Whistle Stop: Surrender

On the overhead a man in his seventies or eighties is telling stories of rural Oregon. Wearing a jaunty cap, his smile is a mile wide as I carry my snacks from the café car up to the observation deck. As I pull out my laptop, trees fly by and the scant hints of snow speckle the ground with bits of white. Four cars back, I left Mollena sleeping. She was curled up in her seat, giant headphones keeping the noise of the announcements out.San Francisco to Portland. I used to live in Oregon for many years, 2000 to 2006. It is strange to think how much time has passed, how little time has passed, since I left. Memories flash by of my time as a database administrator for a Christian faith organization, the large two-bedroom apartment I had to myself, the time living with my former husband. My time-share Slave, my ex-girlfriend, lovers, friends… many of whom I have fallen out of touch with, but not all.I still come back to Oregon for work from time to time, at such fantastic events like KinkFest – but it’s not the same as being immersed in a local kink culture. My short-lived time as a board member of BadGirls, the time I spent involved with GoddesSMack (a women’s kink coven), supporting my girlfriend of the time as she ran for Ms. Oregon Leather (and won), as my mother and I watched on. The image in my mind of my (yes, biological) mother in her corset and long skirt, long white hair pinned up, being bought drinks by the local dykes while she stared at cute boys asses.The city by the Bay was an intense, beautiful, amazing, challenging, inspiring trip. We pulled into Oakland on Thursday, and a friend of Mollena’s dropped me off in the city before taking Mo away to her separate destination. My destination? Dark Odyssey: Surrender.  I have been involved with Dark Odyssey events for a decade. Wow, a decade. Well, it will be a decade in June more accurately. I shared one of my stories from that first event (Leather Retreat 2003) in Equus Eroticus magazine, a story of A Pony Away. That weekend is burned in my mind, or pieces of it at least. It changed my life. Pony time, clown time, finding a video game machine and playing out my fantasy of forced cock sucking at an arcade again and again.But this was the first time that the event producers had brought the vision to the west coast. Part of the setup team I knew so well, folks like Alan that I met my first Leather Retreat (a weekend that has since radically transformed into Fusion), whose dungeon team I was on for many years. Others were new to me, a crew from The Citadel, others from Kink.com hauling their gear into the space. Carol still ran registration, but folks like the local MsMary were at her side. The fusion of old and new, east and west. This was going to be a slice of the before, and a slice of what is to come.My partner, Aiden, had made it to the event before me and had been assisting in a thousand different ways. Throughout the weekend he was darting between assisting, writing college papers, connecting with a small handful of folks, and stressing out. We stayed up until 4am that first night talking about our relationship, holding space for one another, and finalizing plans for our performance with his girlfriend (my delightful metamore) the next night. It was challenging at points, but so very needed.Sometimes relationships need care and feeding, and other times they need pruning. Sometimes they need cultivation, and other times they need a chance to lay low. Sometimes they need raw rutting, and other times a sensual touch. So it is, so it is.The performance was stunning, heartfelt, deep in trance. KGirl was in a sheer white shift and a shawl (made, funny enough, out of a bed drape we stole from the hotel for that purpose), kneeling on the stage with a rosary. We were a pair of black angels, perched high up on the scaffolding across the room. Below us folks were exploring new desires in an “Exploratorium,” and as we descended from the heavens, my world shrunk down from the hundreds of folks gathered to only my prey and my fellow angel. The rest fell away, fell away.We captured her, bound her, seduced her. We hung her up, strung her up, exposed her flesh and her heart. We entrapped her, entranced her, and made her fly. She flew, and finally, she collapsed into a heap of rope. Ropes came off, and we transformed her into an angel in turn.The funny thing?  That was not the planned ending. Literally two hours before the show, I ran into Robert Lawrence from the Center for Sex and Culture (replendant with their giant sexuality library), a beautiful older gentleman whom I have cherished for many years. He is a living saint. He is beautiful. He inspires me. He and his partner Carol Queen were running a silent auction for the Center, because they were the charity of support for Surrender as part of the event. He mentioned to me that they had many things, even a pair of black feathered wings. I blinked. We had two pairs upstairs…Carol turned around and said a number of things about the auction, and then said we even have a pair of black feathered wings. I blinked. I asked how much they were.Sometimes these moments happen. Kismet. Kismet.Over the weekend the three of us formed Team Llama. We laughed and played. We shared deep conversations. I struggled with feeling special, and Aiden and I talked it through over tasty Indian food. This is the shape of relationships evolving, for the better I believe. This is the shape of me practicing using my words.During the weekend I ran a lot of classes. I co-taught 2 classes (A Kink Community Primer with Mollena and Dark Roleplaying with Wintersong Tashlin), taught two classes solo (GenderQueer Bondage and Beings of Faith and Desire). I filled in for a class that had no teacher. I did a book signing, and of course the show. And that’s just between Friday lunch and Sunday lunch.  It was a tad intense.  That does not include personal time.The class I filled in for was listed in the program as:How to be a toppresenterCharlie GlickmanThere was a tech issue with the program, and the class had been cancelled 2 weeks before the event, but it had been listed on the program anyway. Thus, I being an over-helper, filled in. The hilarity?  Half the folks who showed up to the class wanted to learn teaching skills (the original class), and the other half, because of how it was laid out on the grid… came to learn topping skills. It actually turned out to be a great class :)Life is like that sometimes. Amidst the unexpected, flowers.I was touched over the weekend by the vulnerability and stories of others. Hearts shared, stories of abandonment and challenge. Stories that lifted up. Bondage that found people shaping their understanding of the craft. Hearts shared, hearts shared.I was touched by a friend of a decade who was –present- the “little old lady” story laughing in the front row, remembering being there.  There is a different between telling a teaching tale, and having a friend who was there. It reminds me that it wasn’t made up. It’s not just an allegory or an anecdote. It was there, we were there, we lived it. It reminds me that I’m not crazy. This stuff happened. This is my life, and it has happened and continues to happen.Sometimes that is hard to remember, especially when folks challenge that my stories could not have been real. My life is too absurd, too random, too full to have been. If my life were a movie, no one would believe it. And yet, it is my life. My life is real.Heartfelt play. Drive-by fucking. Hugs and good food. Long conversations with new-to-me people.I am grateful for Surrender. I look forward to the next one. The Bay Area deserves this kind of excellence.  So, for that matter, do I.