Labor Day Weekend 2011 did not include the usual gathering of friends and family on a back deck for a picnic and a backyard for volleyball. It included the gathering of hundreds of people in a backyard where the games were a little more involved than volleyball and a whole hell of a lot more fun.
These are my semi-clear remembrances of the 38 Guinnesses, the Events, the Chance Meetings, the opening of avenues I never knew existed and the weekend which was … FetFest 2011.
Her name was April and thank god she was wearing a nametag because if she hadn’t been wearing it, I would’ve known nothing about her other than that she was the perfect pheromone height for me, but I’ll explain that some other time.
Perhaps I ought to start at the beginning …
Anxious to absorb every possible thing I could that weekend, I would make a loop of the campgrounds and observe everything therein. Beginning at the Ageplay Village – also known as “Bouncy Town” or as I called it: The Home Base, I would walk down the hill to the lake where the Primal Arts Crew had set up. I would walk around the entire lake, back up the other side, through the woods, into the amphitheater area up to the Poly Village, continuing to make a complete circle back to the ABDL-ers.
It was some time Saturday afternoon as I walked out of the woods, there was a girl sitting on one of the benches at the amphitheater. I waved and she waved back. She was sweet to look at and seemed quiet … my kinda girl. The way she sat there invited no attention nor sought it, but in a way it kind of did.
I would see her again, in passing that evening and later that night. It’s when I saw her up close that her electric blue eyes stood out.
I must stress, once again, that I may be getting the times and such mixed up. I was enjoying my two cases of Guinness that weekend … to say the least.
I think the next time I saw her was Sunday afternoon as I stopped at the Leather Village to watch to 12 or so females who were sitting on the grass, but all were attached to a tree or something, each by a rope and a hook which pierced the skin of their sternums.
As I was forming the internal thought of Well … there’s something you don’t see every day, this girl walked up to me out of the clear blue and called me by my FetLife username, I looked down at my name tag attached to my belt – and my God-given name written on it. That’s when I saw her name tag and her name.
She asked me if I was the one who wrote the stories about “blah, blah” and I said yes. We spoke for a few minutes and she asked me about the typical female character in my stories.
I took in a deep breath, as I always do before explaining the softcore fetish I had – often seen as taboo, even by the kinkiest of folks. And I told her.
She had a barrage of questions which I answered honestly and then she asked me if they were about anyone in particular. (Sometimes less is more.) I told her the female characters in what I write are about many people. We chatted for a bit longer and then we went our separate ways.
As I walked over to a group of tents, set up by some “Awesome” folks I knew from home, I picked up … yet another Guinness. These folks were kind enough to give me a tent and to store my stash of Irish libations all weekend long.
It wasn’t until late that Sunday night as I joined this tent crew around their campfire that the pondering came to my mind:
How did that girl know my FL username?
She made no mention of mutual friends we had nor any further interest in the fetish I subscribe to, other than something I wrote which she read.
I stared at the flickering of the fire for a while, thinking about that. This “Awesome” camp crew I was with was passing some sort of alcohol in a bottle I neglected to read before it was passed me.
Before we drank from this bottle, we were to mention something that we were grateful for, in our lives.
I held the bottle in my hand and thought of the many gifts in my life. And then I thought back to April, that girl who walked up to me and bravely showed me not only the personality which fit my fantasy of her perfectly, but also that she was a mind-reader in having guessed correctly at a name I only use in certain circles of life.
What’s the point of all of this rambling? Openness, I guess.
At Fetfest, there was nothing strange around for how strange everything actually was. It was a perception of ourselves and of each other. I expected there to be statements made about the “little” bouncy niche which I knew as my crew, but I heard no unkind words. And believe me when I tell you that I was listening. I walked all over those campgrounds. My appearance didn’t suggest me to be a part of any particular village. And not a sound was made … Openness … and acceptance.
I would run into April again that night and we talked some more, just casually. I so terribly wanted to ask her how she knew my username, but decided not to ask. I suppose I could’ve asked and satisfied my curiosity. But here was another moment where less was more. By never having found out how she knew, it would remain an enigma to me and the stuff that many fantasies are made of … in the stories we write, in the stories we live … and of course in my mind, in the Memories from FetFest.
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