What’s In a Name?
I suspect that her parents didn’t actually name her Freya. I also have my doubts that they named her Lana. I’m almost certain that they didn’t name their child LatexAndLube.
Freya seems to be a multi-nomenclatural creature. (Kind of like me.— I’m Zeitgeist the Clown here on the blog and in the kink community, I use different names elsewhere on the internet for different purposes, I’ve got a pen name in case I ever actually get off my ass and write a novel, and my real name is a loosely held secret.)
‘Freya’ presented a couple of workshops at last year’s KinkFest. (That also seems to be the name she goes by in the local kink community.) It’s the name I typically assign her in my brain.
‘Lana’ works as an escort in the Portland area. (I’ve been to her website a couple of times, on the rare occasions that I go somewhere with uncensored internet access. During my first look-see at her site she was ‘Lana Love’. Currently she’s ‘Lana from Savannah’). I’ve mused about why she chose Lana – wondering if she’s a fan of Lana Lang from the Superboy mythos (or the more recent ‘Smallville’ TV series), or perhaps if it’s because Lana spelled backwards is ‘anal’.
And on FetLife.com, she’s known as ‘LatexAndLube’. I don’t know if she has other aliases. Nor do I know her real name. Although I’m curious about the answer to both of those questions.
What’s In a Description?
I have a few strengths as a writer. Relaying physical description is not among them. Luckily, I copied down some text off of her website awhile back in which she describes herself.
So what does Freya look like? Like this . . .
“I am 5 feet 2 inches tall, petite, yoga-fit and flexible. I have glossy-brown curls to my shoulders, creamy smooth skin, pretty blue eyes, and a mega-watt smile. I have very shapely legs, a cute firm butt, a small round tummy, and luscious 34C breasts. My feet are size 6 with high arches and adorable toes.”
In other words: Cute. Hot. Sexy. I think that if she were to curl up in the fetal position she’d fit in my pocket. Being non-blonde earns her many bonus points, as does the fact that her biological canvas appears to be unmarred by tattoos. Oh, and those toes ARE adorable.
The Huge Messaging Blunder
In early January of 2009, the list of workshops and presenters for that year’s KinkFest was posted on the event’s website. Still a relative newbie to the BDSM world (and with my library-only internet access being both time-limited and content-censored), most of the presenters were unknown to me. Freya being no exception to that ‘most’.
But I was enthused by the topics she’d be teaching. Her two workshops were “Visit Uranus – An Anal Pleasure Workshop” and “Strapping On and Getting Off – Penetrative Pleasures for Top and Bottom”, and I was deeply into the on-again phase of my on-again/off-again desire to experience anal play.
KinkFest 2009 had 24 workshops. There were six different workshop periods. Which means that there are a minimum of 18 workshops an attendee WOULDN’T be attending. And my “oh-my-God-I-must-attend-this-workshop” list was 12 items long.
Add to that the fact that I had decided to volunteer that year. I had assumed (correctly, as it turned out) that my volunteer duties would be workshop monitor (mainly guarding a doorway, making sure that anyone coming into the room was indeed an actual conference member.) So there would be a number of workshop periods where I’d be assigned to a specific workshop, with no hemming and hawing and possible last minute changing of my mind as to where I was going.
And then add to that the fact that when the initial version of the schedule came out, one of Freya’s workshops was scheduled opposite a fisting workshop that promised a live demonstration of a woman inserting her bare foot into another woman’s vagina. (Foot fetish? Check. Fisting interest? Check. Yeah, I simply could not miss that one.)
I couldn’t tell whether or not I’d be attending either of Freya’s workshops. Wanted to, but . . . I didn’t know.
But given the nature of her workshops, something else had occurred to me. One of those ideas I get that lodges itself in my brain and I simply can’t get rid of. An idea which caused me to seek her out on FetLife and send her a message.
I asked her . . .um . . . well, she was going to be packing a strap-on to an event with two play parties. (An event where she’d be teaching classes on butt-fucking.) And I was just itching to lose my anal virginity. C’mon, you know exactly what I asked her.
The problem was that when I discovered her FetLife page, I messaged her right then and there. Sitting there at the computer at the library. Open message window. Write message. Send.
That’s not how I traditionally do things. I write this stuff at home, on a word processor, where I have time to think about what I’m doing. Where I’m not rushed due to the library’s computer use time constraints. Where I’ve got the time to reread it, put it through a second draft if need be, and above all – stop and consider whether what I’m sending is actually a good idea.
If she accepted my offer to play – if she was looking for someone to use her strap-on with in the dungeon, and picked me because I offered her my ass early – and I wasn’t able to attend either of her workshops, I thought that during the course of scene negotiation and foreplay and whatnot she could go over some of the more basic info that I’d’ve missed by being elsewhere when she was teaching her room full of workshop attendees.
That premise got garbled in my actual (hastily written) message to her, and it read like a request for her to repeat her workshop just for me instead of enjoying the dungeon party.
I didn’t actually realize this until I got her response. She very nicely told me off, and I went and reread my message to her, then crawled underneath a table to hide from the world. Whoops. (She also told me that in addition to being a workshop instructor she was an escort, and if I was looking for that kind of play without ever even having met her, I should make an appointment. Ouch.)
Once I got back home (where I could take my time and think properly), I wrote her an apology, which I sent off the next day upon my return to the internet.
She very graciously accepted my apology, told me that there were no hard feelings, and said that even if I didn’t manage to attend one of her workshops, I should find her to say, “Hi.”
KINKFEST 2009 – A FREYA SPECIFIC MINI-REPORT
Okay, if all of my blogging plans had succeeded, there would be links in this section to my 2009 KinkFest report. Sadly, I never got around to actually writing my 2009 KinkFest report. So I will write now a short (for me, anyway) ‘Freya-Specific’ version of my trip through the event.
After having made a fool of myself through the FetLife messaging system, I had pretty much decided to NOT seek her out to say “Hi”. My plan was actually to avoid her. This plan was foiled during the Friday night dungeon party when she walked right up to me, shook my hand, and said, “Hi! I’m Freya! We messaged on FetLife?”
It turned out that I was worried about nothing. I apologized again for my first attempt at communicating with her, but her reaction to the huge messaging blunder was more along the lines of simple amusement than anything else.
The Next Day
The next day, while she was giving her first workshop, I was off playing ‘door guard’ somewhere else. (And while the workshop I monitored during that time as part of my volunteer schedule wasn’t bad or anything, it turns out that I’d’ve much rather been at Freya’s.)
Later that evening, after the workshops were done for the day – but before the dungeon opened for that night’s play party – there were a handful of people clustered in the ‘socialization area’ set up in the joint of the ‘L’ shaped path from the registration desk to the dungeon.
People arrived in and departed the area. (In my first draft of this post, that line read “People came and went”, which could have had multiple meanings when reporting on a BDSM/kink/fetish conference, thus the change. Heh heh.). I mainly stayed put because the chair was comfortable.
Then Freya showed up. She was barefoot, which grabbed my interest right away. She’d apparently been barefoot all day. (At least barefoot. Sometimes fully naked, I later discovered.) She pulled up a chair and joined in on the conversation that was happening.
She seemed interesting, like someone I wanted to get to know better. She was very sexy. And she was barefoot.
Someone there pointed out how pretty her red toenails were. That was when I mentioned that I’d also noticed, and had been trying not to stare, because if I stared to long, I’d be unable to keep from putting my hands on her lovely bare feet. Which is when she told me that she’d been walking on them all day, and held her left foot out to me.
So, I started massaging it. As I did so, she slid down off of her chair onto the floor in front of me, with her foot straight up in my lap so I had better access. And she started making some noises which I chose to interpret as “oh-my-God-that-feels-good”.
After awhile of massaging, she looked at her watch, and realized that she was going to need to leave soon, as she had somewhere to be. She pulled her left foot away and replaced it with her right. “Do the other one . . .”
So I started massaging her right foot, and it wasn’t long before she started making those great noises again.
The lady who’d commented on her pretty toenails – listening to her moans and sighs of contentment – smirked and said, “Oh, I don’t think she likes that. No, not at all.”
I joked that she sounded like she was in great discomfort and I should probably stop. She made noises of protest, but I continued my line of thought. “I know what it is . . . she just doesn’t like my hands. She’d rather I massaged her foot with my lips and tongue.” I’ve honestly no idea why I was so bold that evening. But when she didn’t immediately say no, I stopped massaging, leaned forward, and took her toes in my mouth.
She pulled her foot out of my mouth, and said, “I’ve been walking around barefoot all day . . .”
I held her foot up and looked at it. It looked reasonably clean to me. I said so, then swallowed my excess saliva and licked it from heel to toes. Then I took her big toe in my mouth and sucked. I sucked on each toe on her foot, slid my tongue into the valleys between her toes, and then took all five toes into my mouth and played my tongue across them.
She made much better noises when I used my mouth than when I had been using my hands. But time was up before I could move back to her left foot to lick/suck on those toes. She had to leave, with only half of her toes sucked. To this day, I consider that unfinished business.
The final schedule change and the specifics of my volunteer schedule made it possible for me to attend her strap-on workshop, which would be held during the final workshop period on Sunday. After going to bed late Saturday night/early Sunday morning, I dreamt about that.
In my dream, I’m sitting in and amongst the crowd of workshop attendees as Freya is teaching the basics of strap-on play. And partway through her presentation, she steps into her harness, buckles everything into place, and asks for a volunteer from the audience. She asks if anyone present wants her to fuck them.
Of course, my hand shoots up first, and she picks me. (I suppose it helps that I’m normal-sized. I’m never obese in my dreams.) I go up front and strip down while she lubes up her rubber cock. Then I get down on my hands and knees, and . . . sadly, my dreams are also always at the very most R-rated. Never X. I don’t dream sex. I dream right up to it, then sometimes scene-change, jump-cut past it, or for all I know break for commercial.
But when I woke up the next morning, I thought, “Yeah, right. That would be great, but it ranks high on the Unlikely Scenario scale.”
Prelude to Possible Disaster
This section won’t seem Freya-specific, but it needs to be here to help set up the next section. Bear with me.
The second to last Workshop period of KinkFest was my last workshop monitor duty. And halfway through that workshop, my left arm started twitching.
Fuck! (That’s what I said to myself when it started.) Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
The twitching left arm is sometimes just a twitching left arm. It makes me something of a spectacle, but that’s it. Lasts anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours. Sometimes.
Other times, the twitching left arm is a prelude to a full-blown, drop-to-the-ground and flop-around-like-a-fish seizure.
And I can never tell which way it’s going to go. Not until it either stops, or I come to on the ground, looking up at concerned (and usually freaked out) people looking down at me.
Freya’s Strap-On Workshop
Freya’s workshop was to take place in the same room where my last stint as workshop monitor had been. So once that workshop was over, I just moved from my chair at the doorway to a chair near the front of the room and waited for the next presentation.
It wasn’t long before Freya padded into the room on bare feet, set down her bag of toys, then proceeded to strip the rest of the way. Freya would be teaching her class naked.
Oh . . . oh, my. It’s not like I hadn’t seen naked women before. And I’m not just talking about the lifetime of porn. I’d been to five dungeon parties (four of them over the course of KinkFests 2008 – 2009, and another at ‘The Asylum’ in Eugene). And I’d been to several Darklady parties. I’d seen naked women. Hell, it’s not even like I’d never seen naked women teaching KinkFest workshops before, come to think of it. But Freya . . . there was just something about the naked Freya.
I’ve tried to figure out how to explain this without sounding like a complete idiot, and after much careful rumination I’ve realized that my only option is to simply go ahead and sound moronic. It just can’t be helped.
I’d recognized her as having a pretty face and a sexy body. I’d discovered that she was interesting. After sucking on the toes of her right foot, my obsessive-compulsive brain was telling me that I had a connection to her. (Shut up, brain.) But seeing her naked . . . everything shifted. It was like going from black-&-white to color. And one- to three-dimensional. And zero to 60. All at once.
Her body was like Eve’s, pre-apple. Clothing just didn’t belong there. When she introduced herself in the dungeon on Friday night, it hadn’t been lust at first sight for me. But that Sunday afternoon, it was definitely lust at first sight of her naked.
Freya, sans clothing, had floored me. I’m a little surprised that her nudity didn’t push my twitching into seizure right then and there.
Anyway . . . once it was time to begin, she passed around a stack of hand-outs with information on anal sex, strap-on play, and a few other sex topics. She talked about the basics of anal penetration. Then she strapped a dildo to herself.
Apparently not a huge fan of the traditional strap-on harness, Freya is more of a do-it-yourselfer, and can attach a big fake cock to herself or another with a metal ring and a piece of rope. Or a long leather strap. Canvas strap. Rubber tubing. Pretty much anything you can wrap and tie around the waist and thighs.
Attaching the dildo to herself didn’t detract at all from her magic naked powers, but it did ramp up her kink/fetish quotient. OH so incredibly hot.
She then revealed that she had more dildos. More lengths of tie-ables. More rings. And asked if any of the women in the audience wanted to come up and have a little something strapped onto them, to see what it was like.
Several did. Some stripping, some stripping part-way, some modestly choosing to wear their ‘cocks’ over their pants. Freya attached a synthetic phallus to each volunteer.
After that . . . as I sat there twitching, trying not to do anything for fear that it would lead to seizure . . . she addresses the audience again, asking if anyone would like to be fucked.
Had I fallen asleep? Was I dreaming? Was this dream a rerun? I could not fucking believe it.
Did I want Freya to fuck me? Did I want naked, strap-on equipped Freya to fuck me? Yes I did. Did I want to have her just start the process, having it push me the rest of the way into full-blown seizure, and have them tell the inevitable paramedics that the seizure appeared to be caused by the anal sex I was having? Not quite as much.
FUCK!!! (My inner voices repeated.) Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!
I didn’t raise my hand.
She did get a volunteer, and thus demonstrated her anal sex/strap-on skills for the group. (She did have an assistant in case none of the workshop attendees volunteered.) Freya fucked her volunteer in a couple of positions. (Meaning that I got to watch Freya fucking someone in a couple of positions. Really, really hot.)
Eventually, the class drew to a close, and the majority of the attendees began filing out of the room. Others stayed to talk to or ask questions of Freya. Myself among them.
Once most of the others had gone on their way, it was my ‘turn’. I told Freya that I wanted her to know just how incredibly hot she looked, sporting the strap-on. She thanked me for the complement, and said that it’s a piece of information that men need to pass on to women who look good to them with the dildo strapped-on, as it eases self-consciousness they might have about how they look with the phallus.
I also told her that I’d enjoyed her class, and that had it not been for the twitching, I’d’ve volunteered when she asked. (I gave an in-a-nutshell explanation of my seizure disorder, and how I was trying to avoid that happening.)
I said other things, too. This far removed from the event, I couldn’t tell you what they all were.
On one level, I was standing there conversing with her. But on another level, all my brain knew was that my flesh was starved for physical contact and she was the world’s greatest physical nourishment. I’m not saying that I wanted to paw at her tits or anything (although let’s face it – I DID kinda want to paw at her tits, but that’s beside the point), I just wanted to touch her, flesh on flesh contact, my hand on the arm of her naked body. Anything.
But even just the casual contact seemed presumptuous. And the question, “Do you mind if I touch you?” seemed either demeaning or creepy. Plus – I was still twitching. It’s probably best to not try and put my hands on anyone when my body is jerking around.
So I finished my conversation, said goodbye, and left. Sigh.
Not Really a Punchline, But . . .
After the event, my pal Zorch (not his real name) picked me up from the hotel and took me home. He asked how it all went, so I told KinkFest stories. And, partway home, the twitching escalated, and I went ahead and had that full-blown seizure in the front seat of his car. On the highway.
Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon Party – A Freya-Specific Recap
During my report on Darklady’s Masturbate-a-Thon party (which took place two months after KinkFest), I mentioned seeing ‘a woman that I met at KinkFest’ among the revelers. Since I’m bringing this up now, you can probably guess the identity of that particular woman.
Early on in the evening as I stood there in my (slightly freakish, I’ll admit) clown get-up, I found myself doing a double-take as a woman passed by me. “Was that Freya?” I asked myself?
The next time I saw her she’d changed into the Emperor’s New Clothes, and I was able to say, “Yep, that’s Freya.” Stark naked from head to toe, looking just as I remembered her.
I got to watch Freya (unnamed in the M-a-Thon report, just ‘a woman that I met at KinkFest’) involved in a group sex act. I’d retell that here, but Alt-T/W (the Verbose-a-Meter!) informs me that I’m WAY over my intended word count, and not yet nearing the end of the post. Eeeee!
Freya is one of my two current fetish crushes. Why?
Well first of all, does anyone even remember what a fetish crush is? I swear, it’s been so long since I wrote and posted part one of this three part series I had to reread the earlier posts to double check some of the fine points.
The Fetish Crush – a combination of the fetishization of the childhood ‘crush’ and the concept of a crush based on kink/fetish rather than emotional attachment. Oftentimes directed toward authorities or celebrities on either a local or national/global basis. (It’s more involved than that, but . . . word count climbing ridiculously high!)
For a kid with a crush, it could be another kid, a teacher (authority figure), or an actor, model, or rock star (celebrity).
Workshop instructors are teachers. Sort of an automatic ‘authority in their field’ kind of thing. That’s Freya. And a fact that I neglected to mention in all of my rambling up above, she does fetish modeling. That probably counts as BDSM community celebrity even if the workshop instructor doesn’t. (Although I think it probably does.)
Being stunned stupid by her naked body probably explains a lot of why she has slid so easily into the fetish crush slot of my brain.
She’s definitely someone that I’d like to know better. We’ve messaged back-and-forth a few times on FetLife.com, but nothing that really counts as a conversation. I’ve never had a one-on-one conversation with her in real life, but her and I were two parts of a five-to-seven (or so) person chit-chat during some downtime at the 2009 KinkFest (the situation which led to me sucking half her toes).
Plus, there are the inevitable naughty little sex fantasies percolating in my head. But fantasies about Freya outweigh fantasies about most other people. Why? Well . . .
The Physical Plausibility of Sexual Intercourse
I don’t really have a ‘type’. I’m attracted to all sorts of people for all sorts of reasons, lots of times having nothing to do with their physical form. But I do like thin girls. And fat girls. And tall girls. And short girls. And so on.
Back during my association with C.J. (not her real name) I was the world famous mathematician (?) responsible for the discovery of humanity’s most important equation (??). Called the ZtC Formula, it goes like this: Plump woman + obese man + small penis = celibacy.
Try as we might, CJ and I could not get our interlocking parts to interlock. And believe me we tried. By one point I was thinking like the Kama Sutra as written by M. C. Escher. But it just wasn’t happening.
It occurred to me at the time that if I wanted sex (the classic definition of sex, the whole penis-in-vagina intercourse thing) I was either going to have to lose several humans worth of weight, or somehow attract a thin girl into my bed. (Or possibly some combination of the two.)
Freya’s a thin girl. A yoga-fit and flexible thin girl. Freya seems like a far more plausible sex partner than anyone else I’ve had my eye on in recent years.
I think about this. At times I dwell on it. Having read her FetLife.com profile page, I know some of her kinks and fetishes, and see where they line up with some of mine. I think about us ending up at the same event. I fantasize about getting together with her to ‘play’.
Sometimes I think about an event-less scenario, where she invites me to her place. I get a ride up to Portland (or wherever she actually is), and we spend an afternoon/evening (possibly an overnight) together. When I leave her company, I no longer have my legendary virginity. And I’ve got a lot of miscellaneous kink experience.
But my Freya-based thoughts aren’t all fantasy-type fantasies. I’ve got a few ‘realistic’ sex-based concepts kicking around my brain as well . . .
The Escort Option
"The love I feel for my body translates into warmth, love, and acceptance for the lovers in my life. I have an appreciation for all shapes, sizes, body types, and people in general."
The above quote is also taken from her website. So what do those words mean, when found on a professional girl’s website? Even if her appreciation for ‘all’ shapes, sizes, and body types doesn’t extend to my massive, heavy, gelatinous frame . . . I suspect that if I can afford her hourly rate, she’ll fake it for me.
(That’s me being half-cynical and half-self-deprecating, by the way. From what little face-to-face contact we’ve had, she seems the type to mean exactly what she says in the above quote. But then, what do I know?)
A session with Freya runs about the same as the truncated amount of SSI/Social Security Disability I live on each month. [That IS NOT a euphemism for ‘Wow, she charges a lot.’ It IS a euphemism for ‘My God, I’m poor!’]
So my general problem with the escort option is that I can either have sex with Freya, OR I can pay my utilities and other bills, and buy food and water. Hmm.
So far, attempts to save up haven’t worked. Although I’m going to try it again starting in April. See if maybe I can squirrel away enough money over the course of nine months to afford her services. (My birthday is in December, and if I’m still a virgin the day before I turn 40, I fear impulsively eating a bullet or jumping off a bridge or something.)
Crush or Fetish – Finally Finished?
When I wrote and posted the first installment of “Crush or Fetish”, I mentioned how the previous three-part-series had taken seven weeks to complete. Yikes! I promised that wouldn’t be the case with this one.
That was on August 17th, 2009.
And with today being March 8th, 2010, as embarrassing as a stretch of time as it’s taken to get this whole thing out . . . I can honestly say, it wasn’t seven weeks.
(I think I need a drink.)