Thursday, June 02, 2011

Shibaricon Interlude

The Bard and I had tickets for Shibarcon for Saturday. While we had wanted to check out the entire weekend, one I had procrastinated a bit too long, and two, it was hard to make everything that was going on in Chicago over Memorial Day weekend. So it was one day of Shibaricon for us.

It was an early day, and the weather was looking gray and nasty. By the time we got to the conference it was around ten a.m. but still the dull gray of early morning and just the hint of rain sprinkling down. As we walked toward the door the Bard asked if I knew where I was going, but unlike IML I did not have a secret tour guide and no way to be sure that I either knew where I was going, or was going the right way. I looked in front of us.

“Ask the girl with the purple hair.”

“What?” the Bard asked back.

“Purple hair, good bet she knows where to go.” The Bard smiled and purple-haired girl gave us extremely clear directions to the registration area of the conference. From there it was a just a matter of filling out our forms, promising yet again not to be bothered by whatever it was we might see, and collecting our badges. The Bard had her badge in just a few moments but mine was missing. After a few sweeps over it was determined by the pretty brunette with blue rope tied up her leg, that I did not have one. Apparently this was the first time it had happened. Fortunately I was on the book so it was just a disconnect that had taken place somewhere. Unfortunate for me.

“What do we do if they don’t have a badge?” asked Blue Rope.

“We’ll have to make one,” said the more senior administrator. A few minutes later I was presented with a badge that had been colored in with highlighter to let everyone know that I was in fact allowed to be there, but only for one day really. I was also personally introduced to security to let them know what was going on with the missing badge.

“We just wanted to let you know about this one. She’s okay. She’s special. Keep a special eye on her.”

I love being special.

“I promise I’m not that dangerous.” I said. And smiled an ‘exactly that dangerous’ smile.

The gatekeepers smiled and waved us on in. The Bard and I looked through our course schedule and tried to figure out what it was exactly that we wanted to see.

“Boobs?”

“Boobs.”

“Boobs.”

It was determined that the first workshop we would attend would be “Boobs in Bondage” by Morpheous. Which meant the hard part of the work was now out of the way. It meant a half an hour wait, which was easily filled by my desperate need for coffee as I was feeling rather sleep deprived after an evening of IML events already under my belt.

I met the Bard as she chatted pleasantly with other con attendants about music, and the best way in which to smack someone. The gray skies got grayer and started to rain just a bit as we all began to pour down the stairs and into our perspective rooms to get seats.

As we walked into the room we found that we were not alone in our love of boobies. Indeed, the room was absolutely packed with people. (Including several of the presenters who were showing off their skills at the conference and who were not currently engaged otherwise with rope.) Again the group was that wonderful collection of people of all shapes, sizes, colors, orientations, and ages. It seemed so odd to think of how isolated and insular life could become when everything was interpreted through Korean-colored glasses. Somehow the world was so much more expansive. I appreciated more just how much freedom I had when I was home, and just how much I gave up to go and do the work I do where I did it.

Morpheous was big, bubbly, jolly, and warm-hearted. And he loved his boobs. He was in good company because the sixty or so other people in the room also loved boobs. Morpheous also liked tying them up, which was, of course, the purpose of Shibari, and a conference dedicated to the art of Shibari was to perfect the art of tying people up. Morpheous explained to us that he was going to teach us how to tie up all kinds of boobs; we’d go from mosquito bites straight through to watermelons, and a tantalizing collection of bondage bunnies was introduced to use, the stunt boobs for Morpheous’s show.

Since he did not want to discriminate at all, Morpheous began by tying up boy boobs, feeling that this was something that was an area that was far too often underserved  by bondage. He was quick and expert in his movements with the rope, knowing just how to get all the pieces on and together before the watching audience could see exactly what he was doing. We were hung on his every gesture and his explanation as he turned his bondage boy bunny about showing off ties and how to place them right. He was a good presenter, knowing how to engage the audience, demonstrate an appropriate amount of knowledge balanced with a perfect amount of absent-minded play. We were with him every knot of the way.

After boy boobs came small boobs, then slightly larger boobs, and of course fake boobs. We learned positions for tying hands, both behind the back for those that were very flexible, and behind the back for those with less mobility. We learned how to tie up nipples with painful Japanese juke rope for some interesting predicament bondage. We even learned how to give a helicopter. In the two hours that he had us he showed us the ropes in more ways than one.

Occasionally as he would tie he would become distracted by the boobs underhand, and have a moment, while tweaking a nipple and saying out loud, “I love my job. Boobs.”

“Boobs.”

Workshop time fast approached and we were all encouraged to stand up and try tying up our own boobs. En masse the room stood up and everywhere girls and boys took off shirts, showing off the most beautiful collection of breasts one could hope to see at lunchtime in Chicago. Shirtless, everyone took time twisting around rope and demonstrating what was learned as people talked through with the partners the twist and turns. Morpheous, job not done, walked about as we tied, tweaking a nipple here, adjusting a rope there, and keeping us all on track as we worked with the boobs that had been presented.

The casual camaraderie of the moment was what stuck with me. That we could all be standing there, strangers to each other, and yet totally comfortable getting naked and applying rope in mysterious ways as a master artisan looked on and guided us, was something that struck me as simply amazing. It was a different community, to be sure, not one made of leather, but one that had brought us all together just as strongly, and was tied just as tight.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thanks for the insight. As a devoted IML shopper, I always miss this one.
- Captain Strange