So yesterday I went to GMSMA's workshop on Suspension, conducted by one of those amazing and Internationally Famous Tops (such as I humbly aspire to be
I figured that he would need a number of different bottoms over the course of the day, and I was feeling sort of rammy, so I was fine with starting off. It turned out that I was Mr. Bottom for the entire workshop.
On the downside, this made it pretty difficult to pay attention to what was going on, and I couldn't participate in the 'try it yourselves' portion of the workshop as I was trussed up like a pork loin. I think I have the basics down, and hopefully the rest I can figure out myself. And, without any kind of a suspension frame (although I have designs on that), it's pretty academic at this point.
And on the upside? Once before, maybe in 1991, during a visit to the New York Bondage Club, I was bagged in a sleepsack and suspended from the ceiling. After the Top had me in there (an experience marred by his snagging my dick in the zipper, Me: "MMMMMMmmmph!!! MMM Ihh Ihh Uhh! MMMMMMMmmmmph!"), he recruited some other guys to pick me up while he got sleep-sacked me into place hanging from a beam in the ceiling. When I was being lifted, it felt as though I was levitating independent of the efforts of the men who were doing the lifting. Like I was floating, the laws of gravity temporarily revoked. Also, it seemed like I was going up and up and up, twenty feet or more in the air. When the Top jerked me off before it was time to get me out of there, I shot a load that drew several appreciative Wows and Ooohs and Aaahs from onlookers.
And yesterday was pretty great, too. I wasn't blindfolded, so I knew my position. But as I.F.T. mentioned, you go numb at the points where the rope is pressing against your skin, so it feels like you're floating of your own accord. And, as your body is deprived of the feeling of hitting up against something (for example, right now, my butt feels the cloth of the chair, the sole of my left foot feels the carpeted floor, the side of my right foot feels the top of my left foot, my elbows feel the desk), your body goes into high alert, trying to locate the physical world you seem to have lost contact with. Ergo, your skin becomes hyper-sensitive. So when I.F.T. would gently touch my tits, it pretty much had my central nervous system going bananas.
Cool experience. And I send out a prayer of thanks to I.F.T.
Dipsy Doodles
Yes. Horrible but true. I left the opera tickets sitting on the coffee table. Uncanny. This necessitated leaving the workshop twenty minutes before it was over, dashing home (to the extent that heavy Holland Tunnel traffic allowed anything resembling 'dashing'), grabbing the tickets, and heading to the Metropolitan Opera at Lincoln Center. I found parking without too much trouble, but when I was coming through the doors into the lobby, the doors into the theater were closing. Ergo, I had to watch the first act (an hour and a half, this is Les Troyens we're talking about) from a little tv room.
I finally joined up with Aeneas and the Trojans when they hit Carthage. It was great. The only other production I've seen featured Jessye Norman singing Cassandra and Dido. So the blond soprano singing Dido seemed strange to me. Not regal in the way that La Norman is when she brushes her teeth. I imagined this woman as being sort of Queen Noor of Jordan.
Interestingly, this production used heavy ropes to symbolize the Trojans' ships (docked and setting sail and such). So there were all these ropes hanging down from the rafters. When the Trojans left, this was indicated by all the ropes dropping into huge coils on the stage. And, there was an aria where one of the Trojans asks the gods of the sea to 'Rock this son of Troy to sleep,' which was sung while he was suspended (!) thirty feet above the stage in ropes and burlap. I guess it was to resemble him sitting in the crows nest, but as I had been sublimely rocked to sleep suspended by ropes earlier that day... Well, you get the picture.
An interesting thing. Sited at the opera were one ex-boyfriend (who is alarmingly aging in reverse thanks, I imagine, to Rogaine, hair dye (chestnut), and the Atkins Diet), one AIDS treatment activist I knew from ACT UP, a guy I have had a long on-going flirtation with from GMSMA, and a few others. New York is a small town in the midwest sometimes.
After the opera, I grabbed my only real meal of the day at Manatus, and then hit the LURE. When I got there, around 2:15 a.m., it was a hot crowd, that quickly dissipated. When I left at 3:15, the place was just about empty.
I will truly miss the LURE.
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