Tawdry Talk

Got the new network cable, as well as my new video card, so now my computer is behaving much better. Here are the meager pics I took on this past Sunday. I really have to remember not to wear attention-grabbing costumes so I can take more pics.

OK, this one shows the boots, too. I promise, no more comment whoring for the day.

Here’s my Folsom Street Fair costume. I got to spank and flog lots of naughty boys and girls. Thanks Frank “ednixon” Martin for the photo. More of his photos are here.

I have to get a new network cable for my desktop computer today, and I’ll upload my own FSF pics when I can.

23″ wesco jobmasters, harness, black leather ball cap, dark aviator sunglasses, dark blue lycra cycling pants, and a string of pearls triple-wrapped around my neck. Oh, and my paddle. We mustn’t forget the paddle.

Such was my get-up for this years Folsom Street Fair, and it did seem to get the job done. My paddle never had such a good time! Men, women, gay, straight and in between submitted themselves to my full-armed ministrations, and the *thwack* *thwack* certainly drew lots of oohs and aahs from the appreciative crowd. That was fun.

In between the four brief spankings I administered, I looked and looked for Darwin, but he wasn’t to be found. Finally, I called him up, only to learn that he had already left the fair, as his ex-sub he was with needed to get out of the sun. I told him that I was disappointed that we hadn’t had the chance to see each other, and he said this was about him and his ex having fun. “call me later,” he says. “no, you call me later,” i angrily replied.

Barely an hour after arriving, I walked home from the fair, sad, disappointed and angry, my paddle clutched in a clenched fist. the look on my face must have been quite upset, as people cleared a wide berth around me. i was a huge sweaty mess when i got home, right as john and frank were getting ready to head out the door to the fair.

My thoughts are so tangled up around this man. He makes my head spin and my heart clench. He’s smart and attractive and fun and fun-loving, and when we are together, we just get along so well. Whenever we talk on the phone, though, there’s just hurt feelings and stupidity all around. The only reason I even went to the fair was because he said he was going to be there - I can’t generally tolerate really large crowds - and because we started talking more regularly on the phone again, and the chance to spend some time with him, however briefly, held such an appeal to me.

Am I wrong to have expected to see him at the fair? Am I wrong to feel that he could have made some sort of small effort to find me there? I wasn’t expecting some grand home-coming welcome or anything - we even talked about it before hand - just a short meeting to say hello and be with each other for a few minutes. In this era of cell phones, there’s no real reason why people can’t meet at a street fair.

Am I wrong to feel hurt and disappointed, and a little angry and rejected? Are my expectations too high?

After I shot my load of cum down that cute cub’s throat at the corner of 9th and Folsom, I was strapped to a St. Andrew’s Cross and had the snot flogged outta me. Albadger, John, and I went to Flipper’s for lunch, and then Albadger and I went to the matinee performance of Handel’s Rodelinda. In honor of the day, I did go in my leathers: Red Wing boots, harness, Green Leather shorts, vest, cap, and these nifty maroon spandex boxer briefs I got at Target last Monday. So as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of the blue-hair set, I did wear a blue cotton and spandex t-shirt under the harness. Let me tell ya, standing room for three-and-a-half hours in two inch heels is quite a challenge. But what a transcendent event!

The staging of Rodelinda is definitely noir. Pamela Rosenberg’s Eurotrash friends actually got one right: they peeled back the layers of the libretto and found the emotional core of the work, and the stark lighting and mostly black wardrobe worked remarkably well with this baroque mastepiece. Every member of the cast was exceptional, especially the uber-woofy countertenor David Daniels as Bertarido, the deposed King of Lombardy.

Especially exciting was getting hit on by that drunk opera queen during the first intermission - he had an extra seat in the third row next to him, and would I join him? Later, during the second intermission, a high society woman gave me her ticket to her front row seat! I didn’t want to abandon Albadger, though, so I gave it to another person in standing room. I can’t imagine why anyone would have left before the amazing third act, though. It was really spectacular!