Infernal Doings

Okay. How to tackle two weeks in blog format? Text running on and on and on will not be exactly reader-friendly. So I'll do it in headlines and short items. So here goes...

Westward Ho!

Well, first it was Southward Ho! on the Jersey Turnpike to pick up Diabolique at the Delta Site. I got there an hour later than I would have otherwise as it was Move-In Day for the students at the University of Delaware (Go Blue Hens!), thus the streets of Newark, Delaware were jam packed. At Delta, it was like an Agatha Christie novel: all the principles seemed to be loitering around the lodge when I rolled up. Ran into Peter Fiske who wasn't going to be at Inferno, but who gave me a raincheck for our date. I collected D., and then we headed west.

Down the Pennsylvania Turnpike. In the rain and fog. The PA Turnpike is tediously hilly and winding on a clear sunny day. In the rain and fog, it was arduous. We finally arrived around 11:30 pm at the fabled Radisson in Sharon, Pennsylvania. A baroque and surreal bourgeoise fantasy of opulence. Over the top in so many ways.

The next day, it was the Ohio Turnpike, followed by the Indiana Toll Road (great roads for driving both) and then north to the site of Inferno. We steamed in and ran across to dinner at the restaurant across the street. Finally, here it was. Inferno. I was home.

Brigadoon!

For two days, it was all about set up. This little gay resort is transformed into an S/M playground. It really is like Brigadoon, that excrescence of musical theater involving a town in the Scots highlands that only appears once every hundred years, but the people in the town don't notice any difference. For them, it's just another day.

So too with Inferno. It's a town that springs up like a mushroom in the dark. And with the mix of men that arrive, it's as though we've all been asleep since last year, as though no time has passed at all.

Set up went well. I spent the first day working on the periphery, and the second day setting up the bondage tent.

There were a few new faces among the set-up crew. Among them, this Bear from Dallas and his way hot cub. Every time Dallas Bear would come into my field of vision, I'd get a hard on. And that cub of his. At one point I was doing electrical work and the cub came over to work with me. My mind went blank, and all I could think about was beating him black and blue. I don't think the cub saw me try to hook up a lamp to one of the ropes that holds the tent up.

On the last night of set up, Dallas Bear asked me if I wanted to play once the run got started. I don't know that he managed to get all the words out before I said, "Oh yeah." Then I asked him what he liked to do. He told me that all during set up, he was admiring that beautiful ass of mine, and he wanted to spend some time beating on it.

"Suits me," I said. And we had a date.

The Apotheosis of Chain Bondage

Before Inferno, Diabolique and I made a date. I was describing chain bondage to him, and he said he wanted to try it some time. Lord knows I was up for that.

I decided to chain up D. on the weight bench behind the bondage tent. D. showed up and stripped down to just his boots. We kissed. I held him. And then I set about binding him with a hundred and fifty pounds of chain. D. looked beautiful. Amazing. Once I had all the chain on him, I wound a roll of vet wrap around his face, to give him some time to himself. And then, I quietyly moved a lawn chair into position, climbed up onto the lawnchair, and gave D. a new sensation to go along with all of that cold steel: a nice hot bath in my piss. Perfect.

But the best was yet to come. Inspiration hit. I patiently removed all of the padlocks I had used to secure the chains. Then, I leaned in close and told D. that I was giving him a choice: either I could remove the chains, taking some of his body hair with them, or, D. could struggle Conan the Barbarian style to free himself. D. took the Conan option.

D. struggled valiantly against the chains. It was about ten or fifteen minutes of watching this beautiful man struggle and strain against the chains. Magnificent.

When he was free, I held him close. D. said that he had no idea how powerful it would be. I told him that he had about a half an hour to go and take a hot shower before cocktails started, and I gathered up all of my chains, very satisfied.

D. was my sponsor last year. He shepherded me when I was new to GMSMA. It was a joyous scene.

Contra Roadkill

Roadkill, an amazing man from San Diego who makes my knees buckle, was at Inferno with his slave, collared six months ago. Roadkill did a presentation on the uses of pain. It was brilliant. A psychoanalytically trained psychologist, Roadkill took a materialist approach, as opposed to Geoff Mains (who zeroed in on neurochemistry alone) or Guy Baldwin, who paid attention to the spiritual aspects of pain.

It was brilliant. Really amazing. At one point, Roadkill pointed out that if it's all endorphins, why don't we all just go running. Obviously, there's something else going on here.

Roadkill made another really interesting point. An S/M scene not infrequently involves feelings and emotions (crying, intimacy, submission) that are typically viewed as being feminine in our culture. Thus, we create a hyper-masculine environment in which to "safely" have these experiences.

Huh.

That explains a hell of a lot, doesn't it?

Anyway.

Roadkill made the claim that as an S/M scene progresses, the bottoms defense mechanisms are transcended, going from the more superficial to the deeper defenses.

But here's the thing. Roadkill claims that after a point, the bottom goes into shock.

I think I disagree with that. Typically, when someone goes into shock, he or she will lose control of bladder and bowels. I have never heard of this happening (unintentionally) in a scene. This got me thinking, adn I've come to the conclusion that it just ain't possible to go into shock in S/M. And why would that be?

Shock, as defined by Roadkill, is the body preparing itself for death. And in my experience, albeit limited, this is not what it's all about. The deeper you get--and having PunchPig take me down was pretty deep--brings this fundamental awareness of the basic humanity of your partner. It's all about compassion. You become aware of the compassion in the Top in a profound way. And with this comes the sure knowledge that whatever happens, even if bones are broken and you're gonna be stitched up in the ER, you're gonna be okay. You're not going to die.

I plan on emailing Roadkill on this point. He's the psychologist, and he has a great deal more experience than me. I could be wrong.

The Man from Munich Whips ARt

At Inferno, not only do you get to do amazing S/M, but you get to watch amazing, breathtaking, galvanizing S/M. And so, I sat in the noisy dungeon, watching the Man from Munich whip ARt. ARt is the man who whipped me last October, and who mentored me into the world of whips. The Man from Munich changed the life of Mark Collier when they met. At two memorable times in my life, I've been told that a reminded someone of Munich. And there they both were.

After Munich and ARt did the final ten-count, Munich threw the whip again. "And that's one for Mark Collier, Sir," cried ARt.

Oh yeah. One for Mark Collier.

Hence forth and in the future, every whipping scene will end with One for Mark Collier. Forever and in perpetuity.

After that, I had to be alone. I felt as though I could cry. I went outside. There was the moon, almost full. And there was Mars.

Chain Bondage with a Stand-Up Guy

Whilst I was putting together my chains after the scene I did with Diabolique, I was approached by a a man from British Columbia who I had seen get the bejeezus beaten out of him on the first day. Bejeezus (as we'll call him), said that mine was the hottest bondage scene he'd ever witnessed. (As I was to learn, Bejeezus is given to superlatives.) Bejeezus wanted to play. He wanted to be chained up. We made a date.

I decided to see if I could make chain bondage work standing. Something I've never done before. I found a piece of equipment in the noisy dungeon (the steel rack I had used to secure the movie-star handsome guy from San Diego that I punched out over IML weekend) and I spent a couple of hours working out positions for the chains with ropes.

Bejeezus showed up right on time. And after I had figured out positions for my steel dowels based on the proportions of his body (at the ankles, the thighs, the crotch, his elbows), I started laying on the chain. In this position, it made it soooo much easier to use all of the chain I had with me. There was always someplace that could take more chain. When I was all done, he looked beautiful. I told him that I realized that the steel was cold, and so I was going to warm him up. I started working his body with my kangaroo-skin flogger, with the fine tails. Positioning myself was kind of tricky, but I was able to get up and down and all around.

Nice.

Then, I started working his dick. He was hard just about the entire time, totally getting off on all of that steel binding him, rendering him helpless. (And who wouldn't?)

Alas, at 6 pm there was to be a 12-step meeting in the noisy dungeon. We had to clear out. I unchained him.

Bejeezus came through with a few parting superlatives: I was the hottest Top there (*blush*), and getting chained up like that was the hottest fantasy he'd ever had and I had realized it.

Way cool.

Dallas Bear Beats My Ass

So Dallas Bear and I set a date.

We chatted some before we got busy. He layed out an array of staps and paddles. I had been battling anxiety the whole day. My big fear when bottoming is that I'm going to disappoint, that I'm going to be a lightweight, and that the Top isn't going to be satisfied. Dallas Bear assured me that he wouldn't be disappointed. When he said that he really liked it when the bottom cried, I knew that we probably didn't have a lot to worry about. Me making noise is a given. Bottoming for me is all about the release, about letting go, the dam breaks.

Dallas Bear is such a beautiful man. Taller than me, big, with a beautiful gut, and a pelt of golden fur. There's probably not a lot I wouldn't have done to give myself to that hot man. And he wanted to beat my ass.

He started with his hands. Who knew getting a spanking could hurt so much? Oh man, did that hurt. Pretty quickly, I was howling.

Howling. And we were doing the scene at night, in the Whipping Tent. And the Whipping Tent is none too far from the road. And noise can be a problem apparently.

None other than Roman Cool was the Dungeon Master. He shushed us. Interesting. When I submitted to Roman Cool back over the winter, he had to forgo whipping me, since even with the gag, I was making way too much noise for his playspace in his apartment. And here I was again, making too much noise for Roman Cool's liking.

Dallas Bear effected a gag from my bandana. I tried to keep a lid on it. We proceeded. He went heavier. When Dallas Bear gave me encouragement by letting me know I had a beautiful butt, and how he wanted to work on it from the moment he saw it, I was his. There I was, singing my birthday song, laughing and crying and having a blast. I could have gone longer and harder when the scene ended, but that was cool. Dallas Bear sure left me wanting more.

I... Power-Bottom.

The rest of the night, I was just floating. Joyous. Except that my shorts felt like they were made out of sandpaper and I couldn't really get comfortable sitting down.

So I was standing in the beverage tent chatting with a group of other guys, going on and on about the great scene I had with Dallas Bear.

"Gosh," somebody said, "I thought you were all Top."

"Well," I replied, "I don't live in bottom space, but I try to make the most of my visits there."

I sort of did an inventory of bottoming experiences. Getting whipped by ARt. Having my ass beat by Dallas Bear. Really painful bondage at the hands of Roman Cool. Spending time in Aubrey Sparks' cage. And then I described getting punched in the face by PunchPig. There I was, screaming, crying, fetal position, trying to bury my face into the carpet, begging for mercy that didn't come, because PunchPig wasn't finished with me yet. If I was a dungeon master watching a scene like that, I would have shut it down. I was glad there wasn't a dungeon master around. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

As I described this, the group I was talking to all took a step back. That got me a little juiced.

"Yeah," I said with half-mocking braggadocio, "I'm a Power Bottom."

I kind of made a list of things I wouldn't mind trying. The list included cutting, scrotal inflation, hanging (...in fact, I have an idea for a fantasy next year), and breath control to unconsciousness (but I'd wanna see the Top's updated CPR certification before we begin). Now, there's a few things that... ...well, I'm not gonna say never, because you never say never in this game... that... don't hold a lot of attraction to me. this list would include temporary piercing, sounds, catheters, moving to Ohio, fire scenes, and getting fed in a scat scene.

But yeah, I don't think I'm the wimpiest bottom on the scene.

But what is it about me and bottoming? There is something about it I'm afraid of. What is that? Why can't I embrace it? At the hands of a man who knows what he's doing, I have a blast, and go to some really great places. What's the deal? Why do I experience my desire to bottom as a sort of compulsion to do something that's not good for me?

Why indeed. This seems to be something I need to figure out.

Best. Flogging. Ever.

After Dallas Bear beat my butt black and blue (Yes! Marks! Love that!), the night was still relatively young. I wanted some action. I wanted to flog somebody. I went back to my cabin, and armed myself with a flogger, and hit the compound. And along came Does Mean Well. Who we'll call Alpha from now on. As that's what he calls himself.

"Hey," said Alpha, "what's that for?" and indicated my flogger.

"I wanna flog somebody," I answered.

Alpha indicated that he'd be up for that.

Oh. My. God.

No way!

Way!

I went and packed up a tool bag. Alpha and I finally found an available cross. I plunged in.

Now, I've come to enjoy punching and beating more than flogging of late. Doing a beating scene, you're more often face to face, or at the very least up close with the man you're playing with. It's not impossible to maintain a constant body contact all the way through. In comparison, flogging someone from a distance of six feet almost feels impersonal.

But not with Alpha. The connection was there. And it was amazing. Incredible. The scene had the intensity of a whipping. It was like our hearts beat as one. I've never gone so deep doing a flogging. Alpha had a blast. I had a blast. We couldn't get enough of each other. Deeper deeper deeper harder harder harder heavier heavier heavier.

A flogging scene was never ever ever like that before. It was incredible. Something I'll remember for the rest of my life.

We were in the whipping tent, and it was nighttime, so we got shushed again. Twice. Even the gag that I gave Alpha didn't do a lot of good.

It was sublime.

After we were both spent, I said that now he had to do something for me. Alpha had asked on the first night about the hard time that I've been having. All these changes. He asked me if I wanted someone to hold me.

I said I did.

Alpha said he'd hold me.

And that's what I wanted. I wanted Alpha to sleep over. And spend the night holding me.

Alpha was up for that, too.

And that's no mean feat. We're talking spending the night on a flimsy cot outfitted with a thin, lumpy mattress. With one pillow. And not a lot of room.

But Alpha made good on his promise.

Thanks, Alpha. Thanks for all of that.

Puppy Gets A Bath

Last year at Inferno, I met a man who lives at a Radical Faerie sanctuary. I'll admit that at first, I viewed him with jaundiced eye because of that. But as I got to know him, all my concerns vanished. He's such a great guy. And he has this boy/pup/boyfriend named doghood. Last year, doghood was in dog-mode for the entire run. This year, doghood was in boy mode. I asked if I could do a scene with doghood, and this was fine.

I wanted to give a dog a bath. That's all. It just seemed like it would be so much fun. I actually love giving Faithful Companion a bath. He hates it, and so I go right into Top-space, encouraging him, holding him, getting him through it, having him go deeper. I wanted to do that with a human dog.

I got a greenlight to give doghood a bath. doghood is very sweet. At one point, he was bottoming in a hot wax scene. he was not having a good time, and so he blew out the candle. Pretty spicey, no?

I got everything set up, and doghood got into puppy-space. We started out doing sit, stay, and I taught him how to roll over. We played fetch. We had a tug of war with his rope toy.

And whaddya know, puppy got dirty! Time for a bath. I tied him with a very short rope leash, and brought over a bucket of warm soapy water. Using a sponge, I washed the pup all over. Talking to him the whole time. It was sweet and intimate.

And then it was time for the rinse. I got a bucket of clean water, and doused the pup. The pup yelped and barked. He didn't like the rinse much at all. Oh. Did I mention that I used ice water for the rinse? I thought that would make a nice scene. After all, this is about my Sadism.

Then, puppy got toweled dry, and then got a nice brushing all over. For being such a good pup, he got a treat, and sort of nestled in my lap while he ate it.

Beautiful. Loved that. Just what I wanted.

Tiger Tiger Burning Bright

Diabolique and I witnessed an amazing scene. The Top was Waxer, sort of an elder statesman of our Brigadoon. The scene was simple. Waxer attached alligator clips to the belly, chest, and arms of the bottom. Each alligator clip had a cord that held a lead fishing weight. When about thirty of them were in place, Waxer lead the bottom in a sort of dance, gently swaying. Diabolique was entranced. He wanted to go there. He approached Waxer, and said he wanted to experience that. Waxer said that he'd need to get three people to assist. Diabolique asked me to be one of the three.

We all convened out by the picnic table. Waxer explained our role: to catch him should he fall. So we all positioned ourselves around Diablolique, as Waxer started to apply the alligator clips.

D. started to sway. Unconsciously, I found myself swaying, too. The scene was so intense, and so intimate, all of us were sharing in the energy bouncing off Diabolique and Waxer.

Waxer started to growl at Diabolique. Diabolique growled back. There they were, in an eye lock, Diabolique swinging his lead weights as the alligator clips dug into the skin of his belly and chest.

"Yeah! Yeah!!" encouraged Waxer, "You're like a tiger, swinging that tail! Yeah!"

Diabolique growled. Waxer growled. Just amazing.

Then the clips came off, one by one. the pain must have been excruciating, but by this point, Diabolique was flying. We helped get Diabolique over to a picnic table and laid him down, then we started applying ice cubes to the sites of the alligator clips. I thought of preparing the body of Ramses for passage to the next world. It was so intimate bathing Diabolique, who was still flying.

Again, I have so much to be grateful for the amazing fits that Diabolique has given me.

Intermezzo

And then, Session A was over. After the closing banquet and another night in the dungeons, it was time for Session B. Sunday is sort of an in-between day. The guys just here for A head for home, and the guys just here for B (or as they're called, "Fresh Meat") arrive. This mean that of my four cabin mates, I lost two and gained two.

Last year, I spent Sunday afternoon at the beach with my buddy from St. Louis. This year, St. Louis couldn't make it. (Last year, my fresh piercings got infected, and I was cleaning Lake Michigan out of my tits for the next six weeks). This year, I teamed up with Sweetheart Sir, who was making his first Inferno. Sweetheart Sir and I headed into Saugatuck. I had three goals in mind: something to eat, a postcard mailed to Dad, and a latte.

Sweetheart Sir was a great companion. It was really swell spending time with him. We had lunch at the Harley Davidon Pizza Parlor where I had lunch last year. Good food at reasonable prices. I found a nice post card and mailed it off to Dad. Then Sweetheart Sir lived up to the name I've given him by buying me an ice cream cone. After ice cream, we went on the latte hunt. But first, Sweetheart Sir's keen eyes spied a leather pride flag. We had to investigate. We found a shop selling objets d'art. I caught the eyes of the two guys running the place as we entered, and I couldn't help flashing them a big grin to let them know we were in on the joke.

There I found a set of hair and facial products to take back to Baron von Philadelphia, my fellow Queer Eye for the Straight Guy fan, with the brand name of 'Balls.' For Dad, I found a pillow with a counter cross stitch design on the front reading 'A Father is someone you look up to, no matter how tall you get.'

The latte hunt continued. It seems that there is exactly one place in Saugatuck to get a latte, a swell littlye coffee place called 'Uncommon Grounds.' It took some hunting, but we found it. Then back to the compound. Session B was upon us.

That's enough for one night's writing. You'll have to tune in again to hear about Session B. 'Night for now, readers.

---