Heat...

I went to a lovely party on Saturday night. It was hosted by a local group of rope aficionados, the Knotley Crewe. A dear friend is a member, and I never would have forgiven myself if I had missed the chance to see her and get a huge hug. So I put on the closest approximation I have to fetish wear -- spandex cycling leggings and a turtle-neck tight technical shirt with my Doc Martens, all in black -- and headed down.

The place was hopping to the extent that I had to park on the street, a first for me. When I entered, I found a lot of people I knew, but an unusual number of people in street wear. Not sure what that was about, but... whatever. I watched some folks doing a suspension scene, grabbed a cookie, and floated around a bit.

I found Nikita in the back room with a victi... um... girl suspended except for a few toes. They were both smiling and having a wonderful time, so I quietly took a couch and watched. They moved to floor work for a while, and the girl seemed to fly for a bit. Then they started to untie everything and nearly hugged the space heater nearby. Other friends popped in and out, and I got my hug. :)

There was a "mass suspension" around 12:30, 13 people (including one rigger) flying from a purpose-built structure called The Cube. Nikita's fingerprints were all over that, and it was amazing to watch. The riggers and riggees received a round of applause while everyone was airborne. Nice.

The following night I had dinner with the woman who really introduced me first hand to true BDSM. She and her boyfriend had invited four people, but I was the only one who showed up. (I chalk that up to the predicted bad weather.) It was a wonderful meal, and I felt very at home, pampered.

Today I was milling around in my head about the differences between the experiences. The public play was overwhelming, impersonal, but full of opportunity to meet new people. The dinner was much more relaxed, comfortable, and open, but I already knew everyone there. My sense is that the hard work of finding what I want will come from sifting through the people at the public venue, figuring out who I click with, and working towards the personal dinner.

BDSM is extremely personal to me. It's not about getting hit by things or getting tied up. It IS about deep connection and trust and a kind of bonding that most of the world's population will never know. There are a lot of people who fake that, strike or get struck, get tied up or say "Yes, Sir." But how much richer that experience must be with people you have taken the time to get to know.

I'm trying to figure out where I want to go next in my journey. The things that have really gripped me emotionally so far are the D/s aspects. The pain was very, very interesting and the endurance athlete in me wants to go far, far deeper into that, but not senselessly. Mostly the experience was enjoyable because it was attached to the act of submitting to someone I care about and respect in scene and out. I want heavier play, much heavier. But I want it to be heavy emotionally as well as physically. That bond is beyond magic.

I want to play with fire... a candle now, campfire before long, bonfire when I'm ready, and eventually -- many, many years from now -- a pyre. I'm willing to get singed in the learning, but the warmth is irresistible and the alternative is too cold to even contemplate.

As I drove home from that wonderfully intimate dinner, the sleet was beginning to fall in earnest, the promised chill pressing in around me and making my path uncertain. I began to feel the weeks since I last played as a burden, a drain on my reserves. Winter survival is sometimes decided by a willingness to share body heat, and emotional survival for a sadomasochist can be decided by the very same thing: sharing the heat.

QL