PCAP 2022: A Retrospective of Our First LS Event

It’s taken me over a month to write my introspective retrospective exploration of Podcast-a-Palooza 2022 (AKA, PCAP 2022). This has been one of the hardest posts I’ve written thus far. I’ve not only floundered on what to write but also how to write it.

I could give a factual PCAP Recap of the events and sessions, but I don’t know how much that benefits you (and it would be of little benefit to me).

I could explore the various emotional pitfalls and mental minefields I attempted to navigate before, during, and after the event. That one is difficult because how I feel about PCAP 2022 changes depending on which of my personal demons is taking bites out of my flesh at the moment. Nor do I think such self-indulgent musings are of benefit to anyone. I’ve already spent 10 pages writing that post in the vain hopes of settling my mind.

It had some darkly beautiful prose, probably some of my better writing, I think. And yet not really worth your time. It was worth my time to write it turns out, but not for reasons I intended when writing it.

But all of that is beyond the scope of this blog post.

So, instead of cold, hard facts or Shane’s poetic exploration of his mental anguish like a moody (albeit well read) teenager, I decided to frame this post around our intentions for PCAP 2022 and compare those intentions to what really ended up going down. After all, I wrote a whole post about why this trip terrified me and what we hoped to get out of it. Might as well use that as a starting point.

But First, Let’s Get This Out of the Way

No matter how you might interpret what is said during this post, I want to be quite clear:

We had a lovely time at PCAP 2022. It was a fun, exciting weekend. We met amazing people, interacted with dozens of people we’ve talked to for years through various electronic means—including the podcasters to whom we’ve spent so many hours listening (and about whom I’ve written or even with whom we’ve recorded a podcast).

I got to apologize to Ed and Phoebe in person, which I was all too happy to do. They were, of course, lovely people and very gracious about the whole thing. If anyone were to think that the hosts/speakers are simply there as bait to draw people in but that they aren’t out and mixing it up with the attendees, disavow yourself of such delusions because they are all out and about and open for conversation.

Everyone was delightful, and never once (well…once) were Erin or I made to feel unwelcome or undesired.

Such feelings were entirely internally generated based upon my own mental issues, and not a result of anything said, done, or implied by others.

Yeah, it’s that kind of post.

And Second, the One and Only Actual Disappoint of PCAP 2022

Darrell of Wanderlust Swingers was not in attendance.

I really want to meet that guy. Having seen him in video, I know he’s not just a display of incredible voice acting and character creation on Cate’s part.

Obviously, out of all the reasons he might feel sad about missing PCAP himself…him not meeting me is simply not one of them. I’m fine with that. Really. I am.

Honest.

Our First Ever Lifestyle Vacation

We’ve been to our local lifestyle clubs many times over the years, but this was our first hotel take-over and multi-day/vacation lifestyle event. We went into it knowing we might not actually enjoy such a thing. It’s not in our nature to socialize with random people while on vacation—or indeed ever—so we weren’t sure how well an event such this would suit our tastes.

 We set out to answer the following questions:

• Can we even socialize in that kind of large party setting?
• If so, can we do it well enough to make worthwhile connections to people?
• If so, is the effort it takes us to do so worth the end reward?
• Having tried a hotel take-over, would we want to attempt this type of venue again? How about a resort like Desire or Hedo?

We didn’t get the conclusive answers we were hoping for (because of course we didn’t! Things are rarely so neatly black or white, good or bad, chaotic or lawful, mint or fruity.)

We put forth a ton of effort to force ourselves to socialize. We really put ourselves out there…for us. Which means we almost reached normal human levels of socializing. Which of course is not even a blip on the radar for swinger levels of socializing.

Go us…? Yay?

What Do I Even Mean?

We showed up to social things. In fact, we showed up to a lot of social things! Like, almost half of them.

When we saw a group of people hanging out at the bar, Erin and I discussed with each other if we wanted to approach them. We didn’t, but we considered it!

When people said hi, my immediate thought wasn’t, “Why are you talking to me and how do I politely get you to stop?” I rarely had more to say than a simple hi back, but at least I was open to being approached.

We never took our books out at the pool (though we both brought them every time, just in case).

There was only one request that remove myself from someone’s presence (which I did).

I shoved my foot in my mouth just one time (I quietly enjoyed the speakers’ session thereafter, so I think it wasn’t too bad for them, and I’m used to the taste at this point).

I asked one question in earnest (due to a lack of understanding of a thing being described). Had I waited for more information first, the understanding would have cleared up on its own (I like to know how things work before engaging with them). However, the question was taken as a joke rather than seeking information. So I guess I came across as the Fool rather than the Idiot. Being both, I suppose that’s a wash.

I made one joking comment that I instantly regretted, but I think it was lost in the conversation, for which I was supremely grateful.

All in all, a very successful weekend for me in that I sometimes talked to people and only had a handful of them come away thinking ill of me!

Pool Versus Sessions

There was a lot to do during PCAP 2022, with planned sessions, impromptu events, and socializing all overlapping and competing for our time. If we went to a session, we weren’t mingling with fellow PCAPers, and the majority of such mingling occurred at the pool.

Or more specifically, in the pool.

I attended most of the sessions over the weekend, often with Erin but a few without, because it was more comfortable for me to do that than it was to sit around or stand in the pool. For a variety of reasons, mostly the following:

• I dislike being wet, so I have little desire to get into a pool outside of exercise or fitness purposes (such as a cold plunge after a workout). 
• It was a real struggle to not pull out my book and read, but I felt like that would have been a Bad Move (after all, we were trying to be social, which should at the very least include seeming approachable).
• I don’t enjoy sitting around doing nothing, which is what I was doing without a book out, and that made me antsy.
• I often had my earbuds in because the right music calms me and makes me feel like I can be somewhat normal whereas the wrong music makes me feel awkward and uncomfortable. But let us refer back to trying to seem approachable; earbuds don’t really send that message.

I think I was in the pool twice for about five minutes each time. One time was to join Erin who was in the pool already when I returned from wherever I had been that wasn’t being at the pool. The second was because Erin was going into the pool and asked that I join her.

Flirting

As a reminder (if one is needed), I’m terrible at both flirting and perceiving flirtation.

I was no better at PCAP 2022.

I think I managed to not look disinterested or aggressively antagonistic most of the time—I’ve been told that my general demeanor and body positioning tends to project these sentiments. But that’s about the best I ever got, I think, and I doubt I ever once managed to project interest.

Not for lack of interest. Just a complete inability to express it. 

I certainly never felt that anyone was flirting with me, and the only indication I have to the contrary was when one lovely lady was kind enough to say I was welcome to kiss her if I wanted.

Which I did and I did.

But it still came as a surprise to me because I hadn’t expected the offer. After all, it doesn’t matter how many times her husband kissed my wife, that doesn’t make the converse true nor give me any expectations of reciprocity.

It’s Just Not Within My Awareness

I’m once again reminded of Mr. Jones from We Gotta Thing saying how at vanilla/family events, he needs to chant to himself “lips-closed-hands-above-the-waist” so that he doesn’t slip into lifestyle-type interactions at times when it would be inappropriate.

Alas, I need to do the opposite. But it doesn’t cross my mind to do so. It takes so much effort thinking about my body posture (which, as previously noted, will fall into disinterested or aggressively antagonistic if I’m not mindful), listening, and trying to think of something to say that I lack the brain power to remind myself to do all the other things that show interest, none of which come naturally to me. I don’t touch people in normal conversation. Nor do I move closer or lean in, and my kind of fidgeting probably comes across as spastic or some kind of nervous tick rather than flirty.

I can’t even remember to remember to be flirty. I’m engrossed in the conversation—or fumbling pathetically through it because my words are failing me from the start—and then I look back and think, “Ah, yes, another time in which I conveyed absolutely nothing. Well done!”

Alter Egos

We had pondered if it would be better to reveal that we were Shane and Erin or to simply go as ourselves without the additional context of our nom de plumes. On the one hand, I don’t often paint a very rosy portrait of myself here, so maybe it would be better to go to PCAP 2022 fresh faced and without any preconceived notions following us. On the other, people believed they wanted to meet Shane and Erin (despite what I have written about myself).

Looking back, I’m not sure if it helped or hurt. If I had it to do again, I think I would rather have experienced PCAP 2022 as Just Me without the shadow of Shane hanging over myself. I don’t think I would have done any better per se—I am still me no matter what mantle I wear—but I would have been insulated rather than exposed.

I met people who wanted to meet Shane, and when they did…I had nothing to say. So many people behind the icons and usernames that I had looked forward to interacting with, and yet beyond saying hi, I had nothing left. Words failed. My mind was empty.

In the end, I feel like I connected with few people. I think I would have come out of the weekend feeling better not having had any pro-Shane encounters rather than those brief and substanceless ones in which I proved myself a tactless shell of a person.

Of course, I would be looking back and thinking, “If only we had revealed ourselves, maybe we would have made more connections because people wanted to meet Shane and Erin!” 

Essentially, there is no way I could look back on the choice favorably.

The Amazing One Trick Pony

Upon reflection (I believe on our drive from the hotel Monday morning), I had the realization that I never had a conversation about sex. During a lifestyle event. Packed with swingers.

That takes skill, I think. I probably deserve an award.

How does one manage such a thing?

Be the guy people want to talk to about drug experiences.

I don’t mind having a niche; I cultivated it, after all. I hadn’t expected it to define me. But I let it. The only times I felt I had anything to say, the only time words form unhindered (and probably flowed too freely so that I bludgeoned the conversation with them—sorry about that) was when I was seeking knowledge from others or trying to give it. Anything beyond exchanging data was beyond my capabilities.

No wonder I failed to show interest: I could barely communicate. The main character of my life story is one dimensional.

Or maybe it’s Shane who is one dimensional, and by being Him instead of just being Me, I let myself be one dimensional as well?

And Yet the Facade Has Value

There are two reasons I don’t fully regret having gone as Shane.

The first is that I had information that people wanted, and I was able to provide it. So at least in that regard, I might have helped someone. And if I could help others even a little bit, then maybe I’m not a complete waste of space and time. #DrivingForceOfMyLife

The second is more selfish: Quite a few people expressed appreciation for my writing, whether it be the blog itself or my musing on Twitter. I occasionally receive positive feedback from readers via Twitter or email, so this wasn’t completely new. But to hear it in person, with the various inflections and intonations…it was indescribable.

I write this blog for myself. Much of the time I assume no one reads it. Often I feel like I’m speaking to shadows. But I write with the aim to inform, persuade, or entertain in the fragile hope that perhaps someone might find it worth the reading. At the very least, it keeps me in the practice of writing, and that’s not nothing.

I was a bit overwhelmed by both the number of people who had a kind word to share and by the level of praise received. Like most people, I’m not good at receiving a compliment. I usually chalk them up to people just being kind rather than genuine. I’m not sure why because I don’t give compliments I don’t mean, but I usually feel that way about those given to me.

This was one of the few times I believed them. So for that, I am thankful.

Theme Nights

These were a source of incredible stress in the months leading up to PCAP 2022. We’re not costume people. Even with the local clubs, we usually just ignore the themes or don’t go if we think the majority of people will dress to the theme and not doing so will make us stand out.

We don’t do Halloween parties, either, if you were wondering. Not even ugly sweaters at Christmas.

For the most part, our outfits came together just fine, and everything made it to Palm Springs intact and functional.

A thing that I know about myself but never actually saw applied on such a large scale was how quickly my brain normalizes things. Throughout my childhood, my parents would lament how I could live in such a messy room, and I would honestly tell them I don’t notice. Throughout the pandemic, people cheered at not having to wear pants, a thing I never understood, because about five minutes after putting them on, I don’t notice.

Turns out the same happens with costumes. After a few minutes at the events, I just stopped noticing what people were wearing. It was as if all humankind wore LED lights or dressed in white and painted themselves upon attending an event and had always done so.

The very boon that theme nights are reputed to offer, the supposed in to start conversation that costumes give, was gone from my notice. I was wearing LED glasses (like so many people), and I stopped seeing them after a few minutes because it just became my normal.

Not That I Would Approach Anyway

I’ve mentioned before that I dislike approaching people not out of shyness per se, but because it feels wrong. Like I’m imposing myself on other people’s time and in their space.

Which, to be fair, is exactly what I’m doing. I’m just supposed to believe that they are OK with me doing so. A belief for which I don’t have overwhelming evidence to support. So, yeah…I’m still siding with me on this one.

PCAP 2022 revealed I’m even worse at this than I had expected. Even when I knew people wanted to meet me, I had trouble approaching them. But more…um…impressive?…to me was that this behavior is so ingrained that I don’t even see avenues to approach. 

What do I mean by that?

Unable to Even Think About Approaching

We recently listened to Cate’s PCAP recap podcast episode. One couple mentioned (they start at 24:16) how lots of people came up to them to ask about the collar and leash they were sporting for events. I was shocked! I had seen them walking around, sure, but I never once even thought about approaching them to talk about it.

It’s their life, that’s their thing, cool, they probably don’t want me intruding upon that.

It never occurred to me that that could be a conversation opener. That they would welcome someone approaching to ask about it.

Though, to play Devil’s advocate on this one, I’m also not sure why it’s OK to approach someone to ask about that. It feels massively intrusive to use that as a point of entry for conversation. It’s their thing. Cool. To each their own; why pry?

Just because something is being done in public, that doesn’t mean the people doing it are welcoming public discussion.

But therein lies my problem, I suppose. I can’t think of much that would feel acceptable as a conversation opener. Which is why I don’t often open conversations.

Is It Just Me?

On telling this story to a vanilla friend who is very social and usually good at flirting, he said he would have approached with a comment like, “Does she bite? Can I pet her?”

Those sound awful to me! They are dismissive of the lady by talking about her rather than to her. Furthermore, those imply a level of pet play I’m not willing to infer just from a leash and cat ears. Futherfurthermore, even if the couple is involved in pet play, I don’t feel comfortable inserting myself into their play during our first interaction.

I’m not sure if I’m overly sensitive to rubbing people the wrong way or if perhaps I just don’t understand and therefore cannot get into the general mood and spirit of such events.

It feels similar to how I react to any of those tweets showing a nearly-to-full naked lady with text like, “You walk into your bedroom and find me like this. What do you do?”

I immediately leave the room, ask you if you are in the wrong house, if you are OK, and do I need to call someone to help you. I don’t know you and you are in my house naked? That’s weird!

Or a pretty girl in lingerie smoking a bong: “It’s 420. Who wants to join me for bong rips and fucking?”

I don’t know you, so I’ll pass. The fact you’re making such a public offer is kind of strange; are any of your followers close enough to join you? Why not just DM them?

This all kind of falls in line with my opinion on lifestyle games, I guess. And how I managed to be at a three-day lifestyle event and never once talk about sex. I’m there…but I’m not there.

The Playroom

This was a let down for us because we’re usually quite the voyeurs and exhibitionists at the clubs at home. We’re the fuck-out-in-the-open type people. We dig the energy and vibe of the shared sex experience.

But for whatever reason, we just couldn’t dig that playroom. We tried. We fucked for 10, 15 minutes on one of the sofas, but it just felt like fucking on a sofa. Why bother doing that when we have a bed in our room?

I don’t know if it was the distance between sex spaces or the largeness of the room swallowing the sound, but we just felt alone despite the activity going on. So after swapping several positions and our costumes all askew, we just left to go back to our room.

And every visit back to the playroom felt the same: oddly unwelcoming. It was a feeling so oppressive that we didn’t even enjoy venturing in to watch other people. That too felt much like intruding—spying, in fact, like some peeping tom peering into neighbor’s windows—which is something I never experienced at the home clubs.

All in All, That’s a Whole Mountain of Fail at PCAP 2022

But we had fun. Despite how it sounds, we connected with people (a low percentage of the people we spoke with perhaps, but a non-zero number of connections).

But let’s look back at the questions I said we were trying to answer:

Can we socialize in the kind of large party setting offered at PCAP 2022?

With great effort, we can socialize with a few people.

If so, can we do it well enough to make worthwhile connections to people?

The few people we made connections with were worthwhile, yes. Though for the most part, such connections were more relationship growths in that we had some kind of previously established relationship (i.e., a Twitter friendship) that was enbigged (it’s a perfectly cromulent word) by the real world meeting.

Not that that makes them less valuable connections.

If so, is the effort it takes us to do so worth the reward?

The mental and emotional effort in the moment, yes.

The expense, time, travel, and all other overhead costs of a lifestyle vacation? Still mulling that one over.

Having tried a hotel take-over, would we want to attempt this type of venue again? How about a resort like Desire or Hedo?

We’re still in discussions about that.

Because as much of a fail as PCAP 2022 might have felt (having put in so much mental and emotional effort and feeling like we’re still coming up short), we had a great time, and we learned a lot about the ebb and flow of such events. I feel like we could set ourselves up for greater success next time. This was our first ever lifestyle vacation after all. Sure, other people seem to be able to jump into the deep end and just have fun. We aren’t those people.

And we knew we wouldn’t be.

In Before “Stop Calling It a Fail…”

“It’s your journey and however that looks is right for you!”

Yeah, I get that. When I say fail, what I mean is an inequivalent return on investment. If the amount of effort, stress, and anxiety caused by an event (leading up to, during, and after) don’t at least match the value gotten out of the event (leading up to, during, and after), then that’s a failed event.

But It Wasn’t a Complete Fail

And much of the reason for that comes from what occurred after PCAP 2022.

Which I’ll get into in the next post. I can’t put it here because this post is already long enough (over 4,000 words at this point, and still climbing), and the after PCAP 2022 stuff didn’t happen during PCAP 2022 (because that’s what those words mean), and so organizationally shouldn’t be in a PCAP 2022 retrospective despite being directly linked to PCAP 2022 happenings.

Have I built up enough suspense and tension to keep you enticed (assuming you made it this far)?