Saturday morning thoughts over cappuccino

A couple of weeks back M and I were supposed to go to a play party.

I really find going to play parties to be a two-edged sword: on one edge is the fact that I need to play in front of other people because I have a much higher pain tolerance when I know there are others watching and silently judging (which generally results in much nicer trophies for me!) but on the other edge is the fact that I find it sooooo hard to get naked and play in front of other people when I know they are watching and silently judging.

It takes a lot of pre-party talking to myself to get me out the door and once I’m there, it’s a whole other minefield of small talk with people I don’t know, comparing myself to everyone else and generally feeling pretty uncomfortable.

I’ve said to M a few times that I’d like him just to have me kneel silently on the floor, suitably slave-like and possibly with extended periods of head-to-the-floor time, just so I can minimise the need to do the small talk with people, but that’s no fun for him either because he doesn’t know many people and probably ends up feeling as awkward as I do without me to talk to.

It’s not that I don’t want to meet new people or make friends, it’s just…you know…so hard.

It’s doubly hard at the moment in that the only place we do any play of any description is at play parties. A distinct lack of toys in the toy box after the Great Slave Tantrum of 2014 (a.k.a everything was given away/thrown away/sold) and the noise/space constrictions of apartment-living mean we don’t play at all unless we’re somewhere else.

(Of course, those could just be excuses for a much larger problem, but I do genuinely feel funny about impact toys making a lot of noise in our rather echoy place.)

The day of the play party I ended up getting my period so that seriously put a dampener on things. I’ve been to play parties before with a tampon string hanging out my twat and while it’s not a good look, it can certainly be done. You do need to remember to shove the string up your twat when there are floggers around though…(my, that is a lovely vivid image, isn’t it?)

So I was genuinely glad to have an excuse not to go. I am not feeling good about myself/my body at the moment and the last thing I needed was a lot of young, lithe, slim chicks having fun around me while I wondered what the fuck I was doing and what the fuck happened to me. And then when we didn’t go I felt sad because I didn’t go and didn’t get some play.

Ahh…that two-edged sword has such a delicious cutting edge..

A lot of the time I don’t even know if I want play. I’m not sure if it’s just something I think we *ought* to be doing because we’re in an M/s relationship or whether I genuinely want something to endure. I’ve got nothing to prove to anyone. I get some bruises, post some pics online and then what? It all seems hollow and pointless.

And now I’ve run out of cappuccino so I guess that’s the end of my musing.

In other news, I’m pretty bogged down in rewriting my story (we all knew that was going to happen, didn’t we?) Maybe I’ll have it ready in time for Christmas…lol. Seriously, it will probably take me that long….

I’m also into week 10 of my marathon training and getting to that point where I’m finding it difficult to find places to run distance-wise and avoiding the boredom trap-wise. I’ve purchased some new gear – new shoes, bras and tons of socks in my quest to find the holy-grail of a pair of socks that will help me avoid blisters. And as winter is coming (yes, I’ve already watched the first four episodes of GoT season 5) I’ll probably need to start running at lunchtime soon so that will be fun too…not.

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8 thoughts on “Saturday morning thoughts over cappuccino

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  1. I hope that this isn’t one of my I’ve-had-too-many-beers-but-I-can-still-share-wisdom thingies that I always cringe about afterward (as in next-day-sober), however…as to blisters: consider the “why” of how blisters occur…then go to the “how” of defeating this. Ok…short way ’round the bush: back in the day (meaning, when I was a wee lad), I spent time in the service of my country. My good ol’ Uncle told me: thou shalt wear two pair of socks while on duty. The first pair shall be of tight fitting nylon, silk or some imaginary fabric which will wick moisture from the feet. The second pair, or layer, will be of wool…heavy cotton -might- work. Thus spake my Uncle. Fast forward: um…ok I’m back to the words “I hope that this isn’t”….my point is that blisters occur due to friction . If you wear two pair of socks, one tight the other comfy padding…perhaps, and I only offer the perhaps as an alternative to I-guarantee-you-gonna-get-a-blister, perhaps it may help.

    I knew several Aussies in Vietnam…I don’t know if they had a similar system, but servicemen all over the world have to deal with foot problems….mostly on account of not being able to travel great distances on their hands. So ask a vet…maybe he/she will tell a similar tale or offer a better idea.

    And, since I am drinking, I was going to suggest that you might use the Downton Abbey as a model for foot wear…but then I remembered that in “Goodbye Mr. Chips” either Mr Chippings wife or his Austrian friend died of and infected blister, in those pre-penicilian days when sepsis was poorly understood except as a condemnation to death. (ok…so, yeah…downer…but I’m also watching game of thrones…I guess I’m into cruel again)

    So…bottom line….take care of your feet, and next time I reply to a post of yours, you can run screaming into the night without fear.

    Your welcome

    I remain (due to gravity)

    Mr. Upton Ogoood

    1. OMG…if it isn’t the up-to-no-good man himself! I almost stopped breathing when I saw I had received a comment from you – even if you were drunk 🙂

      (You have that effect on the ladies!)

      Thank you for your very extensive advice about foot care. I’ve noticed a lot of the ‘hi -tech’ marathon socks are actually a set of two pairs for the very reasons you so eloquently explained. I have a thing about spending $20 on one pair of socks though, so instead of handing over a wad of cash, I might buy two reasonably cheapie pairs and see how that works out.

      Just out of curiousity, what are your thoughts on pumicing? To do, or not to do? Part of me wants to think that getting tougher feet is a good thing, but what say you?

      1. (This won’t be nearly as entertaining as the previous remarks in as much as I am currently, and unaccountably, sober. I know you can deal with disappointment…I posted to you sober before)

        I am not a fan of pumice…but I am also not a fan of foot callouses. I am not steady enough to handle a razor blade or knife to excise the excess. This is not a sobriety thing, but not being sober doesn’t improve things either.

        I’m not a fan of callouses, as I said…but onloy for aesthetic reasons. A callous, in regards to the blister question, is actually your friend. So…I guess, now that I re-read your last line, my answer is obvious…um…ok…to me it is.

        Tougher feet -is- a good thing.

        So…a rabbi, a priest and a minister walk into a crowded, noisy bar….the crowd stops talking, then as one they jump up, grab the three and toss ’em out onto the sidewalk. Seems that they’d heard that joke already.

        Did you hear about the Irish magician? He was walking down the street, said “alakazam!” and turned into a bar.

        Your welcome

        Mr Upton, “don’t get fancy, just get dancy”, Ogood

    1. Well…the first book was quite sloppy in parts. I guess two years of writing helps(!) and my later stuff was (in my opinion) better than the early stuff so I want to make it more consistent.
      I’ve also added a couple of chapters to explain things a little better, collapsed short chapters into longer ones, shuffled chapters, sorted out my characterisations a little better and taken a couple of opportunities to juicy it up a bit. The core story hasn’t changed but I’m trying to tell it in a better way.
      I hadn’t gone back and edited anything since putting it up on my blog so it’s something that definitely needed doing.

  2. You sound like me when I am pre- (and during!) menstrual. I guess that means almost half of each month. FUCK. Who’d be a chick.

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