Sunday, May 9, 2010
Boardwalk Badness Report: Day 4 (Better Late Than Never)
(Note: It's been a really busy week at work, with a lot of activities after-hours. My excuse for not getting this fourth and last day of the Boardwalk Badness Report complete, but I feel better late than ever, eh?)
With rain drizzling outside, the last day of Boardwalk Badness ended with a bang: Strict Dave's Court. People could submit court cases to the judge to put on the docket and then Dave would call up the plaintiff and defendant and have them argue the case. No "hung jury" here. Dave doesn't rule as though every case will end with corporeal punishment. He's oddly fair and insists on both logic and reason. Each case on the docket came up and stated their reason for being there. Dave runs a tight ship, evenly handing out justice that just as frequently ended up with a top performing "personal services" for a specific amount of time to the bottom as a bottom getting a spanking or strapping on stage.
With that, BBW was over. Everyone meandered downstairs to the diner (ugh! that limited menu! the only restaurant in the hotel! no more waffles!!!) for brunch/lunch. Soon, some folks were packed up and heading out of Atlantic City. Others (like us) were leaving Monday, so we hung out, relaxed and enjoyed the cool, rainy day.
Before long, people were heading up to private play. Eventually, the rain let up and I decided to go for an afternoon run down the Boardwalk, my last chance before leaving the next day. Not a quarter mile down the planks it started to drizzle again, and by the time I reached the end of the Boardwalk I was soaked, worried my iPhone would get wet all along the way. As I returned to The Chelsea, it started to get dark, and started to get colder and colder. By the time I finished my run, I was freezing, wet and likely borderline hypothermic.
The phone rang. It was a friend wanting to know how the weekend went. As I explained, pacing outside the hotel so I wouldn't lose my signal, soaked and cold, I saw Miss Chris and Sarah Gregory. They waved, I waved. I tried to explain--outside the plate glass window--who I was talking to with stupid hand signs and trying to write backwards on the window. Later, as I was warming up in the shower, I realized I must've looked like a lunatic--dripping wet in running shorts and short sleeve shirt, talking on the phone, waving my arms. Sheesh. Think, Craig. Think.
That night, we went up to HL & Sass' suite to see what was going on and the SSNY folks were kind enough to open up one of their suites, even though the party was officially over. Had fun with Lizzie and then gave Sass her birthday spanking (it was her birthday that day!). I laid her down on the bed and asked her how many spankings I should give her (too gentlemanly to ask her her age). She said "21." I got to 21 strokes and said, based on my simple judgement, that I would give her an additional eight just to "even things up." We laughed about all that through some really wicked spanks and then she asked for a few more! Ha!
I'd wandered up with a thick bamboo rod at my side, the length of a cane but about one inch or more thick. Jada calls it the "flag pole." She hates it. That's why I use it. It's not for everyone and it's certainly not something to just start whacking girls with willy-nilly. I had brought it for a purpose (unfortunately, a purpose that didn't quite work out), but when Sass saw it she cooed, "Oooooh! Thuddy!" and insisted I use it on her. Damn, that girl really took a whacking with that "flag pole." Thanks, Sass! Nothing more satisfying for me than to really cut loose with that wicked hunk of wood.
The party continued on, quiety, with people sipping wine. I was pretty much shot by Sunday night and soon was off to bed. Trying to sleep, I woke up a few hours later and realized I had been counting in my sleep. Why the hell am I counting, I wondered? Oh, damn. Now I wished I didn't have connecting rooms with Jada and Lizzie, because through the no-insulation doors connecting our rooms I could hear a bedtime spanking going on. Through the wall I could hear the smacks and I was counting them, like sheep, in my sleep. I am fairly OCD with my scenes. Every stroke met with an equal counterstroke. Everything evenly numbered and paced. In my sleep, I think I realized the person in the other room was spanking off-numbers. One cluster of spankings ended at 47. The next, 64. The one after, 23. WTF??? Who can spank like that? I wondered. It's not even. It's not 50, 65 or 25. I got more and more frustrated because the spanker wasn't counting strokes, because the spanking wasn't letting me sleep and because, worse of all, I was counting the goddam things in my head and it was annoying me. Sheesh! Stop alphabetizing the book collection by chronological release date you Virgo and go to sleep! Stop naming all the freeway exits--in order--from your house to work (a 38 mile drive, I must add) and go to sleep! Shit!
The next morning Gia and I packed up, headed off to Philly International and before we knew it, we were back home, in the Real World again, another fantastic party experience complete.