Manners … or Lack Thereof

A couple of weeks ago I was at my local dungeon. It was during one of our more popular events. It was quite busy but not horribly crowded as it can be on such an occasion. The club’s normal vetting process was not in place for the event. It was the coordinator’s responsibility to be sure everyone behaved appropriately. This meant the attendees did not have to take the normally required class regarding dungeon etiquette.

I was Topping one of my heavier bottoms (pain tolerance not weight, for the ‘nillas who might be reading along) in a rather cramped area. Dividing our scene space from the one next door to us was the chain web. When we began there was a scene taking place on the opposite side of the web. The bottom was screaming as if her throat was being slit from ear to ear. I was mildly annoyed that her Top didn’t gag her because she was disrupting the entire dungeon but, I thought to myself, Hey, it’s a public play space. She may be obnoxious, screaming directly into my ear, but they aren’t breaking any rules and I continued setting up. I was glad to have been able to secure the last play area.

About ten minutes into my session, the web scene finished and I happily began building the intensity of my strokes, now that I could fully focus on my bottom. A minute or two later, a slovenly attired, unkempt male (I refuse to call him a “gentleman”) entered the chain web area, walking to lean against the wall, in the back corner, directly in my line of sight. To be clear, he was perhaps four feet in front of me and maybe three feet to my right with only the chain between us.

He carried with him a red solo cup, full of some sort of crunchy snack, which he proceeded to indelicately shove into his face, while he stared at me. Surely, I thought, he’s not going to stay there. I wish I could tell you I was right.

I adjusted my stance as much as I could to keep him out of my view as I thought Jesus Fucking Christ! You’re not watching porn on your couch. I can see you, Shit Whisk! Given that I’m lefty and he was on my immediate right, less than three feet away, there was only so much I could do.

I tried to ignore him and continued my scene. Fifteen minutes later, Shit Whisk dropped his solo cup. It rolled beneath the web and came to rest against my foot, less than 12 inches from the St. Andrew’s Cross in my station, spreading ruffled potato chips, both whole and crumb, along the way.

Now, the area where I would normally stand to swing was covered with chips. I continued to work as Shit Whisk stood for several minutes staring at me as if nothing had happened. He eventually moved out of the web scene area. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. He placed a single foot across the threshold of my scene space at my back and I thought Oh, HELL no! before extending my arm behind me, my index finger pointing, and shaking my head as if to say Don’t even fucking think about it! He immediately backed away, mumbling something that I thought might be some sort of apology, though I was not really listening. I just wanted him gone. The remainder of the scene continued without incident, my bottom blissfully oblivious to everything that had gone before.

The longer I’m in the public scene, sadly, the less surprised I am by people’s poor behavior. That said, he did not break any rules. Technically, he did nothing wrong. I also fully understand that when you play in public, you become Forest with his chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get; sometimes chocolate, sometimes shit whisk and you would be foolish not to expect it.