Tuesday, August 21, 2012


If you have been to Twisted Tryst, you already know, and I don't have to tell you.   If you have not been, I'm sure I'm not a gifted enough writer to explain it.  

I'm going to start with two stories, and then as I process more of my experiences I will try to share more.   I can't mention names, as that is against the rules.   

We pulled in late Thursday night, apprehensive, tired and not sure of where to go or what to do.  We were met at the gate by lovely people, who called us an escort to help us find registration.  After that we had another lovely escort to our tent site.   Master knocked on the door of our neighbors (who we knew only from internet-land) and introduced himself to them.  The neighbor came out an offered us extra light and help setting up our tent.  A couple of our poles were broken (and, yes, I was rebuked for not checking the tent over before the trip like I had been told to do).    Our neighbor set to work fixing the poles for us with his supply of manly tools/supplies.

Soon our tent was up, our bed was made, and we immediately headed off to the dungeon tent (where else?) which was way bigger than I ever dreamed.

My second story was from breakfast time on Saturday.    Master enjoys campfire cooking, so he did all of it,  while I fetched and carried.   He usually made enough food to feed anyone who dropped by and still have leftovers to feed to passing or visiting dogs belonging to people who stopped by.   Even one very mercenary dog who would only eat bacon.

After we ate, I was washing the dishes using two big buckets of hot water, also heated on the fire.  One for soap, and one for rinsing.   A bunch of people were sitting around the picnic table and lawn chairs chatting.  The topic of marks came up, and Master wanted to show off his work, so he told me to take off my clothes.  I proceeded to whine about how it was too early in the morning and too chilly to be naked and he got a little stern and told me to do it anyway, and then give a spin for everyone to see.    And then do some jumping jacks for whining.

"Fuck" I said slavishly, under my breath, as I did a few half-hearted jumping jacks, feeling utterly humiliated in an undeniably hot and sexy way.  See, I get off on that.  

I stood there, head drooping, while a few helpful people commented that my jumping jacks were really not very enthusiastic.   I asked to put my clothes back on.  "Go ahead" said my Master.  I dressed and went back to washing dishes.   Everyone went back to their conversations.

Gods, I loved camp!   I could just live there. 

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