You've heard about her, you've read about her, you've seen her naked butt. Now read all about the fabulous poly life of Miss Candy and her hottie husband MC, in this week's Stranger column.

Meanwhile, I'm busy down here in Cali, shopping and socializing...

NonStop

So, Mom left this morning, and in 24 hours, I fly to San Francisco for the weekend to teach kinky rope classes with Max and attend Folsom Street Fair. The rapid shifting of gears in my life leaves me a little breathless sometimes. Max feels the same way, given that he just got back Monday from a ten-day driving trip. And Roman has been putting the pedal to the metal, gearing up to vend his wares at the street fair. It’s crazy around here, I tell you.

Note to clients: I’m booked up today, and I’ll be unavailable Thursday-Monday. I will not be taking phone calls during that time either, although I will be checking email and I may be able send brief responses. I’ll try to return all calls and emails on Monday. I am booking for appointments starting Tuesday, so call me then to get time with me. Regular clients can also book time with me via email.

So, another picture: remember I talked about those nice noises Candy made when she was whacked on her butt with a bamboo stick? Well, she’s sweet, but she’s certainly anything but a Candy-ass.

The Bush administration and the FBI need volunteers for the Porn Squad. Curiously, they seem hard to (yes, I'm going to say it) come by.

More porn: an interesting discussion on Slate about two books on porn in American sexual culture. I can’t say it makes me want to run right out and buy either one of them, but a thought-provoking piece nonetheless.

Question: Has anyone ever stayed at the Moore Hotel? I’m going to go check it out for myself after I get back in town, but – any first-hand experiences?

I'm spending the day with the Mominatrix, before she flies back to Atlanta tomorrow. Meanwhile, enjoy pictures of people being mean to the piñata boy. (Thanks to James, our host and photographer.)

Laughing at the big stick.
Monk prefered to use his hand.
Lady Lydia and the Nerf bat.

Stories of a Human Piñata.

Well, we never did get any candy out of the piñata boy, but we hung him up and whacked him a lot anyway. Hopefully some pictures will be forthcoming. (Nudge, nudge, James.)

(Disclaimer: Most BDSM gatherings do NOT feature a whole bunch of tops ganging up on one bottom. Usually, you dance with them what brung you – or at least with one person at a time. But this was a send-off party for a special pal, so we decided to be extra-attentive to him. Heh.)

Candy found that when hitting a suspended, rotating target, close attention is required in order to not crack someone in the head. Fortunately, she made this discovery while using a big, stiff piece of Styrofoam. Instead of, say, a solid wood dowel.

Monk instructed the piñata boy to cry “Ole!” each time he thumped him.

The Wookie showed us that performing nunchuk moves with a pair of brightly-colored nerf bats looks cool. And apparently it hurts a lot when you hit someone with them. Who knew?

The piñata boy has two very distinct noises – a deep, groan-y one for when you hit his back, and a sharper cry for when you hit his ass. The deep one is a obviously a happy-pain noise, while the sharper one clearly indicates he’s not so happy. That’s not unusual – most people have sweet spots where impact feels good, and places where it’s harder to take. Sometimes when I’m playing with someone like that, I switch quickly from one spot to the other and kind of play a little tune. Like Chopsticks, only with just two keys.

Later: Candy also makes really nice noises when you hit her cute little butt with a big old nasty bamboo stick.

Later still: Monk (a heterosexual guy) stuck some needles in The Wookie’s (another heterosexual guy) chest. Tambo, Rossi, Candy, NerdyGirl, Mrs. Wookie and I got all juicy watching this. We are that starved for hot boy-on-boy action.
Then Mrs. Wookie went over and got involved, and we really got hot and bothered. MMF threesome, woot! (No, not really. But we can dream, can’t we?)

Such was the tenor of my weekend...