PART TWO

Dear all,
I'm writing to you from poolside, soaking up some late-afternoon rays. I just went and found Manflesh. I've got to get over my fear of introducing myself to new people, but until I do, I'm clinging to the guy for dear life. As you can imagine, I saw some interesting characters while tracking down my leather-camp Gunga Din. One tall, kind-faced, sandy-haired executive type was wearing only some intricately tied red rope and a pair of spectacles. He gave me an unspoken, tight-lipped nod. His hands were tied behind his back, his shaved genitalia exposed. "Afternoon," I mumbled as I hurried past.
    With the large, plushy pig toy on the veranda, cabin Oink wasn't too hard to spot. As I ran over to meet my new friend, I was almost stampeded by a team of six "ponies" that were pulling a chariot at speed. Manflesh introduced me to a dozen of his friends, who were all very nice and had tons of questions about my kink, my sexual orientation and my funny accent. There was Malcolm, a stout Uncle Fester type; Candy, a shy blonde woman in her late twenties; Julia and Dominique, two girls also in their twenties who could have been the two nerdy, spookily inseparable girls from any high school. Kind of like a kinky Em and Lo. (Kidding, guys!) "How are you doing, Jeff?" called Manflesh to a man dressed up a pony and being flogged nearby. "Another day in paradise, man!" he answered as large welts began to appear on his back.
    At this point, I've been asked, "Are you a top or a bottom?" at least ten times. I just say that I'm not entirely sure but haven't ruled anything out and that I expect the weekend to shed some light on things. That usually stops people from digging much deeper and exposing me as a filthy paparazzo. Having a shared history in the scene, everyone else has plenty to talk about. There are inside jokes, slang and lot of jargon I'm finding hard to decipher. "Have you seen Bolt-Thrower lately?" "No, last I heard, he married Desire and disappeared off the scene. Moved to Tallahassee." I held up my end of a conversation by constantly asking for explanations. Everybody was talking about "doing a scene" with one person or another: "I've got a bondage scene with whatsherface on Sunday at two, a humiliation scene with Donkeyboi on Friday morning." They kind of schedule them all in.
    With as much fanfare as he could muster, Manflesh produced his "new toy:" a 10,000-volt cattle prod designed for cattlemen involved in carrying out "close work." I swallowed hard. The device emits a buzzing sound, like that of a honeybee, which belies its ability to render a human being helpless and in unspeakable pain. Manflesh said he wouldn't use the prod until somebody had used it on him first — he wanted to know what the pain would be like. "I'll do it," said everyone in perfect unison. Satisfied with my progress in meeting some new faces, I arranged to meet up with all of them later and decamped to the pool, from where I am writing to you now.
    It's about 6:30, but there are about ten people sitting on lounge chairs around the pool's edge. Mostly gentlemen, mostly middle-aged, all naked. Guess what? Santa Claus vacations here. In addition to his pillowy beard and trademark belly, he wears black sandals, orange-tinted aviators and, most interestingly, a pair of assless hot pants that lace up the sides. In an inspired bit of atmospherics, the Police's "King of Pain" is playing over the the pool's speaker system. Apparently, I'm the only one who finds this remotely funny. Everyone who walks past me shoots a funny look. I guess I kind of stand out because I'm fully clothed and writing in a journal. "Letters from camp?" Santa chuckles. For fear of arousing further suspicion, I'm going to finish up now and write you all a little later from the cabin.

Grant

Tomorrow! "Amanda and Sandra brought me to a padded table mounted on a raised area at the back of the dungeon. They told me to strip down."