This post is going to be a bit of a brain dump about weight and body issues and all that lovely stuff that goes on in my brain.

And it’s not really intended to be fitspo or thinspo or anything else of the inspirational variety, I’ve just got a lot of stuff going on upstairs, that is probably better out than in. (Although I’ve always lusted after a thigh gap but it’s something that I’m never going to have and that’s cool, my body shape just isn’t met for thigh gap.)

In April of 2014 I hit the very exciting weight of 54kg (that’s about 125lbs for you non-metric folk). For me at 165cm (5’ 5”) and my commando-esque body shape, that’s on the lower end of the scale. Actually I’ve only ever been that weight three times – when I was 13yrs old, a couple of months before I got married when I was 25yrs old and last year. It was a good moment when I stepped on the scales and saw that magical figure. I was also in the envious position of no longer fitting into my clothes because they were too big. I celebrated by going out and buying myself a pair of skinny black jeans…in a size 8. I held them up in the store and honestly laughed because they looked so tiny. I thought there was no way I would ever fit into them, but fit into them I did (granted with a bit of jumping!)

I’d been fasting for 3 days a week and exercising about 5 or 6 times a week. I was busy living the ‘single life’ and going out a lot to distract myself from an empty apartment and some confusing relationship thoughts. I felt good and was quite happy with the way I looked. Not that losing weight has ever helped with any of my emotional problems, but at least if I’m not worrying about my weight, that’s one thing less to worry about.

Then I had some comments along the lines of, “You look like you’ve been in a concentration camp.”

So I started eating a bit more and exercising a little less.

In June/July I had climbed back to about 60kg (132lbs) and was filling out my clothes a bit better but it was still a good weight for me to be at.

I felt strong and fit and had some tone in my arms and legs for the first time I could remember. I was still fasting 3 days a week but being a bit looser on the off-fasting days and doing 5 gym classes a week.

Then M and I reconciled and my eating control and gym timetable went out the window.

Then I went to Japan for work in September and I ate myself into oblivion.

Then I went home for 3 weeks and continued eating.

Then I went to Japan again and ate some more.

And now I’m somewhere around 70kg (154lb)…I’m not really sure because weighing myself is entirely too scary. I had to go and buy a whole new wardrobe of clothes because I can’t fit into anything anymore.

I’ve never been waif-like and I’ve always marvelled at Japanese girls and petite women who are fat if they are more than 40kgs, but 70kgs now feels very uncomfortable. I’m extremely self-conscious to the point where I really don’t want to go to the gym or see anyone I haven’t seen for a while because I’m huge.

And I’ve gotten into that depressing cycle of feeling bad about my weight and eating to feel better…yeah…that’s a very bad thing to do.

I’m not blaming anyone but myself for my current situation. No-one forced food into my mouth and no-one said “Don’t go to gym!” I got myself to this point and now I have to haul myself out of it.

And the really funny thing is that I know exactly what I need to do to get back to a comfortable weight, but I just have ZERO self-control at the moment to get there. I know exactly what works long-term for me (fasting and exercise) but I just can’t seem to give two emotional fucks to start doing it.

And I think ALL day EVERY day about my weight and every time I get a glimpse of myself in a mirror or see a reflection in a window I’m horrified but I still can’t make the step to commit and just do it.

I’ve got enough boob that I actually have to wear a bra (and I hate bras…) and so many jiggly bits that I feel squishy and soft and blergh!

Tomorrow we’re going to a play party where I will be butt-ass naked in front of people I haven’t seen for a good four months. I’m dreading my naked jiggly bits much more than the solid beating I’ve been promised.

So, staying true to form, I bought myself copious amounts of chocolate to drown my sorrows and I’ve already scoffed some of it.

Being out of control of myself sucks.

/brain dump

Anyway, now that I’ve got that off my chest, I started training for the marathon in August about two weeks ago. I’ve got a 28 week training schedule to enjoy for the next six months plus so I’ll be writing some more Running Twat posts dealing with such hard-hitting running topics as:

  • Should I blow my nose into my gloves?
  • Pooing in the bushes – yes or no?
  • Blisters – to pop or not to pop?

And I’ve got the very last chapter of Desiderata – that’s chapter sixty-five to be exact – to finish before I go back and do some re-writing and polishing and fussing over the entire story endlessly because I am going to explore the route of publishing. It is a long weekend here so I’m planning on knuckling down and getting that shit down onto the page (sometimes I find cussing to myself helps me get motivated and sometimes pictures of penguins help too.)

So here’s a penguin. May it bring you motivation too.

motivational penguin


Ten years a slave

Ten years ago I became a slave.

How do you do that?

Is a question I get a lot.

The most common inflection on that question when people ask it is, How do you do that?

That is perceived as something hard and weird and most people don’t really understand what that, slavery, is as opposed to being a submissive, bottom or a switch.

The bit about it being hard is very true. The bit about most people not really understanding it is also true. The bit about it being weird? Well, I saw 10,000 screaming kidlets making their way to a One Direction concert on Friday and in my mind that was weird.

The less common inflection on the question is, How do you do that?

And I actually think that is a much more interesting question to ask.

Now, I’ve told my story before in several blog posts but just to recap:

I discovered this thing called The Internet, I wanted stories about kidnapping and captivity, I found, I started chatting with a friendly girl and then a friendly guy on the forums, I became his ‘online bitch’, he disappeared, I got all butt-hurt, I found, I started chatting with a friendly guy in the D/s room, I became his ‘online bitch’, I decided to leave my husband and go live with him and be his slave.

And that’s how it happened, all in the course of three to four months. Of course, during that time I was literally absorbing the internet and anything and everything it had to say about bdsm, D/s, M/s. I spend a LOOOOOOT of time chatting with people too – back in the days of chatrooms and MSN messenger. I actually think there was a lot more interaction back then and a lot more ‘discussion’ between people in the scene via those mediums.

So, my initial experience of slavery involved a contract and a lot of rules. I hand-wrote my contract using a calligraphy pen and my sister signed it. I don’t have a copy of it and I can’t really remember what it said but it was quite flowery and sounded a lot like wedding vows interspersed with details of what my slavery would involve. I was to prepare the contract, de-hair myself and front up to be his slave.

My Master lived in the centre of Australia, about 2700kms away (so google tells me…) so I used the services of the internet to find a rental apartment for us both (and his two kids on the weekends) and myself a job to supplement the translation work I was going to continue to do. I sent him a few thousand dollars to ‘set the house up’ and bought some things online for him – a collar, rope, candles, a cat-o-nine-tails, went to the doctor and got a prescription for the pill (we were to be fluid-bound a.k.a he hated condoms) and booked a one-way flight and with suitcase in hand off I went.

He came to the airport to pick me up. My honest first reaction was disappointment because he was so normal. He was wearing jeans and a redish shirt and looked like he needed a haircut. His car was an old bomb that needed to be hooked up to a battery to recharge it and it generally wouldn’t start.

We’d spent hours and hours chatting (this was in the days before Skype and video messaging was really a thing), I’d seen some photos of him and I’d spoken to him quite a few times on the phone. In my mind, I’d blown him up into some amazing God-like figure and I was expecting to feel something akin to the rapture and want to fall on my knees in front of his in the airport terminal.

Actually it was nothing like that, he said ‘hello’, I said ‘hi’ and then we went to get my bag.

Cue uncomfortable silence.

He asked about my flight and I told him it was ok. I asked him about the house I’d rented, sight-unseen for us to move into. He said it was ok. I got my bag and then we went to his car and he drove me to my new home.

Cue uncomfortable silence.

After we arrived home, I looked around the place. He had moved in about a week ago and bought a new tv and other assorted things. He asked me if I wanted a coffee and I said yes. So we went into the kitchen and he showed me how he liked his coffee to be made.

We sat down in front of the tv and watched Dr Phil while we drank our coffee.

Cue uncomfortable silence.

Then he turned off the tv and told me to go and get my contract. I went and pawed through my bag, finding the contract I’d written and brought it back. He glanced over it in silence and put it down on the coffee table.

He went to the bedroom and brought back the collar he’d made me buy and spent the next ten minutes trying to put it on. It was hilarious because it was one of those ones that had a sectioned piece come out of it that you first undid with an allen key. Trying to prise the stainless steel collar apart enough to release the piece was funny, then trying to get it onto my neck was even funnier. Anyway, he eventually got it on and then told me to strip.

I stripped and then he had me knee over the back of the couch. He disappeared into the bedroom and came back with a rattan cane and beat my ass until I was crying. It was the first time I’d ever been hit with anything at all. I’d not even had a playful swat on my bottom before and I was in no way prepared for that. Then he fucked me from behind while I was still snivelling and I’d never experienced that before either so that was, in a word, painful.

When he was done, he took me into the bedroom and showed me the toy collection in the wardrobe. He said I was never allowed to touch any of the toys. He’d also bought an enema kit and told me that I would need to start using it because he wanted his ass clean. Other rules I had were that I wasn’t allowed to kiss him and I wasn’t allowed to close the door when I used the toilet.

Then we went back to the living room and he had me sit on the floor at his feet and said I wouldn’t be allowed to sit on the couch again. He started playing with my neck while we were watching tv and then told me he wanted a coffee. I got up and made him a coffee and then he took it and went to the study and put his headphones on and started playing counterstrike.

He made dinner that night and we had some more uncomfortable silences and I think we watched a dvd. I had a bath and then he said it was my bed time. I was also to sleep naked and he had me get into bed and put a set of prisoner transport wrist cuffs and ankle irons on me – the ones where you can’t stretch out your legs – so I slept in the foetal position. Then he turned the light out and went back to playing counter strike. I didn’t do much sleeping and sometime in the early hours of the morning he came to bed and I was wondering what would happen.

He pulled me over the side of the bed so my head was hanging off the side and put his cock down my throat. That was the first time I’d ever had that done to me and my gag reflex quickly had me gagging and I remember tasting bile. He turned me over and fucked me in the ass again and the cuffs were digging into my wrists and ankles so badly. I remember thinking I was going to start bleeding.

He didn’t say anything to me during any of it. I remember just hanging on for the ride.

Then he was done and he rolled over and went to sleep.

And that was how I did that.

The start of my second round of slavery was similar but also very different. Again there were the uncomfortable silences but there was also a ball gag and boots. I think that’s a story for another time though.

We live in a world with rule 34, so what’s wrong with 50 shades?

I recently felt the urge to weigh in on the Fifty Shades debate over on Fetlife. I said my piece and had a little bit of dialogue with a couple of commenters but then things went very silent. I think that’s mostly because people thought I was being a troll.

Because I defended it.

I defended the right of people, in particular women, to fantasize about whatever the hell they want and not to feel embarrassed or ashamed or be shamed by others for liking something.

We don’t watch movies about spies or prison outbreaks, serial killers or robbing banks and then sit there and pull them apart because they’re presenting something that we don’t agree with or because we think they’re doing it ‘wrong’. We also don’t spend hours debating the rights and wrongs of much more violent films that are also presenting fantastical situations, so I wonder why people are suddenly feeling the need to jump on their high horses and proclaim 50 shades as abusive, dangerous and that it should be boycotted.

If the movie had an alternative title such as, BDSM For Dummies – how to truss them up and beat them down or if it was presented as some sort of informative research material, my feelings about it would be very different, but it is fantasy, it is entertainment and it is meant to be enjoyed and not thought too deeply about, like any other fictional movie, novel or piece of artistic expression.

I’ve read quite a few of the reviews of the movie and mostly they harp on about non-consent and there was one particularly amusing one that called it nothing more than a ‘man’s fantasy thinly veiled in woman’s clothing’. That comment irked me the most because it seemed to be saying that woman shouldn’t be fantasizing about, let alone enjoy, being forced or played with. Personally, the whole idea of being keep as a pet, being controlled and doted on has always appealed to me and it’s one of the main ideas that got me interested in bdsm in the first place. Just because those things are not on the fetish list of the reviewer doesn’t mean she has the right to poo-poo them.

I guess the reason I feel quite strongly about this is because I’ve spent the last two years of my life writing a story that has a lot of nasty stuff and quite a bit of non-consensual activity in it. I began writing it for my own amusement and no-one else’s because I wanted porn that pushed my buttons and I couldn’t find what I wanted.

The themes and content of what I have written mostly go against what I believe and subscribe to as a practitioner of bdsm, but I’m completely fine with that because, and I cannot stress this enough, it is fantasy. While I’ve based a lot of the activities that go on in the story on my experiences and some of the feelings and ideas expressed by the characters are stylised versions of things I’ve felt, said or been told, the scenario that I’ve written about is not how I live my life or a situation that I could ever probably cope with in reality, but reading and writing it gives me the warm fuzzies because I get off on fantasies that involve non-consent and interrogation/imprisonment.

I have to admit that I haven’t read the Fifty Shades books, but I have watched the movie. And my thoughts are…well…other than it having some very awkward dialogue such as:

“I want to fuck you into next week.”

“What are buttplugs?”

“You would like to leave? But your body says otherwise…”

And my absolute cringe-to-the-max favourite:

“Laters baby.”

(And this dialogue is all stuff that probably works okay on the written page, but not coming out of the mouth of people. I think this, more than anything, raises the very important point that there is a difference between a screenplay and a novel.It’s porn of the written variety, after all, let’s not forget what it is.)

overall the movie is very tame and not too bad. Granted it’s contrived, corny and not very sophisticated in bdsm terms, but honestly, it’s hard to make that stuff look and sound anything but those things.  Oh and I thought for a billionaire, he had a very tame and boring playroom, which I hated him calling the “playroom”  throughout the movie as in, “I want to take you to my playroom”. Really? Who says that?

It must be very hard getting two actors in a room full of crew and trying to make good bdsm stuff when there’s no connection or chemistry or anything else that turns weird and uncomfortable into good. And honestly, bdsm in the early days of a relationship is really, really awkward. It takes time to build trust and get things going and because play needs to be calculated and controlled you lose the spontaneousness that could push you through awkwardness. I’ve played with probably around ten people to various levels in my time and every single encounter has been weird and uncomfortable off the bat. Only in fantasy does everything run smoothly like clockwork with everyone getting off and then the dominant going to play a concerto on the grand piano at the end of it.

But back to my point about everyone needing to chill the fuck out about Fifty Shades.

The thing about Mr Grey having a backstory and that’s why he enjoys dominating women and everyone whining about it? That’s called writing a story. Having someone who just enjoys it for the sake of it, does not an interesting character make. It doesn’t allow for a reveal or flashbacks or any of those other literary devices that help you write a story. You give your characters pain and challenges and it makes them much more interesting. Once again, fantasy, not reality.

I had a thought that the whole reason a lot of bdsm folks are getting so worked up about it is because we’re an arrogant lot who assume that the vanilla folk will immediately head down to the hardware store and buy some things, try some stuff out and get it wrong. What if, just maybe, the vanilla folk know that it’s a movie and don’t bother doing anything, or what if, god forbid, they do something and get it right? On the flip side of this, I’m also quite sure that a lot of the kinky folk are doing things ‘wrong’ too.

Some people love watching hardcore horror films that are filled with people slicing up other people with chainsaws. It doesn’t mean they will go out and recreate what they have just watched so why should watching someone strap someone’s ass with a belt make everyone call red and yellow?

I understand the difference between really ‘out there’ fantasy involving murder, which most sane people know not to do and a bit of slap and tickle in the bedroom which everyone probably feels is less taboo, and I’m assuming that is why some folk are telling everyone they meet that the movie is dangerous and not how it’s “really done”, but do we need to start every book and movie with a disclaimer, ‘Do not try this at home’ because people can’t be trusted to tell the difference between fantasy and reality?

I think people are smarter than that and I don’t think people fantasizing about things is bad either. So there’s a billionaire who wants to take me for a ride in his helicopter and have his way with me? Great! Just let me break out my hitachi…


I’m baack!

I think that was my shortest overseas trip ever. It was all over before it even really began to get started, so much so that I didn’t even have time to be indecisive while shopping (although I did spend about 2hrs trying to pick out a pair of gloves…did I mention it was cold? Like, minus forty-two degree wind blowing down from Siberia kind of cold?)

I ticked most things off my list of things to do (not in any particular order):

Have pressure-filled meeting & presentation without vomiting – check!

Eat yummy cheesecake (in Singapore during transit) – check!


Eat freshly-baked melon bread stuffed with ice cream – check!


Eat lots of other yummy cakes – check!


Watch weird cloud formations for hours because my entertainment system was not working (thanks Singapore Airlines!) – check!


Eat lots of cheap sushi – check!

Created with Nokia Smart Cam

Spend all my money buying inflatable bath pillows, cute earrings, clothes, make-up, alcohol, things from the 100 yen shop and mugs from Starbucks – check!

Drink cocktails in a tequila & cigar bar in Roppongi with awesome friends – check!

(Seriously…this place, Agave, has got over 400 types of tequila…and the lighting was so low inside that ordering anything was like an episode of dating in the dark. It gets triple points for basement bar ambience. )

agave 2

Before drinks, eat Mexican food upstairs and fall in love with chicken mole and chorizo fondue – check!

Be reminded that ebola is still a thing – check!


I got back at 3am this morning and rocked up to work as usual then left four hours later after crashing and burning from no sleep. Of course, I was falling asleep at my desk, but as soon as I came home I was alert and perky so I did what anyone else would do – watch the classic movie that is Nine 1/2 Weeks.

I’d forgotten how dashing Mickey Rourke was 31 years ago in the role of John Gray (and seriously, I think it’s time to start calling our domly protagonists something other than Mr Gray…) He’s got that scary smile and quiet demeanour that makes me go all squishy for some reason.

Japan was fun as it always is. I’ve started the shopping list for my next trip already.

You know you want one

On Friday I’ll be jetting off to Japan again for a fly-by work trip. It will be a sum total of four days, consisting of two mega shopping days and two days of work.

One of the days of work includes probably the most important meeting of my ‘career’ (I use that term loosely for the ‘thing’ that I do for eight hours a day…lol..) so I’ve been nervously thinking about it for the past couple of weeks. On Sunday night I’ll be breaking out into a cold sweat and quietly vomiting into my mouth, but like all those other moments that freak me the fuck out, I’ll just have to suck it up (and probably eat myself into oblivion afterwards.)

As far as the shopping goes, I’m going to buy myself one of these:
Nothing worse than being in the bath and having your arm get cold because you have to hold your phone up. FIRST WORLD PROBLEM!!

But, this little beauty can also be used in bed and even if you fall asleep, you don’t have to worry about dropping your phone or hitting yourself in the face with it:


Thank you sweet jesus! This is what I have been waiting for!

Other items on my shopping list include clothes, jewellery (they just have the cutest earrings…) and whatever other funky stuff I find in the Raremono shop in Akihabara (which is where you can get this beautiful piece of bath-time fun.)

Honestly, the lying on back super gorone desk is looking pretty sweet too:


As are the usb powered finger-less gloves (because, prepare yourself, winter is coming!):
And the usb powered body pillow:


(You can get a hentai-ish pillowcase to put on it and snuggle up to if that is your thing.)

I may never leave that shop.


If I’m not back by next Wednesday, that’s where I am.

Needless to say, I won’t be publishing the second-last chapter of Desiderata this weekend for two reasons: firstly, it’s still all in my head and I’ve only written a paragraph or so and secondly, well, did you read my first reason? I know I’ve left it in kind of a red-wedding-cliff-hanger moment and yes, that was by design, but you’ll just have to bear with me. And isn’t Fifty Shades of Grey out this weekend anyway? I’m sure you can get your pornish fiction fill from that or just go back and read some of the old chapters like I did last night (I found spelling mistakes and I was horrified!! Eeep!)

I’ll probably watch FSG at some stage just to see what all the ‘nilla folk are making a fuss about – I’m sure it will be appropriately cringe-worthy and honestly, just from the trailer, the guy playing Mr Grey just isn’t channelling enough scary domliness to do anything for me at all so I don’t know why I should bother.

Actually, I’d like to go to a movie theatre with some kinky friends and just sit there and make audible comments throughout the movie along the lines of, ‘He really needs to rotate his wrist more when he’s flogging’ or  ‘Those nipple clamps just need to go a fraction further back on her aerola.’

I think that would be oodles of fun 🙂