Apparently you can flog someone’s ball off!
Behold, I have proof:
(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)
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.