Sloth

It’s almost Easter and you know what that means?

Some people might think about gorging themselves silly on chocolate or hot cross buns, but I think about FOUR.DAYS.OFF.WORK!

Yessss!

I’m sure there will be some gorging on chocolate and hot cross buns as well, but four days without having to go to the office is glorious indeed.

Last weekend I had a pretty slothy two days – probably I was getting in some practise for the four days of sloth that is approaching. In between taking fifty million photos trying to get three that I can use as book covers, I binge-watched Spartacus on Netflix.

I’m not sure where I was when Spartacus was first on tv, maybe in a world of STOOPID, because there is no other explanation as to why I didn’t watch that fun romp with angsty hot men and full-frontal nudity on a weekly basis. Maybe it was the blood…my there is a lot of blood in that show.

Netflix came to Australia last week and because we are some backwater at the bottom of the world, it’s pretty much got fuck-all content. I shouldn’t grumble because we at least have it now…but about the only thing I hadn’t already seen was Spartacus. Netflix still doesn’t help me get my fix of current tv shows so I’ll still be relying on my ‘shadier’ sources for the foreseeable future.

I’m also planning on playing some xbox this weekend and to that end, I ordered an old copy of Portal 2 online. I feel like I need some puzzles in my life, or at least some more Lego! M and I will surely rock the portal world.

M and I were in bed last night and by in ‘bed’ I mean his bed and by ‘in’ I mean I was wearing boots (it’s still WAAAAY too hot for thigh-high boots in my opinion). He was spanking me and doing his usual interrogation thing:

“What are you?”

“Cute?”

*spank*

“Who owns you?”

“Any man with chocolate does.”

*spank*

As you can tell, I was prolonging the spanking with some inappropriate answers and having a jolly time. Sometimes I’m not really sure whether he finds it amusing or annoying because I still find it hard to know what he is thinking a lot of the time. Maybe I should just do the adult thing and ask:

“Does it annoy you sweetie, pumpkin when I don’t give you the answer you want?”

“Do you want to sleep in your boots tonight, bitch?”

“No..”

“So does it annoy you when I don’t give you the answer you want?”

“Yes..”

And he’d look at me with the condescending smile and I’d thank the lord that I can outrun him.

News

Did I mention I got a new collar? Probably not. So here’s a picture!

Did I mention I printed all of my story and learned how to use the binding machine at my office? Probably not. So here’s a picture!

books

Did I mention I’ve been revising the story to death – chopping, adding chapters and rewriting it for the past how ever many weeks? Probably not. I have no picture of that.

Did I mention I’ve been taking photos for ebook covers and filing US tax information forms so I can publish my story on the kindle store? Probably not. Here’s a picture I rejected.

boots3

Did I mention I had my bi-annual pap smear with a new doctor and she got the speculum stuck on one of my piercings? Probably not. I also have no picture of that.

Did I mention I’m in week six of my twenty-eight week 0-42km, marathon training programme, which means I’m doing 6km runs five times a week? Probably not. You really don’t want a picture of me running (…it’s not pretty.)

So that’s my news and what I’ve been up to…in case you were wondering.

Are those crickets I hear?

Ten years a slave (Part 2)

On Aug 11th 2006, I embarked on my second round of slavery.

I arrived on a late night flight from eastern Australia. M picked me up from the airport looking very casual in a polo shirt, pants and slip-on shoes. (That thing about domly men wearing suits is a good stereotype for erotic fiction but never happens in reality. For most domly people I’ve come across, the most formal thing they’ll wear is a pair of black jeans or maybe clean jeans…one or the other.)

M had demanded that I wear ‘slut wear’ on the plane so not really knowing what he wanted, I had done some emergency shopping at Sportsgirl and joined the mile-high-changing-club by putting on my outfit on en route (I didn’t want my family thinking I was weird…)  I was wearing knee-high boots (that turned out to be nowhere slutty enough), fish net stockings, a skirt, big earrings, a flowy white top and too much make-up.

We said ‘Hi’ and chatted about the flight then we got my luggage and went to the car. He had a leather collar that he put on me in the car and we drove to what was going to be my new home (my stainless steel collar had been ordered from the US and was on its way.)

When we arrived at his house, he had me strip naked outside because I was supposed to be naked with nothing when I entered the house. I remember feeling mortified that anyone could see me from the street but fortunately it was about 1am so no-one was around.

I crawled into the house, he gave me a cropping in the hallway and then asked if I wanted a cup of tea while he made himself a coffee. I met the poodle, he showed me the house and my room (at that time I only had a camp bed in the computer room) and we went through a bit of a routine and what he wanted from me.

By that time it was about 2am so he cuffed my hands behind my back, chained me by my neck collar to the camp bed, put a ball gag in, drew the covers up over me, turned the light off, shut the door and he went to bed.

A few hours later at 5am or some god-forsaken time, he burst into the room, turned the light on, ripped the covers off, cropped me until I got up, then unchained and uncuffed me, dragged me to his bed by the hair, ravished me and he got up and went to work.

Obviously I had zero sleep that first night. A ball-gag and having your arms cuffed behind your back is not conducive to sleep so after he left I went back to bed and tried to get some sleep.

I arrived on Wednesday/Thursday and on that Saturday, I received my first three piercings – clithood and two outer labia. In November, I then had the other four out labia piercings done and after that I got my tattoo.

My memory is that meeting M was a lot less uncomfortable than meeting my first owner. That may have been because I’d done the ‘meeting the random guy off the internet’ thing before or it could have been he was just a nicer guy and we had more chemistry.

I think having a big, white fluffy poodle also helped in lowering his “I’m really a serial killer” level. Somehow I don’t imagine that scary men have a poodle (but that might just be me…) We had also done a lot of chatting online and talking on the phone so meeting in person just seemed like a more ‘real’ video chat – that never stopped. Lol.

I guess my family thinks I am totally bonkers in terms of my relationships and what I do. But then again, after going off to Japan they kind of accept that I do weird things and pretty much whatever the hell I want to do when I want to do it. I think that’s one of the reasons I hate to be tied down (metaphorically). They know in my mind that if I really want to do something, I will do it one way or another.

And that brings to a conclusion this walk down memory lane. Part 1 is here if you missed it.

Eroge

You know, there are just some things you can’t un-see…

And one of those things is Scooby Doo hentai. Yes, apparently, Velma likes it in the ass. Who knew? (Those nerdy bitches often like it dirty, though, so it should be no surprise.)

Anyway, the reason I mentioned Scooby Doo hentai was because I’ve noticed recently that a lot of play-throughs of eroge are being uploaded as hentai anime on Western porn sites. You don’t actually need to go to porn sites to see them –  a quick search on youtube gets you 86,000 hits (you can thank me later for the free porn…with a baked cheesecake…)

Erotic games (eroge for short) or adult games are interactive porn for your pc, tablet or mobile. They are a big thing in Japan and have been ever since the 1980’s. I’m not sure how 16-bit porn would rock your socks, but anyway it was a thing then and it’s still a thing now. Although, with smartphones these days, it seems to be much more common for guys to be playing something along the lines of Demon Spawn Face Fuck than Candy Crush on the train on the way home from work.

A lot of eroge are point and click graphic novel-type stories but some of them are role-playing-type things where you choose exactly how the girl(s) will look and exactly what you’re going to do to her (them). I’m yet to see a boy version. I’m sure there have to be some somewhere, maybe of the yayoi variety, but Japanese porn for all it’s tentacle/monster creativity, is very, very narrow-minded in terms of its gender roles.

What sort of ears do you want and how big should those boobs be? Truck-sized boobs that defy gravity and nipples two inches long? You’ve got it!

0E9rq

Below is a screen shot from Fuck Town Personal Training (catchy title, hey?) It lets you decide how intense the thrusts are.

fuck-town-personal-trainings

If school girl swimsuits are your thing (and they are for a lot of Japanese guys…) you can choose one of those ugly dark blue one-piece swimsuits or you can go for a bikini and socks – because, well…Japan.

tech48_info002

There are a lot of schoolgirls, maids, nuns and/or nurses.

nuns

Along with monsters, tentacles and other assorted hentai stuff (check out the legs of that…horse? centaur? demon spawn? She’s warm and wet and wants… whatever that thing is!)

monster

The level of interaction differs from simply choosing dialogue choices or whether to rub, suck, insert etc. Sometimes with all the pixilation, it’s hard to know what’s going on..

work33top

As with 95% of Japanese porn, the girl is a victim and a usually unattractive middle-aged man wearing glasses is having his way with her or having his men have their way with her. She resists, is embarrassed and then starts enjoying the entertainment and realises how much of a whore she really is. Rinse and repeat for every single porn.

Anyway, that brings to an end to our 101 Eroge lesson. Bon appetit.

You’re not my everything

There is a cultural idea floating around that one other person is supposed to complete your life.

You’re the key to my lock.

You were everything that was missing.

You’re my other half.

As though one other person is all you need for everything in your life.

I’d like to call bullshit on that because it’s never enough.

We’re all born with different skills, different talents, we’re all completely unique individuals and as a result of that, evolution made us social creatures. We need to interact with other people to get the things we can’t, do the things we don’t and be what we aren’t.

If just one person was all we needed to be complete, why the hell wouldn’t you hermetically seal yourself off in a bubble and live out the rest of your days with your SO, in perfect, completeness?

Because one person is never enough.

When M and I got back together, we had several talks about him being okay with me playing with other people to get the experiences he couldn’t provide. Mostly that involved shibari, but if you’ve ever seen us play in public, you’d know he’s quite happy to hand my ass around the room for all and sundry to have a go at.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to see him play with other people. Would I be jealous? Probably. It’s not something I’ve had to deal with so I’m sure it would take a few angsty blogs for me to sort out my feelings, but I wouldn’t be against it. I afford him the same freedom he has given me.

I know a few people who are in open relationships. One friend is a lesbian who is in a long-term relationship with a transgender girl who was born male, but she has also had girlfriends over the years. While my friend loves her partner dearly, there are just things that she can’t provide so my friend needs others to fulfil that need.

Of course, you can still cheat on someone even if your relationship is open. Everyone involved needs to know what is happening and when they don’t, that’s when you can expect to lose someone.

Culturally we’re ingrained to only ‘love’ one person and only have one person in our life. If that doesn’t system doesn’t work then one or both parties had something wrong with them, someone gets blamed and the relationship is considered a failure.

I think there are many different types of love and many ways to have a relationship. After all, we can’t all wear the same jacket and expect it to fit.

My mother is gay and if she hadn’t put on the very comfortable jacket of marrying my father, I wouldn’t be here so I thank her for putting up with that straightjacket, but I watched her struggle with that awful piece of clothing and she was so angry, so very angry, for all of my childhood.

If one jacket doesn’t fit, try another one. Find one that suits. There are more than enough to go around and I’d like to think we’ve evolved a bit more in our thinking.

husband-beating-wife-vintage-ad-chase-sanborn-coffee-store-testing

 

 

 

First-world problems of being an introvert

I wrote a while ago about finally coming the realization that I am an introvert. It actually took becoming friends with another introvert for me to realise there is a name for what I feel and it was very refreshing to know it’s not that rare after all.

Now I’m very conscious about some of the things I do as being behaviour that is typical of introverts and with the need to do those things comes a host of first-world problems:

  • Having to spend extra time in your public toilet stall waiting for everyone else to wash their hands and leave so you don’t accidentally meet them at the sink and have to say something
  • Needing to take your phones (yes, I have two…) everywhere, particularly to the toilet, because if someone happens to call and I can’t answer that means I’ll have to call them back and that’s even worse than having to answer the phone when they called to begin with
  • Going to Supercuts and having to put up with bad haircuts because at least I know I’ll be in and out in less than ten minutes and that’s about the longest time I can stand to make random conversation with the hair-dresser
  • Walking back from a bus stop that was past the one I wanted to get off at because (a) there was someone sitting next to me and I didn’t want to ask them to let me out (b) nobody else pressed the button and I didn’t want everyone staring at me as the only person getting off the bus at that particular stop
  • Taking the stairs whenever I can, avoiding the need to be with someone else in a lift and possibly having to say, “Hi”
  • Putting my ear up to the door and checking the hallway for noises before I go outside my apartment to make sure that I don’t actually meet any of my neighbours
  • Having to cross to the other side of the road if I see something up ahead that may necessitate having to have an interaction with someone such as road works (some person telling me where to walk) or a garbage man or someone having trouble with something (I’m so not the person you want to ask for directions or for help to operate a parking meter etc.)
  • Trying to get the timing right at work to go out the back and make coffee/get a glass of water with no-one else being there that I may have to talk to
  • Physically taking the time to go somewhere to make an appointment because I can’t stand to make a thirty second phone call just to make an appointment (I LOVE ONLINE BOOKING SERVICES!)
  • Not being able to return anything that is wrong or having to fix things myself because I can’t complain
  • Having to shop at large generic stores where I can serve myself and don’t have to talk to anyone (I’m sorry small boutique with fantastic things, I can’t shop at you because your staff will watch me and sometimes want to talk (I LOVE SELF-CHECKOUTS!)
  • Going to the dentist/doctor/piercer to get my ring changed out after fucking up my old ring by using the wrong type of pliers (true story from yesterday) and having to tell them my problems (I usually practise what I want to say before I get there and still sound stupid and nervous anyway so I don’t know why I bother practising at all)
  • Praying to all the gods that be and sacrificing a goat so that I won’t have a chatty person sitting next to me on a flight (I always, always have my ipod and a sleeping mask to avoid any unnecessary chatter)
  • Getting the timing right of looking down at the ground or at some fictional thing that has taken my attention when I pass someone in the street so I don’t make eye contact when they are close enough for it to be an interaction
  • Having to walk at a snail’s pace and sometimes hide behind someone who I know when I accidentally come across them in the street (particularly people from work and acquaintances) so I don’t catch up with them and have to make conversation

What is really funny is that these are things I actually do on a daily basis and if you said “Hell’s yeah!” to more than three of those things, you may be an introvert too! Welcome! It’s a very exclusive club where we never hang out together or talk about anything.

The world is fraught with potential interactions when you’re an introvert, but at least now there is the internet to amuse and keep us company when going out into the real world is just too much.

Who knew?

Apparently you can flog someone’s ball off!

Behold, I have proof:

ballless

(and I’m sorry if you’re eating breakfast while reading this and got a face-full of my twat..)

I felt a few strikes land very close to my rings but I wasn’t aware I’d lost a ball until someone randomly said, “Hey, why is there a ball bearing on the ground?”

I puzzled over it for a few moments and then it dawned on me so I did a quick check and low and behold I was minus one. It’s only the second time it has happened in 8 years so that is a pretty good record (the first time, the whole kit and caboodle fell out into my underwear while I was at work…cue one hurried appointment at the piercer’s.) I’ll be trying to locate some pliers today and doing some emergency ball repair.

I spent three hours in bed before last night’s play party, feeling ill from anxiousness and having a long conversation with myself in my head about not going. Then I got up and started getting ready and going through the possible outfits that I could wear that would cover up as many of my jiggly bits as possible and after deciding on one, I talked myself into going saying I could just stay covered up if I wanted to (I was thinking if it came to it, I could cry and whine and M might take pity on me.)

I channelled Barbarella with a cream coloured shirt dress and white thigh-high, stiletto platform boots. Kind of like this (but without the big hair, space gun, skinny jane fonda and pvc top)

fonda_l

As far as M was concerned, as long as there were boots, I could be wearing a muumuu and he’d be fine with it.

True to form as soon as I got there, I suddenly felt my beating window open and M obliged with a bruise-inducing flogging/paddling/cropping after he’d handed me over to a long-term spanko friend who warmed me up with an over-the-knee hand-spanking and some strokes from an ouchie-rubber-hurty thing.

I’m sore enough to need a pillow in order to sit down comfortably, so that’s a good sign.

I’m sure my run later today will be all sorts of interesting.