While we’re on a pictures-of-toys roll…. Look at this nasty contraption I just got over the weekend. It’s a thick wooden paddle someone fixed up with copper wire and some kind of electrical device – looks like a small Taser of some kind? (I’m sure some electrical person will pipe up and tell us.) It makes the evilest little crackling sound when you push the “on” button, and I bet it hurts like a sonofabitch. I haven’t used it yet – no one will let me test it on them, the sissies. But I know someone who’s constantly pushing and challenging me to hit/hurt his ass more when he sees me, and this might be perfect for him. (Yes, I mean you, Bicycle Man.
Where did I get this? Well, that’s a story. See, way back when I first came out as kinky, before the internet, there weren’t many places to buy gear, especially in the South. What there was commercially available was often of pretty inferior quality. So people made toys at home, and friends often traded around – that’s how you got new (to you) stuff. And when someone new came into the scene, the people they met would often go through their toy cabinets, find stuff they weren’t really using anymore, and pass it along. My very first flogger came to me just that way – a woman I knew said, “Here, you should have one of these.” It was a nice one, too, I loved it well.
And occasionally, someone would decide to get rid of all their toys. Sometimes they’d get a vanilla partner who demanded it, or - sadly – sometimes someone would become very sick, or even die. I have some equipment I literally inherited from another woman who passed away, and I think of her whenever I use it. You may find that odd, but it’s very much a done thing within the old-school kink community. It’s a clan thing, if that makes any sense to you.
So this paddle – and a great deal of other stuff – came from the collection of a man who was getting rid of everything. He’s older, his health isn’t good, and he had come to the conclusion that he probably wouldn’t be playing much any more. And while I can’t say much more without feeling like I’m compromising his confidentiality, let’s just say that if he died suddenly, and the wrong people found his secret playroom, well, it would be a pretty serious scandal. I can understand why he thinks it’s better that he give his things away now.
His friends helped him dismantle his dungeon, packed his stuff, and took it away. And the call went out, “Want some toys? Come over and pick out what you want…” So I went over and chose a few things, some for me and some for a young kinkster who hasn’t amassed a toy collection yet.
It’s funny, I’m used to buying toys now – it’s so easy to drop into one of the local sex shops, or get online and order whatever you want. I’d forgotten how it feels to pick up someone else’s toy and think about all the history that’s in it, and how now you’re going to add to that. I hope when it’s time for me to go, that people will want to take my toys and use them well. I like thinking about that.
