Long Weekend, Long Journey

I was somewhat unwired during my long weekend trip, so I apologize for the dark blog. I did manage to quasi-blog into my PDA, though. Here's the belated entry, which covers Friday.

The weather is uncooperative, though I suppose it could be worse. The bus station is two long blocks away, and the drizzle begins to grow into a full rain. With only a backpack stuffed with the technology I require on a daily basis and a small duffle ordinarily full of black bondage rope but today containing all the clothing and toiletries I need for the trip, I make good time to the bus station. I neglect to bring an umbrella, but I make it to the station only superficially wet.

Though I'll be on a bus for a little over four hours, I had decided to opt for appearance over comfort. Since I might be going straight from my trip to meeting the Boston Rat Bastard crew, it makes sense. My black leather pants and a black cashmere sweater will be as comfortable as jeans and a T shirt, really. I know they'll take the journey better being worn than being stuffed into a bag. The look is completed by a warm, brown suede jacket that is perfect on this cool spring day and my Bally boots that are in need of a shine. Perhaps I can get that done in Boston.

Clothes do make the man, or at least this man. When I'm dressed in an outfit that I feel good about, I feel good. And knowing I an blend in either on the streets of New York or in an SM club doesn't hurt. I might stand out a bit when I get Boston, but that's alright. I am a kinkster from New York after all. Might as well look the part.

I had purchased my ticket the night before, a benefit of living near Port Authority. I find the gate, secure a window seat, and make myself comfortable. I had opted for the bus mainly for price. It's cheaper than Amtrak and cheaper than a shuttle flight. The train is more comfortable, but it runs less often and is only slightly faster, so I couldn't really justify the additional expense. Once I was onboard, I was glad I hadn't wasted the money on the train. The bus even offers a movie, surprise surprise.

We pull out of Port Authority and head north. I alternate between reading and looking out the window at parts of the city I don't usually see. Eventually I find the book more interesting than the view, considering it is Laura Antonio's The Slave, part of the Marketplace series. I had started reading it aloud to Conny during her last visit at night before we went to sleep. We made it to chapter eight or so before she went back to Munich, but I found I couldn't wait. I can still still read it to her even though I'm getting ahead of where we were. I think I'll even do a better job at it.

The Marketplace series could be categorized as "erotic fiction" though that makes it sound a bit like a stroke book. The stories focus on the psychology of serious lifestyle SM relationships, where consentual slavery exists. It's powerful stuff, and personally resonant for me, and not just in a simple erotic way. Nori was good enough to introduce me to the series (as well as the author) and I know I will be sad when I work my way through all the books. Conny took the first book, The Marketplace, back with her to Munich, and quite enjoyed it.

I look up from the captivating pages to see a familiar stretch of Route 95. The bus is passing through New Rochelle, where I once lived after my father died. Shortly after that is Larchmont, where I was a small child. After that is Harrison, where I was living when I met my wife. It was where we lived for many years before we moved to Bermuda. Westchester county, it seems, is full of ghosts for me.

I have not thought about those years in a long time. We lived together, in Harrison moving from my dreadful bachelor pad into our own little apartment. In these years, she domesticated me quite a bit. Like a plant starved of sun, exposure to her drew me out, and I became a much more well rounded man. I grew up a lot with her, and I was happy and in love like never before in my life.

It is easy to misplace those pre-wedding years in my mind behind the large shadow of our life in Bermuda together. But being confronted with the place of our years of inocense was like watching a dam break. Feeling and memories sweep me away hard like a cold river, stealing my breath an shocking me with pain.

I avert my eyes from the potent scenery and wrestle with maintaining my composure. A bus is no place for tears. This would undoubtedly be the first of several emotional land mines to be encountered on this journey into my past. I will need my strength. I close my eyes and let the minutes put miles between me and that former life.

The music on my headphones is a welcome distraction. When I open my eyes, I see the movie has begun. I don't know if the driver has announced the feature, and I might have missed the title, so I watch the opening, and attempt to deduce what movie it is.

Paul Reiser? What movies has he done recently? Randy Quaid? I am getting a definite "B" grade feeling, but that's hardly a surprise, I am on a bus, after all. Mathew Modine? I haven't seen him in a film in while.

I am picking up on a theme already. All three leads are divorced. The title flashes: Bye Bye Love. Perfect. Not only am I going to be subjected to a B grade film, I would have to be a on a bus showing a B grade comedy about divorce. I could just turn up the music and close my eyes, but it is a long ride. How bad can it be, right? A bad film isn't going to strike any chords, and it'll pass the time.

Ninety minutes later I've confirmed it's a bad film. I've also discovered that a bad film can still effect me when I'm a raw nerve. You know your a mess when a film with Rob Reiner in it can get you upset. I wish I could get a cocktail on this bus. In lieu of a good stiff drink, I'll close my eyes and try to get some sleep.

When I open my eyes again, I can see we're close to Boston. The details of where I am to meet Thadius, Peet, and Snowdrop are far from precise, so I reach into my backpack for my cellphone. With my luck, I've missed Thad's call while dozing. Just before I open the phone to check the display, it starts to ring. For once, I have remarkable timing. I answer the phone and update Thadius on my location and time, and he tells me where I can meet him and Snowdrop. I close the cellphone and look out the window. The rain is getting heavier.

The bus pulls into South Station, and I quickly make my way from the bus terminal to the T, with only a brief exposure to the elements because of construction. The subway takes me out into Cambridge, where I manage to secure both an umbrella and a taxi without getting too wet. I make a quick stop at my hotel to check in and drop of my bags. A short journey down the road takes me to the hotel where Snowdrop is staying on business, and where Thadius and her are waiting.

We've spent quite a bit of time together before, so seeing them is like seeing old friends. Peet I haven't met before, but he's still trapped at work, dealing with the roll out of a new company web site. I'm sure he'll be needing a drink when we see him... In the meantime, the three of us catch up. Thadius is still in Maine, toying with the idea of heading elsewhere for other opportunities, but too content in other ways to feel the urgency. With the fine weather coming up, I can't say I blame him. Perhaps when winter weather threatens again, his motivation may increase, he admits. Snowdrop is up to her neck in a new position, and loving the deep penetrating sublimation it provides. She's clearly happy with things, willing to sell her home of many years in Dallas for a new life on the west coast. You're going the wrong direction, I tease her, wrong coast. She laughs, and I smile, but the joke hides a bit of sadness in knowing her new circumstances will make it even less often that I get to see her. But the feeling doesn't last long, because she seems so happy, and I am happy for her.

The three of us are finishing our first round when Peet arrives, a bit wound up from work, but clearly relieved to be anywhere but the office. It is times like this I'm reminded what a weird thing Clan Lord is. Here I am, meeting someone I know well for the first time. And like every other Rat Bastard I've ever met, Peet is just like, well, Peet. His good sense of humor and good naturedness allows the evening to get a strong rolling start. Peet has the additional burden of playing host, it being his town and all.

We head to Peet's car, so he can take us to the restuarant. As we climb into the wagon, Peet points out the large bundles of animal bedding in the back. The signifigance is lost on me, but Thadius seems to understand.

"Is that for the rat?" Thadius asks Peet.

How, in all these years, in a clan called the Rat Bastards, did I not know one of the members actually had rats as a pet? I'm obviously not clanning enough. Though, I was pleased to know that I'm not the only one who misses out on things. Later I would find out Peet didn't know about this site, so we both learned something new about each other.

Dinner is at a charming little pub, where the portions are ample and tasty. The true appeal of this night, though, is the company and conversation. Only a small percentage of what we talk about is Clan Lord, amazingly enough. We move from dinner, to coffee at "Peet's Coffee," which it turns out is the namesake for Peet's character. Snowdrop is the first to glance at her watch and offer her apoligies. Early flight in the morning. It's only 10PM, so I'm just getting warmed up. I twist arms and cajole, and manage to secure one final drink, to be had at Snowdrop's hotel, my treat. It works. After a short ride, for the next hour, I savor their company and sip flavored martini samplers in the Hyatt lounge. It's over too quickly, and we say our farewells. I catch a taxi back to my hotel, letting Peet deliver Thadius to the train to the suburbs, where he's staying.

I'm opening the door of my hotel room, and it's only 11:30pm, a full night, but an early night. Perhaps a full night's sleep will be mine tonight. I strip out of my New York black clothing and brush my teeth. Maybe it is the novelty of having a screen that's not nine inches that compels me to turn it on the television, "just for a moment." That leads to me watching the bad movie 8MM on television, and most of an old episode of Deep Space Nine before turning off the light. It's now 2AM. That's more like it.
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