving you what you asked for…”

I beg your pardon…?

“Now it’s time for you to reward us!”

What…??

And with that, one of the women removed her panties and climbed onto the bed straddling my face while the other one positioned herself between my legs – with a pair of latex gloves. Black latex gloves.

“Oh my GOD!” I thought, “The rope didn’t mean anything and they aren’t going to toss me into a body bag! This IS the scene!”

How do I stop this without hurting anyone’s feelings?!?

I contemplated that problem as I stared up at a pair of lips that I really didn’t want to kiss. They were lovely, I’m sure, but I had no earthly idea what to do with them and they scared me a little. But survival instinct took over when they began to lower in the general direction of my face. I turned my head to the side and finally spoke up.

“Um…hold on a moment.”

To their absolute credit, the scene stopped dead in its tracks and my kidnappers asked me what was wrong. I told them.

“Apparently someone failed to tell you that I’m gay.”

“WHAT?”

I repeated my hypothesis. The woman between my legs took out a piece of paper and reviewed it. “But you are Rusty aren’t you? Isn’t this your fantasy?”

All at once I got it. Remember the problem with the name tags in the first camp story? This was going to be a lot of fun.

“Yes, I am Rusty, but there are TWO ponies in camp named Rusty. I believe you have the wrong one!”

Shock was quickly followed by profuse apologies and then hysterics. Mistress and Stormy came rushing in. Apparently they felt things had gone far enough and should be stopped. They relaxed when they found me and my kidnappers on the bed in fits of laughter.

It turned out that Mistress had been aware of the mistake all along and decided to play a double whammy of a practical joke. The kidnappers had presented her with the description of the pony named Rusty, and although Mistress knew about my restrictions, she saw nothing about them on the paper. Realizing that they had come to the wrong cabin, she allowed them to proceed just the same. When Stormy had come to the cabin for reasons of his own, Mistress stopped him going in except that one moment to check on me and make sure I wasn’t in distress. By the time they decided things had gone far enough, I had already safed out.

Did I tell you that Mistress is deliciously evil?

So there we all were; the kidnappers and I in laughing fits, Mistress and Stormy standing close by and enjoying the well-played joke and nobody any the worse for wear. I had a moment to reflect on the fantasy I had originally requested and I suddenly had a thought. I started laughing hysterically all over again.

“What are you laughing about now?” asked the kidnapper who was still sitting between my legs.

“It just occurred to me that as we speak, four men in uniform are trying to make off with the other Rusty. I wonder how that’s going for them!”

Needless to say, more laughter ensued until one of the kidnappers said, “Well, I guess we’d better get dressed and find the other Rusty!”

I recovered from the event pretty quickly. Life has endowed me with a sense of humor if nothing else, and I realized that I had just found my way into Camp Crucible history as the first ever kidnapping mistake. I’ll always have that to tell people. I got many apologies in person from several camp staffers including the person who was in charge of the kidnappings. I told all of them not to worry about it because I thought it was a hoot and would have a funny story to tell for a long time to come.

And if I’m not very much mistaken, Mistress has a payback due at some point. I doubt the camp staff will forgive the practical joke.

Camp Crucible Part 4: Aphrodite's Embrace

2008-06-23T20:35:00.007-04:00

“Catharsis (Κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning ‘purification’ or ‘cleansing’ derived from the ancient Greek infinitive καθαίρειν transliterated as kathairein ‘to purify, purge,’ and adjective katharos ‘pure or clean.”

Thanks, Wikipedia.

Sometimes a scene is all about fun. Sometimes, however, things go in a very different direction. That happened when Mistress and I scened on Monday night – the last night of camp. There was a sober feeling in the air and in my heart because it would be over very soon. Some part of me wanted things to go on a few more days while other, probably more rational parts of me knew that it was time to wind things down and get ready to face the rigors of real life again. Things had gone very well for me at camp in my first year. I appeared in my first pony show and took two ribbons, I made a lot of new friends that I know will be a part of my life for a very long time to come, I won a race (the results were made official and announced just recently), and I managed to make camp history in my virgin year (more on that in the next story). It would be difficult to come back to earth after all that but I knew I had to land sooner or later. Still, there was one more night to savor.

I hadn’t planned on doing much of anything. I had played pony all day and had marched in the procession for Buck’s collaring ceremony that evening. Now I was sitting at HQ watching the slide show and wondering if a night can be made to last forever and, if so, how a pony would keep himself entertained for that long. Earlier that day a young woman had stopped by our cabin and asked if it would be possible to play with me. I wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but she wanted to play with a pony and someone had told her that I would be a good choice. Mistress had done some negotiating with her but nothing had come of it by late night. By this time, I had learned that it’s not a good idea to count on anything at camp. It’s not that people were unreliable, but there were so many things to do and so many play opportunities that you couldn’t be sure about one play date or another unless you had made clear arrangements with someone. Events at camp had a life of their own and would unfold in unpredictable ways. In some respects, that was part of the fun. It could also leave you with time on your hands.

Mistress came in wearing one of her smacking outfits. Clearly she was in the mood to scene with someone. She had a signal whip coiled up in one hand and a crop in the other. The ever-present deerskin gloves were also in evidence. Her idea of the perfect day is to play with ponies from breakfast to dinner and then do smacky things to people all night. If you’re a pony who likes to get smacked, life is good!

Mistress said she was on her way to the upper dungeon. Either she was going to meet someone there or find someone else to scene with. I didn’t miss a beat as I told her that I was in the mood to scene if she was interested. That settled, we hailed a camp taxi and headed up the hill.

Heaven was in full swing when we got there. It seemed as though everyone was working to get a session in on this last night. There was a palpable energy that was almost frantic in its intensity. Everyone had several days to get comfortable and now that comfort was established, they were getting vulnerable. There were suspension scenes, fire scenes, medical scenes, floggings, whippings, bondage and even a couple of sex scenes going on. People were emoting and making a wide range of interesting noises. The atmosphere was ripe for adventure. Mistress quickly discovered that the person she thought she would be playing with was already in the midst of a scene with someone else (remember what I said about the best laid plans at camp?) who was happily flogging her with a two-handed technique she apparently found exhilarating. That meant I would get the attention I desired, so I can’t say it bothered me.

Mistress had me strip naked and place myself against a St. Andrew’s Cross. It wasn’t the one I had used the night before. This was a double cross, so there was another person on the other side facing me. Her energy and my energy would intertwine as this scene unfolded even though she was miles away from me psychologically at that point in time. Mistress had not brought her grip cuffs so I would have to forego the pleasure of being tied up this time. She also did not have her buffalo hide flogger. So it would be the crop and the single tail tonight. Nothing to worry about, really, but more of a challenge than I had originally thought.

A single tail is any whip that ends in a single strand. Single tails range from dog quirts that are only about three feet long to the ever famous bullwhip. Mistress favors a three or four foot signal whip normally used for sled dogs. At least that’s the function for which they are manufactured. Usually. It’s important to note that the whips are intended as noise makers and not something you actually strike a target with.

Unless that target happens to be your submissive.

There are many different sorts of sensations out there. I won’t go into a listing of them all, but to contrast a flogger with a whip won’t take a lot of time or space. Floggers like the buffalo hide piece Mistress uses produce a sound thud when they hit. The impact can be focused tightly on a small area or spread out as the dominant sees fit and the submissive prefers. The result is usually a nice red back and butt and a flight into sub space. Results can range depending on the intensity of the flogging and the tolerance of the sub. Some floggers are smaller or made from different materials that change the sensations, making them sharper or duller. But the overall effect is one of impact.

In contrast, a whip like the one Mistress uses carries a sting in its tail. It falls with a cutting sensation and leaves a welt that can run from light pink to angry red. While the after effects of a flogging tend to dissipate quickly, a session with the single tail can leave me feeling sunburned for at least a couple of days. That sounds savage and uncomfortable, but the sensations and the memories they evoke produce a very different feeling. I am by no means a straight up masochist, but there is something about the combination of pain and the endorphin rush produced during a scene that rocks my world. I can’t explain it.

And this time, with this particular scene, something else would rock my world.

There being no grip cuffs, I stood against the cross and hugged it to my body. It was cool – almost cold – to the touch for a few moments and I shivered a little. The scene on the other side of the cross was already underway and the soft moaning coming from the sub began to lull me into that state of mind that is relaxed and open to all possibilities. I closed my eyes and readied myself. Mistress began warming me up by rubbing and patting my back with her hands. The feel of her soft deerskin gloves against my skin was wildly erotic and my body became instantly alert. The gentle rubbing turned to patting and then slapping to wake the skin up and prepare it for what would be happening next. That was the crop. Actually, it was more like a wombat in that the end was wide if not rigid. This particular crop produced a very stingy slap that brought the blood to the surface in a hurry. It was also my first sensation of pain and heat. My mind perked up and started to take notice as my body became more rigid and tense.

People tend to tense up instinctively when sensations turn painful. The human body releases hormones that produce a “fight of flight” response. The pupils dilate, breathing speeds up and the pulse rate quickens. Muscles used for sprinting and escaping receive more blood and oxygen while digestion and the skin receive less. Sweat begins to surface and the senses become hyper acute. Sexual arousal stops dead in its tracks at a time like this – at least for me – which may explain why BDSM and sex, while often closely related, don’t tend to happen at the same time. I like being on edge without knowing what is coming next. That is the threshold to sub space for me.

Mistress waited until I had calmed down slightly and was again resting against the cross. She smoothed my back down and came in very close, almost to where I could feel her breath on the back of my neck. She threaded the whip around my neck and over my collar, taking control of my head and tipping it back slightly. This simple action sent a definite message that she was in complete control now. I was at her mercy and under her protection. I was all hers. I felt my body go slightly limp under her control and my mind sank a little deeper.

There would be some impact despite the lack of a flogger. The signal whip has two ends, after all, and the handle makes a handy impact device. Blows from the handle fell lightly at first and then increased in their intensity. They came down on my shoulders and buttocks in the sort of winged pattern she tends to favor. Then I felt the kiss of the single tail.

It didn’t sting much at first, but over the course of several minutes, it began to intensify. I noticed my grip on the cross tightening and the moaning of the sub on the other side was met by the sudden, much louder sounds that were coming out of my mouth. I shifted position and writhed about as stinging pain turned to a burning sensation and then to a mild heat just in time for the next stroke to fall and start the process all over again. Mistress would flail in a pattern but she would also change the order in which the strokes fell. Just because a particularly intense hit came to the right shoulder didn’t mean that one of equal intensity would fall to the left right away. It was going to come; the question was when. Somehow, my body language, my breathing and her intuition made those decisions, but sooner or later the strokes would fall. They came one after the other, mingled with occasional cooling periods when Mistress would smooth over my back with her gloved hand, reassuring me of her presence and love while at the same time reminding me that she held all the power right now and had no problem exercising it. As an emphasis, she ran her hand gently up my back to the nape of my neck and grabbed my pony tail, pulling my head back and holding it.

If you’re on the outside looking in on something like this, you are bound to see it as a violent act. Ordinarily we humans get pretty upset if someone grabs our hair and pulls it, especially when the obvious purpose is to control the movement of the head. But in this one sacred moment between Mistress and me, I felt no violence. I felt loved, protected and cherished. That moment has a name.

Power exchange.

Complete surrender on the one hand and a sacred bond on the other. Call it trust, love or whatever you want, I knew that at that one, singular moment, I was the only person in her world and she was the only person in mine. It’s a brief moment and it goes by quickly, but it’s very real.

The whipping resumed and continued until my back felt as though it would burst into flame. I was beyond thinking rationally at this point – the point at which trust in my Mistress was so crucial. My mind was afloat and adrift, reacting only in the most animal ways to the pain sensations that were pleasure sensations all at the same time. A crescendo had been steadily building and although I didn’t fully realize the end was close at hand, Mistress did. She stopped whipping my now tender back and came in one last time to smooth my flesh over and cool it down. Then unexpectedly she withdrew, apparently waiting for something to happen.

And happen it did. A flood of emotions overtook me and I began to weep very softly. As my body began to shudder, Mistress (who had been watching carefully) embraced me from behind and in that moment, Aphrodite stepped in. Pure celestial love, the power of Aphrodite Urania surrounded and cradled me.

Standing there hugging the St. Andrew’s Cross, my body aflame with the heat of the whip and enfolded in Aphrodite’s embrace, I burst into tears. Emotions that had been walled off – probably for years – suddenly broke free and came out in torrents. As my body shook with sobs, Mistress moved in a little closer and held me tighter, occasionally stroking my hair and forehead, quietly and wordlessly reassuring me that what I was doing was not only right but necessary as well. I knew that without having to be told but the reassurance in this very public sort of place was beyond value. As I realized what was happening and chose to allow it, the intensity of my release increased. Tears ran down my face and onto the cross and I began sobbing openly.

Catharsis.

Mistress helped me into a chair where I continued to cry for at least ten more minutes. She brought me cup after cup of water and watched over me until the flow of emotions subsided and I was again able to talk although very little was said at that point. What do you say at a moment like that anyway? Forcing a conversation after traveling so deeply is usually a mistake. The aftercare would happen, but not right now. It could wait for the six and a half hour trip home the next day.

For now, Aphrodite would have Her due. Love and power had been exchanged. It was time for food and drink. Midnight snack anyone?

Camp Crucible Part 3 – Scening Is Believing

2008-06-12T16:21:00.005-04:00

Up to this point, I have observed my policy of avoiding overly racy narrative. I don’t feel I have the talent to write good pornography (that is NOT an oxymoron), and in general, you want to think about what your family might say if they blunder onto your blog. So anything that might cause shame or embarrassment is best avoided.

Now I am essentially breaking that rule. I still believe this is not pornographic, but I feel the need to warn you that reading further may result in at least mild embarrassment. Yours, that is, not mine.

And I have no shame. I gave that up for Lent about 40 years ago.

So onward…

Up until camp, I had only scened with Mistress. I know her style and what to expect to some extent. I know that she will push my limits, but never to the point of my having to safe out. She has an uncanny ability to read my body and its language, to know when I have had enough and the scene should end. I have never regretted putting myself in her hands. Camp would not change this but it would introduce me to another delightful Domme and a completely different style of play.

It would also teach me just how differently scenes can end and how indelible the impressions they leave can be.

When you attend Camp, you have the option to buy your way out of doing chores. The cost of camp is reduced for campers who volunteer to do certain tasks like serving meals, driving camp taxis and other such things. I bought out of chores for this my first year because I wanted to immerse myself in the atmosphere and delve deeply into pony head space without having to worry about a work schedule. Now that I have done that, I will do chores when I go to camp (note I did not say ‘if I go to camp’). Mistress was doing chores this year as a dungeon monitor on Friday evening. There wasn’t much for this pony to do between dinner and midnight snack, so eventually I chose to take a hike to the upper dungeon and visit with her.

When I walked in the door the first thing I saw was a man in a set of stocks. Apparently he had asked Mistress to secure him in them. He didn’t think to specify for how long, however, and he found himself confined for quite some time. “This is an example of poor negotiation,” Mistress told me with that evil grin of hers. I watched for a few minutes as the poor man changed positions frequently, trying to find one that would relieve his discomfort only to discover that stress positions are just that; stressful.

One station over from him I saw two stunningly beautiful women – one a Domme and the other her sub - just finishing a scene with a man who had been lashed to a St. Andrew’s Cross. How best to describe them; diminutive, slender, each with a sharp glint in her eye that spoke of a no-nonsense character. One had the bearing of a cat and the other the mischievous inclinations of a bespectacled fox. Both wore long coats that lent an air of severity to their demeanor.

Their scene had concluded and the aftercare the Domme was giving was an impressive mixture of compassion, love and pure enjoyment of a moment. Just prior to this, the man had been enduring a somewhat spectacular flogging and was slowly coming down as he sat wrapped in a blanket and sitting in a chair. The Domme, whose name I later learned was Madame Adria, sat at eye level and smiled into his eyes as she checked in to see how he was doing. I found myself impressed not only by this scene but by the chops she displayed while wielding her implements.

Mme. Adria was friendly and had a ready smile that broadened when Mistress asked for Her assistance with the man in the stocks. I’m not sure about the details, but it seems that the rules had been renegotiated. I may be wrong, but apparently it was decided that getting out of the stocks would require that the poor subbie scream like a girl. To push him to that point, Mme. Adria administered a wicked stick. Have you ever seen a wicked stick? There isn’t much to look at. It’s basically a wire less than one foot in length and Mme. Adria knew how to make it sting. She would draw it back with one hand while holding an end with the other hand. Then she would release it with a snap against the sub’s naked flesh. She went up and down his legs and all over his exposed buttocks much to his distress and her evil glee.

Well, not just her glee. Frankly, the lot of us were enjoying this. Yours truly was pressed into service by Mistress when the sub began pushing the stocks around in an effort to escape his torture. It became my job to foot the base and prevent it from moving. That avenue of relief denied to him, the sub began attempting to scream in the manner demanded for release. I couldn’t help but notice how much fun Mme. Adria was having tormenting this guy. Her laugh was audible all over the dungeon, its lilt carrying above all the other noises in the giant room. And it was infectious. Even the sub found his sense of humor once he met criteria for release and was freed from the stocks.

I was impressed and I wanted to play with these fascinating people I had just met. I mentioned this to Mistress as we headed down to HQ for midnight snack, but then started focusing on socializing and the pony show. I didn’t want to get marked up before the show so any play sessions would have to wait until after lunch on Sunday.

Protocol can be a real assistance to a submissive, especially a relatively new submissive. I had never asked a Domme other than Mistress for a play session and I had no idea how to go about it. The answer turned out to be very simple in this context. I put the request to my Mistress and she would ask Mme. Adria about it. The following day, after we had finished choreographing my dance number for the pony show, Mistress and I were walking back to our cabin. The path took us past the lower dungeon (called Hell by the camp). Sitting there on the porch in the sun and watching her sub get a righteous caning sat Mme. Adria In a flash, Mistress took me by the bridle and led me over for introductions. She told Mme. Adria that I had been quite taken with her scene the night before and wondered if I might not be able to arrange a play session with her for Sunday at some point after the pony show. Mme. Adria looked me up and down and then smiled in a manner that made me back up reflexively. After all, I was in pony space still and some things are a matter of instinct. She agreed to set a time for a play session, looking more than a little delighted at the prospect and Mistress led me back to the cabin.

The next twenty-four hours would leave a lot of scope for those who enjoy a good mind fuck – if you’ll excuse the term. It’s common in the scene for the practice of playing with someone psychologically. The scene, after all, is not just a matter of floggers, whips, rope, bondage and physicality. It’s also about the more subtle and very powerful way in which the human mind responds to the atmosphere in which it finds itself. The truly artistic Dominant can turn a willing submissive inside out before the physical scene even starts, leaving all sorts of possibilities wide open for exploration. Other submissives will often lend a hand.

For example…

When NorthernBelle heard about my play date, she gushed, “Oh my GOD she s so EVIL! I’ve played with her before and you are so DOOMED! You’re going to LOVE it!”

That’s not a contradictory statement. It just reads that way.

Once the pony show was over and lunch had passed, Mistress and I began to talk about the play session scheduled for that evening. I was to present myself in the upper dungeon at 10:30 p.m. showered, shaved and in readiness. That much we knew, but I couldn’t help but wonder how the process of negotiation would unfold. Mistress and I talk a lot and often the subject turns to negotiation. For us it’s a subtle process involving questions, answers and thought. We may not be discussing a particular scene or even pony play at the time, but limits, tastes and other information of that sort will get passed back and forth to be filed for future reference. A discreet negotiating session was a new concept to me and I asked when I should speak to Mme. Adria about it. “You won’t,” Mistress said, “You will speak to me about it and I will discuss it with her.”

Protocol.

So Mistress and I talked for a while about what I was hoping to get out of the play session and what I wanted to avoid. It’s a good idea to go into a scene with these sorts of issues laid out in your mind. Without some sort of map – even a sketchy one – it is difficult to determine if the scene worked for you. And right away, I started working against my own interests. I wanted to limit the time the scene would take. Mistress turned that idea down by firmly stating that a scene takes what time it takes and putting an artificial limit on time was a great way to scuttle the experience.

No time limit. Check.

Next, I began to detail the implements that scared me the most. I have no experience with canes or paddles and the thought of someone taking one of those out and whacking me with it…

Well…

Wait a minute. Maybe I should be facing fears like that by not putting limits on the implements Mme. Adria could use. I could always safe out if I needed to. And besides, I didn’t remember seeing anything other than floggers and whips in her collection. So I decided not to limit the implements that she could use. I didn’t want to stifle her creativity.

In the end, the only limits I placed on the session were the hard limits that Mistress is already well aware of. No electricity, no breath play, no intentional cutting or puncturing of my skin. In all, pretty basic stuff. Besides, I noted, Mistress would be there to protect me. “No,” she said, “I’m going to be there to watch!”

Oh.

Finally we talked about an appropriate safe word. I had intended to use ‘red’ as my safe word, but Mistress reminded me of the safe word from the Temple of Aphrodite, which is Athena. As a pony, I am dedicated to Aphrodite though my Wiccan patron deity is Anubis. He doesn’t seem to mind. My tack has roses and myrtle leaves tooled into the belt because those plants are sacred to Aphrodite. Our stable is called Aphrodite’s Meadow. Mistress is a priestess of Aphrodite. Athena as a safe word made perfect sense.

Mistress again told me when to make an appearance at the upper dungeon and added that, should I see her talking with Mme. Adria, I should take that as a cue to be somewhere else. We walked to HQ together and got separated in the hubbub. I settled in to watch the slide show that was playing on a big screen. The pony show was the theme of the evening and I got engrossed but not so lost that I forgot the time. I could see Mistress and Mme. Adria in a corner talking quietly but intently and avoided that corner of the room. In fact, I did all in my power to keep from looking in that general direction. Eventually, I had to leave. It was after 10:00 p.m. after all.

A brisk walk the long way around brought me to the upper dungeon a couple minutes early. Mistress and Mme. Adria had not yet arrived but were not far behind me. Mme. Adria approached me with a smile that said, “I have plans for you.” And indeed, she did.

“I’ve never played with a pony before,” she said. I can’t recall exact words beyond that, but she made it clear that she wanted me to dispose with human language and respond with whinnies, nickers and other such pony noises. I confess I hadn’t stopped to think that the Domme might want to get a thing or two out of this scene as badly as I did. Okay, a shared experience it would be. I was happy to be a pony for this session and readily agreed. I was allowed my safe word only, but that would be enough for me.

The details worked out, Mme. Adria turned to Mistress and said, “Well, La Dresseuse, I think your pony is just a bit overdressed!” That was my cue to strip naked. The scene was underway.

I had asked to be bound to the St. Andrew’s Cross with grip cuffs to prevent me from getting away. In addition, Mme. Aria asked if I wanted to be blindfolded. While the thought hadn’t occurred to me before that moment, it made perfect sense. There was a lot going on in the dungeon and while noise was no problem for me, being able to see what was going on elsewhere would no doubt distract me. I opted for the blindfold and did not regret my decision.

I have little experience with bondage, but what experience I do have has been good. I can’t rationalize it, but there is something about being dependent on another that is particularly erotic for me. This arrangement had me half standing and half hanging by my wrists while still able to hang on to padded handles with my arms outstretched. Mme. Adria put the cuffs on my wrists while she talked softly to me, showing me her various implements and noting that one of them was made of horsehide. Gulp.

After I was secured to the cross and unable to see, I heard and felt Mme. Adria lean into me. She put her mouth next to my ear and asked me to tell her my safe word. Reflexively, I replied, “Red.”

Oops.

“Oh! I was told that it was Athena!”

“Yes! It’s Athena!” I said. There was a light moment of laughter and some reference to a sub who was already distracted before the scene really got going, but we got the safe word down and agreed upon.

I was nervous and they were enjoying it. Okay, let’s be honest, so was I.

Then the sensations started. Slowly Mme. Adria began moving her hands up and down my body tracing my contours with just her fingertips. She went up and down my back and legs and then around my sides to the front finding every ticklish spot in the process. “It’s funny,” she said, “but most people think torture always involves pain.” I was in trouble. Clearly, Mistress had told her all about my ticklish nature and was probably sitting in her chair pointing out the extra sensitive spots! She was going to have a lot of fun. A few minutes of this treatment had me so wound up that I could have taken just about any form of punishment in stride. I forgot my pony nature until I heard Mme. Adria observe, “I don’t think that’s how ponies giggle, is it?” That was gentle talk reminding me that I was not following the rules of the scene. I had to think fast to come up with a giggle that sounded like a pony. To the best of my knowledge, bio-horses don’t giggle. Still, whatever I managed seemed to satisfy the requirement. And it took an unbelievable amount of concentration to manage that giggle for any amount of time.

Then I felt the unmistakable sensation of leather strips brushing gently up and down my back. As she slowly moved the flogger around allowing me to feel its cool, soft texture on my skin, she leaned into my ear once again and said, “I killed one of your kind to make this.” A shiver ran down my spine as the first gentle strokes fell across my back and I nickered softly. Mme. Adria took quite a long time to warm me up and I found myself dropping more and more deeply into pony head space. That had never happened to me in dungeon play before, but I found myself enjoying it.

The flogging continued with intermittent moments of soft or scratchy cool down that had me riding a roller coaster of sensation and emotion. Fear had long since flown out the window because the sense of fun in the scene was palpable. Perhaps it also had something to do with the unusual rules we were following. But although fear may depart, trepidation will hang around for a long time. Mistress took part silently as did a number of my friends who happened to pass through the dungeon. At one point, Stormy came in. Mistress silently signaled to him to whinny. Remember that rule I mentioned in an earlier post? I immediately responded with a whinny of my own. Other ponies were recruited to the same purpose and on the occasions that I didn’t hear or failed to respond, Mme. Adria gave me an extra hard whack with the flogger. So this scene really turned into a community event. Not that I minded. For starters, I had no idea until after the fact. But any measure of fun is made that much better if your friends can take part. And of course, things can turn on a dime.

Which they did. Sort of.

You see, being attached to a St. Andrew’s Cross essentially put me into a stress position. After some time standing there bearing up to the impact of Mme. Adria's floggers, my knees began to get numb. The resultant twitching proved insufficient to stem off restless legs and eventually I attempted to relieve the discomfort by quickly lifting my left leg while bending at the knee. That’s when I felt my foot make contact with something.

Or someone. There was a long silence. Then I heard what I was afraid I’d hear. “Your pony kicked me!” said Mme. Adria with as much outrage as she could muster. I put it that way because this little wrinkle in the plot gave her the sort of opportunity that any Domme with an evil streak dreams of. A good excuse for punishment. She decided that something would have to be done to teach me a lesson about manners. And what a lesson she devised.

She reached down and took hold of the offending foot, bending it backward toward my back as though to put a shoe on it. She held it as securely as any farrier could and I knew there would be no escape. I would have to endure whatever was coming next. I expected something hard and smacky would crack across the bottom of my foot causing me some degree of agony.

That would have been easier than what actually happened. Mme. Adria started tickling my foot. Now there is no part of my body more violently ticklish than the soles of my feet and when she started in with those fingers of hers, I thought I was going to die. Immediately I went into full panic mode trying to escape. But the cross and the grip cuffs saw to it that I would stay right where I was. I struggled not only against the bonds but (unbelievably) with my concentration as I continued to whinny my responses. No matter how difficult it became, I still had to obey the rules. Unable to get away and just about ready to collapse from the intense tickling my foot was getting, I grabbed a hold of the grip cuffs and hung from them as I stamped my right foot on the floor. By that point, I had attracted some attention and several friends were in hysterics watching this scene.

When Mme. Adria Finally relented, I was drained and exhausted. The scene concluded very soon after. I was taken down from the cross and assisted into a chair. She sat in front of me just as I had seen her do on Friday night and looked at me intently with a broad smile on her face. For some reason, I couldn’t look her straight in the eye. It wasn’t fear that got in the way; it was what I can only describe as profound respect. I was still in pony head space and direct eye contact is confrontational to ponies. I had enjoyed this scene and she certainly seemed to enjoy me.

I sat quietly for a few minutes as I slowly came up from pony space. As the room started to make sense to me again, I began to giggle. This time it was a human giggle and it was quite uncontrollable. It got others giggling around me and took quite a while to subside. This had been fun; a lot of fun. I had some respectable stripes on my back and even more on my butt. Mme. Adria had been particularly fascinated with my butt, at one point exclaiming, “How could I not be when it jiggles like this?”

Thinking back on it, my session with Mme. Adria was a wonderful time. It was about fun, laughter and exquisitely evil torments of mind and body. It doesn’t make sense to anyone who is not of this little world that is the BDSM community, but it does to me.

My session with Mistress the following night would be a different story altogether. It would be equally as good for me and in some ways many times more powerful. It can’t be compared to my time with Madame Adria. The atmosphere with Mistress was different, and probably because of our longstanding relationship, a great deal more intimate. The result of which would be startling, unexpected and deeply moving.

But you’ll have to wait for the next installment for the details.

Camp Crucible Part 2 - the Pony Show

2008-06-04T22:52:00.007-04:00

If you are a pony player attending Camp Crucible, chances are you will spend at least half the time you are at camp getting ready for or performing in the pony show. Ponies by nature are show-offs and love to strut their stuff. Even those who scorn the stage can be found hanging around either watching or taking part in some surreptitious manner. They can’t help it, after all.

If you are just out to have fun and kick up some dust, there is no end to the possibilities. In this show, everyone gets a ribbon. What ribbon you get is the real question. If you are the competitive sort, you set your sights on specific ribbons and do what you think it will take to win them. Mistress is the competitive sort. She had a plan for Stormy and Knight Mare that she believed would land the Grand Champion ribbon. It also stood a better than average chance of landing her in the hospital, but that didn’t matter! This was show biz!

And me? This was my first year so I was a bit of a wild card. Still, Mistress felt I had a good chance of landing one of two possibilities. The first would be the ribbon for gymkhana – essentially meaning best display of training and talent. The second was conformation – how looks, body structure and behavior conformed to the pony ideal. There were other possibilities, but either of these would be nice. Best in class seemed a little high to reach, but why not?

Fact is, neither Mistress nor I had any idea what I would be doing outside of a vague notion of a jazz dance routine. I have a dance performance background (albeit in Spanish dance) and Mistress majored in dance - improvisational, that is - in college, doing a stint with the Boston Ballet in the process. We had selected the music a month or so before, opting for a piece called the Boogie Bumper by Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. I don’t know why I played that one for her. It terrified me because it was so fast-paced. Still, I liked it and believed she would not choose it, so why not offer it as an option?

Then she chose it. What’s more, she decided that I should dance in hooves and wear both sets. She reasoned that so many ponies work with fore hooves but don’t do a lot with them. I could change that and possibly raise the bar a bit on performance with fore hooves if I animated them more. Well, that was the idea anyway.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Rehearsal is the stuff of a good performance, so Friday and Saturday were largely devoted to just that. Since the cart routine with Stormy and Knight Mare posed the greatest challenge, Mistress worked with them on Friday morning to rough things out. I spent that time being a demo pony for the littles merit badge program (see previous post). When that was finished, I was to go to the show pavilion and work on my routine. I arrived a little early and waited my turn.

At least, I tried to. The pavilion had a roof over it which, while providing excellent shade, also kept it pretty cool. Cold might be a better word. The temperature outside was not bad, but with the breeze that was blowing, a bare-chested ponyboy that wasn’t doing anything found himself chilled and shivering pretty quickly. Opting for comfort (and not tethered to anything), I stepped outside and into the sun. The warmth immediately enfolded me and it wasn’t long before the shivering stopped. I’m not sure what exactly happened then, but I got distracted by noises that were issuing from a nearby building. It was a large gymnasium close by and I could hear the distinct sound of whips cracking. What was a naturally curious pony to do? I went to investigate, of course!

The building in question was the upper dungeon – called Heaven by the camp. It was very large and there was a dizzying array of equipment there including several St. Andrew’s Crosses, a bondage table, and...scaffolding with winches! The atmosphere was intoxicating but I didn’t get a chance to take it all in before Andrea the head stable hand for Aphrodite’s Meadow came in looking for me.

My absence had been noticed.

Andrea wasted no time hooking my reins onto my bit. “Let’s go for a walk,” she said in her melodious voice. That sounded fine to me at the time, but it wasn’t long before I began to wonder if this was a punishment for wandering off! Honestly, I don’t know where she got all that energy, but I got walked, trotted, and galloped all over that camp site. Up hill and down dale we went finally arriving in the very heart of Kids’ Camp.

Kids’ Camp was the heart of littles territory and there were quite a few of them assembled there riding a merry-go-round. Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded. I didn’t panic, but I was a little nervous. There’s no telling how things will go with these guys, and being ready for anything is a good idea. As with real children, events can turn on a dime at Kids’ Camp.

Andrea left me amongst the littles while she went to fill my water bottle. I stood at attention listening as they peppered Andrea with questions like, “Can we pull on his tail?” Andrea answered in the negative over and over until she finally gave instruction that I was to be well treated. Then the petting started and I relaxed. Andrea came back with water and gave me a nice long drink before we set out for the pavilion once again.

A brutal but mercifully short climb up the hill brought us back to the main road that would take us back to the pavilion. While walking along this road, we were approached by a camp taxi. The taxis were golf carts that campers could take in order to get from one place to another. Some of the distances you had to walk in camp could be a challenge and the hills were incredible, so the taxis were a welcome attraction. Taxis were driven by volunteer campers doing chores to lower the cost of camp. I had paid extra to buy out of chores this time around because I wanted to get the immersion experience my first year. In the future, I’ll pay less and do chores. I had plenty of down time as it turned out, and any opportunity to lower cost is always a good thing.

We didn’t stop as the taxi pulled along side, but the driver took the time to talk with Andrea just the same. “That is one hot pony you have there,” she said, “Hot, hot, hot!” I had the distinct impression she wasn’t talking about the weather here.

I love camp!

We arrived back at the pavilion where Mistress had finished with Stormy and Knight Mare – quite a while ago. “I said go get him, not get lost in the woods with him,” Mistress told Andrea. “Honestly, I’m going to smack you.” ‘Smack’ is a favorite word with Mistress. As long as she uses it, it’s unlikely that she’s seriously annoyed. Besides, Andrea enjoys a good smacking as much as I do, so it wasn’t a very potent threat, dear reader.

Mistress and I worked for about an hour on the jazz routine. There was only so much we could do at that point because we didn’t have any music, but we warmed up, stretched out and made a few strategic decisions. The dance would be based on a tease. I would approach a jump several times but not actually jump over it until the very end. There was a logical reason for this. I would be dancing in hooves on an asphalt surface. Basically, I had one shot to get it right. Taking an actual jump in hooves was risky to do once. Doing it more than that was asking for trouble.

Trouble, it seems, has a way of finding you when it wants to. We got things spaced out and decided where the jump would be located. Mistress showed me where the judging table would be located. That would be important because I would need to flirt with both the judges and the audience. Since the judges would be located across the arena from the audience, the choreography would need to address both sides of the pavilion.

Tight muscles intervened once I started cantering in the hooves, so we decided to keep the amount of cantering I would need to do to a minimum. Then we broke it off for that day and I spent the rest of my time warming and stretching leg muscles to make sure I didn’t injure anything before the show.

Mistress devoted all of Saturday Morning to my dance number. Right after breakfast, we headed for the pavilion. There were a lot of ponies and handlers working when we got there, so we relocated our rehearsal session to a basketball court just down the hill a bit. I had taken the time to map out the music so that we knew how many counts of eight each phrase of the music contained. With that knowledge and Mistress’ choreographic skills, we got a routine pinned down and working in about three hours. It would be a mixture of pure dance, pure flirt, and pure gait work with just one pass over the jump and a good deal of humor thrown in. Oh yes, and I would do some Flamenco- inspired clogging somewhere in the middle of it all. We headed back to pony camp and I spent the rest of the day and night running through the routine in my head to make sure I got it down.

Sunday blossomed with Mistress blaring Home on the Range again and calling on all ponies to rise and shine! It was the day of the big Pony Show and we needed to get cleaned up, fed, tacked up and ready to go!

Anxiety set in pretty quickly, but by that point, I had decided that the real point of all this was to have fun. Besides, Mistress had told me that if I fell, I should make it spectacular, pick myself up and then do it to the other side. That way, people would think I meant to do it.

Right.

When we got to the pavilion, I was immediately struck by one detail. The judging table was located on the same side of the pavilion as the audience instead of the opposite side as we had thought. I felt a tide of panic rising as I feverishly started figuring out how to reverse my entire routine. Mistress has a cooler head, though and told me not to worry about it as it was her problem to solve. And solve it she did. She simply put the jump in the diagonally opposite corner and told me to come in from the other side. That way, nothing changed except which wall I faced at certain times. Cinch!

There were a total of twenty-four acts in the pony show and some of the talent was spectacular. There were many cart routines and quite a few ponies on short reins. My dance was one of the few routines in which the pony was completely independent of his or her handler. I couldn't help being nervous when my turn came. It was comforting to have Mistress out there performing with me. She made the first entrance and directed me through the dance with a crop. Some remarked on how well we related, but honestly, dear reader, I don't remember actually looking at her because I was so deep in concentration. Also, this was the first time I had done the dance up to speed in the hooves. Up to this point, I had rehearsed in moccasins. One false move and they would be making moccasins out of me! I remembered what Mistress told me way back in November about wanting her ponies fearless and in no time all I wanted to do was show off my stuff. Before I knew it, I was kneeling before the judges with Mistress mounted on my back and pushing my head down in a bow of deference. It was over and I could go back to the paddock for some much needed water.

The advance class routines started with Mistress, Stormy and Knight Mare. Stormy started out pulling a cart blindfolded. He took Grand Champion at the Floating World last summer pulling a cart in this manner. It’s quite a skill. Mistress flew the colors – both the US flag and the Leather flag – as would happen in a rodeo. Then she left Stormy pulling his cart (no longer blindfolded) while she went and got Knight Mare. When Knight Mare’s cart met up with Stormy’s, Mistress carefully straddled both carts and drove Stormy and Knight Mare in a tight formation around a couple of curves. I help my breath as I suddenly came to understand why her costume included body armor and a helmet with a leopard skin cover on it. The presentation ended with a bunch of littles running out onto the show ring and parading off with the carts.

One act that I found especially funny and fun to watch was Dead Pony. She was all Goth and was carried out onto the floor by two men in black trench coats who then brought her to life. She did a rather zombie-like rendition of a pony gait and then broke into a soft shoe dance. Her fun was brought to an end when her handlers sent her back to the beyond until the next time. Altogether a riot to watch.

And it didn’t end there. There were ponies on hoof, cart ponies and Buck carried his Mistress Nikki in a saddle through a set of tight cones while blindfolded. Jojo and Buttercup did a wonderful dance together to a song about girls and horses. Watching them dance was great fun. As massive as he appears when tacked up, the Clydesdale named Buttercup is one of the gentlest beings I have ever met. Their number actually made a few people cry.

Eventually, all twenty-four acts had made their way across the stage, but before the judges could begin their deliberations, all the ponies had to line up and whinny for them. One by one, each pony gave up a whinny to see who would be judged to have the best one. We all gave it our best. When they came to Dead Pony, however, the “whinny” was a deep hacking cough that made everyone – even the assembled ponies – laugh hysterically.

She won that round.

Then the judges began their judging. It didn’t take a long time. Lunch was pressing in, after all. Ribbons were awarded to the novice class first and yours truly took the very first one – for gymkhana. What did I say about aiming? I took another later on for “Most likely to take to the stage.” Considering that I have a degree in theater and perform on a regular basis, I’d say that was a pretty sure bet.

Buttercup received a ribbon for Tack and Appointments, and the two of them got a ribbon for most adorable performance. Both were well deserved.

Fuzzy got the ribbon for Sexiest Ponyboy.

NorthernBelle got the ribbon for Sexiest Ponygirl.

Ponyboy Monorail received Reserve Champion for his performance.

And the crowning achievement for Aphrodite’s Meadow was the Grand Champion ribbon given to Stormy and Knight mare for their hard work.

All in all, a great day for Aphrodite’s Meadow and friends.

I could sit on my modest laurels and be happy with that. But Mistress has plans. She has very big plans. They include a Grand Champion ribbon at some point in the not-too-distant future.

Ride ‘em like you stole ‘em, ma’am!

Next up: Part 3 - a Tale of Two Scenes

Camp Crucible Part 1 - Of Races and Littles

2008-06-01T14:32:00.010-04:00

I can't remember when I first heard of Camp Crucible, but from the start of my journey I heard mention of it repeatedly and was told many times that camp was the place to go for pony play experience. So it was that I signed up for camp this year and traveled to the state of Pennsylvania with Mistress to attend my very first Camp Crucible.

Camp takes place over Memorial Day weekend each year and is at least five days long. Many (including Mistress and myself) also choose to stay one extra day at the start of camp, arriving the day before the session officially starts. If you're going to travel all the way from Maine to Pennsylvania, you might as well stay as long as you can. Besides, I had heard from Stormy that the camp puts on an invitational pony race on Thursday evening and I wanted to see how I measured up. After eight months at the gym, I was looking to see if anything had actually changed from my earlier years.

I was never very athletic and I hated gym class because that fact got pointed out to my embarrassment and humiliation every time I had to put on that damned uniform. But now, I was hoping that the work I had put in since Buck first measured me for my tack would pay off just a little. I didn't care about winning, I just wanted to endure through the contest. If I could cross the finish line anything but dead last, that would be the cherry on the sundae.

We arrived at camp in the mid-afternoon hours. Mistress is not subtle about something like this. We had traveled for six and one half hours to get there from her home in the Boston area, and if there is one thing Mistress knows, it's how to make an entrance. We stopped just outside the gates to the facility so that she could "hoist the colors" as she put it. Getting out of the van, she grabbed a small Jolly Roger flag and put it up on the radio antenna. Then, with Arthur Fiedler and the Boston Pops blasting Home on the Range at top volume, we drove into the camp site.

Okay, so the metaphors are a little mixed. It helps if you hold them lightly. Work with me. The logo for Camp Crucible is a Jolly Roger and piracy tends to be a recurring theme from year to year. At the same time, it's probably one of the finest pony camps in the country. Things are bound to get a little confabulated.

I retreated into sub space at about the moment we arrived. As I have said before, I tend to clam up in new situations. Remaining silent would not be in the cards for very long, though. This was Camp Crucible where things that never happen in real life are commonplace. You'll come to understand what I mean by the time I'm finished telling these stories. Silence and deference would be respected, but how outgoing you are and how much fun you have tend to be directly proportional here.

We stopped first at registration where we signed some legal paperwork - releases for both picture modeling and liability purposes - and got our name tags. Getting the right tag was important because there were two ponies in camp named Rusty this year (what were the chances?). They gave me his tag first, but I pointed out that it was not the correct one. Mine should have read "Ponyboy Rusty" with the tag line "Aphrodite's Meadow Stable". Once they found my correct tag, Mistress and I were on our way into pony camp.

Pony camp was a world within a world. It consisted of a series of cabins laid out in a circle around a central play area that included what most people would call a tether ball. In pony head space, however, it became a Jolly Ball. Hours of entertainment for a bored pony! There were bales of straw piled in one area and several stalls had been set up as well. An octagonal cabana completed the scene. Several discussions and classes would take place there over the weekend.

So there were plenty of sunny and shady places as well as places with roofs in case it chose to rain (which it didn't). A recipe for fun indeed.

Upon arriving in pony camp I got my first taste of discipline as well. Piper pony was there and greeted us with a hearty whinny. Nobody whinnies like Piper - nobody. I'm told that bio horses tend to answer her when they hear her. So there's no mistaking a whinny out of her. I was astonished to hear it for the first time in person and could only sit there in the van and marvel.

Mistress has a rule, however, and I failed to follow it. Quite simply, she expects her ponies to answer up if they hear a whinny. Failure to do so earns the errant pony a whack, and a whack I got! I quickly came out of my stupor and whinnied back to Piper who came over to the van and gave me a nuzzle. I had never met Piper in person although I had heard a lot about her, and this instant friendliness and warmth was a very welcome change from the way people usually relate.

This was going to be a good experience.

But settling in came first. Aphrodite's Meadow had been assigned to Cabin #4 and we made our way there. A lot needed to be done to make the space livable. Beds and shelves were moved about to make room, screens, rafters, mattresses and floors needed to be swept and luggage needed to be unpacked. When all was in order, Mistress tacked me up for the pony race.

The invitational pony races were held on a ball field at the top of the campground. Each pony was to pull a cart with a driver in it for about 50 yards to the finish line. The races would be taped and shown on Saturday night in the casino where off-track betting would take place. I fancied myself a long shot because I'm not a sprinter, but I would give it all I had for Mistress. There were four ponies, all stallions, and a small contingent of campers who came to watch. I did my best to warm up and stretch out while Mistress looked the carts over and chose one.

Finally, the appointed time arrived and we all lined up at the starting gate. I was very nervous, but willing to try anything at this point. If I had said I didn't want to race, Mistress would not have compelled me to do so, so I was here by choice. With that in mind, I set my sights on the finish line. When I heard the word, "GO!" and felt the slap of my reins, I took off and ran just as fast as I could paying no attention to where the other ponies were. The blinders I was wearing helped with that, of course, but they also kept me from knowing exactly what had happened. All I know is that I got plenty of praise from Mistress when that race was over. I hadn't won, but I hadn't finished last either.

In fact, nobody knew who won the race. It would have required a photo finish to figure it out and that sort of technology was not available. Race number two would end in the same manner. For that reason, the race course was lengthened out to around 70 yards. The pony pulling the lightest cart was also handicapped by a few extra yards. Mistress hitched me to a different cart as well and spent a little time showing me how to take off like a racer. It was a bit counterintuitive, requiring me to rock backward onto my back foot, but in the end, it made all the difference. It would be four days before I knew the outcome for certain, but I had heard the rumors.

I won the third race! It was by a nose, but I did it. I guess all that gym time really did pay off. I guess I'll continue to go regularly.

Something else happened just before the races that caught my attention. A group of people arrived that seemed to be behaving like young children. I had never had any experience or exposure to this form of play and didn't understand what I was looking at for a short time. It wasn't long before I learned that these people were a group of "Littles". Littles are people whose kink consists of acting, interacting and living as young children. Some had pacifiers, some wore diapers, all of them related to the people around them as a toddler would to any adult. It was new and strange to me, but an open mind is a clear asset at a place like this, so I decided to go with it and see how things played out. Besides, although I had not seen her at play, the head stable hand for Aphrodite's Meadow is a little when she is not with us and she is certainly no slouch. So I spent some time over the weekend watching and listening to the littles.

It's not my kink and I'm still not sure I quite understand the attraction, but I'm sure there are plenty of people in and out of the scene who say the same thing about pony play. But after a short while, I came to see littles for just what they were - people having a whole lot of fun in a way that suited them. Do I have a problem with that? Nope!

Besides, I also came to understand that littles LOVE the ponies and ponies love attention. Seems like a good fit to me.

So it was that I volunteered to take part in the Pony Merit Badge program for the littles on Friday. Mistress was busy working with Stormy and Knight Mare on their entry for the pony show at the time, and the presenters needed one more pony for the class. I joined Piper and her handler Dana who taught the class. The littles all gathered in the cabana for a short lecture and were then escorted out to see the two of us. They stood about in a tight little group and listened intently as Dana showed them Piper's tack and their new straddle cart. This was a four-wheeled cart with a mock up of a horse's back and a saddle instead of a regular seat. Each part was shown in turn, but when Dana pointed out the stirrups, one of the littles chimed in with, "They have those at the doctor's office!" Clearly, some littles specialize in the sort of comments young children make that mortify their parents. Hilarious doesn't begin to describe how it can get when they start playing off of one another.

Soon it was my turn for some attention. The littles were shown how to brush my tail and several took turns. Some did a little grooming as well. Their touch was tentative and very gentle, oddly comforting in a way. And when they learned how to feed a pony, they lined up to give me apple treats. This pony loves apple treats and I got several along with some pats on the head. Overall a good experience.

That doesn't mean no dark side exists, of course. One Domme I spoke with said that you could get into a conversation with them and the next thing you knew, you'd be hanging from the rafters with no idea how you got there. At one point, a group of them came into the main lounge ('headquarters' they called it) to make smeeps in the fireplace. For those who came in late, smeeps are s'mores made with Peeps. You could interpret the activity any way you wanted. At first it looked to me like a group of kids having a good time making famous camp fire treats and eating them. But soon my perspective shifted a little bit and I saw a group of Wednesday and Pugsley Addamses skewering little yellow duckies on wooden stakes, melting them slowly over the fire, stuffing them between graham crackers and biting into them. All with smiles on their faces. It was deliciously sadistic, evil and a lot of fun to watch. And the humor wasn't lost on me.

It takes an adult with a sharp mind and a sense of humor to be a child.

Next up: Part 2 - The Pony Show

Campity Camp

2008-05-29T22:53:00.004-04:00

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.

Pony Romp in Central Park

2008-05-07T14:02:00.029-04:00

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!

Would Someone Tell the Everly Brothers to Shut Up?

2008-02-02T22:05:00.004-05:00

This may be a little self-indulgent, but when I have a dream this lucid I need to act on it. I haven't had a bit in my mouth since the second weekend in January and something tells me that I have crossed some sort of psychological line. If I go too long without pony play in reality, it starts popping up in dreams.

So be it. Here's what happened while I slept...

I was staying at a ranch where I was to receive some training. The specifics weren't spelled out to me at the outset, but why should they be? Mistress decided I needed some sort of instruction that this place could provide. Nothing outlandish about that, but I was still very nervous. My pal Stormy was there, having arrived some time before I did. That was good in and of itself, but when I discovered he was also going to be responsible for getting me settled in, I felt a lot better.

There were plenty of others in this particular paddock, both men and women all there to be trained in some aspect or other to be better centaurs.

Centaurs?

Well, it seemed so matter-of-fact in the dream that it took a moment for me to notice. But yes, all of us had human torsos and equine bodies. I guess that would qualify us as centaurs. And it certainly meant that some things would be a little different than they were at, say, the average play party. This place meant business. It was a ranch specifically designed for training submissives and the program was rigorous. Missteps would be forgiven once and then punished thereafter. Rules would be explained once and followed or else. I can't say that anyone was fearful, but there was a sort of tension in the air that makes a bottom like me tingle.

Not long after I arrived, Stormy set about instructing me in the protocol of this strange place. Here is what I learned.

The place was run by a human; a man well versed in the care and training of centaurs and, for all I knew, other mythological creatures. I didn't meet him right away, but most only did on rare occasions. Those occasions could be happy or terrifying but were rarely anything in between. Most preferred to avoid him, but nobody thought of him as cruel. He was perhaps better seen as a very strict Dom.

Most of the discipline in the paddock was maintained by the dominant centaur. He was an imposing figure who had attained his rank not by assignment or even long experience (though he was reputed to be very wise), but by fighting his way to the top. He wasn't a violent sort, but you didn't want him angry at you. If you met him face to face, you were expected to nod or bow politely but say nothing unless asked a direct question. Eye contact was also discouraged as it was considered a provocation.

Stormy told me that my first task would be to find my place in the herd and he took a lot of time explaining how that worked. There was a ritual etiquette involved that seemed simple enough on the face of it, but proved a challenge in practice. Stormy told me to be myself and socialize as much as possible. From time to time, one of the other male centaurs would come face to face with me and place a hand on my chest as if to stop me in my tracks. I could meet that challenge in a number of ways, and the outcome would determine my place in relation to the challenger. I could bow my head and back out of the challenger's way, which would mean that I immediately recognized his dominance over me. I could place my hand on his chest in return, which would initiate what could only be described as a rituals staring contest. One of us would eventually cause the other to look away. The one that looked away then took a place below the other in the order. Finally, I could put my hand on the challenger's chest and one of us could initiate a fight. Few chose this option, and it usually only occurred when someone made an unwise choice. For example, trying to stare down a challenger who was clearly dominant.

All of this was silent, unspoken communication. Speech required permission and that didn't happen often.

I thought I understood the rule quite well. Stormy had told me what I needed to know and I headed into the paddock with confidence that I would get along well with the others. All I had to do was show respect not only to those I regarded as dominant to me, but to those who considered me dominant to them as well. Simple.

There were two things I hadn't thought about. The first was that none of those who had arrived prior to me considered me to be dominant to anybody. I tend to go along to get along, but it wasn't long before I figured out that that formula wouldn't work. I would have to win some of those staring contests, and that meant choosing my adversaries very carefully if I wanted to avoid fights. Another thing I hadn't considered was that although the female centaurs did not stop or challenge me (they had rituals of their own), they had their part to play. I befriended several of them easily not even thinking that the rules of human society took a back seat to the rules of the equine herd. The more dominant males were not at all happy to see me making friends with "their" females, and I found myself subjected to many more challenges than I had expected.

I don't know how long I was at this ranch, but I do know that I did well with my trainings and even made quite a few friends. I earned the somewhat qualified respect of the dominant centaur (how I'm not sure) and generally stayed out of trouble. But somewhere in the midst of all this, Stormy disappeared. I hadn't seen him since that first day and later found out that he had finished his training and gone back to Aphrodite's Meadow.

That suddenly made me homesick. I don't know if that caused problems with my performance or attitude, but it wasn't long before I was told I needed to see the owner of the ranch. That would be the one who either made you happy or scared the stuffing out of you. I knew only that I had no choice and would have to go see this man. Stormy wasn't there to tell me what to do (perhaps that was purposeful), so I had to figure out how best to approach this ordeal.

I thought about the things I had learned during my time at this ranch. I remembered all of the challengers I had faced. I recalled the few I had stepped aside for immediately, and few I had confronted successfully, and the many I had otherwise learned to coexist with peacefully. And somewhere in all of that thinking, I decided that the best way to meet the ranch owner was to stand erect, be proud and respectful. I made every effort to be clean and well groomed, then presented myself to the meeting place at the appointed hour.

I probably should have been terrified, but for some reason, I wasn't. I was confident and had a smile on my face. When I walk into the room, the first thing I saw was the dominant centaur. He looked at me with a face that was stern and smiling all at the same time. I avoided eye contact as I had been taught and bowed politely to him. Then I heard a voice tell me to step further into the room.

The ranch owner was sitting at a table with a computer in front of him. He was clearly looking at my record and evaluating my progress. Then he turned and looked at me. He asked me how I felt I had done in the time I had been there and gave me permission to speak.

I'm not exactly sure what I said, but I know I left the final judgment to him and that made him smile. He told me that I had earned some time away from the ranch and that if I chose, I could return to Aphrodite's Meadow for a while. That meant I could see Stormy, Mistress and any others who were there. That made me more than happy. I was dismissed and told I could leave, bearing in mind that my voice was not to be used once again.

I turned, nodded again to the dominant centaur who, to my surprise, smiled and nodded back. Then I walked out of the room. The ranch owner was behind me patting my shoulder.

At that moment, I awoke to find my cat pawing that same shoulder and squawking to be let in under the covers because the bedroom was cold.

Reality sometimes returns in less than subtle ways.

So that's the weird dream. As to what it all means, well, I'm not sure. What do you think?

Winter Flea Part 3

2008-01-18T23:36:00.000-05:00

Sunday dawned bright and sunny, but there was a touch of melancholy in the atmosphere for me. It was the last day of the Flea, and it would be the shorter. Not only were things scheduled to start later than the day before, but closing time would come sooner as well. Then we would have to take down all of that stuff we had brought in, pack it all in the van and head home. I wasn't looking forward to that because I was enjoying myself way too much.

Consider this flashback to the night before. On returning to the hotel from the Masquerade Ball, I rode up on the elevator with what appeared to be a nice couple. We chatted briefly and cordially, and when my floor came up and I got off, I heard the man call out, "We're in room 1618 if you get bored!" Now if I had a second life to live, I probably would have turned on my heel, walked back into the elevator and asked what he had in mind. As it was, I didn't. Who knows what I missed? I shall spend a great deal of time fantasizing about what might have been, which in all likelihood will be more thrilling than any reality could have been.

After getting up I decided to go out for breakfast and found I could get a small croissant at the same nook where I got coffee the morning before. That and a cup of coffee got me up and running for the day and I returned to the room. We decided to pack and get out of the room altogether even though we weren't required to check out until that afternoon. Keeping things moving in one direction is usually a good thing when you have a lot to do. So we showered, dressed and headed to the paddock with all of our luggage.

The security people unlocked the paddock for us and we started getting ready for the day. Tacking would be delayed because Mistress planned to use it as part of the class presentation at noon. I started looking around the room and tidying up where necessary. That's when I saw a piece of fringe on the carpet - fringe that had once been a part of one of my hooves! Somehow, I had managed to stomp on it and rip it from the legging. Clearly I was going to have to be more careful!

Finally the class began. By this time, Stormy and I were down to tights and dance belt (respectively) and ready for tacking. Mistress began the class and talked about pony play, what is needed, how to approach it, what sorts of toys are useful and things like that. One major object of interest was a tool called a twitch. Just seeing it can make me shudder.

For those who don't know, a twitch is a heavy stick with a loop of chain at one end. Normally, it is looped around the snout of a recalcitrant horse. With a quick twist, the chain tightens and the horse starts cooperating. A twitch can also be used on human ponies. All it takes is a little imagination in deciding what to loop it around. Ponygirls have breasts and ponyboys have...well, you get the idea. One quick grab and a twist and...I'll follow Mistress anywhere, believe me.

The talk went on for quite a while mostly because of questions from the audience. I'm a little impatient by nature and I wanted to get my tack on, so finally I decided to move things along. Mistress had some reins hanging around her neck. I walked over, nuzzled her gently and ever so carefully took the reins in my teeth, trying to make off with them. She was a bit too fast for me, but she also understood what I was trying to say. My tack went on during the next part of the lecture and Mistress used me to demonstrate a number of training elements including gait, following commands, blindfold training and so on.

When the class was over, Mistress tacked up Stormy and the day began in earnest for us. People came and went in large numbers throughout the day and each of us was given lots of individual training time. It always amazes me how Mistress seems to find time for all the ponies she trains. I don't know how she does it - unless she has a clone somewhere and I don't realize it - but this pony appreciates the time and does not begrudge the time to other ponies.

Still, open play time was a frustration at times. There was one stretch of time when there were many ponies (including brand new ones trying it out for the first time) all over the place. It was great to see everyone having so much fun.

Except for me. Nobody seemed to want to play with me! I was tethered to my stall and couldn't get away. Ok, so I had been a little naughty earlier. I stole the fruit cup on the treat table and took it back to my stall. Then I grabbed the twitch and ran about with it. Still, I know I wasn't being punished for that. People were just shy about jumping in and playing. At least, that's what I think.

So there I was, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Now, I'm not at my best when I have nothing to do. I start looking for ways to amuse myself and the results can be a bit unpredictable. I looked about my stall to see what was at hand and found my hobbles hanging on the fence. Hobbles are cuffs that go around the legs and are connected with a short, heavy chain. They are used to keep a pony from kicking or going too far too fast. At least, that is what they are designed for. A bored pony can find other uses for them. They make a great noise when you toss them around, but in finding that out I incurred a punishment and got a good thwacking from Mistress. Turns out she can find many uses for reins. She also left the hobbles on the floor so I couldn't get at them again. Oh well.

There were visits from more friends and such, but overall, the afternoon was amazing for the way some new people jumped in and took part. There were new ponies and new trainers. Many came in couples and it was fun to watch them discover. You can almost watch the light go on behind peoples' eyes as they learn what pony play feels like.

Stormy and I had one final challenge in the form of a beautiful woman named Raven. Mistress brought her over to our stalls to introduce her to us. She said Raven was very nicely evil and was going to give each of us a grooming. Now Mistress had done a fine job of keeping Stormy and I groomed throughout the Flea, her delicious evil streak even causing her to use ice water on me at one point (it was all the water we had in the room). But this was something entirely different. Raven smiled at both of us in a way that made us back up a step. We looked at each other as if to say, "We're doomed!" Raven approached with treats in her hand and offered them to Stormy.

Let me tell you about the treats. Most were really good. There were granola balls, carrots, apples and fresh fruit. On the other hand, there were the actual pony treats. They were pineapple treats intended for real horses but consumable by humans. I had to take it on faith that they were made from pineapple because they tasted more like gum drops that had passed their expiration date. They were so full of and coated with sugar that it was like eating a sugar cube. Stormy and I had eaten our fill of them after about...one. But here was Raven offering them to Stormy. He didn't dare refuse.

His grooming followed and a painful experience it looked to be! Raven used the stiff brush and went at it until Stormy was beet red all over. At times, he looked as though he'd cry. But he made it through the process and eagerly awaited watching my face as I underwent the same grooming process. I love being groomed even if it can be painful. This is S&M after all! The grooming is my reward for the hard work I do. But here I was having a few second thoughts. When Raven came and offered me some pineapple treats, I ate them as well. She stroked my hair and told me what a beautiful pony I was. I just knew that stiff brush was hidden on her somewhere and I waited in preparation for what was coming.

But it never came. I don't know why, but Raven didn't groom me. Perhaps she decided I hadn't needed it or something, but whatever the reason, that was her decision. I envied Stormy his grooming session, but it turned out that Stormy envied me as well. Not only was my hide intact, but I had gotten to watch his face while he endured his session. He, on the other hand wasn't going to get to watch mine. Of course, he did get to watch my face the day before when I got sprayed with ice water!

I guess it's all about perspective.

All good things must come to an end, and as much as we dreaded it, the Flea came to a close. At 4:00 p.m. it was time to take the tack off and become humans again. I'll admit I was ready to remove the hooves after so many hours. They amount to three-inch heels, after all, and with all the cantering, jumping and trotting around I had done over the past two days, my legs were sore! On top of that, Stormy and I have something of an ethic that we follow. When we are in tack, we do not sit down. Real ponies don't sit down, so we feel we shouldn't when we are in role. That meant that the two of us had been on our feet for about 15 hours over the two days of the Flea. Like I said, this is S&M!

The stalls came apart quickly and we kept it neat and orderly. Everything got packed and ready for the van. Mistress went and got the van backed up to the loading door and the process of moving out began. It took surprisingly little time, mostly because of the help we got from some people who had joined in the fun over the weekend. Once done, some of us sat down to chat. Our time was limited because everyone had to be out of the place soon. Mistress, Stormy and I decided to make one more pilgrimage to the food court before heading out and had some Indian food again. It was a good move. I was famished.

We ate and talked about lots of things. For a brief moment, I was alone with Stormy and we talked just between the two of us. Stormy is very special to me and he told me he felt the same about me. You don't meet many people in one lifetime that you can get really close to and a friendship of that sort is priceless. I'm glad Stormy is part of my life now. I'm also glad that Mistress holds the same place in my heart. Most of all, I'm glad for the Experience of my first Flea.

The trip home to Boston was uneventful although it raised some anxiety as we passed sign after sign telling motorists to take the train to work the next morning because of the Biblical snow storm that was coming. When we left for Providence on Friday, there was a 20% chance of snow. Clearly that had changed. It wouldn't have been an issue except that I had to drive back to Maine the next day.

Arriving at Mistress' house, we had to immediately unload the van and put everything away. Luckily, we had things down to a science by that time and the process went smoothly. In less than an hour, everything was stowed away and the removable seats were back in the van. Both of us were tired, but it was time for stories and chit chat. And I had to clean my tack. A pony should never forget to clean his tack! We talked for a couple of hours before turning in for the night.

The next morning arrived with at least eight inches of snow on the ground. That meant a very long ride home for me, and it's a story I won't bother with now. I want to keep this upbeat.

So that was my first Fetish Fair Fleamarket. I had way too much fun, met lots of great new friends, showed off my stuff and learned a few things.

I learned that running off with the twitch will get Mistress' attention quickly, but that carrying a chain in your teeth might not be such a great idea.

I learned that what I consider to be adequate coverage might not be to the next person.

I learned that some of the weirdest looking people are also some of the friendliest.

I learned how much I adore Mistress and Stormy.

But I never learned what was going on in room 1618.

Winter Flea Part 2

2008-01-18T18:38:00.002-05:00

To continue...

The next day dawned sunny and clear. It didn't seem like the three of us wanted to get up, but eventually the sun hit my face and there just wasn't any choice. Mistress had brought food for us to eat in the room so we could avoid restaurant bills. I mean, one could get a nice cheese omelet at the hotel restaurant for a mere $14, or a "healthy diet" breakfast delivered to your room for only $22, but the three of us were poor as church mice and needed to keep it simple. Stormy and I knew that lunch would consist of treats (mostly fruit and granola treats), so having something in the stomach was a good thing to start out. We each ate our fill and then turned our attention to coffee. Like most hotels, the Westin had an in-room coffee maker with a supply of coffee and tea handy. I tried the coffee the day before and it tasted like bilge water (and tea made with a coffee maker is about as lame as it gets), so I set out to find a Starbucks or something. I managed a good cup of coffee for about $2 without going too far afield, so I was happy and enjoyed it knowing it would be my only cup of Joe for that day.

Breakfast and showers done, we headed for the paddock at about 10:00 a.m. We had a number of things to do that day, but the two biggest items were a presentation at 11:00 and my bridling ceremony at 3:00. For those who do not know, a bridling is the pony equivalent of a collaring in which the Dominant takes possession of the submissive. Notice I am not using the terms Master and slave. Many do, but I don't like the cultural baggage that those terms raise with me. I respect the choice of others to use them, they just aren't for me. Besides, I am submissive in a qualified sort of way. I will follow commands as long as Mistress can make me understand what it is she wants. That may sound easy, but remember, real horses don't speak English. To produce the same sort of communication challenge between us that exists between humans and bio-horses, Mistress only speaks to me in French when training me. Because I don't speak or understand French, I have to figure out what she wants every time and respond correctly. In addition, I tend to trance out when in tack. I go silent and although I will speak on command, it's not easy and Mistress doesn't require it of me often.

I gave myself to Mistress back in November of my own free will (another reason why 'slave' just doesn't work for me) and she accepted the gift. The bridling ceremony was the way in which we decided to make it official. To observe the difference between pre and post ownership, we decided that I would wear the old "loaner" tack that I had been wearing up to that time. My new tack would go on during the ceremony. So needless to say, I was really looking forward to 3 p.m.

The first class went very smoothly. Mistress had Stormy and I show off our paces, canter, whinny and generally do as ponies do for the crowd. This was the first time I had done pony play in front of an audience and I really enjoyed putting on a show. It became clear, however, that Stormy and I were also prone to mischief. Stormy stole the treat dish and took it to his stall while I worried the foliage and generally made off with reins and other things that were lying around on display. Mistress administered a little discipline to the both of us and that settled things down - for a while.

The next couple of hours were spent doing open play with anyone who wanted to take the reins and give it a try. The audience went very shy and didn't do that much, so Mistress took the time to do more training with Stormy and I. Both of us enjoyed that immensely even though she worked us pretty hard. That is, after all, how the game is played.

Finally 3:00 p.m. arrived. There were actually two rituals that Mistress wanted to perform. Stormy doesn't actually belong to her. His owner lives in Texas while he lives in Connecticut. That can make for a long commute, so Stormy trains with La Dresseuse right here in New England. Because it's always best to formalize these things to avoid confusion, Mistress had a chat with Stormy's owner and they agreed on an open-ended lease. In observation of that agreement, Stormy had some new tack made at Water Hole as well. In fact, his tack was made from the same hide as mine - one of those little connections that feels so right. Both sets are dyed the same color and look nice side by side.

But I digress. Before doing anything else, Mistress removed my tack, leaving me in nothing but shorts and socks. Because the old headgear was gone, there was no way to tether me and I wandered around amusing myself quietly while Stormy's part of the ritual took place. Mistress told the audience about the lease from the Equus Eroticus ranch that bound Stormy to her while she put his new tack on. Once that was finished, I started getting frisky. Mistress quickly roped me in (well, actually, all she had to do was call out, "Pony treats!" and I came running - it works every time). Once she had me eating out of her hand, she was easily able to put the new bridle on my head. The harness came next, followed by the belt, gauntlets, collar, hooves and the bit.

The bit was the final touch and we wanted it to mean something. As a symbol that I submitted to her of my own free will, she held the bit in her hand and offered it to me like a treat. After a brief pause, I took the bit in my mouth and allowed her to finish tacking me. Then she claimed me as her own, put me through my paces and led me to my stall. Something happened then that took me completely by surprise.

Stormy has a sign with his name on it that hangs in his stall and I had been admiring it all day. He was going to give me the name of the person who made it so I could get one. Thanks to Mistress, that wasn't necessary. She had handcrafted a sign just for me with my name on it. She even fashioned a sign post that fit between our two stalls so that both signs could hang from it. I almost cried. Even Stormy was surprised.

Finally, Mistress called to the two ponygirls who had witnessed the ritual and told them to welcome me to the herd. Lucky and another ponygirl pal came over and started nuzzling me very affectionately. I looked up at the audience and sported a rather satisfied look. I wonder how the straight guys would have felt had they known I'm gay?

After the ceremony there was time for more open play. A few online friends stopped by to say hello as well. It's always fin to put a face to the names you see on the screen week after week, and these folks were no disappointment.

Then I made a fateful request. I wanted to go to the vendor area and listen to those incredible hooves on the cement floor. I wasn't the first pony to make the journey, and there had been no vibes over the last one to go, so I went with Stormy. All the way over I heard people saying things like, "Oh! Look at the beautiful ponies!" There were a couple of police officers who watched us as we passed by but said nothing (one wonders what they might have been thinking) and we were a hit in the vendor area. It wasn't until the next day that any objections were raised about my be-thonged backside and those weren't specific to me. Oh well.

When six o'clock rolled around, it was time for the Birds of a Feather session. This was a time for different groups to meet in an open session and talk about their various kinks with like-minded or otherwise curious people. We were doing a pony BoF, but I wanted to go to another one for a brief period. I got permission from Mistress (remember, she owns me now so I need to ask!) but there was the problem of my tack. It wasn't suitable attire for the hotel, remember? So, not to arouse ire, I changed into my shorts and shirt. Mind you, I still wore the gauntlets, collar and hooves (which made a fantastic sound on the marble floor of the hotel lobby), but away I went.

General note: wearing hooves on an escalator is an interesting but rather dicey proposition.

Meetings concluded, we removed the remainder of our tack, closed the paddock for the day and went in search of dinner. Once fed, it was time to clean my tack and get it ready for the next day. A pony's work is seldom finished but never boring.

Mistress had plans to attend a party that evening that neither Stormy nor I could attend. No big deal. We had tickets for the masquerade ball. We had picked them up the night before. Actually, they were put on us at the time. These tickets were bracelets that we had to wear all weekend. At first I was unhappy about that, but hey, this is a BDSM event! Duh! Someone in power puts a bracelet on your wrist and tells you to wear it, that's what you do if you want to get into the party! Stormy was dressed in a wonderful costume that made him look like a sort of idealized version of the Renaissance Man while I looked like a preacher out of the 1850's.

I have a pretty short attention span and didn't stay long at the Masquerade Ball. I got tired of it pretty quickly and went to another party I had been invited to. That, too, was pretty quiet, but I got to meet more online friends and chat with them for a while.

Then I realized I was falling down tired and wanted nothing better than to go to bed. I headed back to the hotel while Stormy went back into the ballroom.

I got back to the hotel about a half hour before Mistress came back from her party. Stormy got back from the Ball shortly after that. We had another night cap and turned in at about 1 a.m.

The third and final day in the next installment...

Winter Flea Part 1

2008-01-17T21:04:00.001-05:00

This was the 30th Fetish Fair Fleamarket hosted by the New England Leather Alliance (NELA). They hold two each year; the summer Flea in Boston and the Winter Flea. Up to this point, that too has been held primarily in Boston although it has had other venues. But it was always a Massachusetts event. This year, it moved to Providence, RI for a number of reasons - not least of which is the fact that in MA, one can not legally consent to be hit. That can be a problem in the BDSM world and has been in the past. Rhode Island allows consenting adults to have at it if they wish.

I arrived at Mistress' house in MA on Thursday afternoon and we immediately started loading the van for the trip. A few weeks ago, I had gone down along with my stable pal Ponyboy Stormy to help her build some stalls for this event. Now it was time to load them into the van. Eight stalls fit easily into the minivan leaving room for a lot more luggage. Good thing. Ponies and their handlers do not travel light. It took us a couple of hours to get everything in. In addition to the disassembled stalls, there were two suitcases, half a dozen garment bags, tack bags, food, cooler, legal warning signs, jumps, dressage cones, grid panels, a table, chairs, whips, grooming supplies and one laptop. But all of it went in.

Once the van was packed, I presented Mistress with my tack. I had ordered it in October from Buck at Water Hole Custom Leather but had kept the design details a secret up to this point. Most people in the scene have tack made from black leather. In fact, just about all the leather I see in the scene is black. I don't do black leather and neither does Mistress. My tack is mahogany with dark green edging and bass hardware. I chose these colors because they are Mistress' favorites and the colors of her stable. I wanted no doubt in anyone's mind to whom I belonged. In addition, the belt had not only my name on it, but hand-tooled roses and myrtle leaves for a design. Mistress is a priestess of Aphrodite and has named her stable after Her. Roses and myrtle are sacred to Aphrodite, so that created another connection. She is efficient with words and didn't say a lot, but she didn't have to. The smile on her face said it all.

After the presentation, Mistress tacked me up so she could see how it all went together. One doesn't want to be figuring these things out in front of an audience at a large public event, after all. Everything fit perfectly. Buck truly outdid himself.

A quiet dinner conversation with friends who came by to visit (another presentation of the tack to them) followed and then it was time for bed.

The next day we got on the road by 11 a.m. and headed to Providence. It was a rainy day but our spirits were high all the same. It took about an hour to get to the Westin in Providence where we met up with Stormy, who had driven in from Connecticut. The three of us checked into our room and then began the process of unloading the van and setting up the pony paddock. It took about four hours to get it all up and looking attractive. The engineering and planning had all paid off and the stalls went together without a problem. They were built from picket fence sections and looked very nice all lined up against one wall.

Our work for the day finished, we sought out an inexpensive meal. We found that at the Providence Place Mall, which is connected to the Westin Hotel via a sky bridge. The food court hosted a surprisingly good Indian restaurant and we ate there.

Mistress had to go to the Biltmore Hotel to pick up her presenter's packet and bracelets for Stormy and I. Because we were helping her to host the paddock as her ponies and had put so much effort into the project, we were able to get free admission to the Flea, which would otherwise have cost an incredibly cheap $15 for both days. Still, free is free! Stormy and I followed Mistress to the Biltmore because we planned to attend the Masquerade Ball the following night and needed to pick up our tickets. When we got to the 17th floor of the Biltmore there was a fashion show going full tilt in the grand ballroom. The Biltmore was built at some point in the 1920s and has a magnificent ballroom as many hotels of that era did. This one did not disappoint.

Mistress took care of her transactions while Stormy and I amused ourselves watching the models walking about in what must be considered high fashion in the fetish world. Yours truly spent a great deal of time carefully watching a gorgeous man in a black leather sailor's outfit that was suitably tight in all the right places. Add to that a number of "cops" also attending, and my uniform fetish was getting quite a workout. There were headdresses made with fiber optics, unicorns, dragons, voluptuous models who looked half starved but could probably have taken a strong man down if he tried anything, and just about anything else you could imagine. All very creative and interesting.

The highlight for me was the performance of Dominique Immora, a multi-talented performance artist who did a tasteful strip tease act while keeping a hula hoop going around not only her waist, but her chest, neck and arms. A truly masterful performance and very tastefully done. I was astounded and spellbound.

There was a pool party back at the Westin that I decided to check into, but I didn't stay for long. Instead I decided to go back to the hotel room and relax. Mistress and Stormy had gone back to the fashion show but arrived back at the room less than an hour after I did. More conversation and a little night cap, and we were in bed asleep.

More later.

Rusty Gets His New Tack!

2008-01-17T20:39:00.002-05:00

In an earlier post, I talked about going to Water Hole Custom Leather and ordering a set of tack from Buck. When I ordered it, he said he wouldn't be able to start on it until after Thanksgiving because he had a lot of stuff to do before then. That was no problem for me as I wanted the new tack in time for the Winter Flea and that wasn't until January.

All the same, I was like a child on Christmas Eve waiting and fantasizing about my new tack. I haven't been able to post about it up to now because I had kept a few of the details a secret from Mistress. It was one last chance to control something before I gave her my reins for good and I was going to have fun with it.

I ordered the tack in mahogany with dark green edging. These are the colors of Aphrodite's Meadow - Mistress' stable. They happen to be favorites of mine as well. I once had an apartment that was done almost entirely in brown and green. I chose these because I wanted no doubt in anyone's mind whose pony I am. So there.

Because Buck would be hand dyeing the tack, other possibilities presented themselves that don't normally with black leather. Buck suggested graphics that could be tooled into the belt, gauntlets and hoof leggings and I got to work on that as soon as I got home. I had chosen my name, a five-pointed star, myrtle leaves and roses for the design. Roses and myrtle are sacred to Aphrodite, so that created another connection.

In early December I sent Buck a note reviewing the order and telling him to go ahead with it. Only a couple weeks later I found him on Yahoo Messenger and asked how he was doing. It turned out that the tack was just about finished and we scheduled a date between Christmas and New Year's to get together and make final adjustments.

I made arrangements with friends to stay the night at their place near Hartford. That is a story in itself but I won't go into it here. Suffice to say I was on my way to Tolland early the next day. With the exception of a wrong turn in Hartford (another story - and a Prozac moment to be sure), things went smoothly and I got to Water Hole on time.

Buck was pretty busy, but he's never too busy to spend time with a client. He picked up a big box behind the counter and ushered me into the back room. Once there, he laid the tack out on a table.

There it was. Everything I had hoped for and more. The mahogany was beautiful and rich, the dark green was exactly what I had envisioned, the tooling was incredible - even improving on the design I had sent, the brass hardware was incredible and the leather made the most wonderful sound. And that's to say nothing of that heady scent of new leather. Wow.

I wasted no time stripping down to my dance belt and Buck put the tack on me for the very first time, checking for fit and making adjustments where necessary. Little had to be done, and that was anticipated. I spent some time learning how to make the hooves work well and how to swish my tail.

I was so taken by it all that I immediately ordered a set of hobbles. To my pleasant surprise, he finished them in short order and got them to me via the Stormy express (Stormy delivered them at the Winter Flea in Providence - more on that in the next post).

So now I have tack and attitude! For anyone who is interested, I can't recommend Water Hole Custom Leather highly enough. The link can be found in my Ponyplay 101 post below.

Nuts and Bolts

2007-12-10T22:32:00.001-05:00

Shopping in a hardware store with a ponyboy requires patience and a sense of humor. Shopping in a hardware store with two ponyboys requires patience, humor and some skill. If that hardware store is Lowe's or Home Depot, a lot of unpredictable things will present themselves. It can be hard on the nerves.

Fortunately for me and my stable pal Stormy, Ladresseuse has skill, patience and a sense of humor. Of course, she can be very single minded when there is something to be done, but not so much so that she can't handle ponies who bear watching.

So it was that the three of us headed out to three big box hardware stores in the Boston area. We were on a mission to build eight stalls for the pony paddock at the Winter Flea scheduled for mid January 2008 in Providence. Mistress had planned things out pretty well in advance, but you know how these things go. Details fail to cooperate, what seemed easy on paper needs a few adjustments in practice, certain ponyboys are useless with rulers and pencils and would rather look at the pretty Christmas displays and other sparkley things. Those sorts of distractions that make up what has come to be called the holiday season can wreak havoc on the organized mind. But Mistress proceeds with aplomb - and makes certain that her ponies do likewise.

We started at Lowe's. That's where the proper sort of fencing was being sold. It seems that Home Depot doesn't sell wooden picket fencing at this time of year as it is out of season for erecting garden fences. Well it isn't out of season for erecting stalls for human ponies. Someone should call and tell customer service that. I'm sure they'd listen.

The fencing was kept in the garden section, which meant that we started outdoors. It was pretty cold with a light breeze, so we worked fairly quickly. Stormy and I pulled out fence sections and held them up for Mistress to inspect and approve or reject. She chose nine of the best panels (which isn't saying much - at $14 per section, the stuff was a bit rough) and Stormy and I stacked them on a cart. Mistress started pulling the cart with Stormy and I following behind when she looked up and asked, "Why am I pulling this?"

Roles corrected, Stormy and I pulled the cart to the front. Then we headed into the store. It's odd, but there appears to be an inverse proportion between the size of the store and the probability that you will find everything you are looking for. You will always find one or two bolts of the sort you want, but if you need 150 things can get taxing. This pony doesn't do taxing very well. I got bored and wandered off a couple of times, finally getting engrossed in the socket wrench display (beneath it all, I'm a guy OK?). This continued until Mistress noticed that my sweatshirt had two strings on it. Lead lines, she called them. That put a stop to my wandering.

We checked out - or rather, Mistress checked out while Stormy and I pawed at the ground with our feet. I truly wonder if employees at these places don't notice the weird around them or if they have become so accustomed to it that they take it in stride.

Out in the parking lot we stacked the fence sections on top of Mistress' van for the short trip back to her house. Watching her tie the sections down with rope, I was glad we were not going to be traveling on highways at high speed. But the ties held and we got everything back to home base safely.

We had the fence sections, the carriage bolts, nuts and washers. Now all we needed were the corner plates, hitching rings and large screw eyes. That meant a trip to Home Depot so off we went.

Remember what I said about only one or two of the item you need? We had to haunt two different Home Depot locations to get everything. I was downright punchy by the time we came out of the last store. I look to Stormy at times like that because he's all about dignity and honor. He behaves himself well (most of the time - he started the foot pawing session at Lowe's). I need to learn that from him. All the same, I need to be foolish now and then. Ponies need a sense of play but learning where the limits are is important too.

Once back at the stable, we started the construction process. Mistress does a lot of figuring in her head and I quickly learned to avoid trying to follow what she was saying. Just do what you're told, ponyboy, and things will work out fine. Or at least, nobody can blame you if it all hits the fan. Either way, what bliss.

There was much sawing, measuring, marking and stacking. Stacking - that's what I do well. Stormy and Mistress busied themselves with measuring and marking while I carried fence segments about and found places to store them in the very small workspace we had. There was pizza, pineapple upside down cake and more work that evening until we were exhausted and unable to see straight. The night was capped off by one of the most kick-ass Martinis I have ever had, and we went to bed shortly thereafter.

Next day, Stormy had to leave early. We all had breakfast together and said our goodbyes. I hate seeing him leave, but life is like that. There was little time to dwell on such things, however, because we had more work to do.

Did I mention that I'm pretty useless with rulers and pencils? I can usually fumble my way through a project (like the model of a Tesla coil I built earlier this year) but only if I keep my eye on what I'm doing very carefully. Trouble is, I have a hard time staying out of pony space when I'm around Mistress. That can make for problems with concentration. I did well for the most part, and even caught my own mistake. Of course, I had committed that mistake four times before I caught it, but we were able to correct it without trauma or having to buy something new. Whew!

We also got a chance to talk about the bridling ceremony we will be doing at the Flea. For those who don't know, a bridling is the pony equivalent of a collaring. After it is done, I will be her pony. She may have other ponies, but I will have only one Mistress. I like the sound of that. We talked about how it could go and when it will take place. I don't want to spoil the fun by detailing it here, but no doubt you will be able to read about it here after the Flea. If you're coming to the Flea, you can attend! Look for the pony paddock and ask Ladresseuse or check the signs to see if the time is posted. Things like this should have witnesses.

Finally, it got to be afternoon. With a four hour drive ahead of me, I had to set out for home. That's always sad, but there is always the future.

Many thanks to Mistress, her wonderful partner (whom I met for the first time this trip), Stormy and the folks at Lowe's and Home Depot for making it all possible.

Another Trip to New Hampshire

2007-11-24T21:05:00.000-05:00

We're very lucky to have space in New Hampshire to train. It's outdoors and not very big, but the property owners are kink-friendly and safe people and the area is relatively private. In warm weather, anyway.

We had one last chance for some pony training earlier this month. The weather, though cool, was still unseasonably warm and Mistress told those of us who would be coming to wear sweats. No sweat! I brought a few layers and prepared to be brave in the face of a cold day. I wanted my bit!

I arrived at Mistress' home early Saturday afternoon. It wasn't raining yet, but it had sprinkled lightly on my windshield all the way down from Maine, so you had to know it was coming. Not long after I arrived, it came. In buckets. Mistress and I exchanged news of the day and talked about some of the things we were planning for the future. I have a dance background, so the subject of my first pony show got a thorough scanning and I got a few things to think about. We also had a look at the saddle she is working on. I sat and listened while she talked about the way she was thinking of harnessing it together. She took some measurements from me and began to plot, searching through catalogs and online to find good solutions for a few problems. It's fun watching her when she gets into these moments. Focus doesn't begin to describe it.

We went out for dinner and enjoyed Indian curry (one of my favorites) before taking a road trip to Plaistow, NH.

Everyone has a favorite place to shop. For some, it's Saks Fifth Avenue or Bloomingdales or Target or...WalMart. For some, it's the Toy Chest, LeatherEtc.com or some such place. For Mistress, it's Dover Saddlery. Three floors of tack, clothing and equipment and a bargain basement to boot. We were on a mission to find ways to put a saddle harness together and this seemed the perfect place to do some research.

I'd only been in a tack shop once before, and the extent of the conversation I had that time is posted earlier in this blog. So Dover Saddlery was almost overwhelming. The smell of leather, the harnesses, bridles, bits, reins, crops, whips, bats and such made it very difficult to avoid slipping into pony space. I managed to keep myself in the proper frame of mind most of the time, but I have to admit that the "apple flavored" bit was too much. It was out of its package and I just had to see if it really did taste of apple. Chomp!

No.

We walked around looking at various girth straps to see if any would fit the bill for building a saddle harness. Mistress held some of them to my body to see how they would fit and which length would be best for the overall design. None of the staff in the store saw what we were up to, but I almost wished that one of them would catch an eyeful of this. They had to know something was going on. After all, Mistress had filled out one of their customer registration cards and written in "kinky" when they asked what sort of riding she did.

Our researches completed, we headed back home. On the way, I asked Mistress a delicate question. Specifically, I asked her if she considered me to be her pony. Ownership hadn't come up before and I wanted to know how she felt about it. I considered myself to be her pony, lock, stock and hooves. I told her this, and after a moment of reflection, she said that we should talk about making this a formal agreement. It's a big step not to be entered into lightly, but I felt ready to take it. We talked about what this would mean and what the rules would be for the future. No doubt we will have more to discuss in due time.

Sunday dawned bright and sunny. Weather is such a determinant in decisions around New England and this weekend was no exception. At least three of us ponies were planing on attending if the event would be held on Saturday. But the rain forced a move to Sunday. That made it impossible for the other ponies in the stable to be there so it was just Mistress and me.

As I have said before, I don't mind getting all of the attention. But if you are the only pony getting all the attention at a training event, you run the risk of getting your butt handed to you on a platter! When there are other ponies, you take your turn and then rest while the others get theirs. Not so when you are alone. Mistress gave me plenty of breaks, lots of water and a treat, but man was I exhausted by the time it was over. I started on the lunge line, which is a great warm-up for me. Then we worked on gait training using the wooded paths. I'm not sure what was up with me. Perhaps it was the extra clothing or the cold or the time change that happened that weekend, but I seemed to lack energy. I was having trouble keeping my knees up high. Eventually, I hit the wall and had to stop for a short while. After some recovery time, we worked on cantering and jumping. Finally, and at my non-verbal suggestion, Mistress blindfolded me and we started on some reins work.

The first time I had been blindfolded, I had some trouble. It was nothing serious, but it made me a bit skittish with blindfolds. I felt a need to face that fear and work through it. Mistress has told me more than once that she wants her ponies fearless, so I decided it was time to place my full trust in her and be fearless. Compared to the first time, this blindfold session went very well (at least that's how I feel about it). There is still one section of the trail that causes me a bit of trouble, but for the most part, I feel I have gotten over what unease I felt before. Not only did I manage on reins, but I actually worked without reins, responding only to Mistress' voice. I turned and moved in whatever direction her voice came from. Eventually, her voice was replaced by hand claps. At one point, she actually had me step up to a bench and step over it. Toward the end, I even did some cantering with the blindfold on. All the time, I kept repeating the word 'fearless' to myself.

My favorite moment came when, responding to her voice and unable to see, I stepped lightly into her arms where she gave me a hug, a scratch behind the ears and told me I had been a good boy.

I haven't been a pony for very long, but I truly love it.

Pony Play 101 - Some of my Favorite Links

2007-10-30T21:35:00.002-04:00


Lord Saber's pony play FAQ site is probably the first site I visited when I started looking into pony play. As with most other sites, it is written by a male Dom and focuses on ponygirls. Still, it's well written and he acknowledges that ponyboys are easily as numerous if not more so, and it is easy to think in whatever terms you wish. He also has a large number of links on this page.

Equus Eroticus Magazine is geared entirely to the pony play scene. It's interesting to see people I know in print! Single issues are $12 and an 8-issue subscription is $80. It is published on an irregular bases, coming out whenever there is enough material to put one together. In November 2007, they will be going to full color. It's a high-quality magazine even in black and white, though.

The Albany Power Exchange has a good page that gives a brief rundown on pony play here. Most of what I learned early on about the BDSM lifestyle came from the APEx Site. The sheer volume of information here is unbelievable.

The Central Texas Kink Ranch holds several pony play weekends during the year that include plenty of time for play as well as workshops and classes. This is an actual horse ranch (Arabians), so the setup is certainly realistic. The weekends are unbelievably inexpensive. A weekend pass is $40 and lodgings are a very small extra charge. A pony like me can have stable accommodations for an added $2. This includes fresh hay, blankets and feed and water pans - all I need! Those wanting private rooms can have them for $15. This is in the Austin, TX area, so heat isn't a problem. The only real expense is getting there. Booked way ahead of time, a round trip flight is as little as $350 to Austin from Logan Airport. I am contemplating a pilgrimage someday - as is my trainer.

The Water Hole Custom Leather is Buck's site. There is a ton of information here as well as a good listing of the sorts of tack and gear that ponies use. Of particular interest are the stories that you will find if you visit Buck's Stall. Among other things, he has a 14-chapter story on how he became a ponyboy. Some of the story made my hair stand on end (I was very new to this at the time - my limits have shifted significantly since then), but I read the entire story in one sitting. The story doesn't seem to end at chapter 14, but I don't know if there is any more coming. A lot of pony play pages have links to the Water Hole. It's worth a good look around.

Trigger, The Human Equine is an interesting character. His dream is to live 24/7/365 as a horse and it looks as though that dream is coming true. To each his own. I do enjoy being human most of the time. It makes those trips into pony head space so much more special for me. Nothing is more boring to me than being hitched to a post and left to wait while my trainer is working with another pony. I don't resent it and I'm not jealous of the attention at all, it's just not very entertaining unless someone is grooming me, petting me, feeding me a treat or otherwise giving me something to focus on. I'm most likely to misbehave when I'm bored. Ponies are high-maintenance creatures! I can't imagine living 24/7 as a pony, but that's me. Check out Trigger's thoughts on this. I can't wait to meet him - perhaps at Camp Crucible. Speaking of which...

Camp Crucible includes what has been described as the best pony camp in existence by many I have spoken to. There isn't much to see on their site right now, but you can subscribe to their Announce List and get news when it is available. Camp is a bit pricey, but you get a LOT for your money. To quote the site:

"Your basic registration includes: 5 days and 4 nights of meals, snacks, drinks, lodging, spa treatments, pool activities, special events, 24 hour dungeon and play spaces - both public and private, world class lectures, demos, and one-on-one instruction by top players from all over the
nation . . . and even the Topless Taxis! We even have three world class camp stores for your fetish shopping experience."

'Nuff said! I'm going!

The Maximum Awesome My Little Pony page is the site that got me exercising. My unofficial mantra came from this site, "This is NOT a fetish for the lazy!" Lots of good basic information. And Sparky is one good looking ponyboy!

The Other Pony Club is in the U.K. This site also has basic information. Most of it is similar in tone to the rest of the sites you will find here, but from another perspective.

So that's it for now. If you are curious about pony play and what we do at events, you have a lot to help you in your search for information. If more links appeal to me, I'll post them here.

Why I Do This

2007-10-12T22:37:00.000-04:00

Welcome to the Fetish Fitness Program!

Tonight I had my first workout at the fitness center. Not that I haven't been exercising. For three months I have hiked some of the more strenuous trails in Acadia National Park. Two weeks ago (I was out of town last week - more on that in a moment), I climbed Dorr Mountain, went down the west side to the Gorge, then decided to climb Cadillac as well. By the time it was over, I had hiked about six miles and was one tired pony!

But tonight was a little different. For starters, it was a full body workout. The guy who runs the place met me at 6 p.m. and took me through the entire workout, showing me the right way to use the machines and telling me how to progress without injuring myself. After going through the entire workout, I spent 20 minutes on an elliptical. If you've never tried that, you should. At least once before you die.

By the time I showered and dressed, I was pretty dragged out. Not in pain (I expect that in the morning), but I knew I had done something. When these moments hit, I always ask myself why I do what I do.

That question got answered last week (I said I'd get to this!).

I met Mistress almost 20 years ago. We met at a pagan gathering to which both of us still go. It was held last weekend and both of us resolved to get in a little pony play even though that was not the focus of the event. It took a couple of days before we could get the time and space for some play, but when we settled on a time, we invited anyone who wanted to come and watch to do so. You see, there was a discussion going on at the gathering concerning the BDSM scene and whether or not it "belonged" there. I suppose those conversations happen all the time in various places, but this seemed to cast a dark cloud over the entire weekend for many attendees who are scene folk. Mistress and I both thought an eyeful of pony play might help to ease some tension without even having to lower the kink factor that much.

Only two people came to watch - and both of them lifestyle people to boot, but neither had seen live pony play and what they had seen on film had failed to impress them. They wanted to see what it was all about. It's too bad that more people - especially those who were up tight about BDSM in general - didn't come, but horses and water, don't you know?

The four of us walked out into the woods and found a nice trail that would be suitable. Mistress put my tack on and I went into pony space without passing Go or collecting any dough. I needed that space and found it quickly. Mistress took some time to discuss pony play and give a few facts about what we would be doing. Then the reins went on. I can't describe the feeling I get when I feel those reins snap onto my bit. I give over to my Mistress and place her in charge. She takes care of me. We make magic. That's a power exchange for anyone who asks.

Mistress put me through my paces and showed our guests how capable I was of following commands. I don't speak French but Mistress does. It's my job to figure out what she wants when she issues a command and I can't get over how clearly she makes herself understood. But then again, if it's my job to figure her out, it's her job to communicate with me effectively. I love that process even when it goes awry and Mistress must show me another use for the reins (WHACK!).

I high-stepped, I trotted and I galloped for Mistress and our guests. Then Mistress set up a jump course and had me canter through it several times, changing the order of the jumps each time. I got confused only once when I tried to figure out what Mistress was doing rather than just listening to her, but overall, I did well.

After the demonstration, Mistress spent some more time talking to our guests. All the time she was talking, she stood there stroking my mane. I love that. The praise, the strokes and the pats on the back and butt. It's all good.

But this was especially good. I had done well and I was being told that without words.I felt a great rush of emotion I hadn't touched before now and I turned and put my head down on her shoulder, nuzzling her and completely caught up in the moment.

It was hard coming out of that space, but every good moment has its life and is gone. I am reminded of the old show business saying, "Always leave them wanting more." I want more.

The following morning I had to leave the gathering early. That would have been a sad thing had it not been for the reason. I was going to Connecticut to meet with Buck at Water Hole Custom Leather to discuss tack. With a ten-hour drive ahead of me I decided to get going.

Let me explain something. I was nervous about meeting Buck. It wasn't that he has been in the pony scene for over twenty years and is somewhat iconic as a result. I have met famous people before and long since got over the sort of effect that can have on a person. As I mentioned in an earlier post, I tend to be nervous whenever meeting people for the first time. On top of that, I get nervous when meeting with someone who has a lot of expertise on something. I don't like the thought that I might come off sounding like an idiot and I know very little about leather crafting. I had given this project a lot of thought but had no idea what to expect.

As a hedge to the nerves, my stable pal Stormy offered to come along for the visit. That had a practical purpose as well because there were some elements on Stormy's tack that I liked. The fact that I was a little late getting to the Water Hole made me confident that Stormy would be there when I arrived.

Fate has an odd way of pulling your tail and making you take notice. It turns out that Stormy and I had a bit of a miscommunication on the time and I arrived first. Buck called Stormy to let him know that I was there and Stormy told me it would be about an hour for him to get there.

OK, ponyboy, deal.

There's really nothing for it at a moment like that other than to take a deep breath and dive in. With that in mind, that's what I did. As it turned out, I needn't have worried. Buck seemed happy that I had given the matter a lot of thought. Seems a lot of people don't do that for whatever reason. The ice broke very quickly and we fell to talking about tack, my ideas, his suggestions and pony play in general. I had a blast.

Stormy arrived after that and we had a nice conversation that lasted at least another two hours. Then the two of us went out to lunch (his treat - thanks, Stormy!). We talked about a lot of things, some funny, some sad, some...well, personal. For an hour we had what for me was a great time. And when I finally had to head home, we said our goodbyes.

I got into my car and promptly headed in the wrong direction.

So why do I do this? The play, the nuzzling, people like my Mistress Ladresseuse Maureen, Stormy, Lucky Slevin, Buck, and all the others I have and have not yet met. They are all incredible forces in my life now and I welcome that.

And yes, the motivation to get into a fitness program is a part of that too. I told Buck that Mistress wants me to be a saddle pony one day. His advice consisted of two words, "Bulk up."

Overheard in a Tack Shop Recently

2007-09-28T13:28:00.001-04:00

Clerk: Can I help you?

Rusty: At the moment, I'm just checking things out, thanks.

Clerk: Are you a horse person?

(pause)

Rusty: Yeah, that's one way of putting it...

No kidding

Another Rite of Passage

2007-09-26T22:16:00.001-04:00

Here we go again...

So last week it was my first pony play event. This week, it was my first
dungeon party. The experience was no less intense.

I arrived at Mistress' house at around midday Saturday and found her
busily working on a saddle. She wants me to be a saddle pony at least in
part, and is the sort of person who can not only find an English youth
saddle in a bargain bin for $35, but who has the moxie to adapt it for
human use. We spent the afternoon ripping out stitches and putting holes
in our hands, trying and retrying various ideas to figure out a good
configuration. I think the project is well underway at this point, but
it's a work in progress. Kind of like me.

Two other ponies were supposed to come and join us, but both had to
cancel; one due to a family matter and the other due to a car accident.
Not her fault and she didn't get hurt, but no car or ride. That was a
bummer because I was looking forward to seeing them. On the other hand,
there was no competition for attention!

We left for the party in plenty of time to do errands and still get
there on time. On the way, Mistress asked me a number of questions about
my health and such. Clearly, she had big plans. We had already talked
about what was to happen and how it would play out, so I was nervous,
but not because of the scene she was planning.

New places, new experiences and new people are always a challenge for
me. So when we arrived at the dungeon spot on time and were admitted, I
was pretty quiet. I find keeping quiet and listening is a good way to
avoid social missteps - especially where such problems can get you
tossed out on your ear. After I had read and signed the rules for the
evening, Mistress introduced me to the host, a friendly and affable man
who made me feel at home. I was also introduced to a few people on the
Pony Up list who know me by name but had not met me face to face yet. I
then got to look the place over.

After some announcements and general discussion, I finally heard the
words that I was waiting for, "Let's get you into your tack." I'll
follow her anywhere when she says that. As it was an indoor, private
party, there was no need to be street legal, so everything came off
before the tack went on. I have all the body modesty of a goldfish, so
it seems I'm a pretty good instrument for getting things rolling (can't
you just hear Eric Idle saying, "Guaranteed to break the ice at
parties!"). Bit, reins, collar and a few bells, and I was off.

There weren't many people there, but those who had gathered were sitting
at one end of the room talking. The floor was pretty well open and
nobody was scening at the moment, so it was dressage training for me.
Mistress put me through my paces and gave me a good whack when I screwed
up, which was frequently at the start (I swear, I wasn't doing it on
purpose). The people all stopped talking and decided to watch the show.
Yours truly gave it all I had - or at least as much as I could given a
room full of very...interesting...furniture. We went on for almost an
hour doing dressage and reins while the crowd gathered. I was delighted to see that JoJo and Buttercup (another trainer and her pony) had arrived as well. I had met them the week before and it's always nice to see familiar faces.

Finally, I got what I had done all that hard work for - a grooming session.

Oooo! Mmmm! Ahhhh! OUCH! Owowowowow! Ooo, that's better. Must you use that thing? Mmmm - a soft towel at last. At least, that's what went through my head. Still, it was all good and brought the blood closer to the surface, readying me for what was to come next.

The tack was removed and Mistress maneuvered me into position against a
wall of chains. She told me to reach out and grab the chains and relax.
Then she opened her tool box. Now I know some of the things that live in
that box - the twitch among them, so I tend to watch pretty closely when
I am naked and she opens that thing. First she pulled out the dressage
whip. Now, I knew she wasn't going to use that on me with any force, but
still, I had to ponder what she had in mind. Some gentle work with that
whip and we were on to bigger and better things. Then out came a
horsehair fly whisk. I got plenty of attention with that. Finally, the
big flogger came out. She started in gently and over the course of I
don't know how long, slowly increased the intensity. At first, I heard
myself wondering what would happen, and when I would slip into sub space
(I had been in pony space. Coming out of one and getting into another
was all new to me) when Mistress stopped, gently rubbed my back with her
gloved hand, pulled my head back gently and asked how I was doing.

Sometimes I can be a smartass. This time, I chose not to be. Instead of
asking her what was holding her back (a smartass answer), I asked her to
begin pushing the envelope. Then the flogging began in earnest. I don't
know how long it continued, but all of a sudden things changed. In less
than one minute, I began to feel all the pleasant effects of being
drunk. My body started shaking and my knees began to feel a little weak.
At about the same moment, the flogging stopped. Another pass with the
gloved hand, another check in, and Mistress decided that I should come
down a bit but that a little impact would be a good finisher. By this
time, I had long since stopped watching the tool box and thinking about
what was coming out of it. In fact, I had pretty much stopped thinking.
But after a minute of checking in and stroking my back, there was a
brief silence followed by the first strike.

The blows came from a flogger that resembles a bouquet of roses - all
made of leather and tightly formed. Believe me, when that hits, you know
it. I took four gentle impacts and (I think) three heavier ones. By this
point, I was off somewhere else. Still the impact was bringing me back,
and when Mistress again checked in, I decided I had had enough for this
session.

I went further than I thought I'd go, and further than Mistress thought
I'd go as well. But she wasn't surprised that I did it.

After some excellent aftercare and a chance to come back to myself, the
tack went back on. Two trainers, each with a pony and in a relatively small space, inevitably meant that sooner or later the two ponies would end up face to face. And so we did.

Now I had met Buttercup once before, so we weren't strangers. But perhaps we were a little self conscious. We nodded a greeting to each other in the polite fashion you would any acquaintance. That, however, was not the way it should have been done.

And here occurred an illustration in the differences of style. Buttercup's trainer, JoJo looked at him and reminded him that ponies always whinny a greeting to one another. My Mistress cracked me across the backside with the reins, smiled and asked, "Where's my whinny?" She kept that up until I let loose with a bellow that satisfied her.

I adore my Mistress. Have I said that?

After a little more reins work, Mistress turned to me, hung the reins around my neck, patted me softly on the chest and said, "Be a good boy.' I knew what that meant. Ponies are high maintenance party guests, let's face it. I don't expect my Mistress to spend the entire night scening with me or seeing to my own needs. She has some of her own. So I spent some time milling about and learning how to con other party guests out of treats while Mistress scened with someone else. I do hope she enjoyed herself. When that was through, she had her sub from that scene take my reins and walk me about a little. Perhaps it was nerves or something, but she seemed a little uncertain of herself and gave a few conflicting signals. All the same, I did exactly what I was told, stopping if I got confused. We went on like that for a short time before Mistress took the reins back. That's when she led me into the quiet room...

There was more lunge work in my future. Mind you, it's tricky in a 12 by 12 foot room full of furniture, but where there's a will, there's a way. And Mistress has the will. I just want to make her proud, so I'll do as I'm told. She put me through my paces for a while and then led me to an odd sort of bench that was half kneeler and half massage table. It looked strange to me, but it took no real persuasion to get me to kneel and then lay my upper body down. Mistress then opened my girth belt and climbed on top of my back as though she was riding me on all fours. She took her signal whip out and slowly stroked me with it on my legs, back and butt. Occasionally she would crack the whip, which was a little startling but certainly did me no harm. With me in this position of absolute submission to my Mistress, I went deep into sub space again. I don't know how long I stayed there, but after a while, I sensed that she had climbed off of me and was awaiting my return. It took some time and I had some doubt about wanting to come back, but all good things must come to an end and, after all, the party had ended. Time to go home.

Making a Ponyboy 2

2007-09-26T22:13:00.001-04:00

September 17, 2007

Wow...

I just got back from my first pony play event. I want to go back and do
it all over again. Now. No kidding. Typing is difficult because my hands
are shaking slightly. I warned my partner at work that I would be
useless today, and in the future, I'll plan to take a day off at this
end of an event as well. That's life and learning, but here I am for now.

It all started on Friday with the set-up. I was to be part of a
three-person work crew to get the site up to shape for the event. One
person had to back out of this due to work issues, so there were two of
us. Still, we got things in shape working from 1:00 to about 6. Somehow,
helping to get the area setup was a good preparation for me.

Saturday started out rainy but our spirits were not dampened. The
weather report said it would clear by early afternoon, and as we had
seen the weather clearing in Malden, MA, we knew we would be seeing blue
sky in plenty of time. The other ponies started arriving around noon and
by 1 there were five of us. We ranged in experience from none (me) to
six years. We worked on gait training, jumping and then moved on to reins.

What a moment that was. Getting hitched to reins for the first time and
worked to them. That's when I finally understood what submission is. Not
in the cerebral way I did going into this, but on a much deeper and
emotional level. After a time on reins, by myself and in teams and -
finally - blindfolded, I would have done anything for my Mistress. It
remains that way now.

We went to a play party after the afternoon session, and Mistress
hitched me up in line with one of the other ponies, parading us all
around the house. I got a bit of a lashing with the reins for deciding
to turn when I had not been told to. That same thing had happened earlier in the day, so Mistress decided to push her point home by having me march straight into a wall. When I did that, she knew that I had gotten the message! I also got the spurs when someone suggested it, but other than that, nothing but praise and a few
treats (mind you, I didn't mind the lash or the spurs). Mistress
unhitched us and got talking with some other people. Not hitched to
anything and with Mistress not holding my reins, I decided to wander
around and schmooze. I'm good at that. People were well behaved and did
not offer to touch the reins, but I did get a few complements in my
rovings and even a scratch or two behind the ears. I live for that now.
:-) When Mistress finally caught up with me, she offered the reins to
a couple of people, one of whom took her up on it. He marched me around
once, declared it a lot of fun, and moved on.

I stayed in pony gear for almost 12 hours enjoying every minute of it
until at last, I felt like I was going to drop where I was standing. At
about 2 a.m., I finally asked my Mistress to let me out of the gear,
which she did. I got a cup of water, headed up to bed, and crashed like
I've never crashed before.

So now I'm hooked and loving it. As a result of the weekend, I have been
invited to a party next weekend at a private dungeon. Once again, I will
go as La Dresseuse Maureen's pony (meaning I'll be perfectly safe). She
has promised to push a few limits on me. I suspect a flogging of some
magnitude is in my near future and I'm looking forward to it. Imagine!

Making a Ponyboy

2007-09-26T21:24:00.000-04:00

I'll confess to something. I'm new. New to blogging and new to pony play. I have been posting my thoughts on my transitional experience on some internet lists and someone suggested blogging instead. OK. Here goes nothing.

One word before I start. This blog will contain language that, while not crude in its terms may still offend the sensitive. I will be talking about things kinky and out of the ordinary. I sincerely doubt I will rise to the level of pornography (I'm not that talented, frankly), but you will get more than a dose of stuff to make you go, "Hmmm..." Whatever you may think of it, the notion that it offends someone only points out the fact they are reading it. Do with that what you will.

But keep your kids out, OK?

So a little history. Several years ago, a friend of mine traveled to the Fetish Fair Flea Market in Boston where she saw a ponyboy for the first time. I don't remember her description other than something about a saddle and a butt plug with a tail hanging from it. She was laughing too much to be truly coherent. Overall, the description and concept sounded a little wacky especially given the way she was relating it. But I filed the information away wondering if it would ever be of use to me.

Let me explain something. If you ever told me that I would be the slightest bit interested in leather, bondage, dominance and submission, or sadomasochism even a few months ago, I would have suggested you take a pill. Nothing interested me less and I had an aversion to pain to boot. But life has odd ways of throwing down the gauntlet and making you rethink things - often on the fly.

I have a dear friend (it always starts with a dear friend, doesn't it?) who it turns out loves to train human ponies. I had never known about this until early last June when she posted a note to a list serve giving details of her time at Camp Crucible over Memorial Day Week. She talked about ponies in a very matter of fact way and it took me just a couple of paragraphs to realize that the ponies themselves were human beings playing the role of ponies.

Ponyboys and ponygirls...the file drawer in my brain opened and I suddenly remembered the laugh riot I had shared a few years ago on the subject. But rather than simply dismiss this as whimsical nonsense (or abuse as some on that list were doing), I decided to check it out.

And along came Google.

Looking at all of the images and reading the many web pages I found about pony play was a serious eye opener. For starters, nobody was laughing. There was plenty of humor, but nobody was making fun of the idea. Looking closer, I began to realize that this was something I wanted to know more about personally. In fact, I really discovered that I wanted to be a ponyboy.

Writing to my dear friend, I asked her what it would take to get involved. I don't know if that surprised her or not, but she invited me to subscribe to her pony list and check it out there. I also subscribed to a BDSM list in order to look at the wider scene to see how that ocean fit together with the very small pond that is pony play.

I spent the following three months talking about pony play and learning all that I could about it, but it wasn't until September that I was actually able to attend my first pony play event. The details of that experience can be found in the next post here.

For the record, I'm a perfectly sane and healthy individual. In fact, I haven't been this healthy in many years. Two years ago, I weighed in at 226 pounds with a 40 inch waistline. My knees ached constantly and it was dangerous getting down the stairs every morning. I was starting to wonder when I'd suffer my first heart attack despite the relative health of my family.

I started on the South Beach Diet in July of 2005 and began losing weight. I had not heard of pony play at that time, but I needed to change things. By May of this year, I was down to about 194 pounds. After discovering pony play (and reading on one web site that this is NOT a fetish for the lazy), I worked harder on the diet and started exercising. I am now down to 174 pounds (11 pounds lower than my original goal), have taken 6 inches off my waist (I can finally see my tender vittles when I look down!), have lost the pain in my knees and have started showing off some decent muscles in both my legs and abs. Whatever anyone thinks of people dressing up and behaving like ponies, the whole scene has made me a much healthier person. If that offends you, I don't want to know you.

One last thought. I consider this blog a living document. That means I will come back and edit it frequently - including the older posts. I am told that I write well, but I do not write quickly and I feel free to change what I have written over time if I think it will improve the reading experience. Everything in this blog is based on my own experiences and is factual unless clearly stated otherwise. Any resemblance of the characters I mention to people that you know is probably coincidence. People I mention by name have given their consent for its use or are already all over the Internet.

Now...on with the show!