First aid kit, flashlight, matches, towel, toiletries, pajama bottoms, sheets, pillow, flask, notebook, pens.
Flogger, paddle, cane, cat o’nine tails, rope, vibrator, condoms, assorted dildos.
I’m packing for sex camp.
Dark Odyssey is this weekend, and I will be there with my friends Viviane, Selina and Marcus.
Viviane has been pouring over the schedule of classes, suggesting those we should attend in the front row. Selina asked if we would object to her continuous nudity and offered to bring harem pillows and a disco ball to enliven our cabin.
Marcus asked if he should bring his restraint. I told him I wasn’t aware he had any restraint. Then I realized he was referring to “restraints,” as in bondage gear.
I haven’t seen Marcus all summer.
Now I will see him for a weekend devoted to, we are told, “Tantra, Polyamory, Intimate Communications, BDSM, Alternative Lifestyles and more.”
With Marcus along, it’s the “more” that should prove most interesting. He always likes more.
Frankly, I’m a little grumpy to be leaving sex in the city, even for sex in the wilds. I’ll miss out on all the fucking I might be doing in my comfortable bed in favor of deep-woodsing it with dungeon masters, pyromaniacs and mosquitoes.
But, you know me. I keep an open mind.
I’ve already been in touch with some of the friendly folks I’ll soon meet.
I was asked to join a finger-painting class. I’m told it will be “unconventional.”
A woman asked me to lend my cock to a morning gangbang where she hopes to outdo her personal best of twenty-five men. I asked if any low numbers were still available.
I’ve developed a crush on a dyke who’s handy with the ropes. I’ll just melt if she asks for my help in lassoing a filly to hoist to the branches.
I get around, folks. But this is all new to me. I’ll be a babe in the woods.
Still, this little lamb will be in the warm company of the doyenne, the hippie and the whore. We’ve packed bourbon. We won’t get into too much trouble—will we?