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!

Winter Flea Part 3

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

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...

Making a Ponyboy

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!