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

Campity Camp

Time to reflect just a bit.

Ponyboy Rusty was foaled on September 15, 2007 in a small back yard in New Hampshire. Here it is only eight months later, and I just arrived home from the pony camp at Camp Crucible. It's hard to talk about all that happened right now because so much of it is still working on me and shaping my memories. They will need some time to percolate and clarify themselves before I can write coherently about them. So much happened in so little time - all of it good. I won a race, I danced in hooves at the pony show and got ribbons for it, I pulled carts, I got petted by the "littles", I scened with two fantastic people (Mistress being one) with two very different but equally fantastic outcomes, I got written into Camp Crucible legend in my virgin year (that story will be interesting to tell and hilarious to read), I visited the vet for a checkup, and took part in a stampede!

I'll be telling all of these stories and sharing other thoughts and reflections on my camp experience. Look for them soon.

But isn't it amazing what can happen in only eight months? That's especially true when the opportunities for play sessions have been pretty sparse. Basically, it was two trips to New Hampshire, the Winter Flea, a demo and a one-day romp in New York up to this point. Wow.

More...much more later.

Pony Romp in Central Park

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?

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...

Winter Flea Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More later.