Kinky Summer Camp

Did you go to summer camp when you were a kid? I got my first standard-issue blue T-shirt with the camp logo on it when I was eight years old, when I rode a horse for the first time ever. The moment I mounted a cream-colored quarter horse named Coffeemate, I fell in love, and it was the beginning of an eight-year career in equestrian competition. I also had a raging crush on a counselor-in-training named Tommy; he was blond and freckled, and for as long as I rode horses, I carried a torch for him. My virgin experience of unrequited love was aimed at someone older, in a position above me. Thus my taste for the eroticism of power dynamics was born—and it was only day camp!

My friends who went to sleep-away camp made it sound even better, filled with parent-free days of woodsy wonder and nights of sneaking out of cabins to kiss summer loves. After I saw teenagers Tatum O'Neal and Kristy McNichol in Little Darlings (the perfect butch-femme dyke couple), I couldn't wait to go—not to lose my virginity to Matt Dillon, but to have a sexy slumber party with those two cuties. Well, I got my wish, and I didn't even have to get a permission slip from my parents. I didn't choose an ordinary place full of go-carts, archery, and arts and crafts; I went for an adults-only five-day retreat. So gather round the campfire, boys and girls, gulp down the last of that fluorescent red "bug juice," and listen to my tale of kinky summer camp.

It may not be surrounded by water, but this place was definitely the closest thing to Fantasy Island I've experienced, with 450 s/m folks gathered for fetishes and fun. The organizers have been producing the event for five years, and there were so many activities you couldn't possibly do them all, from clothing-optional swimming to Japanese rope bondage workshops to massages in the Pamporium (which I mistakenly thought was a special hangout for diaper fetishists). People bid on folks described as service-oriented submissives, pain sluts, or gentle sadists at a large auction. There was a BDSM state fair with pony rides and tug-of-war games, a campfire with s'mores for the (adult) kids, and yummy midnight snacks. For campers caught up in all the authentic fire-toasted marshmallows, there were reminders everywhere that we were not at a 4-H event, with bondage crosses carefully placed on grassy knolls, suspension systems rigged from thick oak trees, and leather slings hung in every available gazebo.

In addition to these naughty nature nooks, three large, fully equipped dungeons (aptly named Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory) were open around the clock for disciplinary canes and polishing Mary Janes, single-tail whippings and hot-wax drippings. Campers had the opportunity to use equipment you don't usually see at your local dungeon, like exquisite bondage benches and a system that could suspend five women at once.

It was a bizarrely perfect mix of simplicity and sophistication: the fun bunk-bed giddiness of flirting and staying up past your bedtime plus a nearly no-holds-barred atmosphere of intricate, mind-blowing s/m scenes. Adult supervision may not be an issue at this camp, but that doesn't mean there were no rules whatsoever. We had to abide by several guidelines—for example, no tossing cigarette butts on the ground (flesh butts OK), no sex in the pool or the dining hall, and no nonhuman pets allowed. When was the last time you heard that phrase?

The meals were definitely reminiscent of real summer camp, but the announcements while we munched down room-temp pancakes and melted ice cream were decidedly unique. Over the PA system, we heard things like:

"The fire demonstration will be tonight at 8 p.m. We still need volunteers for the human zipper; if you love clothespins, please sign up!"

"Remember, the Portable Clit Washer, or PCW, is located near the tennis courts, and it does shoot hot water. Just turn the dial to the right, but please do not touch the big box."

"I want to remind everyone that there is no group sex in Heaven. If you've planned an orgy, go to Hell."

"If you put in an application to be kidnapped, your liaison or top or master must come to the kidnapping office to touch base with us and review your file as soon as possible. Keep in mind that the red hood is the official kidnapping hood, so if you see someone struggling with this on, please do not interrupt the scene. Not all kidnappings will use this hood; keep in mind there are also privately arranged ones."

That's one of the beauties of kinky summer camp: You can have elaborate fantasies come to life—like being captured by five strangers, dragged off into the woods, and taken against your will—all meticulously arranged in advance by you, the victim, and executed in a safe, sane, and consensual environment. While they may go to other events for educational seminars or community-activism workshops, people definitely come to camp to play, and many set up dates way in advance. Trainers prepare their human ponies for months in order to compete in the annual equestrian classic, which broke a world record this year with 23 ponies competing. While I wasn't quite ready to re-create my horse-show days with a two-legged creature, I anally fisted another virgin (which makes four for four—I am on a roll!), did temporary piercing in the middle of the woods, and had my pussy shaved with a straight razor. I didn't have time to redo Little Darlings with a hot lesbian three-way, but I did orchestrate another classic camp fantasy.

I asked the lucky boy who accompanied me here if he'd ever been to sleep-away camp before.

"Yes," he said.

"Did you have a crush on any of your counselors?"

"Yes," he said.

"Did you get to fuck any of them?"

"No," he giggled and blushed.

Well, this year, he finally got his chance.


Visit my Web site at www.puckerup.com.

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