My Weekend at the Folsom Street Fair

I have finally managed to attend the infamous Folsom Street Fair last month, a day of epic outdoor kinky festivities the likes of which cannot be found anywhere else in North America other than San Francisco. After Mistress-sing about for half a decade, the Fair was something to check off the bucket list for any self-respecting deviant.

Occupying more than eight blocks in Soma, the Fair draws out hundreds of thousands of kinksters, perverts, leather fetishists, and alternative lifestylers (some of which have yet to be assigned proper terminology) every year.

Walking down Folsom Street in My leather leggings and elbow-length leather gloves, I was greeted by almost every type of pervert of almost every inclination. I witnessed a wide spectrum of kink on display, except for those who are die-hard practitioners of felching, snoodling, clear plating, and daisy chaining (some kinks should remain strictly indoors and behind sound-proof walls). After you have finished Googling all those terms, please continue reading...

Did I mention that the Fair was clothing optional? Within the first 20 steps of entering Fair grounds, I spotted a portly man flicking himself idly under a tree, wearing nothing but a San Francisco Giants baseball hat. Sweaty and flaccid, it was like watching someone trying to recuscitate a bag of mashed potatoes. Needless to say, he was but the first of many self-helpers I encountered during My Sunday stroll.

Farther down from Mr. Mashed Potatoes, I struck up a conversation with a lively group of “ponies”, fetishists who revel in horse emulation and its fabulous array of costumes. Some were covered from head to toe—hooves, mane, and tail all attached. One little horsey was remarkably easy on the eyes and it was all I could do to NOT offer him an apple and ride in his chariot (no euphemism here, there was literally a mini-chariot resting next to him).

Like any legitimate outdoor kink festival, there were numerous ‘playgrounds’ for all types of bondage situated throughout the premises. There were “puppy play pens”, shibari posts, boot-shining stations, corporal punishment centers, and the occasional sissy slut lying face-down in the middle of the street hoping to be violated.

Mistresses and Masters walked their pets on leashes, fabulous dragqueens strutted in their Sunday best, bad slaves made to stand at attention for a time-out on the corner—it was pure BDSM utopia.

Did I also mention that attendance was compromised of mostly half-naked gay men? From the rock-hard gym rats to the Santa Claus marshmallows, I was tightly squeezed in a crowded sea of muscle, pudding, and various dangly bits. My good sport of a slave who attended the Fair with Me, and is allergic to even the concept of pathogens, thanked Me profusely for not forcing him to walk on all fours on what was surely DNA-littered cement.

Not only was the Fair clothing optional but it was also celibacy-optional. Nearby housed the notorious Mr. S Leather store of quality kinky goodies (at which I always make a stop during each visit to San Francisco), but on this Sunday it turned into a live gay porn extravaganza. I found it difficult to try on new whips and chastity devices when there were three bodies swaying back and forth next to the cash register, couples utilizing the sex swing, and a near-naked Indian (sorry, Native American) hanging from the ceiling.

I left the festival grounds at 2pm as it became increasingly crowded around that time—this is most likely due to all the churchgoers rushing to the Fair right after their Sunday sermon.