Old 08-21-2008, 06:39 PM   #1
fieryjen
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Fieryjen's Kink Bingo Thread

Ready for my card, Stella!

Edit to add scoring grid:

My Grid

B1 I1 N1 G1 O1
B2 I2 N2 G2 O2
B3 I3 N3 G3 O3
B4 I4 N4 G4 O4
B5 I5 N5 G5 O5



Progress Report

N2 messy, dirty
I4 breasts, nipples
N4 penetration (object not intended for sex)
B4 bondage, cuffs
G4 kissing
I2 same sex
O4 roleplay historical

Scoring

150 pts BINGO - B4, I4, N4, G4, O4

Total Score


150

Last edited by fieryjen : 10-23-2008 at 06:05 PM.
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Old 08-21-2008, 07:03 PM   #2
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Here ya go, Darlin!
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An essay for BDSM Newbies; Top, bottom, dominant, submissive-- and the differences thereof Now rewritten with extra sparkle!
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Old 10-22-2008, 02:01 PM   #3
fieryjen
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My first finished entry. Took a while, too, and I'm not even sure it counts. I went in expecting the finest sex in the mud action, and my characters were not ready for that at all. So it hasn't got anything remotely erotic in it, and it's just a random piece with little point to it. Plenty of mud, though.


N2 - messy, dirty



Dedication


“It’s five-fourty! Get up before I get the ice water!”

I hated being ripped right out of the middle of a pleasant dream by some bossy voice barking orders. I hated having my blankets pulled back and being made to shiver in the cold air out of some sadistic compulsion. God, I hated him in the mornings.

I rolled out of bed without opening my eyes, tipping myself over the edge and dropping onto the carpeted floor with a muffled clunk. It sounded as I felt, as though my bones were made of lead. When Chase’s foot gave me a soft kick in the ribs, I made a high-pitched noise and curled into a ball.

“You’ve got a minute to get dressed.”

“I hate you,” I whined, eyes still closed.

“I don’t care. I will get the ice water if you don’t move.”

“Motherfucker,” I cursed. I knew he meant it, and with some effort I managed to open my eyes and blink up at him sleepily. The bastard looked disgustingly awake. He was frowning down at me and looking extremely impatient.

“Get out,” I mumbled as I got to my feet, and Chase actually obeyed, satisfied I wasn’t going to go back to sleep on him. One look at the window made me want to do just that, however. It wasn’t only grey and rainy, but windy as well. The way the tree branches swayed did not seem like a good omen.

“I hate this,” I confided to no one in particular, and went to get dressed.

I slipped into my practice clothes without enthusiasm. Panties, sports bra, knee socks and spandex shorts. Above that a tank top and jogging pants. Then a long-sleeved shirt, and a t-shirt on top of it. Shoes, double-tying the laces. Mouth guard hooked into one bra strap just in case, cleats hanging over one shoulder, and I was finally ready to go.

“What took you so long?” Chase was asking as I slammed the door. I caught the ball that he threw at me and tucked it under my arm, starting down the street at a slow jog. The rain was surprisingly warm, though the fact that it was being blown into my face at considerable speeds did nothing to lift my mood. Lowering my head and leaning into the wind while I ran was all I could do.

Chase had caught up to me and was now running alongside me, and he was considerate enough not to talk. Running wasn’t one of my strengths. I had enough to do concentrating on the rhythm of my breathing and trying to ignore the sickly pull in the pit of my stomach that began to manifest itself after the first few hundred meters.

The early morning run to the pitch was usually the time when I regretted ever accepting Chase’s offer. I’d wanted to get better, and he had said he could make me. He’d warned me it would require sacrifice, and that I’d hate him half the time for pushing me so damn hard, and that I’d hate myself, too, for volunteering to go through this shit every day. And, wouldn’t you know it, he’d been right.

He always took it in stride, which I appreciated. He let me curse him out to my heart’s content, and the only time he got rough with me was when I refused to do what he told me to do. That had been his only condition. He didn’t care whether I enjoyed it or not, but in order for me to get better, I had to follow his instructions. That was the whole point. I had found out that it was also a lot harder than it had sounded at first.

The innermost layers of my clothes were damp by the time I got to the pitch. I ignored the stickiness; it was only going to get worse from here. My body felt as though on fire from the run, and I knew plenty of sweat was mingled with the rainwater dripping down my face. Without a word I dropped onto the wet grass and shuddered when the water soaked through my pants, spandex and cotton underwear at once. From the back, it would probably look like I peed myself once I got up. I laid the ball aside and untied my shoes, exchanging them for the cleats I had brought. The laces were difficult to tie, soaked as they were, which actually suited me. I was miserably exhausted already, wishing as every morning that I lived closer to the pitch. I really hated running. But unfortunately, it was part of the game.

I glanced up at Chase, making sure he wasn’t getting too impatient with me. The bastard wasn’t even out of breath. He just stood there, arms crossed and legs shoulders’ width apart in a solid stance, looking down at me with a frown. I knew that if he thought I was stalling, he’d make me run home on a roundabout way.

As soon as my cleats were tied, I started on my stretches. My body went through the motions while I contemplated the past few weeks, the time Chase had been coaching me individually. I’d noticed myself getting better, but at a pace so slow that it seemed completely disproportional to the effort I was putting into this. I’d considered quitting twice already, and I might have, if Chase hadn’t refused to let it happen. My more rational side admired him for the tenacity he showed in dealing with me, and his unwillingness to allow me to walk away. But during our early-morning workouts, I occasionally wished he’d drop dead.

“Ready?” he asked when I finally stood up again. I nodded and grabbed the ball.

“We’ll do some running drills first. Start back there, then try to get past me and score.”

I jogged to the point he’d indicated and raised my head to look at him, fifteen feet away. Six foot two, all broad muscle, plus sisteen years of experience playing football. And he was expecting me to get past him one-on-one.

“Fuck,” I muttered when he signaled for me to start.

I started sprinting towards the imaginary line, and Chase started sprinting towards me. I tried changing directions abruptly when he’d almost reached me, which was made difficult by the fact that the ground was a slippery, swampy mess of a field. I almost lost my footing and scrambled to avoid Chase grabbing me in a bear hug. I ducked under his arm, but he was faster than me by far. His arm came around my waist, and before I could react, I’d been pulled backwards and landed hard on the ground.

“That sucked,” was his only comment. “Try again.”

I sighed and got to my feet. My entire backside was wet and dirty, and it occurred to me that I might as well have donned a bikini and charged admission. Muddy rain was dripping down my neck, and I wiped the water from my face, frowning in frustration. I hated these drills, because it was impossible for me to succeed. Chase was expecting far too much out of me, but that was nothing new. My only consolation was that he had gotten almost as dirty as me.

He gave the signal again, and I started running. I decided on going towards him directly this time, thinking that maybe, if I changed direction just a little in the last possible moment, my momentum might carry me past him.

I tried, and he stepped into the way, and the next thing I thought was that I now knew what it felt like to have a full-frontal collision with a brick wall. I felt the mud splashing around me as I went down, and had to take a moment to wipe the side of my face with the hem of my shirt.

“Again,” Chase said, helping me up, and I didn’t have any breath left to curse. He barely gave me the time to let me walk back to my starting position before waving me towards him.

This time I tried to zig-zag my way, trying to make him guess which way I was eventually going to run. It worked better than the last attempt, though still not well. Chase stood solidly, waiting for me to make the decision, and when I finally picked his left and made a run for it, he reacted just in time and flung himself at me. He slid into me, and would have sent me spinning if he hadn’t been holding on to me. I bounced back while trying to loosen his grip with my elbows, and he slipped. I dropped the ball and flung my arms out, trying to steady myself, but Chase wrapped his arms around my legs from the ground to prevent me getting away. I lost my balance and landed squarely on top of him, hard enough to knock the wind out of both of us and make my head spin.

“How much do you weigh?” Chase asked once he had caught his breath. I had closed my eyes, trying to recover, but now I opened them again to look at him in surprise. I’d expected him to start barking at me.

“About one-fourty, I think,” I said and let my head sink back on his chest. “You’re comfy.”

“I am not comfy,” he said indignantly. “If you want comfy, get a pillow.”

“I would, but I don’t wanna move.” I was pushing my luck just a bit. His hands grabbed my shoulders just a moment later.

“Get the hell off me, woman!”

I rolled aside onto the grass at once, but relaxed a bit when I saw he was smiling. He looked cute that way, mud splattered across his face and all.

“What is it with you and early mornings?” he asked. “Are you really still tired?”

“Are you kidding? It’s barely six-thirty and I haven’t had my coffee. Of course I’m tired.”

“And cranky,” he added, sitting up. “You’re cranky every damn day.”

“Yeah, well, you try to make me cry every damn day.”

I gave him an accusatory look, which he completely ignored while getting to his feet again.

“I’m not trying to make you cry. I’m trying to make you better.” There was a hint of something in his voice I couldn’t quite identify. I took the hand he held out and let him pull me back into a standing position.

“Maybe we should move on to passing.”

I decided now was not the time to complain again and scooped up the ball. It was slippery now, much more difficult to hold on to. My fingers were wet and cold and stiff, which did not make the task any easier.

“Go,” Chase said, and I started to jog, passing the ball to him and catching it a moment later, after he’d ran past me. I sped up and threw back to him.

We’d gotten about halfway around the pitch in this manner when I stumbled.

The practice grounds weren’t exactly even and smooth, which was why the team was allowed to use them in the first place. Usually, the presence of the dozen or so small holes wasn’t a problem, we knew where they were and we could see them well enough to avoid them. But the rain had formed small puddles where the terrain dipped low. Just as I was splashing through one of those puddles, my foot sank in much deeper than I had expected, and the ball slipped through my hands as my body was flung forward. I landed in the mud with a splash.

Chase, who’d been behind me, almost stepped on me. I felt his arm on my shoulder as he sought to steady himself, while I sat with my eyes tightly closed, holding my ankle and trying to ignore the sharp sting that wouldn’t go away.

“You alright?” he asked, and I tried to wipe the mud from my eyes with my dirty sleeve just so I could glare at him.

“What’s it look like?”

“Don’t be like that.” He sighed and leaned forward to put one hand on the ankle I was holding. The half hiss, half gasp that escaped me made him hesitate.

“That bad?”

I whimpered as his fingers closed around my ankle again and he pushed down onto the spot that seemed to have become impervious to cold and was beginning to throb.

“Shh,” he said absent-mindedly, moving his fingers around and trying to assess the damage by pushing and prodding, leaving me to feel silently demoralized. “I don’t think it’s bad. Tough it up and walk it off. Come on.”

I was skeptical, but I put on a brave face and let him help me into a standing position. With his arms on my waist, I set my foot down and shifted my weight onto it, just to sink down a moment later with a splash when the bone in question transformed into a red hot poker. A small sob escaped me. I felt quite pathetic.

“It’s alright,” I heard Chase mutter, and the next moment he did something very surprising. He took me into his arms and held me.

I wondered whether the pain I felt showed more clearly on my fact than I’d thought. We were sitting in the mud, me leaning against his broad chest and being hugged tightly against him. It was nice, but I would have appreciated the gesture a lot more if not for the fact that the pain I was in had gotten so bad it had actually brought tears to my eyes. It was subsiding now, slowly turning to a dull throb, and I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes. My face was muddy and wet from the rain, and Chase probably wouldn’t notice.

“I guess that’s it for practice,” I heard him say. “We’ll get you back home and I’ll take a look at that ankle.”

“How am I going to get home?” I asked, hiccuping slightly. He knelt in the muddy puddle next to me, adjusting his arm around my back.

“I’ve got you.”

He lifted me with another great splash just after I locked my hands behind his neck. Muddy water sprayed everywhere. I looked up at him as he began to cross the field back towards the street, watching the rain water rinse his face, leaving streaks on his skin and dripping off his eyelashes, nose and lips, and the angle of his jaw.

By now, I’d been unmoving long enough to be getting quite cold. When I started to shudder involuntarily, he looked down at me.

“You are not getting sick,” he told me in a tone that suggested I was catching a cold to purposely piss him off. “You’re getting too good not to play this season.”

I leaned my head against his chest and blinked, surprised.

“I am?”

“Course you are. I’m training you, aren’t I?”

“You said I sucked.”

“You never sucked, but you weren’t that good either. You had potential. That potential’s been giving way to a lot of skill, lately.”

“You never told me that.”

“Cause you didn’t need to hear it until now.”

He looked down at me. “You look a little demoralized, so I figured I’d make a mention.” He looked sorry he’d done it, now.

“Thank you,” I said in a small voice. Chase was not the kind of person to be paying a lot of compliments.

“Don’t read too much into this,” he muttered, turning his head and hoisting me higher. We crossed the street back to campus in silence.
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Old 10-22-2008, 04:27 PM   #4
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I4 - breasts, nipples

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Old 10-23-2008, 12:01 PM   #5
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So it's really masturbation, I guess, but it also fits the topic.


N4 - penetration (object not intended for sex)



Houseguest Etiquette


Please. Something.

My eyes were darting around the dark living room, trying to make out shapes, evaluating, dismissing. Nothing feasible. I would have whined in frustration if I hadn’t been too worried about waking up Tania’s parents. Their bedroom was separated from the living room by only one thin wall. I couldn’t complain though, I was only a guest. And the couch was comfortable enough.

But damn it, I needed something. I kept rubbing my thighs together under the blanket, putting my hand in there, feeling my panties getting damp. I kept rubbing my clit through the cotton, knowing it wouldn’t be enough, trying furiously to think of a way to find release. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I got it, either.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I threw back the covers and put my feet onto the fuzzy carpet, considering. There was nothing in the living room. Kitchen, maybe?

Thinking that I could just pretend I’d forgotten where the bathroom was, I got up and padded across the room. It would still be awkward if I ran into Tania’s dad, considering I was wearing only panties and a tank top, but the urge ushed me past the point of caring. I crossed from the warm carpet to the cold, hard kitchen floor tiles, trying to find a suitable object in the darkness. There were no sounds but the small tapping noises my feet were making, and the ticking of the cocoo clock on the wall.

Nothing.

I clenched one hand into a fist in frustration, slipping the other between my legs again. I moved my fingers rhythmically against the cotton, over and over again. My heart rate accelerated the more I spread my legs, standing in the middle of the dark kitchen, in a house that wasn’t mine, knowing three other people were asleep within its walls. It felt good. Very good. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to come this way. I’d just get more and more horny, and I’d eventually be miserable if I couldn’t find release.

Damn it.

Did Tania’s parents systematically purge their house of phallic objects? It didn’t seem possible to me that I couldn’t even find something like a candle.

Before I realized what I was doing, I felt my hand on the fridge door, and pulled. Maybe there’d be something, anything in here. I squeezed my eyes shut as the light from the open fridge door assaulted them, then opened them minutely and scrutinized the contents once I could see.

Yoghurt. No good. Deli meat. Nope. Ketchup… maybe. The bottle wasn’t a good shape though.

I opened one of the lower drawers and had to bite my lip to keep from making a sound of apreciation once I saw the selection of vegetables. Zucchinis. Perfect.

I wrapped my fingers around one and squeezed for a moment, before taking it out of the drawer. There were carrots, too, and I pulled one out of the bundle as well before closing the fridge door again. I stood in darkness once more, heart still beating fairly fast. I might find relief after all.

I waited until my eyes were used to the darkness once more. I could have gone back to the couch at this point, and pulled the blanket over me; I would have managed to come that way eventually. But there were a few factors that would significantly raise my level of arousal. I’d always been a naughty girl.

I walked up to the immaculately clean counter and ran my hand across it appreciatively. Tania’s mom, Cynthia, was a very tidy person. She’d have kittens if she’d catch me masturbating in her kitchen. I smiled to myself as I put the two vegetables aside, imagining her preparing lunch on this very counter. Then, I pulled myself up with both hands and planted my ass firmly on Cynthia’s workspace.

Perfect.

The marble was icy on my thighs, but my clit was tingling and pulsating in a very promising manner. As I leaned forward, I could smell my pussy’s scent, and I inhaled it appreciatively. Then I took the zucchini and pressed it against the fabric. I could feel the cold on my clit almost immediately even through my panties, and I moved the vegetable in a slow circle. My clit twitched in response. I could feel my breath accelerating as a thought entered my head – after I had finished the deed, I would put my bounty back where it had come from, into the fridge.

“Fuck,” I whispered tonelessly as the sensations increased at once, pulling from my clit up into my belly, deep inside me. I laid the zucchini aside again and hooked both thumbs into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down wile arching athletically. Finally, I had dragged them past my toes and flung them onto the counter next to me. The marble still felt cold on my privates, but I knew it would warm up soon.

I put one foot up on the counter while spreading my pussy lips with one hand. I arched my back again and leaned forward, pressing the length of my pussy lips against the cool counter. My clit liked that a lot. I could feel some moisture on the inner lips and inserted two fingers, trying to spread some more. I felt something twitch rhythmically, somewhere in the depths of my belly, when my fingertips started to massage my clit again. I felt better and better.

There was still something missing though.

My right hand found the zucchini again. It felt heavy, cool and pleasantly smooth. I rubbed it along my thighs for a moment before I let the length of it glide along my entire slit. My fingers, still moist, rubbed along the vegetable’s tip for a moment before I placed it against my tunnel, pushing, and feeling delightedly how it widened my entrance. It felt cold and hard, and it was exactly what I needed.

I could just suppress a moan as I pushed the phallic substitute deeper inside me. It was harder than a cock would have been, harder than most dildoes. The fact that there was no soft skin, no latex coat had something raw about it that I liked, and I felt the difference acutely as I flexed the muscles I’d trained. My pussy squeezed tightly around the zucchini. I was purposely increasing resistance. I liked the feeling of having to apply force, of disregarding my own comfort somewhat brutally. The vegetable kept sliding further inside me urged on by the pressure of my hand, and I found myself grinning when I felt my pussy lips ease up ever so slightly, coming back together around the very tip of the zucchini. It was fully inside me now. I could feel it hard and long, my pussy squeezing it and pulsating around it. Fuck, it felt great.

This time, I couldn’t suppress a small whimper as my fingertips fluttered gently over my clit, which twitched and jerked at the slight touch and made me want to push my hips further forward out of instinct. I spread my index and middle finger in a V and began to massage the velvety skin to either side of my clit, teasing myself. I noticed my clit had swollen to be quite a bit larger than it was when I wasn’t aroused. God, I was so ready.

I reached to my side, fumbling for a moment before I found the carrot I’d put down. It was slightly garled, with rough texture that would come in handy right about now. I spread my inner lips apart again and gave the end of the zucchini one more shove. Them, I placed the carrot in between those lips, pressing it against my body until it lay firmly against my clit.

I couldn’t help but throw caution to the wind and let out a groan when I first started masturbating with the carrot. It rubbed against my clit deliciously as I moved it up and down. I’d done this plenty of times before with pens, but the bumpy texture heightened the sensations, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this years ago.

My clit responded, of course, and within seconds I was lost in my own little world, leaning back, eyes closed, not even managing to establish a rhythm when my hips already began to buck. I gasped, hands shaking as I tried to maintain my grip, and even though I heard a door go I was too far gone to react to the sound.

I came, gasping, shaking like mad, unable to focus my eyes and knowing I was leaking all over the counter. Heavenly.

For a moment I sat, thinking. I wondered whether I had only imagined the sound I’d heard, but a moment later another sound reached me. That of a flushing toilet. The one right next to the kitchen.

Whoever this was had passed within fifteen feet of me. The thought made my clit twitch once more, but I was spent. For now, anyway. I sat motionlessly and waited as I heard the bathroom door open again, then the muffled sound of feet on the fluffy carpet of the living room. I wondered whether they’d notice the fact that I wasn’t on the couch. Probably not though, as it was dark.

While waiting, I shifted my attention to the necessary task of expelling the zucchini. It wasn’t difficult, as there was a lot of lubrication still present inside me, and as I contracted my muscles over and over again, the vegetable slid out quite easily. I assisted it by gently pulling on the end. Then, I collected my panties and the carrot, and climbed down from the counter.

Before the fridge, I hesitated, remembering the idea that had so turned me on. Should I really?

But the temptation was too big. I knew that the mere thought of these vegetables being used to make food tomorrow would provide enough of a turn-on for me to masturbate to, once I felt able to again. I opened the fridge door once more, and placed both the zucchini and the carrot back in the drawer I’d taken them from. The zucchini was still sticky, glistening with moisture under the glaring light.

I’m a terrible person, part of me objected as I shut the fridge door and crossed the kitchen once more to get back to my couch.

Or at least a terrible house guest.
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Old 10-23-2008, 03:27 PM   #6
fieryjen
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I'm not too happy with this one. I tried and tried and couldn't get it to look even halfway decent. Quite disappointing.


B4 - bondage, cuffs


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Old 10-23-2008, 04:41 PM   #7
fieryjen
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G4 - kissing



First Kiss


So that’s how he smells, up close, a bit of after shave and sweat, but fresh, somehow, from working outside in the wind all day. I haven’t been wanting to admit to myself that I was dying to find out, until now. How is it possible that I can inhale his scent so freely and still be breathless?

His cheeks are a bit cold still, but his lips are warm. They’re not just pressed against me, they’re moving, placing a multitude of kisses on mine instead of just the one I was expecting. I like it that way.

He turns his head and touches my cheek with the tip of his cold nose. I can feel his breath on my skin. It’s warm, pleasant. My arms lock around his neck before I realize it. I’m unwilling to let him get away so quickly. He’s barely given me a taste. I want more kissing.
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Old 10-23-2008, 05:53 PM   #8
fieryjen
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I2 - same sex



Sharing a Hotel Room


Eyes wide, I stare
Into the darkness
Just making out the
Dark shape before me
Sleeping so soundly
Under the covers we share

Deep breath. Exhale.

Fighting the urge to
Reach for the prone shape
Draw her in, hold her
Tightly against me
Wishing that I could
Feel her warm breath on my skin

Deep breath. Exhale.

A door slams, far away.

One king-size bed
Just enough distance
To make the brush of
My arm against hers
Not accidental
Close enough to smell her hair

Deep breath. Exhale.

I wonder if she’s dreaming, too.
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Old 10-23-2008, 06:02 PM   #9
fieryjen
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O4 - roleplay historical



A (Very) Short Essay On Historical Rolepaying


What is historical roleplaying?

Seriously, what the fuck is it? I have no idea. All I know is that I’m trying to make a Bingo here, and this little square has me scratching my head.

There are many different types of roleplaying that can be used for a sexual purpose. The maid costume in my closet comes to mind, which I have successfully used to roleplay many times. While a Dom/sub relationship is usually not considered roleplaying, many other aspects of BDSM include roleplaying elements, such as the pony girl. It is not difficult to see that this practice is popular partially because it includes many elements that add to the sexual gratification of individuals who chose to engage in these acts, such as domination, submission, physical punishment and humiliation. Personally, I believe that this is how most people who like to roleplay in a sexual context chose the setting of their roleplaying.

But historical roleplaying?

Maybe the word “historical” simply encompasses too many different things for me to be able to wrap my head around it. Does this involve dressing up as a person from any era? What else is involved? Is this a pretty name for caveman sex? Will I be expected to hand-sew my own Victorian costume in order to participate?

Or does this practice perhaps involve the specific re-enactment of historical events? Marie-Antoinettes’ seduction of Louis? The steamy love triangle between Cleopatra, Caesar and Mark Anthony? The mass orgy at the signing of the declaration of independence ?

I am very confused. Someone please enlighten this poor soul.
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