Sunday: I lost count of how many penises I saw. We got dozens of men out of their pants. I fell in love with a woman who claimed not to like boys, but had a Daddy’s Little Girl tattoo. She asked to me adjust her corset and enjoyed when I ‘accidently’ felt her up, over […]
- I lost count of how many penises I saw.
- We got dozens of men out of their pants.
- I fell in love with a woman who claimed not to like boys, but had a Daddy’s Little Girl tattoo.
- She asked to me adjust her corset and enjoyed when I ‘accidently’ felt her up, over and over.
- A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence fell in love with me.
- My Kilt Inspector girlfriends showed up, but did not inspect my kilt.
- Several other people did.
- A woman asked to me twirl.
- I twirled.
- A beautiful woman said I was only her second choice for Big Bad Daddy. Which never happens.
- A beautiful swinger couple almost took me home, and I should have gone.
- …At least with HER.
- I got a leather kilt.
And a very very good time was had by all.
Folsom Street Fair. The Utilikilts booth.
For those who don’t know, Utilikilts are the modern american kilt for everyday wear. A company that’s run by friends of mine; a company that I found as a customer but have become a a friend of. A company that I’m mw a volunteer staffer for, and a fervent supporter of. Utilikilts are not just garments, they’re a lifestyle choice, almost movement.
The Folsom Fair is an only-in-San-Francisco event, a BDSM/Leather community event that closes down many blocks in one of San Francisco’s hippest neighborhoods the last Sunday in September every year. It’s a celebration of alternative sexuality, of leather and pain and dominance, of submission and role-play, of dress-up and dress down. It’s naked, it’s costumed, it’s wrapped in leather, fur, feathers, it wears a bit in it’s teeth and a cock ring and a whip by it’s side. It’s gay, it’s het, it’s poly, it’s swing, it’s mundane and it’s a place where sexuality as as up-front-and-center as a naked cock or a set of bare, pierced breasts.
I love this fair. It’s the how the world would look if you turned my head inside out and let it define how things should be.
I’m not so much a member of these communities. I don’t play lifestyle dom games, I don’t dress in leather. I’m not that any more than I’m a goth, even though my house is full of skulls and blood red walls. I don’t define myself or limit myself by any community. But I move easily in these circles; I understand them, I know the games and the roles. I walk the walk, I talk the talk. So I can be as butch daddy as any big bear, I sling my keys on left for a reason, and when I meet submissives they know it.
I’ve talked about the kilt booth before. Why it’s fun, why I do it. particularly when it’s in gay space and I can play with the gender roles and flirt with everyone. But this fair is different. This is sex as social interaction. This is a fair where you can tell someone walking by that they’re making you hard. This is a scene where you can be obvious about looking, where you can can ask permission and usually get it, where you can expect someone’s hand is going to wind up under your kilt on a regular basis.
There are down sides. It’s on city streets, there’s no shade, and it’s hot, San Francisco’s hottest season. It gets incredibly crowded in the afternoon, it’s hard to get to the food booths, the beer booths, the porta-cans.
But the joy and entertainment value being in kinky-sex space makes it so worthwhile. If you’re going, go early, and leave when it gets crowded, or get there late and shop the hour before closing. But working there could not be much more fun.
Here are some highlights.
I got there late. Somehow I couldn’t get outta bed on a chilly fall morning pre-dawn. I work a job where I can do my own hours, so usually I wake up without an alarm. Most of the set-up was done (Sorry, guys, I slacked a bit, I’ll make up for it next time), with just a little work still to do.
One of the first things I always do is take mental inventory; what’s where, which kilts we have, the special items, the size ranges. I like to have some idea where we are. I checked the leather kilts – sometimes we have them, sometimes we don’t. Today, we had three; should have had more, we could have sold a dozen. They’re spendy for Utilikilts (not so much when compared to a highland kilt), but they’re truly beautiful, and this is a crowd that will spend for good leather.
Ah. Uh oh. This one is exactly my size. That’s unfortunate. Maybe I should try it on. Oh, bad idea. It fits just right. That’s not what I wanted to hear.
I asked Nate, the UK guy who’s in charge, if they could take a trade on the kilt I’d gotten last time (It didn’t fit). Yes, no problem. And then I did the math, and realized I was most of the way to the leather kilt when I added up my credit.
I didn’t take it off again until bedtime. Oh. My. God. What a garment this is. Leather like they make riding gear from. Heavy, but it feels like nothing on the hips. And it’s magic; my steps are bigger. I’m stronger. I’m taller. My fucking cock just got two inches longer and an inch bigger around. This kilt, it’s instant butch. I’m ready to fight half the world and fuck the other half.
After that, I was ready for love. And love came to me, in the form of a beautiful woman in a corset. Honey, I wish I knew your name, I’m an ass. You told me, and of course I forgot it. I won’t forget you though. Your ‘Daddy’s Little Girl’ tattoo. You should be mine, I’m telling you. I’ll be your Daddy any day. Every day. God damn, I wish I’d gotten your name. You made my body react, and react a lot.
I got her out of her corset, and down to the sweetest little white lace panties. She didn’t need to take this much off to try on a kilt, but she didn’t object and I certainly didn’t either. I’d like to have taken her out to my car then and there. “I thought you liked boys”, she said. “No, not so much,” I said. “What I like is…” I looked her up and down, full breasts, full figure, big hips and tiny waist, those sweet little lace panties, “…Is right here in front of me.”
She bought a kilt, and looked fucking great it it, and later came by often to visit, and when I asked if I could, let me adjust her in her corset, more than once. Her cleavage smelled good, and tasted better. What the HELL was her damned NAME?
My kilt inspector girls came by, Kimberly and Cuddles. Delightful girls, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to play, and they’d even brought a real flogger this time. Thanks for the pictures, Cuddles, but Kim, you still owe me.
“Where’s my Big Bad Daddy?” Kim asked me, looking for another member if the sales team, and then realizing her faux pas. “No, I mean, where’s, Uh, I mean…” she floundered for a second. “..oh, see, you’re my second choice…”
“Honey, I’m not used to being anyone’s second choice as Big Bad Daddy,” I told her.
Then there was the swinger couple. Swingers. The term makes me giggle. I hear it like Austin Powers, ‘Swingers, baby, Yeah!‘ But a delightfully and friendly couple (He says with wink), and she – she’s a BBW with BEAUTIFUL all in caps. And those belly dancing skills, she made that big beautiful ass into a human vibrator against the front of my kilt. Oh yeah, honey, shake hands with Elvis!
There were more. A beautifully shaved lady I got to watch changing kilts and smiling, that Sister, so sweet and lovely for a seven-foot-tall woman with a beard. So many men, women, so many people of indeterminate gender. I flirted with all of them.
We were incredibly busy. The booth was jam-packed all day, the streets almost too packed to moved in the middle of the afternoon. I don’t know how many kilts we moved, but we moved a lot, and fit a lot of people, and flirted and touched and talked and managed to have a great time.
I almost didn’t get a chance to eat. I never did get a chance to get a beer. I barely avoided dehydration. I came home sunburned and sweaty and happy to have done it. Once again, this is why I keep volunteering.
I have to say something about the folks who work these booths with me. The people who work for the Utilikilts company, yeah. Nate, Danielle, Jay, Bill, Steven and Megan and the rest. But not just them. Even more, the part-time guys who just run the local booths.
But the rest of us are volunteers. We get kilt credit, sure, but that’s not a lot. It’s hard work, it’s hot, dusty. It’s exhausting. We don’t just do it for the kilts. We do it because we like doing it. Because we like the product, believe in the product. We like the people who run this company. They’re friends. They’re people we have a vested interest in. It’s personal.
We work as a team. We work hard and have fun; we laugh, we party a little. We make it a game. Good people; Chicago Steve, Greg, Jon A couple guys named David, Morgan, Corinne, so many others I can’t put names to right now. It’s these people, also, that make me come back and do this again.
I’ve got another fair coming up. Saturday, the Loch Lomond Highland Games in Ben Lomond, California. Not like Folsom, not even like the last games, but as always, worth the effort.
And if I get a kilt check, then it’s worth the effort a hundredfold. Make my day, ladies.
0 thoughts on “A Fine Day on Folsom Street”
How could you be anyone’s second choice for big bad daddy?
hmmm, Ben Lomond…that means you’re coming my way. I DO need a new kilt, now that I think of it.
Hmm…wondering if that Sister is one I know…
i want a nice daddy who takes me to the potty and like me to climb up on the table so he can peek up my little girl dress when i forget to wear my panties.