"Dammit!" I punched my bicep.
"What?" Tori asked.
"Shit still HURTS!"
She grimaced. "Good, cheap, fast, pick two."
"Yeah well, bitch needs her license revoked if she's gonna stab people like that. I'm not some junkie, it's not that hard to find a blood vessel."
"You big baby."
"Hey, my hard and fast rule for my entire life is I put up a fight if somebody tries to penetrate me. That also applies to needles."
Tori giggled at my phrasing. "Don't forget, you organized this shindig. You're responsible for the whole kit 'n caboodle."
"No, I didn't organize anything this year. Ten years ago, I organized some people. Five years ago, I wrote an app. I never organized anything on Halloween."
She waved her hand dismissively. "Whatever."
We were in the car, headed to the Halloween Bash. Put on by several members of the Minneapolis kink community, it was a safe, organized opportunity to dress up in costume, meet your fellow kinksters, and screw them silly.
Ten years ago, as I came to terms with the fact that monogamy and a boring sex life were not anything I wanted a part of, I'd ventured through the Minneapolis kink community, building relationships among people, organizing us with message boards, texting lists, and occasionally, holiday cards.
Five years ago when I'd coded Selector, it made it possible for people to connect based on interest, instead of just showing up to a meet or answering an ad on the internet.
Or once hookup apps came about, trying to find people who were bent the same way you were. It'd taken about three conversations to find out my potential hookups weren't interested in leashes, leather cuffs, and spreader bars before I decided to start learning programming.
With Selector, you could see, in addition to their picture and bio, what their preferences for partner gender - and group size - were, what acts turned them on, and I'd even included a spot where they could scan an STD test with their smartphone camera and upload it, for those careful souls like me who always liked to see such stuff before trusting someone.
That's what I was complaining about now. The tech school where I taught also had a nursing division, and they provided cheap, twenty four hour turnaround for STD testing. Which meant that the people drawing your blood were not always the most skilled. In my case, Nurse Wretched had rooted around in my arm for what seemed like a year with a needle before finding a damn vein. I'd been almost at the point where I opened my arm up with a scissors just to show her that yes, I did have blood in me.
It would've been less painful.
But she'd gotten her sample and here I was two days later, my arm still aching, driving Tori to the warehouse where the Halloween Bash was held.
I was dressed as a soldier. It was a simple enough costume to put together, and fairly cheap too. Underneath her long coat, Tori was dressed like an interstellar warrior princess, wearing a metal-looking bra and a long loincloth. If she wasn't too worn out tonight, and if she came back home, I planned on holding her captive and torturing her for the location of the rebel base.
We parked in the side lot, and I marveled at the number of cars. I had helped facilitate this, in my own way - organizing people, and giving them a platform from which to communicate.
One door was propped open a crack, and we slipped in. The cavernous interior was well lit, loud with techno music, and warm. The temperature must've been cranked to eighty or above, expensive yes, but when most of the people are nude or close to it, and the temperature outside ranges from twenty to fifty, warm is necessary.
Entrance to the party was through a chainlink processing area where a costumed attendant printed a picture of you, took a copy of your recent STD test, put your cellphone in a black plastic bag, and stapled the whole collection to a bulletin board.
Further on, you had to pick out your wristbands, and sign your name to a sheet saying you agreed to play by the rules of the group. The wristbands were color coded. Blue on your right wrist meant you played with men, pink with women. The bands on your left arm signified your interests. Black for domination, white for submission. Blue for bondage. Red for anal. Yellow for oral. And a whole host of other colors signifying pain, pleasure, and the mutual exchange of bodily fluids.
We checked in and moved beyond the chainlink entrance, to a small bar slash meeting area. Tables were set up with stools, and a small bar operated off to one corner, people milling around in a riot of color. Two drink maximum, I knew from previous visits. The towering shelves ahead had been rigged with clotheslines and tarps, and I could hear sounds of carnal enjoyment and exploration taking place behind the blue plastic sheets. Along one wall, chainlink fencing had been set up for BDSM related activities, and the far back held a row of tents for those who wanted a more private experience. Off to the left of the cantina area, local sex toy shops had small display areas. I was amused to see that a local retailer for a popular national chain of low-quality lingerie had absolutely zero attention.
Tori squeezed my arm. "I'm gonna go see if I can find Nina. I'll see you later."
"Got it." She headed off towards the chain link and I people-watched. The guys were dressed like doctors and lawyers mostly, the suit-wearing dominant costume in full effect as it had been since that wretched book came out. I had to give props to the guy dressed as an MMA fighter. Shorts and fingerless gloves were his only clothing. Not much to remove, and easy to do so. Someone else must've realized it too, because a woman dressed like a sexy nurse walked up, grabbed him by the crotch, and leaned in to kiss his neck.
