I've built successful communities before: at church, at work, in online gaming, and socially. And I've organized group meetings and get-togethers all those places, too. So I had a high level of confidence that hosting my first kinkster community event would be a success...
Until about 2 hours beforehand, at which time waves of doubt crashed over me. What if the discussion format bombed? What if nobody shows? What if the food is terrible?
When I first organized the event, I was expecting 15 but secretly hoping for 20 just to feel badass.
I got 38. That's right,
thirty-eight people showed up to mingle, listen to me give announcements about upcoming community events, and participate in the discussion groups (which were widely referred to as "semi-structured", an accurate description I love a lot).
And we had newcomers! One couple hadn't been to a community event in two years. Two people were complete newbies. I had non-newcomers on the lookout for newbies, and they were warmly greeted and welcomed by the community leaders who we want to be when we grow up (/sniffle they came to my thing! /sniffle)
But... back to that number. Thirty-eight is like a turnout you could expect in Austin. Or Houston. Or some other giant metropolis. You don't expect that for a non-mainstream fetish event in a town where corn fields are always no more than 10 minutes away. I mean, yes, within an hour's drive, there are probably about a million people, but still. I was pleasantly shocked.
So the food worked pretty well, but needs some tweaking, the drinks worked well, the traffic flow around the room worked well, and the venue loved us and can't wait for us to return. The manager even congratulated me on having such a good turnout. Awww. (I totally wanna smooch him, by the way)
Anyway, enough bragging about my thing. After it was over, my husband and his live-in girlfriend Devant kicked off a party at our house while I recovered upstairs for a few hours, playing a silly flirty party mixer game we made up, and helping the crowd feel welcome.
The only picture I took of myself was at the end of the evening, when I felt drunk as a skunk from my vertigo dizzies (I consumed zero alcohol), and I look like a wino. Guests said I looked "happy cute drunk" but clearly from the picture I refuse to share, they were merely being polite.
However, I did manage to get this picture of Devant, which should give you an idea of how the party went:
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| Devant in her natural habitat |
She was being put into a straightjacket before getting beaten on the bed. A moment before this picture, Gnarls Barkley's "Crazy" came up on the rotation, and she made her eyes all googly and sang along, "I remember when, I remember, I remember when I lost my mind!" which cracked everyone up. A pink-haired 21-year-old in a straightjacket got beaten on my bed while playing brat and giggling hysterically. How great is my life?
Also, someone who was present for my
Hand Orgy has been thinking she also wanted one, so she got one, and it was magical and wonderful and awesome. She also cried a lot, which made me feel less silly about crying at mine.
Then there was a guy there with the most awesome afro-like-but-surprisingly-not-on-a-black-guy hair (maybe he's Jewish? Middle Eastern? I'm not sure), and word spread to texture-lovers that he'd let us run our fingers through it. Oh, and maybe he likes being scratched. So maybe his shirt needed to come off while one... okay, two... no wait, four... I think it was five women eventually were surrounding him, playing with his hair and scratching his back and chest, and sometimes biting him. It was his first party ever, his first scene ever, and he was hiiiiiiiiiigh as a kite from happiness.
In case you're jealous. to. death. of that guy (as well you should be), here's how he got that scene: he went to three public meet-and-greets (aka munches) before anyone invited him to a party. He was polite and respectful at the public events. He never asked to be invited to the play parties. At the play party, he sat back and watched, declining to join in to the hand orgy or anything else other than watching because he was, as he said, "watching to see what the rules are so I don't mess up". He was approached by someone who asked what he liked. He negotiated with her about the hair playing and the scratching and the biting. He knew his safewords. He kept his hands at his sides because nobody had invited him to touch them. He moaned appreciatively when surrounded by women pawing at him, which made it more fun to continue to do so.
In short, he was polite and respectful and patient and open to new experiences.
Also, he had yummy lips, which I brain-drunkenly said aloud, so one of my friends dragged me over to him and told him I wanted to kiss him. Could not be more junior high. Ridiculous. He was gracious enough to oblige me, so we made out for like 2 minutes, only interrupted because I realized it was making my vertigo worse, and if I didn't stop kissing him, the party would be over for me. It was almost worth it to keep going, but not quite.
For those of you keeping track of my
smooch slut record, I also made out with another friend who is quitting smoking. Y'know, as encouragement! I do what I can to help my friends be healthy, right? They were kissing partners #91 and #92.
It was a fantastic weekend, an amazing event, a great party, and I made it through more of it than I expected to, because I fortuitously got happy-vertigo-drunk instead of miserable-vertigo-drunk. The evening ended tucked in bed with my lover, extremely satisfied.
