I recently agreed to be a Mentor for a young Domme named Noelle. For other entries in this series, see On Mentoring and Mentoring: Dominance and Vulnerability.
Last Saturday I attended a small kink party that has quickly become one of my favorites. The setting is intimate, the equipment is great, and there’s a large back yard and deck for socializing or outdoor play. At most of the kink parties I attend, play is limited to the indoors because of issues with neighbors but this party is out in the middle of nowhere. My companions for the night were Mz HoneyJ and a friend with newly discovered benefits who was visiting for the weekend; Noelle had already arrived.
The kink community has strict rules about privacy. It’s one thing for me to choose to be open, but I have to do my best to protect the identity of others who haven’t given me permission. One never knows who has a nosy relative or boss in vanilla life.
I mention all this because I regret that I can’t name people by name, or even really talk about where all that follows took place. I regret this because of how extraordinarily well they all handled themselves during the crisis situation that ended the night; their behavior solidified my love for the group even beyond what was already there.
It was a fabulous party as usual. Noelle and I co-topped HoneyJ, an experience that turned out to reflect the strong connection between my apprentice and I. It was Honey’s first time being co-topped and Noelle’s first time sharing the dominant role with another. I get a special pleasure out of co-topping with a skilled dominant when the verbal and non-verbal communication between us is well tuned — the energy shared between all three involved can be potent, along with lots of great banter. Both dominants tend to get a little meaner, as they egg each other on to try new things and do more, especially combined with the natural tendency that most submissives have to want to endure more when being watched.
This entry however is really about what happened after the party. Back when I started this series I selected a photo of Noelle which would be suitably anonymous while still attractive, from a photoshoot she did with a talented photographer named Flash. That’s turned out to be a bit of an odd choice in light of what came next: I was departing with Mz Honey J and my houseguest, and Noelle was going to tag along. She was returning a set of keys borrowed from her ride when her foot slipped on a rock.
I rushed over to her as I saw her fall. At first I assumed it was going to be one of those annoying and painful falls where we pick a few pebbles out of our skin and limp home. Not this time. Noelle had felt and heard her ankle break. I sent Honey and my guest for help. What happened next was amazing: the party’s two hosts, and almost all the remaining guests went into action. These parties can get big, so they are full of people I know by sight but not by name. It turns out a few of those people have medical training.
In moments like this, everything else falls away: there was no thought of dominance or submission or any of the rest of the games we play. What there was instead was a community of concerned, capable, and competent people taking charge of an emergency situation. One crucial member of the rescue party took charge even before she managed to put pants on — she was daisy-ducking all the way to the hospital. These people I only kind of knew got my apprentice’s ankle in a makeshift splint, and then carefully loaded her and I into their SUV for a painfully bumpy ride (thanks to Texas back country roads) to the nearest emergency room.
At one point, even as her helpers were struggling to keep Noelle from going into shock, my apprentice managed to crack a joke: “Some masochist I am!”
So many of us kinksters enjoy the playful kind of pain, but life itself is often laced with the other — agony, the pain that can even be deadly. That’s when we have to stand by each other most, when the relationships we forge — whether relationships of years or play partners of just a weekend — become the anchors we depend on to keep from being swept away.
It turns out that the weirdos who do this weird thing out in the middle of nowhere are so often also the kind of people who will drive for miles without wearing pants while helping an injured woman they hardly know stay conscious through breathing exercises. I’m more glad than ever to be accepted amongst them, “one of us.”
