The group I’m hosting up in the mountains is going fine. Numbers are low, but that means I get to finish off the champagne and runny cheeses afterwards. But it’s a talky group, with interesting people in it. And they spend the time chatting, sometimes about bdsm and sometimes about other topics. And they all get on.

I mention that because this is actually the second time I’ve run a group. The first time I was still living in the city. I agreed to take on the running of the group because the guy who’d been doing it for years had got a bit sick of it, and I was feeling public-spirited. 

Like this, only with guys

The venue was an old pub that was once what was called a “bloodhouse”, the sort of pub that – in its day – had sawdust on the floor for soaking up the patrons’ blood, also urine and vom. There was a trench that ran down the edge of one wall, and at the bottom of the bar, so that when the evening was over and the bouncer had frog-walked the last drunk out into the small cold hours, you could clean the place with a hose.

In the morning you’d put out new sawdust and you were ready for business. People would say that the morning’s sawdust was last night’s furniture, hurr hurr hurr.

But that was then. These days the place was quiet except for the gambling machines at one corner of the room, and the occasional cackle or groan from the old men and ladies who sat nursing a single beer as long as possible while feeding coins into the machines.

Some time ago some optimistic manager had put in comfortable leather chairs and dark wood tables. But they never succeeded in getting new clientele. The old people slumped in front of the machines weren’t going to be shifted, and it was never going to be a trendy wine bar while they held their corner.

So I liked the place. We were welcome customers, and no-one was going to hear us talk, or object to discussions about soft versus hard floggers and comparing notes on ropes and so on. 

I advertised on-line that the group was still going, and I sat, as promised, with a bunch of artificial red roses propped up in a beer glass.

I’m going to tell a story about a woman who turned up wearing a fishing net, and two little flashing lights, one over each nipple. But I’ll do it later. 

I’m running a monthly meeting for bdsm people, to talk, drink, eat runny smelly cheeses, and other things, and meet each other. 

Initially I started an on-line group for people in my mountains, simply because there wasn’t one. It didn’t take any work to set it up, and get it started with a couple of posts. After a while people wanted to meet for real, so I called a munch in a local, rather grand hotel. 

It had a turnout of maybe ten people, which is okay for a start. But the venue was a problem. The food was pricey (and very ordinary), and, because I’d put the munch in the foyer, near the fireplace, you could only order drinks from the champagne bar. So they were expensive too. 

But the real problem is that assorted families were in the foyer too, and they’d brought their kids along. Kids love watching fires. So one of our group would be discussing, oh, let’s say, the electrification of nipple clamps, and a couple of boys aged ten and twelve would suddenly turn up to stare into the fire while listening to the adults.

And then, I expect, go back the the family and ask, “Mommy, what’s a butt plug?” 

So we’d fall silent whenever kids showed up. A lot of kids did. It was awkward. 

I said I’d find a private venue next time. I did some hunting around, and found that any hireable meeting space or social space was hideously expensive. It was far too much for me to pay just out of generosity, but if I charged people who turned up a share of the cost then no-one would show. 

So months passed while I refurbished my library, which had been flooded in the spring. That wasn’t just a matter of getting new carpets and shelving. It also meant digging a trench below the level of the library floor and putting in piping to take any water away. And doing various other drainage and water management things that involved sink holes, pipes, gravel paths, and so on. 

Finally, late last year, it was done, and I had the first bdsm library munch. 

Which I’ll tell you about in a couple of days.