Camp Crucible Part 2 - the Pony Show

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

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

Pony Romp in Central Park

Sometimes you just have to try something and see how it turns out. That's what Ms. Reina Darkness of Niuka Stables decided to do on May 3, 2008. I was there and am I ever happy about that.

The invitation to the Pony Romp in Central Park went out many months ago and people just kept talking about it, keeping the idea alive over the cold, dark winter months. That kind of talk and planning can help deal with the inevitable cabin fever that creeps under the skin starting in February. A long stretch of time with no pony play was bearing down on yours truly, and the thought of taking a very public run through a very famous venue like Central Park - while a bit intimidating - was nonetheless inviting to the play-anxious. I made clear my intention to go as soon as I knew the date. Life would get planned around this!

Not an easy task, that. Life is a busy creature with far too little pony play since the Winter Flea. Mistress has been busy with her Master's Degree studies and I have been up to my eyeballs with work. In addition, the weather...don't get me started. But that was then and this is now. The first weekend in May was devoted to the Romp.

I left home in the wee hours of May 2. Mistress and I have a friend in common who lives in the metro New Jersey area and we made arrangements to stay at her home. My stable pal Stormy was working in New Jersey that weekend, and although he would be at the Romp, he was not stationed at home so staying with him is a treat we will have to reserve for another trip. It doesn't really matter how anxious I am to get going on an adventure like this, 5:00 a.m. is an early hour to be leaving the house. Still, I managed it and was on my way - all tingly thinking about what was in store. Travel to the Boston area was pretty uneventful and I arrived at Mistress's door around 9:30. There were things to do before leaving and we set about taking care of those small items.

Mistress is a very resourceful person and had spent a lot of time haunting Craig's List in search of a pony cart. Persistence paid off and she found one for a mere $25. She got what she paid for but wasn't surprised. Mistress is one of the most multi talented people I know and immediately set about fixing the cart up about a month ago. I arrived to find that it had been beautifully reconstructed with some help from Ponyboy Fuzzy and painted in the colors of Aphrodite's Meadow - Hunter Green and Goldenrod Yellow. With brand new wheels and newly tooled axles it was ready to go and had been loaded into the van. Mistress is not only talented, she's extremely lucky. Imagine finding a machinist able to custom tool cartwheel axles on short notice. The usual and customary ritual of loading up the van with luggage, loaner tack, stalls, grooming supplies and the all important treats was finished in jig time and we headed out for New Jersey.

The travel was uneventful and we arrived at our friend's door at around 4:00. Eleven hours of travel had taken their toll on me and all I wanted to do for a while was hang out and yawn. The three of us took time to catch up on Life-Since-Last-We-Saw-Each-Other and a few other subjects. Eventually hunger reared its head and we started discussing meal options.

This particular neighborhood of Harrison and East Newark is justly famous among the road weary for its incredible variety of ethnic eateries. On one street, you can find Brazilian barbecue, on another, Spanish cuisine. Around this corner you will find the Portuguese Deli and the Chinese establishment is just over there. In the end, travel distance made the choice for us, and we settled on a Portuguese restaurant just up the street. After that fabulous meal, we waddled home to visit more.

I normally don't start to fade until close to midnight, but after a long day of car travel I was having a hard time keeping my head up and my eyes open by 9:00 p.m. I knew I would need plenty of rest for the next day, so I hit the hay and was fast asleep in no time.

Morning came quickly and I was up and ready. Maybe it was just the excitement, but I was raring to go. Mistress and our host got up shortly after I did and we headed over to the Tops Diner for breakfast. I have a passion for breakfasts at diners like this one and I seldom pass up the chance to partake. My two companions were very virtuous in their selections, one choosing a light egg and toast breakfast while the other went the fruit and yogurt route. I dove in hammer and tongs and ordered the full farm-style breakfast that included every type of meat you could imagine along with the eggs, homefries and toast. My rationale was shared by Mistress who pointed out that this was going to be a work day for me no matter how much fun it was, and I would need plenty of fuel. On this point, I had no problem cooperating. I'm a well-behaved pony.

Most of the time.

Right after breakfast it was time to get into the van and head over to the Big Apple for the romp.

Have you ever driven in New York City? You may live a fulfilled life if you never do, but it will certainly be a less adventurous one. Everyone I talk to about the driving in NYC says it's so easy because the streets are laid out logically. That may be true at one end of the island, but not everywhere. Fortunately for us, we were in the logical neighborhood. Not that that was a big help. I tend to be very disoriented when I come up out of a hole in the ground, and the Lincoln Tunnel qualifies as a hole. It took a few minutes to figure out exactly which direction was which and then the various construction projects and traffic snarls had their way with us. But we both remained calm and Mistress - raised a driver in Boston where everyone is insane behind the wheel of a car - sliced and diced her way through until we found where we needed to be.

This was a small patisserie on West 22nd Street that had a small party room in the back. A local Femdom organization holds their functions there and has a good relationship with the restaurant. Apparently leather and pony people walking through the bistro don't bother - or even faze - the customers. Ah, New York!

There were only three people there ahead of us - Mistress Nicolette, her husband Blue, and Buck. I was a little surprised but very delighted to see Buck and very pleased to meet Mistress Nicolette- a charming woman with the sort of smile that makes you wonder if you should back up just a step or two. Mistress Nicolette runs Bitches In Britches in Connecticut and will be holding her own pony event there in June. Unfortunately, yours truly won't be able to go to that one, but I can't wait to hear about it.

Soon enough, we were joined by Ms. Reina Darkness and her groom, Tom. Then Foxy Davis and Sherrifox also showed up. Talk about dedication to an art form. These two drove all the way to New York from Florida to attend this one-day event. In fact, we had ponies and trainers from places encompassing the entire East Coast and up into Toronto. When ponies play, they get attention!

Dress for the occasion had been billed as PG-13. Now if you read my posts on the Winter Flea, you know how easy it can be to trip my trigger on the issue of dress. Still, this was to be a very public event. It was the first time out with something like this, and nobody wanted to cause problems or be asked to leave the park. That would have reflected badly on the organizers and pony play as a whole. So we all took the time and trouble to make ourselves as family friendly as a group of rather twisted fetishists can get. "Disney Ponies" Ms. Reina called us.

It turned out that ponies - yours truly included - like playing dress-up now and then. Everyone got into the spirit of it and lined up for Ms. Reina's inspection. There had been some question about the leather jock that Stormy, Buck and I wear with our tack, but a look at the pictures on this page will show that they clearly passed muster. I debated over and over whether I should wear just the leotard I had bought and dyed for the occasion or if a thermal shirt over that would be a wiser choice. In the end, I wimped out and wore the thermal shirt. That proved to be a good choice as the temperature never got up to 60 degrees and there was a persistent breeze laden with moisture in the park. Shivering would be a part of the day, like it or not.

Once the inspection was finished, we divided up into groups to be ferried over to Central Park. Tom from Niuka Stables was assigned the task of getting the ponies and trainers of Aphrodite's Meadow to the appointed place. That meant four of us to include La Dresseuse Maureen, Stormy, myself and a friend who had shown up in a pleasantly unexpected manner.

Imagine that you are a New Yorker going about your business in a city that never stops. You tend to spend a lot of time just getting from place to place and you have a lot on your mind. The constant stimulation of the big city can leave you immune to surprises and you probably long since learned to take a lot in stride.

Today, however, you are walking down West 22nd Street deep in thought when suddenly a gaggle of people dressed in leather tack with tails on their butts, bridles and plumes on their heads and bits in their mouths comes busting out the front door of a tiny eatery right in front of you. They are whinnying and stomping about as they load carts and supplies into vehicles and head off down the street.

You may wonder what will happen next or you may decide not to ask, fearful that you might find out at some point. Whatever the case, people stopped dead in their tracks and looked relatively speechless when we emerged from the bistro. That's a feat of no mean distinction in New York City, but we made it happen!

It didn't stop at that,either, for once the truck was loaded and on it's way, those of us riding with Tom needed to get to his car. That meant a walk of several blocks, a whole lot of turned heads and lots of amused questions. Even the ladies outside the Evangelical Lutheran Church had to smile just a bit. Perhaps it was me winking at them that put them over the top. I don't know. Parents were pointing us out to their young children and saying, "Look at the pretty ponies!" much to my surprise and delight. Imagine making fetish play family friendly! Whenever anyone asked what we were up to, Mistress turned on her usual charm and answered with aplomb, "It's a pony parade in Central Park!" On hearing that, everyone would nod and say something along the lines of, "Cool!"

I love New York City.

The situation didn't change when we finally got to the park. We entered at 110th Street and gathered near the Pool. A small crowd of people gathered around with cameras and questions. Everyone seemed to get into the spirit and I heard nothing but friendly and positive reactions. One woman, seemingly anxious to try it out, took a ride in Firefox's cart along with her dog. She held a crop aloft and hollered, "I love New York," at the top of her lungs as she was whooshed off along the pathway. People smiled and laughed as they watched the spectacle.

Maybe there was something more at work than cherry blossoms here.

Once organized, the caravan of ponies and carts headed off along the walkways to the Bridle Path. The Bridle Path was used until recently for riding actual bio horses until the stables closed a few years ago. At times, our adventure was billed as a simple pony parade, at others, a celebration of the Kentucky Derby, which was being run that day (none of us knew about the tragedy of Eight Belles at the time or we may not have mentioned the Derby). At one point, an onlooker asked if we were protesting the closing of the stables. Yeah, that would work as well as any justification.

But the real point here was having plain old, no reason needed fun. And we had that in spades.

This was my first ever experience at cart pulling. If it was any indication, I'm going to like doing that a lot. Mistress's cart isn't quite finished, so I was pulling with my hands rather than having the shaves hooked to my tack as it would normally be. That made things just a bit more challenging and at several points in the ride, my stable pal Stormy and I pulled together. That may sound like it made things easier, but each of us could only use one hand. That was a challenge made a little more difficult by the fact that the Bridle Path is loose gravel and sand. Fortunately for both of us, Mistress is sensitive to the needs of her ponies and rotated us from side to side to avoid excessive strain.

All the same, I was having way too good a time to let a little thing like sore arms get in the way.

And all the time, people kept asking questions, taking pictures and talking about putting entries in their blogs about this. One woman lamented the fact that we had not listed ourselves in the New York Observer. She felt lucky to have happened on us. Another followed us for the entire route taking pictures. Still another watched as a ponyboy was being trained on a lunge line by his Mistress. She was dressed in the sort of outfit that, while tasteful and appropriate, left no doubt that she was a woman in control. Her ponyboy was dressed in regular street clothes (unless you counted the bridle and bit). After a while, the observer spoke to the trainer saying, "OK, I get that he's a pony. But you're a Dominatrix. What's up with that?"

One live wire in each hand but no connection. You gotta love it.

All too soon it was all too over, though. The time and the cold were creeping in and a fabulous barbecue was awaiting us back at our headquarters. Soon enough, we were back at the Park entrance awaiting rides back to 22nd Street. Even then, people came up to us to have their pictures taken. But eventually the bit had to come out of my mouth. Tom got that job and had to endure the look on my face. I don't like having to come out of pony space and taking the bit out of my mouth is one surefire way to make that happen. I stood there in silence, perhaps looking a little down. Tom reached over and petted me on the nose a few times, making the transition a lot easier to bear.

Finally, we got into the car and headed back to headquarters. The bistro was going full tilt when we got back and the barbecue had been laid out in the back room. What a feed that was. A Midwestern barbecue from Famous Dave's that was wonderfully tasty and not too spicy. We all ate and took a little time to relax before the real party began.

It was all PG-13 in the park, but the play party that evening was decidedly not. This was the time for the true BDSM types to show their colors. I kept my tights and leotard on for a while because they can be a pain to remove, but when it came time for some serious play with Mistress, they came off - along with the rest of my tack. All except the bridle and bit. Oh, and the plume. Don't forget the plume! And the dance belt.

Mistress eased me into my stall and began warming me up for a session. I love that liminal period between normal consciousness and sub space when I know something is going to happen but I'm not quite sure what. I knew she had left her flogger at home in favor of the single tail and a few smaller implements, but exactly what will happen is a secret she keeps to herself until I am floating.

A few well delivered swats with her gloved hands got me started and then she went straight to the single tail whip. Before she was done, I had some respectable stripes on my back and was feeling all warm. At that point, Mistress handed me over to the friend who had come along for the day and asked her to give me a grooming.

Now I love a good grooming session if you haven't already guessed. Mistress loves to get out the brushes and other tools and use them in deliciously evil ways. But this other woman had different ideas. Her touch was very soft and light. She alternated between a light brushing with a fly whisk and a gentle stroking with her bare hands. It didn't take me long to reach the moon with that treatment, but it was at just that moment when Mistress silently took up the stiff bristle brush and gave it to me a few times - right over those nice whip marks.

That sent me completely over the edge and into another dimension. The delights of not knowing what will happen next triumph again!

After the grooming session, my tack went back on and I spent some time on short reins. I think I behaved well. In fact, I think I behaved too well. While on reins, I saw the other ponies getting treats of chocolate covered espresso beans but I wasn't getting led over to get some! Maybe the person holding my reins didn't see what was happening, but I certainly did. Now had I been thinking like a pony, I would have dragged her over to where the treats were. But the human override kicked in and I played nice. Think of that as a missed opportunity not to be missed again.

The party finally broke up around midnight and the trip back to New Jersey was uneventful. Out host was still awake and alert. She had thought we would be at an all-night bacchanal. I told her that it was certainly a bacchanal, but that it didn't last all night. The three of us chatted for a while until I fell asleep on the sofa. Realizing that I wasn't going to be able to stay up any longer, I dragged myself to bed and crashed.

What can I say about the next day? It was the trip home - at least to Boston. I had decided to take the following day off from work and travel home over two days - a decision that turned out to be very wise. So there wasn't much eventful on Sunday unless you count the fact that I forgot about the righteous whipping I got the night before as I began toweling my back off after a shower. That led to what I think had to be a comical dance around the bathroom until the fire went out enough for me to emerge with some dignity. These things happen sometimes. I think of it as the gift that keeps on giving.

Beyond that and a great visit with some friends in the Boston area on Sunday night, nothing more of true interest happened. It couldn't have. There just wasn't room for it.

Camp Crucible comes up in about a week and a half. I have no doubt there will be some serious stories to relate when that is over. More at that time!

Would Someone Tell the Everly Brothers to Shut Up?

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?

Rusty Gets His New Tack!

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

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.