DOSC21: On Coyotes, Collars and Camp.

 Yes this is a camp writing, just bear with me. 

I haven’t tagged people because I haven’t gotten permission, so if you ID yourselves or want me to specify you, let me know and I will include you <3 

[ **Content warning: loss/loneliness/grief/depression]**

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I keep no secrets on my identifier as a coyote. Something that has started to make more and more sense as time passes. I’ve been using a coyote or coyote hybrid as a personal character of mine for at least 15 years, probably a lot longer if I actually go do the math. Originally, I picked Coyote as my inner creature because I didn’t feel powerful or magestic enough to be a wolf or other distinguished canine. I knew I wasn’t meant to be a dog, domesticated and immersed in service and obedience. A coyote always seemed to fit. Not a large and powerful predator, but a predator all the same. Adaptable and curious, and a spectacular example of duality. Coyote mythos shows a creature who learns lesson after lesson at the result of their own hubris. Coyote is a messenger, between this world and others. On and on it goes. 

Some people think themselves to have bad luck, I don’t think I’m one of those people, even though until this year, I’d experienced an inordinate amount of grief and loss for someone my age. It profoundly shaped my childhood and as a result, the rest of me. There have always been things about me that have caused me to Other myself, this was one of the biggest, but least talked about examples. It’s hard to be a killjoy, and my crass sense of humor (a coping mechanism) isn’t everyone's cup of tea. 

Camp allowed me to get back in touch with a number of things I never realized I’d lost contact with. 

People. Pack. Pain. Pleasure. 

I’ve lost a lot of my peopleing skills in quarantine. I joke that I’ve gone entirely feral, but really I get overwhelmed or don’t know where to end a conversation succinctly, or how to start one. Auditory processing issues are worse than ever, and my short term memory is more like swiss cheese than anything else. My brain tells me a lot of lies, something that pre-dates Covid by decades. Being back at camp, I liked being around people. The simple joy of hearing conversations I wasn’t necessarily involved with, or people watching came back. My anxiety wasn’t so bad outside of the hurricane. 

Even though most of my time was spent with people in my covid bubble, I still got to connect with old friends and make some new ones. It wasn’t a problem if I didn’t remember someone's name, or the last place I’d seen them (all things that were lost or jostled with my TBI in 2016 which seems like ages ago at this point). It was okay. It was okay that my brain wasn’t fully functional and that continued trauma this year has taken a toll on me. It was ok for me to say yes or no to things. Camp was freeing to me in that way. 

So much of the pain that I have felt over the last 20+ months has been non-consensual. Physical, emotional, all of it. I hadn’t made any play dates specifically, but I was able to play in very new ways. I now have a much better idea of what makes bondage so appealing, and it was nice to negotiate for myself and explain why I’ve avoided it so much in the past. Even if my negotiation skills are rusty as hell, I’m still jerking off to a really hot scene I did over a week later. My body did things it’s never done before, and it was ok. I played in the (outdoor) dungeon. I PLAYED IN THE DUNGEON. I can’t remember the last time I did that. 

I was able to work on another person's collar, and restore it back to a level that I wasn’t sure was possible. It felt good to lose myself in that work and bring joy to the people the collar belonged to. 

I was able to wear my new coyote hood, from GrungeBunny, taking a special excursion from camp to pick it up when it was delivered a little later than expected. I wore it at Tiny Terrors and got photographs of me in all my pup get up. 

I’d been lamenting for a long time that I could only really do “sexy” type bootblacking publicly. The general service-to-restore I typically do, which if you’ve seen me work at a stand, especially Winter Fire, is my general all purpose. ..But I wanted something else. Something I can’t do all the time because the drive isn’t there, or I’m worried about my physical safety, or any other number of reasons... Sexy bootblacking! I wanted to get rough, close and mostly (or entirely) naked. Another friend hit me up during camp looking for a bootblack to work on their jacket. And while I’d been expecting to work on mostly drop offs for this event.. Coats are my weakness. I love working on them, and I HATE working on them when they’re not being worn. So we negotiated a skill trade that ended up being gropy, grindy, switchy bootblack bitey wrestling. Fuck was that hot. I’m still poking my bruises. 

I finally scheduled a fishing date with a long time friend and we had a great time at the lake. I caught my personal best largemouth bass. 

I… I also bought myself a collar. 

*I know I said I’d never wear another collar.* 

The sentence, as I intended it, meant that I would never wear one for another person. It never dawned on me that I would wear a collar for myself. I’ve had two collars in my life. Both of which I still have. Each bought with my own funds to use with one other person. It hurt, feeling that disposable. No one wanted to put a collar on a coyote, so I figured I wouldn’t let them. 

When I went to look at vending for the first time since I got to DOSC21, I’d gone with my friend looking for booty shorts. Something to wear for CBC since I’d forgotten to pack a lot of my “sexy” camp clothes. 

I didn’t find anything that spoke to me, until I got to Holo Leather’s booth. I’d seen their glow in the dark leather and was fascinated. I wanted to ask the maker about how to properly care for it. While browsing, I saw a tooled collar that I was enamored with. 

Wouldn’t it be funny if I put it on? 

Wouldn’t it be funny if I liked it? 

**Fuck**. 

My collar is just that, **MY** collar. To remind myself of Prime Directive - self before service. I’ll spend more time figuring out exactly what it means for me, but I liked the idea of a physical item I can touch and wear. It makes me feel powerful, and there is something really hot about topping while wearing a collar.

Vending at the State Faire was, as always, a highlight of my camp. 90% of the reason I create art is to make someone smile. It’s one of the few small ways I can bring some joy to the world. People at camp supporting my work let me blast through my “wow it would be really nice if..” goal for sales. 

All in all, camp was incredibly good to me. I have to make some changes in how I camp (more to logistics than any real interpersonal issues). Cigars Boots & Chocolate, while testing my (current) patience levels, was a huge success. My modified covid-safer cigar service was as big of a hit as I could have hoped, it also saved my lungs and throat which were getting pretty fried by talking so much at camp. I let other people help me, and didn’t turn away offers of assistance, feeling, for once, that I didn’t need to do it ALL myself. We raised more money for the selected charity cause than ever before (receipts to be posted soon). When I was done, someone else who knows and loves CBC as much as I do was able to take over and keep the party going for those who wished to still keep being social. It’s hard to CLOSE down an event in the best of times. (CBC has been Sunday night at the Pavillion long before Kamm and I took it over). I love being trusted enough to be the closing chapter to a lot of people’s camps, but it is hard. Especially as an extra-fried introvert. But we did it. You all did it. Every single one of you who came to CBC or helped in some way helped shape the event in some way. 

Cheers,

Ren.