What I Learned at Folsom

1. Folsom isn't so much about the clothes--it's about the attitude. So many people, so many, were walking around completely naked except for shoes and the occasional cock ring; nobody cared. Others were walking around dressed up as ponies, or puppies, or latex dolls; some were completely covered, head to toe, in leather. Some were expressing fetishes I would have no fucking clue how to describe. How do describe something like this?

But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that you felt great in your own skin, that you were walking around like you owned the day and didn't give a damn whatever anyone else thought.
I wore a short(ish) denim skirt and gauzy dusky-pink shirt, and when I got there, I realized I had, perhaps, dressed a tad bit too--shall we say, sophisticated? But I felt great; I was showing off my knees, which for me is a big fucking deal, and I felt sexy about it. And in the end, that was all that mattered.

2. I asked three booths if they sold tawses, and all three had no clue what I was talking about. I found this really odd. One guy actually told me he had been "doing this" for twenty years, and had never heard of a tawse--like I was making the damn thing up. What the hell?
This, my friends, is an example of a tawse:

And this is a tawse in use:

This is the specific tawse I was looking for, which I now know I will have to find online:

Is this just not an American thing? More of an European thing? The Israelis I know who are (ahem) familiar with BDSM (ahem) equipment know what a tawse is. So why didn't these guys know? I thought it was weird.

3. I learned something about myself: I enjoy kink, and I enjoy watching people of all genders, ages and sizes get topped. But none of that excites me like watching women get tied down, bent over, and hurt by men. I saw women get flogged, paddled, spanked, whipped...and it never got old. I could have watched that all day. It was yummy. Not because I wanted to hurt them--because I wanted to be them.

4. The people of The Citadel are really, really nice people. I've not been there yet, but lately, I've been talking/negotiating with Husband when we can go. Now I want to go more than ever.

5. Many of the women dressed up at Folsom were wearing corsets. I personally had never tried on a corset before, but seeing all the beautiful girls with hourglass figures walking around made me want to try one. There were a few booths selling corsets, and the first one I walked into fitting me with one that went up over the breasts.
The strapped me in--and I swear to God, I freaked out. You know that sound that comes out of your throat when you suck in your breath so sharply it sounds like a backwards scream? Yeah, that's the sound I made when she pulled those laces up in back. My reaction kind of scared her, too, and she immediately loosened it, but that wasn't the problem. I just felt totally trapped in that thing.
Husband and I have the Rule Of Ten--you have to be willing to try something out at least ten times before you can decide for sure whether you like it or not. You can't just give up on something after one or two times, because things can feel different depending on the night, the mood, the way you're wielding the new implement or using the new toy, etc. You have to really experiment with it before you can give up.
So I went to a different booth, and tried on another corset, this time one that fit under the breasts. I had the same reaction--and this time the man strapping me in didn't realize I was freaking out until I started yelling "RED! RED!" Everyone turned to look, but I was beading sweat at that point. He loosened the straps, but then left me in the damn thing while he went to help another customer. I could have killed him. Finally, another woman saw my red face and glassy eyes and took pity on me. She took the thing off and calmed me down.
I have no idea why I reacted the way I did to the corset. I'll for sure try it again--this time, explaining to the poor sales associate what my initial reaction is going to be--and hopefully, I'll be able to breath through the first few minutes and find a way to calm down. Who knows, I may just come to tolerate it. But I don't think I'll ever love it. Oh well.

6. Husband and I had negotiated beforehand what I was allowed to do at the fair (and what I was not). He knew I wouldn't engage in anything unsafe or beyond my hard limits, of course, so beyond that, he said, "have fun." He knew I was open to spanking others, and getting spanked, and he was fine with that.
Unfortunately, there was never an opportunity at the fair for me to spank anyone, and I realized too late I had let my opportunity to be spanked by someone I trust slip away. I came home with my bottom just as marked up as it had been before I left.
Husband's reaction to this surprised me. He asked me, "did anyone spank you?" and I said no; and his face fell in disappointment. Like he had been excited by the idea of someone else spanking me at the fair, and was now feeling let down because no one had. It was not the reaction I had been expecting. We had spoken about my behavior at the fair in terms of what I was allowed to do; he had not told me he wanted me to do anything. Maybe he had been too hesitant to tell me? Maybe I misread the signals? I don't know. I have to talk to him about that one.