Published: July 5th 2017, 11:00:01 pm
Her fiancé stands over her, smearing his cock with a creamy, expensive, goat cheese called Humbolt fog. I watched them together, as she slowly devours the goat cheese, and I wonder, briefly, if anyone will ever love me.
It’s melodramatic, I know, but I think we all feel that way sometimes. I’ve just broken up with my boyfriend, Luke, for the fifth time this year and, even though I’m really hoping it takes this time, I’m feeling pretty lonely. I’m not used to it. It’s hard to feel lonely when your partner insists that you should spend at least three days of every week with them, that you text each other constantly, that you keep no secrets, that he should be able to read your diary whenever you write something new in it, that even the time you spend in the bathroom is not, necessarily, time that should be yours alone. When I was with Luke I felt sad, angry, frustrated, afraid, a thousand different shades of self loathing, sure. But never lonely.
The only way I’d been able to break up with him was by chanting to myself “Better to be alone than to be with him,” over and over like and incantation, until I finally started to believe it.
But now I’m at kink camp and I’m starting to lose my grip on that belief. Kink Camp is exactly what it sounds like, a bunch of perverts rent out a summer camp for a week and create a secluded woodland area where you can do anything you want as long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual. I’d been looking forward to it all year and, even after breaking up with Luke I decided that I should go, ignore my broken heart, and enjoy myself in spite of everything. I guess Luke thought the same thing because he was the first fucking thing I saw when I got out of the car. I’m determined not to be miserable but I’m not doing the best job of it. I watch him play with his new girlfriend (a skinny, redhead, masochist like me, but younger and cooler because she actually stars in hardcore fetish porn) and wonder why I was so easy to replace. Especially when Luke seemed so irreplaceable. I didn’t want another Luke, of course. I just wanted someone who fucked like him; like an animal and a serial killer, like the way you’d imagine Hannibal Lecter would fuck. I just wanted someone who could fuck like that, but also be nice to me the rest of the time. But doesn’t that seem greedy? I wonder. Doesn’t that seem impossible?Isn’t it asking too much to want someone who can fuck like a monster but love like a health, normal, person? Never mind that I’m currently at a weekend long event founded on pretty much exactly this idea. It seems like just too much to ask for. At least, when I’m asking for myself.
So it’s a good thing that I’m hanging out with George and Nala because their relationship should be impossible. George was a client at the Domme house where Nala and I worked. George has managed the impossible leap from client to, not just boyfriend, fiancé. This does not happen. For anyone that has even heard the plot of Pretty Woman and thought “I wonder if that ever happens” let me make this clear for you: This Does Not Happen. The average domme client is an affluent, corporate, man, aged 50 or older. The average domme is a broke, creative, woman, aged 25 or younger. There’s just not a lot of common ground on which to build a relationship. And even if there were, most of these guys don’t want a relationship with a domme. Plenty of them fantasize about it but in those fantasies she’s always in charge, always aloof, always in corset, stilettos, and full makeup. That’s not a girlfriend. That’s not a human. There’s a reason we only see these dudes one hour at a time. But George wasn’t like those guys. He was in his mid 30s, comfortable but not corporate, and actually interested in a kinky relationship. He just didn’t think he deserved one.
His ex wife had been pretty mean to him. She frequently told him how unattractive he was, how gross and weird his fetishes were. Dating someone who loved him and his fetishes seemed like too much to ask. So he started coming to Rapture. The house I worked for was different from other houses. Our website had it’s own message board forum and encouraged its clients and dommes to talk to one another, to get friendly and get to know each other. It was smart business but it was also just fun. We talked about kink but also pretty much whatever we wanted. Which is how George and Nala started talking about cheese. See, Nala really liked cheese. Like, REALLY liked it. Like, she had a picture of Swiss cheese tattooed onto her body. And it turned out that George liked cheese just as much as she did. And it was from that milky soil that a relationship grew. They moved in together, they got engaged, they ended up going to the same kink camp I did.
It’s really nice to have friends here. It’s not that kink camp isn’t entertaining, there’s pretty much always something to watch. But those things are almost always people engaging in some form of sex, which can hurt a little if you feel painfully alone. I didn’t plan this very well. I didn’t set up any dates, or even just scenes between friends. The last time I went to one of these I ended up fucking, like, three guys in one night and setting up more playdates than I could actually follow through on. So I guess I was a little cocky coming into this. But things have changed and, since Luke, I’m not really sure what I want or what I’m comfortable with any more. I don’t trust people as easily. I no longer say ‘yes’ to literally everything that’s offered to me. Dating Luke was a lot like having food poisoning; Something you love suddenly betrays you, it’s painful and scary and you don’t know how long it’ll be before the thought of oysters stops making you sick. You suddenly get a lot more picky about what you choose to put in your mouth. And these are all things I should have thought of before coming to this buffet of BDSM.
I walk with George and Nala through The Garden of Earthly Delights, a ropes course that has been converted into a display of people’s different fantasies, which observers are encouraged to take part in. George pulls me aside as Nala lingers at a display of a woman dressed in a slutty Alice costume lying next to a sign that invites strangers to smash their cake on her and eat it, too.
“I want to do a cheesenapping,” George says to me in a low voice. I am immediately intrigued.
“I don’t know what that is,” I say “but I want to.”
George tells me that he wants to ‘kidnap’ Nala and then torture her with terrible cheese. I am SO into this. Just, maybe not for the reason you think.
I’m not really into food play but I really want to be into food play. I had a fantasy once where I had a lover whose entire body was made of chocolate. He was alive and everything, he just didn’t seem to mind me eating him. So we made love and his hands melted at the heat of my body and smeared my skin with sugar. I bit into his shoulder and warm chocolate burst into my mouth. He melted against my tongue as I took long, slow, licks. His eyes were white chocolate, like those Lindt truffles, and I softly, slowly, sucked them out of his head. And that when I realized that this fantasy was gross and creepy and maybe racist so I went back to filthy Disney princesses.
For my boyfriend’s birthday one year, I was low on money and ideas so I thought I’d gift him the experience of naked sushi. I’d lay on the bed, completely objectified, rice cooling my skin, soy sauce pooled in the hollow between my breasts… But then I thought how would I eat the sushi? I mean, if I’m lying flat on my back, I can’t really eat without choking. But what am I gonna do, not eat sushi? Plus one wrong move means covering the bed in soy sauce and wasabi so, no thank you.
I love a prime rib steak more than most things in this world. It tastes like the kind of love that you marry because it will hold you and keep you safe forever. It fills me up and whispers that I will never feel hungry again. It fills every part of me. I can feel in my blood, out to the tips of my fingers. But it makes me so full that if you fuck me right away I will vomit all over you.
So, like, I want to combine food and sex. I think food is sexy. But sometimes fantasy becomes reality and it just doesn’t work. Like, if you want food in your bed you should probably put down a tarp. But a tarp is the exact opposite of sexy. And if any kind of sugar gets in your vagina you will get a yeast infection. But here was a chance to take part in someone else’s fantasy, to navigate those logistics and, hopefully, make it sexy. Without having to worry about it being my fantasy and making it sexy for me.
I vomited on Luke once, for exactly the reason you’d imagine. He was so proud of himself.
So we takedown Nala, she doesn’t resist much, and carry her to the bed and tie her down. Nala smirks a little when we cover her body with nacho cheese sauce. Then we throw crackers and Kraft cheese slices at her and I fuck her with a cheddar dildo while George feeds her humble fog with his cock. I can’t really say that it’s sexy, but it IS fun. And maybe that’s the aspect of food play that I’ve never really considered, the fun. The simple joy of just making a big fucking mess, of taking something you love (or hate) and just rolling around in it. We’re told so often to be clean, to be prim and proper and dignified, there is something immensely gratifying in just saying “NO! I will not do that. I will forget the consequences. I will forget what I look like to other people. I will do what I am supposed to do and feel the strange new sensations of cheese being smeared across my skin. And I will revel in the sensual relief of showering it all off later.”
We site on the great lawn watching people lay out a huge tarp, lining the sides of it with boxes of ice cream. When everything is ready, at least fifteen naked people surround the tarp, scooping up handfuls of ice-cream and start to throw. We watch the nakedest, slipperiest, snowball fight in history unfold. The tarp becomes a mass of writhing bodies shimmering in the sun. Raucous laughter comes off it in waves.
I watch this happening and I can’t help but smile. I think to myself that if there’s fifteen people who want to have a naked ice cream fight with total strangers, there’s gotta be a few nice people who can hit me only when I ask them to and call me a slut with love in their hearts. I think maybe this world is big enough and strange enough for every ass to find its seat. And if someone I know can marry the dominatrix of his dreams and cover her with cheese, well, I guess my dream relationship isn’t asking too much after all.