18 September 2007
Dark Odyssey 2007- rambles from my flight to SF

My first few days of Dark Odyssey were stressful. Not because of the event, or hell, the people who as always light me up- but because of the stress surrounding my NYC housing situation. Finally after being unable to reach my sublet, Spencer finally tried calling them for me after ordering me to let him take care of it- and he did just that. The guy had stopped picking up 503 area code calls, but did pick up for a Canadian number- sigh… but the stress had led to it showing on my face, which led to a friend of mine, BBJim, asking what was up. I told him, and before I even finished the tale he’d offered to let me stay at his place in New Jersey. I cancelled the stomach-stressing sublet, and literally within an hour my spirit was lighter and a mood that had been punctuated by extreme feelings of loneliness was transformed into being present again.

Loneliness? Yeah, its painfully lonely to be at any event where you’re sleeping alone surrounded by cuddling couples, sitting by yourself contemplating life when your neighbors are fucking. Its strange, there are times when these things really don’t bother me- I get my voyeuristic needs met (being an ethical psy-vamp), or I engage in fabulous discussions, humor and theoretical dialogue… but the first 2 days of Dark Odyssey this year were hard on me. I was actually getting concerned about my obsessive melancholy surrounding Hunter and Spencer… and with Coral in Ireland for vacation, having all of my partners out of the country was wearing hard on me. My hand glued to my phone, hoping, needing, was really worrying me.

It hasn’t all left. Actually, its being strange to have a partner in my life (Spencer) who I am being so obsessive about. I don’t do this, not this need, literally down to the bone need to hear a lovers voice every day. It scares me a bit, but I’ve chosen (with Hunter’s help) to not let it worry me. It scares me because it is not my standard modus operandi. I am not usually that guy. I am free spirited, and yes, I love hearing from my partners, but unless I know something hard has been happening in their voice, I don’t stress even after 2 days or in some cases a week or more without hearing from them. I have been finding myself chomping at the bit to hear his voice after only 24 hours, sometimes less, and it is a strange and unfamiliar sensation. To miss his skin after only a week. Not that immediate missing, like I have after had a delirious series of days with a lover, their sweat still etched upon my brow. Not that need to feel them curled up behind me one night later. No, that desire to wake eye to eye and smile. Part of me wonders if NRE (New relationship energy) is parsing different with hormones in my system. Other parts of me debate other possibilities.

But, in fairness and joy, the stress did lead to me getting to have some great bonding time with Del that lasted well past when the stress lifted. She and I became the two old guys from the Muppets, sitting in our lounge chairs outside our cabins commenting at the world as it went by. While others at camp were learning to find their G-spots and spin fire, I learned at her side how to balance a gummi bear on my nose then toss it up and catch it in my mouth.

Friday night, with the stress lifted, I transformed. How people approached me changed dramatically, as I became me again. Became me for the first time around a lot of these folks. Old acquaintances looked at me with a sense of awe as I heard over and over again that I looked happy, calm, centered. I am. Flirtation finally found my ears, and damn it was good. And my mojo came back, and together Del, Whittney and I led a cathartic release ritual where my screams at the attendees was apparently audible by others down at the Pavillion half a camp away. This year the rituals were very small, quiet, but potent. I was happy to have touched lives on a more intimate level.

Touched lives. Fuck, that thought is so good to me. As I froze under the flames I felt the pain of past fears hit me hard, but wrapped up in plastic and bear hugs afterwards his voice echoed- too late, you’ve already changed lives, left your mark, mattered in this world. Too late. Thank the gods.

Of my 4 classes, I was happiest with the results of my fiber magic class and my rituals for D/s class. Mind you, I got sunburned while teaching fiber magic, because I chose not to teach in the cramped and dark make out room, and decided instead to convene under the big blue sky. But I was so happy with the turnout and the interest in a storytelling, history, mythlore and application of magic class at an event like Dark Odyssey. Del and I kept joking that it was hard to be doing all intellectual and spiritual classes (I did NO hands on classes this year), when people could be learning how to have better orgasms or throw a punch. Or as she phrased it “Why would someone want to discuss theory in a dark room when they could be sticking fingers in each others pussies?” But they did, and wow, it was good. My did my modern re-rendition of the tale of Grandmother Spider weaving the heavens, and it was so delicious. And at rituals for D/s, an attendee was directly NOT listening to what I was saying, and I hit my groove and got to compare his comment to attending DragonCon and seeking kids in Hot Topic collars, and to see that shift of confrontation turn into a laughing smile made my day as an educator.

I also say an event like Dark Odyssey, because its an odd mix of existence. They SAY they want to have it be a spirituality included BDSM and sexuality/sensuality event, but the awards ceremony drove it home for me. They had never asked ANYONE on pagan staff who they thought should get the award for most Devout camper. They gave it to someone who did a flashy religious themed scene. Very flashy. But there had been one camper who shone like a star, a silent star but a star nonetheless, who had attended every spirituality class and every ritual he could get his hands on, hung out all the time at the shaman cabin and asked pointed and intelligent conversations when he needed info about an overheard comment… and to have these silent stars ignored was hard for me. If its going to have sacred spirituality at an event, it should be uplifted, supported- not just be relegated to the barn or a hook pull behind that same barn and given space. I feel that it should be supported- but that is hard when the advocates for such things are having to work from outside the inner circle of planning. [gripe over]

I managed to bruise my nose on someone’s belt buckle sucking cock in the night cruising down at the obstacle course. Doh. I have to laugh. But wow that night was stunning. Wandering with a friend down around the back side of the lake, where the geese were missing this year, the rain had landed on fireflies that had under the pressure fallen to the ground. The wet grass was covered in a sea of stars that lit our way through the dark.

I turn, growl, and a hand grabs me hard. Fur to fur, feral noises and grunting groans in the dark. Breath to breath he breathes me in and I pull it back out of the energy pulsing along his veins, tasting sweat and skin, and his blood on my lips without a drop of crimson leaving his body. Firm hands, and I can hear it echoing down to my belly- down to my core as he tells me how hot of a man I am.

Not how hot I will be.
Not that he can see the man inside me.
But how hot of a man I am.
And he means it.

Inside I crumble. Outside I moan and cum in my pants, my cock in his hand. Probably helps that he had his mouth on my neck and is a damn find hand job artist.

It was good to connect with Reid and Marcia from the cuddle party movement. I adore them both, and barely got to connect with them at the ill fated never aired Tyra Banks show episode. We laughed about it together, and I got to join the “damn Reid is a damn good kisser” camp. Time with Marcia, my yearly Sunday date, the hot neighbor, and a Baltimore dildo distributor turned into an enthusiastic discussion about the current state of the electoral college in American politics- who says that civics can’t be a fetish. We are joking/discussing having a nerd cabin next year maybe… but the shamans cabin was a really lovely group of folks.

I spun fire and got to watch friends and lovers flesh under firelight. I spent an hour alone on the shore of the beach one afternoon, and one night lost track of myself in the double firelight of torches as the wind caught in my fur. I slept each night under a bear pelt.

Packing my bags and arranging rides for friends and myself (when my fell through at last minute for serious reasons, sending them good thoughts, thank you Whittney for saving my sanity and more) turned into hot neighbor action and moans under duress. Sometimes I am not as ethical of a psy-vamp, I must admit, and I fucked up that night, going for a vein as it were when I could have drunk a lot longer if I’d waited. When one is in hungry desperation, one does not always think straight (ha) as it were. But, it was decided there will be a party to make up for it :)

Cock buried inside his body, I moan, rock, and try not to scream when I hear that we have 5 minutes left.

The dream catcher hung outdoors for a full turning of the day. Lives touched, all but one who was there in spirit walked in silence down to the fire. Hemp burns slowly. I saw Nephtys in the flames, and remember.

I collect another death mage into my life and find myself blessed once more. I get a bit of flirting in with Steve the Moon Monster.

Corn fritters are damn tasty. Having someone who is a Kinsey 6 on the scale lay their lips on mine is even tastier, an affirmation of truths. Armed with his kiss I manage to survive my period showing up again.

A long standing crush finally kissed me, then informed me to take his card. Um, I have all your info darling (hell, you’re on my top friends on MYSpace!) Ah, but do you have my out-of country direct number? Fine, message received, I’ll stay in touch better, ha ha.

Cigar smoke curls around good friends. Tears well up in eyes. I touch a heart and someones understanding of me changes. My understanding of me changes. I cry about children never had, actually face it. Face anger and pain about not getting to go places with my humiliation and edge play that I miss so dearly in my life, places that Hunter went hard with as my Daddy. I need them so badly, but because of the culture around humiliation play that has evolved in the wake of other players with similar physical tastes (but different energetic tastes), I feel I can’t go there at most events. I go back into the humiliation closet, echoes of masks in the tub and a heavy branch across my belly turning in me to come out.

But I don’t burn. Sunday night I freeze under the flame of his wand. I feel the fire and yet I chill. He can’t get fire to light on my legs. I’m not grounded. I’m burning up inside. He sees it having to do with my transitions. He’s right, but its not about gender. He jumps for the easy reading, but I soak it in and dream of dishwear and facing the need to TRUST in the gods. Trust that Mama will take care of me. But it was a hard ride through the flames I’ve refused to touch since Furry and I last went there. I didn’t burn, but oh how I look forward to not freezing.

Singing duet with Nina Hartley. Unplanned cabin strip shows. Delightful service. My firs massage ever that didn’t hurt in some way (actual massage with lotion, me building on Coral rubbing my back in a sun beam a few weeks ago). Kissing my way up Dossie’s ear. Feeling so amazingly loved by Barbara C. saying she will be there in the waiting room with Spencer for my surgery. By Barbara Nitke being able to take pornumentary pics for me. By a voice on the phone reminding me I am loved, so amazing loved. Somewhere across one ocean my girlfriend is having adventures on an isle I miss in my pores from almost a decade ago, Across the other ocean my partner finds his way back towards me energetically a day at a time, and I wait and have faith. But stuck in America, I feel blessed for the friends I have, but look forward to not sleeping alone.

Dark Odyssey, as always, is one of the only events internationally I refuse to miss. For good or ill, it is always different, and always what I need. It was what I needed.