In Search Of A Crystal Studded Ball Gag

This is part 3 of a series. Here is part 1 and part 2.

When we last left off, I had just told my friends that I had a mission, and although I wanted desperately to make a Blues Brothers “mission from God” reference since we were in Chicago, I couldn’t. No, my mission was simple: a crystal-studded ball-gag. It had to be both of those things, not either, not or, but both. I was dubious about my ability to find such a thing at a convention called “International Mr. Leather” but my friends assured me that this would be just the place to find it.

I didn’t want it for any other reason than to say that I owned one, actually, because honestly I don’t even know what one uses such a thing for, but I like shiny things (the shinier the better!) AND I like things that make other people cringe. Together, this was sort of the best of both worlds for Your Aunt Becky. I was already picturing all the mischief and mayhem I could get up to with such a thing: I could leave it in the refrigerator for guests to happen upon and wait for them to comment. Would they ask about it? Would they simply wait until they were on their way home and say: “dude, did you SEE the crystal ball-gag in Aunt Becky’s fridge? Girl is a FREAK-A-LEAK!” I could whip it out for holiday parties just because. I could wear it while I watched television to freak out my husband. Really, there was no end of awesome things I could do with such a thing, but the more I looked around at the leather studded men, the more I realized I was probably at the wrong type of convention for such a thing.

But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t try. I’m nothing if not tenacious and it seemed like I needed SOMETHING to bring home from the convention. A souvenir of sorts. And since most of the stuff for sale was geared towards men, I was determined.

We’d only gotten passes to go to the marketplace as it had been sort of a last minute decision to go to this convention and I still wasn’t sure how to dress. Next year, we were already scheming about what events to go to and what sorts of illegal drugs (drugs are BAD, kids, just LOOK at Your Aunt Becky) to take so that we could stay up all night to stay awake for the real action. No, this year was all about observation. So we strapped on our wristbands and prepared to enter a marketplace unlike any other.

What greeted us when we walked in was absolutely unlike anything beyond my wildest dreams and I was in heaven. Dildos ranging in size from normal, average penis sizes to the size of fists were arranged on one table and instantly my vagina clamped shut in pain at the very thought of insertion. Another table housed what had to be butt-plugs, but I couldn’t be sure because I’d never seen anything that looked quite like them before. Everywhere, men paraded around wearing assless leather chaps, military boots and policemen hats. We were the only women in the entire room, which was thumping with drum and bass from a display featuring “semen-like” lube. I’ve been to trade shows before, but nothing, nothing could have prepared me for this.

The pornography, I could appreciate, as gay men tend to have some pretty awesome porn, the tables of condoms—all free—I smiled at, because hey, if you’re going to go to a conference that housed thousands of horny men, that’s pretty awesome that safe sex is being promoted. No, scratch that, that’s BEYOND awesome. Safe sex is the ONLY way to go. I was taken for awhile with shirts that had an area that was sort of a dry erase board to change what you wanted to say. The handwritten examples included: “Hi, I’m a bottom,” “I’m in room 945,” and “I’m HIV negative.” I’d never considered putting that sort of thing right out there, and my respect for the gay community grew even higher than it already was (which, I should say, is already sky high).

There was a table where you could get HIV tested and sign the board saying that you knew your status (which, hi, AWESOME, you should know that stuff), and every booth seemed to sell at least a handful of leather or rubber goods. I admired some leather skirts, although they were far too big as they were for men, and desperately wished that there were a COUPLE of booths devoted to women. The rubber stuff I found interesting until we came to a rubber box where a demonstration was going on. In that box, there was a person, who seemed to be vacuum sealed inside. I had never seen such a thing and still do not understand such a thing, and, Toy With Me-ers, I wish I could explain what was going on or why it was erotic, but I can’t. Perhaps one of you knows what it is. Not a single one of us did and it STILL keeps me up at night, wondering.

Nestled in the back, as we looked high and low for my ball gag, hoping to find it nestled in with the regular ball gags and whips and chains, that’s where the HARDCORE stuff was. There was an entire booth devoted to leather straightjackets. Another one devoted to bondage beds, so that you could tie your partner up. No, not SEX swings, actual beds made of straps so that you could be completely immobilized. It was wild, but I think the wildest thing I saw was a bunny suit. I know, you’re thinking like a PLAYBOY bunny, but it’s more like a leather body bag where the occupant is entirely bound (except, I saw, the penis) inside. I’d never seen anything like it before and my mind was entirely blown.

Soon enough, we had to move on, hot in pursuit of my crystal-studded ball-gag. Table after table, I stopped, hopefully, and looked around at the nipple clamps, anal beads, enema kits, and still, nothing except for a guy in a dog gimp mask who barked at everyone. All kinds of ball gags, leather gimp masks, floggers, corsets, and not a single crystal-studded….well, anything.

Turns out that my initial summation was correct. I was, in fact, at the wrong convention for such a product. Sadly, I had to leave for the train with my booby-prize in hand. A bright pink leather flogger that I knew I’d have to hide from my children, lest they use it upon each other. I made my way home, the smell of Memorial Day hot dogs cooking in the air, as I noticed how weird everyone looked in clothes now. I kept expecting the guy mowing his lawn to be wearing an executioners mask or a leather vest with nothing else.

By the time I got home, we were all emailing back and forth making plans to go back next year. You’re all invited.

Photo source

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