I’ve put off the Folsom Street Fair post for far too long!

I arrived early with a crew from San Jose, by way of a ritzy leather-titleholder brunch at drag queen Donna Saschet’s.

The food was fantastic and the eye candy better, but I knew no one. I felt acutely that I had two ovaries too many. To make me feel better, my boyfriend made out with a boy.

We caught a cab (five of us!) and made our way to Folsom Street.

As the crowd thickened, I spent a good couple of hours in Mark Chester’s studio. There is no stopping Lolita when she’s got a mind to cane someone.

.

On the street, we ran into Monk and Alex of Twisted Monk. “Lolita!” said Monk. “Monk!” said Lolita. “I’ll take a picture, shall I?” I said, and did.

He was very nice to me, as if he weren’t being accosted by some strange fangirl in pink latex who happens to stalkerishly read his blog.

When I finally split ways with the crew around four, I was determined to have some adventure of my own. Through the rapidly swelling crowd, I was tracking two friends via text message. One had an apartment on Folsom, at which I hoped to find a party, and the other was my date for the night.

Within minutes of each other, I received the following text messages:

Friend: Hey, so sorry, met cute boy who liked my feet. Have emerged from alley, back soon. ($address) Call me if you have problems getting in.

Date: Hey, I found a place to be. ($sameaddress) Meet me there?

“Oh NO!” I said out loud. To myself, I thought: how could I sleep with them both and never know they were into feet?

My case of worldshrink eased only slightly when I arrived and made introductions. What odd synchronicity! They were strangers, but knew different roommates from time spent on the east coast.

“He gave me my first real spanking,” I explained of my friend to my evening’s date. “We had a thing, for a while. I suspect he’s more submissive than he thinks he is.”

“Submissive? I can get along with that.” They made out.

Oh, I know you can, I thought, and then, The two of you would probably kill me. I pretended to ignore him and helped myself to a drink. We all dangled our legs off the apartment’s balcony (a balcony! on FOLSOM!) and watched the melee below. Just out of sight, hidden in a mob of half-dressed men, a man on the ground was being pissed on.

In front of us an abnormally suntanned man, naked but for his sneakers, posed and stroked himself. No picture, but I hear that if you live in San Francisco, you’ll see him eventually.

Oddly, people were taking pictures of us. We tried to enforce a flash-per-photo rule (”That’s some nice equipment there! If you want to use it, you have to show us your equipment — your other equipment!”), which was moderately successful, and much moreso with the megaphone.

A naked woman, blindfolded and tied in red rope, made her way below us through the mob. To my surprise, I recognized the man holding the ends of the rope like a leash. “Hey!” I yelled, although it was useless without the megaphone. My balconymates looked at me in confusion. “I know him,” I said. “He’s the webmaster for a bondage site. I shot for him on Thursday.”

“Ah,” they said. Clearly, naked women impress no one when there is naked gay Twister.

Or maybe they were looking at these two:

I know I was.

Of course, I can’t forget the owner of this pair of rubber pants. But that will have to be the other half of the story — more’s the pity, I’ll have to switch to text.

Posted in links, pictures, switching, bondage, blogging, kink dot com, lgbt, foot fetish, the scene, watersports, bisexuality, folsom