Friday, March 13, 2009

The Road to KinkFest - 14 Days and Counting

Okay, I’m scared now. When the countdown started, it was 57 days, or “roughly two months”. Now it’s exactly two weeks. How the fuck did that happen? I swear, somebody’s been stealing days from me. Large groups of days.

Progress Previously Made

I’ve got my membership to the sold out event paid for and confirmed. Got my hotel room reserved, and I’ve got the money to pay for half of it. Found a roommate to pay for the other half and sleep in the room’s other bed. I’m pretty sure that I’ve even got a ride to and from the event now.

I’ve agreed to contribute four hours (give or take) of volunteer work to the event. I’ve made an effort to scrape together some folding green to spend in the vendor’s area. And to feed myself over the course of the weekend. (Some of which is money saved by eating Top Ramen instead of real food which costs actual money.)

I’ve probably done other things that I can’t remember at the moment. (My brain withholds things from me. Stupid brain.)

The Volunteer Schedule

I received my schedule of volunteer duties in my email earlier this week. I have three shifts, and for each one I will be the man on the bridge. You know the one I mean. The man who stands on the bridge and says, “None Shall Pass!”

Okay, more accurately, for each of my three shifts, I’ll be guarding a door. And the actual command will be more along the lines of “None Who Lack a Convention Badge Shall Pass!”

The various doorways that I’ll be guarding all lead to workshops that I want to attend, and I’ll be guarding them from the inside. So I’ll not only be keeping the unauthorized riff-raff out of the room, but also be attending the workshops at the same time. Shiny.

The workshops in question are the ‘Fisting and Footing’ workshop (10:00 to 11:30 on Saturday morning), the ‘THWACK!!!’ workshop on impact play (1:00 to 2:30 Saturday afternoon), and the ‘Let Your Beast Out’ workshop (1:00 to 2:30 on Sunday afternoon).

This is actually a great help to me, as it narrows down my workshop selections by taking a few of the unfathomable choices out of my hands. ‘Fisting and Footing’ was a given. That’s WHERE I was going to be at that time. But the other two workshop periods had me stymied.

‘THWACK!!!—Understanding Impact Play’ or ‘Visit Uranus: An Anal Pleasure Workshop’? ‘The Siren Song of Oblivion – Why Play on the Edge?’ or ‘Let Your Beast Out!’? I kept going back and forth on which two of those four workshops to attend. But now I’m committed, so it’s no longer a question.

It Overstayed It’s Welcome, And It Just Won’t Leave!

My penis still has no stamps on it’s passport. And looking forward, I see no obvious sexual prospects awaiting me in the next two weeks. I had a plan (well, less a ‘plan’ than a ‘hope’, actually) to lose my pesky virginity prior to KinkFest. This plan failed.

This means that I will once again walk into KinkFest a virgin. A sex-starved, 38-year old virgin. Standing in the dungeon, surrounded by both partially and completely naked people. And while I can possibly persuade some of them to introduce me to new aspects of BDSM, it seems doubtful that any of them are attending KinkFest with the intention of introducing me to sex.


I’m not going to hang a sign around my neck announcing my virginity and hope that someone takes pity on me. I know for a fact that doesn’t work. (How do I know that doesn’t work? Heh. How do you think I spent the first night in the dungeon at last year’s KinkFest?)

But I suspect that while my focus shouldn’t be on the hope of FINALLY having sex, that’s where my obsessive-compulsive brain is going to place it. (“Oh my God, look at her! I wonder if she’d be willing to take my virginity? Ooh, look at her . . . she’s got such sexy lips . . . I wonder if I could get her to give me my first blowjob? I bet that at least ONE of these people would be willing to have sex with me . . .”)

I’d like to just stab my stupid brain with a red-hot poker and make it shut the fuck up, but I have a feeling if I did that, I’d probably have difficulty absorbing the information that I’m actually there to learn.

Stupid obsessive-compulsive brain. Can’t concentrate with it, can’t think without it.

My Dance Card Echoes

I’ve been working on trying to find some play partners for dungeon party time.

Been sending out feelers to people on FetLife, only to discover that I am invisible. I’ll send someone an introductory message, saying ‘Hi’ and whatnot . . . and then I never hear back from them again.

Either that, or I send a more detailed message, about how I noticed that they would be attending KinkFest, and that they had interests on their fetish list that coincide nicely with interests on mine. And that if we happen to run into each other and had nothing else on our schedules at that moment, I wouldn’t mind getting together to play in the dungeon.

Some of those messages go unanswered as well. Others are answered, but with a ‘Thanks, but no thanks.”

One person replied that she appreciated being asked, but that she was new to the scene, shy, and wasn’t really looking to play with anyone she didn’t already know, so . . . no. (She then posted a writing on her profile stating that she was looking for new people to play with. Sheesh.)


I’ve figured out what I needed to know about using Twitter from my celphone. My plan doesn’t charge any extra for sending ‘tweets’. And I’m allotted 250 messages (sent and received) a month. I also found out exactly when the billing cycle starts, so I know when that chunk of 250 begins anew.

I’ve contacted the people who send me the largest quantity of useless texts, and told them, “OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TEXTING ME!”

So, assuming that I don’t get fed up with trying to work the mind-numbing numeric keypad early on in the event, the current plan is to send frequent updates from KinkFest.

Said updates will obviously appear on my Twitter page, but will also show up on the little Twitter widget on the blog’s sidebar.

Checklist for the Final Stretch

I’ve still got things to do before leaving for the event. Shopping, mainly.

I’ve already started the shopping process. I’ve picked up a jar of peanut butter and a bag of Doritos for the inevitable peanut butter and crushed Doritos on sourdough sandwiches that are always a staple of my convention diet. (Hey, don’t look at me like that. They’re ridiculously tasty.)

I’m putting together a list for a pre-KinkFest Wal*Mart run to pick up the majority of the rest of my various and sundry consumer needs.

I also need to look into getting some sort of toy bag. Sure, right now my ‘toys’ consist of the one lonely paddle I bought at last year’s KinkFest, and a couple of rolls of duct tape (to hopefully be used for bondage purposes, since I can’t tie a knot to save my life), but I’m hoping to pick up some more BDSM gear at the event.

I also want to make another attempt at renting a post office box before KinkFest. I finally received my new voter registration card in the mail (I still can’t believe I had to change my party affiliation just so that I could get another piece of ‘acceptable’ ID to prove to the post office that I am who I say I am).

There’s no specific reason why I expect to need a safe mailing address at the event, but you never know. Maybe I’ll befriend someone with internet limitations similar to my own who wants to become a penpal. Maybe I’ll want to order something from a vendor that they didn’t bring with them (or that they sold out of before I got to their table). Who knows?

(Maybe I’ll run into a really hot chick who’s biggest fetish is guys who rent post office boxes. And after just one look at that key on my keyring, and she’ll do anything I say.)

The Top Ramen Chronicles Continue

I wonder . . . do you suppose that the hotel would be upset if I brought the remainder of my Top Ramen stockpile with me to the convention, opened up all the packages, and dumped them into the hot tub?

I just figure that I’ve had so much of the stuff going into me for the past two months, that I should probably try to equalize it’s effect by experiencing it on the outside of my body as well, and sitting in a hot tub full of the stuff seems like the easiest way to go about that. Yes? No?

No? Okay. Well, it was just a thought.

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