The lull before the new cycle begins.

The last week has been lovely but mad. For the first time since before Christmas things are settling back down which feels nice. I’m looking forward to a days peaceful hiatus before the new year.

I’ve spent lovely time with people I adore. I’ve systematically fed people until they are ready to explode. I have drunk christmasy things like amaretto and Irish cream, but predictably reverted to my true love gin, which aside from being my lifelong preference, definitely seems to go best with steroids (I'm working on producing the definitive word on steroid cocktails). I have got dolled up and danced. I have lounged around in a ridiculous plastic tiara that arrived courtesy of a friend (glamour - I have it). I have spent lots of time laughing and reminiscing and generally having people who love me telling ridiculous stories - ’do you remember in about 1996 when you…?’ (old friends come with such perils don’t they)? N & I have dedicated some serious time to shagging and yet again I am made aware that other people see our sex life as one long romp – we are commonly perceived as hopping off for a marathon bunk up at every opportunity. It’s only when other people reference it that I realise this with a start.

And in amongst all this the first hints of The Annual Planning Summit have commenced. The Summit is a source  joy as it means that we plan to do some cool stuff, but also of trepidation as we have to stretch ourselves and will be held accountable for various failures (mine for example includes ’why the fuck can’t you drive yet?’) which it has to be said is a good question. It also has strong ripples that affect other people. For example, N knows that the decisions made as a result will impact on him and result in various requirements, some of which will inevitably have far reaching consequences.  Wheeeeeeeee!

Anyway, a core group of us band together in various ways, offering support, a boot to the backside and generally helping each other out in reaching our aims, both individual and collectively. The last couple of years has seen me way below par but we are deciding that 2012 will herald my return to business. I can hardly wait, but am also scared as fuck as I’m out of practise at lots of stuff now, and suffering a significant crisis of confidence - definitive proof if any were needed that it's time to jump.

I should add that jumping, kicking and generally launching into my endeavours is my default approach to Life.....

Official undertakings will begin over the next week, but I am already decided that immediate moves will include;

• Dropping the excessive amount of weight I’ve gained from the steroids and Christmas cake as soon as I finish this cycle - ’Hello beautiful, you’re all round, are you junked up darling’? (My friends are so kind and subtle. But seriously, every day the Christmas photos show me looking more and more puffy. It's very sexy I'm sure).
• Getting a new course up and running.
• Learning to drive.  I have the funds thanks largely to other people's generosity (Did I mention that I love them?) I have the license. I now need to get the paperwork regarding my neck in order (for which I have made an appointment next week), then bite the bullet and plan time, book courses and tests - God help me, this freaks me the fuck out for a lot of reasons. I have managed to get to 38 without learning for a good many reasons which I am now about to kick.

Speaking of kicking, I will issue N with his new annual requirements over the next week too. Things are about to be shaken up. Game on :D

Just typing that makes me happy ;)

A moment of peace

I was about to reply to Vix’ comment on my last post, but decided to just blog quickly instead, as I’m sitting here in my dressing gown drinking a chai latte anyway.

Though still really unwell, N is showing intermittent signs of small improvements. He managed to vigorously fuck my brains out for ages yesterday (‘God that really hurt my stomach but it was worth it’), which was very pleasing. And this morning he has asked for a bike ride, though he admits he’s really not up to much, and as I suspect he’ll be back really quickly I have not even given him a limit like usual. I’m packing him off to the Dr when they reopen, I am guessing that his anti-inflammatories have stripped his stomach or similar. It's stomach pain rather than stomach ache.

This morning there is a soothing, pleasant lull in the house, the first spot of tranquillity for a few days. I have entirely lost track of people’s planned comings and goings, but I woke up to one less person this morning, though if I understand correctly they are back later, and someone else arrives this evening (?) I’m going to run out of bedding soon.

N & I managed to sneak off ‘for a little lie down’ yesterday for a while, which as well as the aforementioned festive fucking, resulted in me having a very lovely doze afterwards too. When I tottered out of the bedroom later I found everyone competitively playing with Hexbugs, which I sleepily joined in and promptly worked out how to train. Some things just come naturally to a chick like me ;)

Seasons greetings!

It’s Christmas! Wheeeeeeeee! I’ve had a lovely day.  First I awoke to be presented with heaps of gorgeous, wonderful, perfectly chosen gifts which is a frankly marvellous start to any day. I got;

Ruby slippers

Yes, I really am that camp.

A really excellent thumb ring that I am thoroughly thrilled with. It's exactly what I wanted and very hard to find (astonishingly I know, this item is not camp - it's steel, with a rope design in and really great).

Driving lesson vouchers (hurrah! Various loved ones have now chipped in the vast majority of the cost of the driving course I want to do for various gifts. This is bloody wonderful. I suspect they are partly encouraging me because of the thrilling prospect of not having to ferry me about in future).

Lush goodies including my favourite Karma products.

Sanctuary goodies (also great favourites).

Various other lovely fancy smelly things.

Purple leather gloves. Very nice.

Gorgeous Christmas rose candles in jars that smell like absolute heaven. I love nice candles. 

Books, several, various, all most excellent.

A madly twinkly Swarovski crystal butterfly hair thing that I fell in love with on sight ages ago. It looks better in real life than the photo (though no less blingy)

Keep Calm and Carry On merchandise, various, lots. Mostly the original red kind, but also a desk set emblazoned with the following alternative

Sweets and treats (see  ^)

A really lovely lap tray with butterflies on that I wanted - when I type at home from now on it will be on that :) I am charmed by it.

The soup bowl set that I was charmed by and asked N to get me in Blakeney.

A pleasingly vast quantity of sugar free caramel coffee syrup. Yum.

 

A polished wood and embroidery vintage box which is very lovely.

A beautiful snowflakey pin (jewellery and a torture implement in one, v handy).

The Urban Decay black palette, swoon

A make up bag with other lovely things inside it,

….And a real Charlie Mouse that sings the mouse organ song from Bagpuss!





It sings this song 



After that I basically played with my toys, tarted around in my shoes, chatted to best friends, gave lots of cuddles to my loved ones, cooked and scoffed a massive decadent lunch, drank lots of nice bubbly stuff, had a very pleasant nap, and am planning on watching Downton Abbey shortly. Perfection.

I got Nigel;

Some motorcycle gloves he wanted. He seems very pleased with them. Apparently the knuckles are extra brilliant or something and there is a special feature. Oh yes.

Books, various

CD’s etc

Sweets and treats, various

Boy bathroom things that he particularly likes

Stationary things he likes

A wallet that says ‘Tight Arse’ on it (I am naturally delighted with myself as the result of this hilarity. Bwahahaha).

He’s really not very well and in obvious pain, but has been a darling none the less. I wish he didn't hurt though... aside from the whole love factor, I feel cheated when anything but me causes him pain ;) He has bravely managed to force some christmas cake down however - he's so brave ;)

I hope you all had a christmas day as wonderful as I have, and the next few days, and the whole of 2012 is lovely for you too x

Groan

Holy Mother of fuck I feel shit today. Last night was weekly big drug night and the day after that is always far from sparkling, the RA is surging as the steroids haven’t kicked in yet, and yet the steroids are making their presence felt in terms of side effects.  As such it is 16:00 and I have only just staggered out of the shower and am sitting here with wet hair in a dressing gown. Bleurgh.  

Weirdly though this really problematic burn on my stomach I’ve been battling with (this is such a sexy post isn’t it?) is suddenly healing. Huh. No idea why but yay for that at least. Maybe it heralds a swing in the right direction? 

(I cannot find my cellphone charger by the way; I have someone searching for me though; so if you are a real life person just reading to find where the hell I am, home phone, email or FB me please x )

Blood, Gingerbread and Steroids.

Sadistic Domestic Goddess Tip #48:

One of the most blissful culinary combinations in the world is homemade toffee gingerbread fresh out the oven followed by mouthfuls of blood. The combined flavour is utterly sublime, and very festive. God I love Christmas. 

Needless to say I have been baking, and sampling and am now a little high and very happy :)

Why yes, I do look utterly like the delightful Ms Day as I spread my special domestic Goddess festive cheer!

Ok, now the boring part. I’m on steroids again which should make Yule etc interesting.  I went to the Doctor as I was going downhill so rapidly that it was obvious I was going to be crippled within a fortnight at best, and I thought I’d try being proactive and prevent it getting that far, which last time worked. The Doctor was great, she just took one look at me and wrote me up a hefty prescription which was pleasingly easy. I think I may now be getting the hang of this RA lark.

But enough of this boring stuff, let us return to matters festive, in particular glittery peacock feather slavetails. Thankyou to all of you who memoed, commented or 'loved’ the tasteful and understated photograph of N so chicly adorned for the festive season. I was feeling really ill when I snapped it on a whim, and the overwhelming and hilarious responses made a rough day more cheery. I’m sure N feels the same. He’s currently lying in the bedroom bleeding and recovering following some very loud screaming and asking if I was putting acid on his skin (it wasn’t acid but wasn't that a pretty question)? However, as I haven’t shoved any holly up his arse today or put a disco ball on his balls (the title for that pic would be simple at least, yes?) I personally think that must surely constitute a win for him. And as I said the blood was simply delicious with my gingerbread so that’s what really counts. He lives to serve ;)

Sparkly!

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaaaah

On the up

Things are looking up again :)

N has decent painkillers which are allowing him to sleep and it’s making a very pleasing difference. My boy is back, hurrah! 

I have been running around making the house twinkly and christmasy which delights my camp sparkly self.

All gift shopping is complete. Repeat, all gift shopping is complete. I have a few things to ‘do’ gift wise, but we are within acceptable time still. I have however wrapped bugger all really.

My health has gone down quite sharply the last week or so, but it’s still objectively good considering the time of year, which I'm trying to focus on. I’m pleasingly non busy at present so I'm trying to buoy myself up that way. Steroids soon are inevitable I suspect, and they should help. 

S is coming to stay over Christmas and he too is perkier again. It's funny how both N & S are following the same patterns really. Though their syncing like this is sort of sweet in it's own way, I must add that it is most inconvenient for me ;)

Our anniversary was rather lovely (and thankyou everyone who sent well wishes, that was really awesome of you all). N very sweetly has not so much as asked to take off the bracelet I gave him since I put it on him. It was intended as a sort of collar substitute for when he can't wear his collar, and he is obviously very pleased with that as he wants to wear a collar more often than he gets to. And the bracelet doesn’t even tangle in my hair at night which is a near miracle.

Now N’s a bit more back to usual I’m hurting him again, which is really good. Repressing sadism is beyond fucking frustrating for me. This will sound ridiculous but it actually hurts. And yes, I know how ironic that is. Not hurting him is a great act of love sometimes. It's really nice to be back :)

Fifth Anniversary

Today marks the anniversary of me officially owning N for five years. I owned him before that really, but this was the date when we made it official, with collars and official promises and all that jazz.

These five years have been quite the roller coaster in some ways, we’ve experienced so much together - some quite amazingly wonderful times, and some moments when we have just bloody despaired. But underneath everything, my owning him also often gives our lives a wonderfully peaceful quality that we both revel in.

We’ve created a new family. We have moved to a new home in a new area and he created me things I really wanted. Our careers and lives have changed unrecognisably. We have run around going ’Wheeeeeeee!’ having adventures, with serious down and dirty, very bad, but utterly fucking awesome fun, causing trouble, and generally laughing and growling a lot.  We’ve fucked each others brains out, and remarkably, despite prediction have managed not kill each other. Quite the achievement.

He’s been reprogrammed mentally to think and respond in all manner of new ways that are miles away from where he started. He’s been isolated, then been thrown back into the world and I watched him blinded by the light and the noise of it out there, desperate to return to my side. He’s been dragged through some trials as only I can do (it’s a talent). He's dealt with me having other lovers of both genders, despite believing for a long time that it would break him if I had other men. He’s acquired a lot of scars, screamed, bled, collapsed, been pissed on, begged, cried, been arse fucked relentlessly, been scalded, been fitted with plugs for long periods of time, been given enemas, been  kicked, punched, slapped, scratched, restrained, face fucked by men and arse fucked by men just because I say so, been caged, been the subject of porn, been beaten excessively, been chained, been humiliated in the extreme, had sharp things stuck in him... and I must have drunk litres of his blood in this time. When I'm too ill to move my head he cuts his wrist and tenderly holds it to my mouth for me because he knows blood will give me a boost.

Five years today

The bad times have been pretty dark, some of our own making, and some just what Life has thrown at us. We’ve both had very significant bereavements and propped each other up through them. We’ve both had surgery. He’s been injured looking after me. I developed a chronic health issue that really blew our fucking lives up, and despite the mayhem that caused we held on by our fingernails and somehow staggered through intact, taking it in turns to drag the other one as needed. He’s wanted to throw the towel in and discovered just what ‘can’t leave’ means in reality when you're mine, and afterwards he’s been glad that I’m such an awesome bitch at the head tampering and the violence.

We love each other deeply, passionately, primally. We looked at each other six years ago and sort of went ’Oh it’s you. Actually I don’t officially know anything about you do I?’ There is a connection based on recognition as much as anything else, a bit like two predatory animals recognising each other through pure instinct and trying to decide whether to try and take each other out, or pair up and form a pack (being natural thrill seekers we initially sort of tried both simultaneously, you know, just for kicks). He doesn’t get all kinds of things about me, but he gets some of the bits that other people freak out about. So ok, yeah, he’s bemused by my flashes of uber-camp, my faith, some of my relationships, my cultural circles – but I don’t need him to get those things,  I have other people for that. His place is to be mine with all that that entails. There's nothing he wouldn't do for me and owning him feels like home for both of us.

…. And with all that and pages and pages more besides, what is the one thing that other people always remember? That I sold his bloody Ducati.

Happy anniversary N xxxxx

'A moderately good play with a badly written third act'.

The last few weeks have been trying for about a hundred and one reasons, but I’m pleased to say things are now looking up :)  Not perfect, but much better; 

·         N’s pain in his knee and insomnia (resulting from the pain keeping him awake) plus various other things wildly exacerbated his traditional seasonal slump, and eventually I marched (well, limped) him to the Doctors. He’s back next week but he’s already much more like his normal self.

·         As I let up on him for a while when he was really not ok through necessity, he managed to interpret as some slight on his slavery (slave logic does not resemble any other logic). Bossing and belting him around again has him looking quite cheerful and comfortable again. I have some pretty and painful declarations of love planned for him after his next trip to the GP which I’m sure will make his heart sing. One must be pragmatic about marks etc. after all.

·         Speaking of cuts ;) I have cut his working hours quite a lot however as this seems sensible. He is pleased but concerned about this.

·         Meanwhile in our alternate timeline S is not in a good place either and I am very worried about him. So both my boys have been messed up lately , a state of affairs I am less than thrilled about. There is now a some extra support in place for him however.

·         My health is still holding out and we are well into December! Hurrah! I am gleeful. My body appears to be trying to flare but the clever drug cocktail is winning. I am back on a decent sized dose of a drug I usually avoid but so far no ill effects and good results. All hail drugs!

                          

·         Not being a fool however and being aware that Christmas is a-coming I am trying to get that well and truly sorted just to be on the safe side. This is going well. Pretty much all gifts, cards, and non perishable food are purchased, and the To Do list regarding this is getting shorter. Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaahhhh.

·         I am planning a course for January and am busying away with sorting that out.

·         Finances are tight, largely as we have had a lot of unexpected large expenses lately.

·         The traditional Winter damp which we have thrown a fucking fortune at since buying this house is back. I’m so glad for the epic amounts of money, time and effort we have spent on this little hobby. 

·         And speaking of water let us not forget the boiler demanding financial attention. There is an aquatic theme emerging actually. Perhaps I should buy a boat next.

·         Actually, ~ invisible secret telling ink~ I am planning on finally learning to drive in the new year. Now, I’ll admit this probably sounds less exciting than a boat but it’s a big move for me. I have to have a couple of medical bits verified, sort some minor mods, and renew my driving license then I plan to give it a go.  I’ve even chosen where I’m going to go.

So anyway, that’s a not very thrilling overview of what’s been going on.

It's different when it's mine

I was writing a response to something on FL earlier and I thought I’d try to explain a bit more fully here.

I’m a sadist. That part is easy. I also like control, and preferably ownership. These obviously don’t have to be linked but as soon as you get to O/p they become so for me.

There are so many sadistic things that I like to do to what’s mine, and that gets reflected in myriad ways. Sadism without the context of ownership feels like a different creature to sadism within O/p for me. With someone I don't own it’s just different. I don’t drink just anyone’s blood for example, but if it’s my blood, in the sense that I own it, it’s a glorious, passion filled, life filled intimacy for me.  Take that connection away and the act is unrecognisable for me.

So for me, within the context of O/p sadism becomes more than ‘just’ sadism. It becomes a manifestation of a core truth, an essence, of something to do with authenticity and being who we are, and sharing an energy that we create.

That’s why trying to talk about sadism cleanly, as distinct from O/p doesn’t work for me if I’m talking about sadism within an O/p context. It’s because I am, effectively, talking about an utterly different experience.

I can hurt other people, I can lay all sorts of claim to their bodies, their spirits, their time, their love or whatever it is we are based upon. But unless they are my bodies, and my spirits contained within them, it is not the same from my side of the equation. Can I hit or bite flesh as hard? Yes - but the connection behind that is not in any way the same.  It may be wonderful, but for me it’s not the same.

I want to gulp down blood that I own, not on just anyone’s blood. There may be pleasure in it without ownership but for me, it’s not comparable. And drinking from someone I used to own would feel like sucking on something dead, not the warm fuzzy thing I hear about on FL. It’s the energy and connection that matters to me. As blood floods into my mouth (or whatever the act in question may be) it’s the physical manifestation of a primal, spiritual connection.

I know deep connections can exist without ownership, I have such connections, but this is specific and that’s why I find it hard to talk about sadism as the same thing whether it occurs in O/p or not. Because to me, it just is not the same the same thing. It may be to some people and that's wonderful, but it isn't to me. 

I can get pleasure from being intensely sadistic to people I don’t own, but it is so different to opening up what’s mine, because it’s mine, that it feels like discussing another subject.

Blessings.

Being British I don’t do Thanksgiving, and I suppose if I did it would be the Canadian variety. However I have quite a few American friends here so none the less it creeps into my life. Leaving aside the problematic historical issues regarding Thanksgiving, ever Pollyannaish me thought it might be nice to focus on the ‘giving thanks’ part and join in from Blighty.

So, seven things I am thankful for (I don't know why some people do seven by the way. Is it regional? Or is there a significance? I must find out).

• My wonderful offspring who I love and adore with every last part of my being.  The best thing I have ever done.
• My wonderful friends without whom my life would be an entirely different landscape.  I am truly blessed to have each and every one of them.  I really am exceptionally lucky in this area, and every time I need them there they are. Love them all.
• My health stabilising and all that this entails. Psssst, we are approaching the end of November and though there's a few difficulties so far still no major flare. I am quietly  thrilled.
• My creativity starting to make reappearance (see above). I was starting to think it had gone forever, but no. It’s peaking out again. I am gleeful.

• Being privileged enough to have access to the internet and to know such lovely people as a result.  This includes the ones I have got to know in real life and the ones who remain a virtual presence.  You’re a very cool addition to my world. How else would I learn about hand turkeys, lip tattoos, TV recommendations, avicas, and generally get such enjoyably random chatter?

• A house to live in, food to eat and drinks to drink. a lock on my (one) door to keep the world out, books on my shelves, snugly quilts on my bed, pretty gardens, warm clothes, a summer house, hot showers in the morning, presents for people all over my house, luxuries, lovely sparkliness and wooden mushrooms and stuff that makes me smile when I look at it, music, days out, living by the forest, tea…. Oh what the heck, I’m mentioning the tea twice. 

Ok, yes, I added the  'sparkly household nick naks' part just as an excuse to put this picture up

• ….. and N. Magically cleaned boots, adventures, love, poached eggs, hot sex, cuddles ….  Oh just see here  before I ruin my allegedly dastardly rep ;)

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. I hope you all have a lot to be grateful for, just like me.

My butterfly is too shiny.

Today was a very early start and a Cambridge day. The interesting bit is that I went to a  Vermeer exhibition  at the Fitzwilliam museum and got to see The Lacemaker and The Music Lesson which was very cool. Other highlights for me included The Reader by Eglon van der Neer, and A Woman at a Window by Jacobus Vrel which I have a secret love for ("Oh screw the housework, it's sunny out there and there are much more interesting things going on. Also yes, I'm fat so if you don't want to look at my arse feel free to avert your eyes irrelevant viewer"). Ok, it's just possible that I am projecting a little ;)

'Kiss it'.

As they couldn’t find anyone else at that moment, I also got roped briefly into waffling on about a painting (The dead Christ supported by the Virgin Mary and Mary Magdalene, by Bassetti in case anyone is randomly curious). This basically involved me saying things like 'Slate is very dark, and look this one’s not broken. How super!' I’m a  fucking genius I tell you. Amusingly I was asked to take my butterfly hairband off as I suspect butterflies don’t look learned (though they sweetly pretended it was because it was too shiny for camera). Snort. This amused me immensely.   

What else? Aside from practical stuff there was Christmas shopping, including a rather entertaining present for N which I am sniggering about as I type (I think I am hilarious with this and I nearly laughed like a loon in the shop when I saw it. Oh bad puns, how I love thee), more art supplies for a big present I’m making up, and books. Also purple leather gloves for myself from N as miraculously I found a pair that fitted my decidedly non-dainty hands. I sent him a text to tell him he'd bought me a lovely present and naturally as a good slave he was thrilled I'm quite sure.

Coffee, Welsh cakes, nattering, and some generally pleasant Cambridge time.  The festive season is definitely upon us in terms of the shops, it was carols on the speakers and mulled wine scent in the air systems of big shops, which is one of the many reasons I try to avoid them like the plague. I also detected that first whiff of frenzy in the air, lots of Very Middle Class women buying things like shawls with artsy recycled glass beads on, and darling china tea cups in special satin lined gift boxes etc.

Then home on the train and a trudge through the rain in the dark to find a slave waiting with tea for me. Is there anything nicer than coming in tired and cold to find someone dutifully waiting with lovingly pre-prepared tea? I realise most people see O/p as being one long round of chains and debauchery but as far as I am concerned tea is a major component. In fact next time someone puts one of those threads up in the O/p group asking 'what the cornerstone of O/p is' I think I shall reply that here at least, it is tea.

Tonight is my weekly big drugs night so I shall try to fit as much as possible in before I take it. But first dinner. And then, shockingly, some more tea.

Patchwork Monday

Shedwatch: Door now assembled and just needs fitting.

Slavewatch: He's doing better, much more like his old self. I am assuming this is the result of sleep as much as anything else.

Sleepwatch: Insomnia last night triggered by tangible interruption and pain. I got up to not disturb N as much as anything else. There's no point in drugging him to sleep then keeping him awake. I'm really tired though.

As well as the above, in amongst other dull stuff, today I;

Rushed about too early, and too cold. It's bloody FREEZING here.

Went to a delightful tea shop and had hot chocolate ('for warmth') and toffee tiffin.

Had a lot of very hot sex. Again 'for warmth'.

Woefully failed to complete my to do list.

Bought a wooden Mexican calavera (day of the dead skull) pendant thing from a cool guy called Matt that I really like.

Bought lots of Christmas presents online and in the Mildenhall shops (tons of art supplies & a few toiletries).

Played a lot of Tori Amos, and a new copy of an old Kate Bush CD.

Came up with a fucking brilliant plan involving N, more of which later. I’m sure many of you will enjoy it immensely however :D

I now need to get stuff ready for an early start in the morning, but first I’m going to drink this tea.

Bloody Sunday

My weekend has been a blur though it shouldn’t have been. And today, we emerged from our Sunday morning bed and put up a shed. Quite wonderfully N did most of the manual stuff this time, and my role mostly involved just working out how it all went as the instructions were both idiotic and misleading, and N understandably couldn’t fathom it, demonstrating - ’no I mean turned  180 degrees then tilted to this angle, so the holes line up’, - and doing the assistant jobs like holding panels in place and passing screws. It was just like being a glamorous assistant but without the glamour. I’m doing this Mistress lark wrong again aren’t I?

The new shed being up is something I wanted though as it’s a key part of Operation Sort The Storage Crisis, Reclaim The Lean To, And Thus Get My Art Desk Out From Under Things Like Bloody Chainsaws.  

Please note, ‘bloody chainsaws’ in this sense is me being British, and not some act of diabolical sadism. Thankyou ;)

.....But chainsaws don't belong on art desks.

Sex.

I’ve just posted on a thread on the O/p group and it led me to write this post.

Though other people do, I never use the term ‘sex addict’ about myself as I think it’s a spurious ill defined term, but it’s definitely fair to day I fit much of the vague criteria generally bandied around as indicating sex addiction – except for the ‘negative impacts’ factors, and it’s this I’m going to discuss.

For the benefits of this post I just did a silly online assessment on a very earnest site to see what it said, and lo it informed me I have a serious problem with sexual addiction and need help. Okey dokey internet. But you see, I do not consider my sexuality to be problematic (you will be unsurprised to know there is a political rant about the tethering of female sexuality just brewing but fear not, I shall spare you all as an act of kindness).

One of the many reasons for me not considering my sexuality to be problematic is that I niftily manage this facet of myself by owning a slave.  ‘Problem’ solved. - I'm an ENTJ, remember? We don’t like to not have stuff running according to our wishes. It's messy ;)

I am a diehard pleasure seeker, and God do I love the highs in Life. Always have done, it’s my base nature. So naturally over the years I have learned how to manage my hedonism. Throw in the fact that I’m hyper orgasmic, and the fact I would have a huge desire for sex starts to seem pretty obvious. The fact I cannot manage without orgasming very, very regularly is just how this manifests.

When I say ‘I can’t manage’ I do not mean I just feel an overwhelming (sometimes painful) desire to orgasm many many times a day, though that is also true too. I mean that I literally cannot manage not to – my body will even spontaneously orgasm if I don’t ‘feed’ it. I can often orgasm at will without external stimulation (I use the term ‘external stimulation’ because I am often stimulating myself with my muscles internally) and thus I just am sexual regardless of whether I seek out someone else to 'do sexing' with or not.  I am aware this is seen as ‘problematic’ to some people, but really I would not change things. I like my sexuality. Very much.

Anyway, coupled with my natural hedonism, having people who are obligated canvases for my eroticism, be that for sex, sadism or domination; and to be honest the line between these is usually blurry in reality; is a perfect solution to a constant craving. And of course it’s also one that fits my base nature in the far more fundamental way as I really love control. I like just saying ’put your arse up, I want to use it’ or ’get busy with your mouth’ or ’lie there, I’m going to hurt you now’ or ’get your cock stiff I want to fuck’ without any need for whatever the hell it is other people do - roses, or candles or whatever it is. 

The way I see it, if you are working something successfully to your advantage, not harming anyone, and happy with the outcome how is it a ‘problem’? The criteria for sex addiction is a) non conclusive, there is no definitive clinical definition from what I can see, and b) steeped in an ‘it’s a problem’ discourse (generated remember, by people making money out of expensive treatment programmes), which is one of the many reasons I do not genuinely identify with the paradigm;

But to take one popular model for sexual addiction;

• Frequently engaging in more sex or with more partners than intended.  

More sex than intended? Yes, sometimes. But generally I’m happy with the principle of rampant fucking. More partners that I intended? No. Why? Because I don’t set myself up within a restrictive criteria, and I own a slave so I can have what I like anyway.

• Being preoccupied with or persistently craving sex; wanting to cut down and unsuccessfully attempting to limit sexual activity.

I constantly crave sex. I do attempt to limit for practical reasons. I don’t want to though. I was to fuck. Surely that’s obvious?

• Thinking of sex to the detriment of other activities or continually engaging in excessive sexual practices despite a desire to stop.

‘Desire’ to stop? Erm, depends what you mean by ‘desire’. While there’s a necessary and deeply annoying practical requirement, that’s not something I see as a desire.  I occasionally wish I didn’t wake up horny so many times a night, or that I didn’t orgasm on the train or in Starbucks, but generally I’m content with the status quo. I engage in excessively sexual activities by most standards, yes, but these are not my standards.

• Spending considerable time in activities related to sex, such as cruising for partners or spending hours online visiting pornographic Web sites.

I’d say no to this but I’m sure a psychologist would count FL.

• Neglecting obligations such as work, school or family in pursuit of sex.

Guilty as charged.

• Continually engaging in the sexual behaviour despite negative consequences, such as broken relationships or potential health risks.

No major negative consequences recently. Well, other than a few sexual injuries and the odd necessary slave repair job. ‘Potential’ health risks? Sure. Don’t all sexual relationships contain those though?

• Escalating scope or frequency of sexual activity to achieve the desired effect, such as more frequent visits to prostitutes or more sex partners.  

And/ or generally upping the kinky depravity? In that case, yes. I am continuing to have a fine time, thankyou very much.  

• Feeling irritable when unable to engage in the desired behaviour.

Oh FUCK YES. Stand between me and sex and it’s not pretty. It’s not pretty because when I need to orgasm, I. Need. To. Orgasm. And therein lies a key point - not all of this is psychological for me, it’s also very very physical. And I manage this, just the same as I manage my sadism.

So anyway perhaps I’m a 'sex addict' whatever that may of may not mean, but if I am I manage it well and I have no desire to change.

So there pseudo scientists.

Stress relief.

To make up for the angsty post;

After tackling some difficult stuff today, I decided to let off steam by putting N through his paces when we got home. I put him in his cute lacy panties (aside: from the rear it’s actually a very pleasing fuckworthy view, not just a humiliation thing - I just don’t look at the front), spanking him over my knee in a slightly 'girlish' manner, then buggering the ever loving fuck out of him in various positions with his panties on his thighs and telling him he’d make a good wife.

I briefly felt pseudo-lesbian again. It must be all that purple ink ;)

After I’d finished all that and N had secured permission to remove the panties, he managed a sterling job of asserting his masculinity and generally giving me a blissfully good seeing to. This including him going to work on my breasts, which is a relatively recent triumph of his. I never used to like them being so much as touched, (it was like ‘touch the tits I’m going to punch you bitch’), and now he successfully makes me repeatedly orgasm that way. It is without doubt fair to say my man has mad skills in the sack. He has done some astonishing things in terms of eroticising all sorts of bits of me, or touching me in very clever ways (example, he does this awesome nerve ending thing that can make me orgasm and shudder when he does it on my lower back. And if he does his magic stuff on my neck I lose it. He's a fucking artist, literally).  

So anyway, he’s sore and I had a lovely, stress reducing, marathon, orgasm festival.

I might stick sharp things in him later I think. That sounds a nice way to end the day. I haven’t mention that though. Tra la la.

Angst in Ely.

Tuesday was a very busy day, but I managed get a lot done, and also spend some enjoyable time doing nice things, aka shopping – pretty thermal base layer top, ‘there is no such thing as bad weather just the wrong kit’ etc, five 16 x 12 dark wood picture frames for some lovely prints, a flask with birds on, a Cath Kidston gadget case, purple lip gloss, brown hair dye (used last night), silver wire love heart earrings, electric toothbrush heads (sexily)   - and having a gingerbread latte in Ely too, which was good.  Lovely in fact.

Ely Cathedral (which is lovely, by the way)

While in Ely, I also did something somewhat compulsive however. You see, it’s my Mother’s birthday soon. Every single birthday, and Yule (and various other times, randomly), I go through this quite deranged thought process, usually in the early hours of the morning.

'I wonder how Mum is. It’s her birthday soon. I wonder if she’s ok. I can’t send her anything to try to make her happier for her birthday now. I could send a card. No, that would be stupid. What good would it do? You know it won’t actually do anything helpful. And anywhere you can’t send a card because then she’ll know where you live. Ah, well I could send one when I’m away from home, especially if I’m in a different county. Cambridge is the obvious answer because then she will automatically assume I’m still in Cambridge. I’m going to [X place] this week, I wonder if that would do. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue. A card wouldn’t make her life nicer anyway. I could send a totally anonymous gift of neutral but nice things, sort of like a hamper. Then she wouldn’t know it was from me. And I could put all her favourite stuff in. But then she would know it was me because who else would know all her favourite stuff? And who else would be sending her anonymous gifts? I suppose I could put some stuff she doesn’t like in it as well to blur the matter. Oh FFS, that’s ridiculous. The card idea was stupid enough. Though the card isn’t useful, but a gift would be, so it’s actually less foolish. But both are idiotic plans. I’d have to lug my no doubt heavy secret parcel full of useful lovingly chosen gifts (and sneaky unwanted ones?) a long way, to get round the location issue which is ridiculous. A card would at least not be difficult in that manner. But it’s stupid anyway, there’s no point in sending a card, even if I do manage to deal with the location issue……'

And on this goes. Seriously, this is how nuts this issue drives me. On no other matter am I ever a basket case a’la this.

On Tuesday though as I was walking round a shop in Ely  buying the picture frames I found myself staring at the cards and decided to do it. Away from home? Check. Right time of year? Check. Cards just sitting there? Check. Idiotic fucking crazycakes idea? Check. First we had the ‘which card will be the most appropriate option’ dilemma. A huge rack of cards and pretty much every one had a landmine on it. That one says too much loving stuff. That one mentions being happy and she can’t be happy. That one is too fun, she’ll see it as taunting. That one is too affectionate. That one she’ll think is childish and see as patronising. That one she’ll see as too plain and a rebuff. That one is dark colours and she’ll take as some cruel thing. That one has a family on it. That one she’ll see as something to do with the devil. That one has a garden on it and that’s the last thing I need. That one will make her get depressed about her dead cat. On and on it goes. In the end I went for what seemed the best option but which I know she will analyse and find a thousand faults with.

Then I packed it away and tried to put it out of my head, and went for the aforementioned vat of gingerbread latte. About halfway through my pint sized mug it was time to write the card. This involved writing out several carefully worded options in my notebook in an effort to get the most non inflammatory phrasing I could. Then agonising about them for a while and scribbling and editing. Then looking through my pens to try to find an ink that would be most acceptable. Black she’ll see as hostile. Of the options in my bag at this precise minute that leaves purple and gold. Gold is out as she’ll say she can’t read it. That leaves purple, which she’ll bitch about for it’s flamboyance and no doubt turn it into some homophobic thing. But purple is not going to register as actually aggressive  and it’s visible so I shall have to go with flamboyant-burn-in-Hell-you-invert-dyke ink.  Unless I go to the shops for a blue pen. Which I’m not doing because I shouldn’t be doing this anyway and holy fuck all this dicking around is fucking ridiculous. What the fuck am I doing? Since when do I do shit like this?



Apparently purple is 'flaky' rather than dykey and thus I should not have worried  ^



So, with my flamboyant lesbian ink I carefully (because my handwriting will be analysed and shown and discussed in great detail) transcribed my carefully crafted phrasing. I have pretty nice handwriting usually, unless my hands are especially bad I often get compliments on it. But yesterday presumably because I was in this tensed up, making an effort state my writing was shit on the inside of the card (though tellingly totally back to my nice normal writing for the name and address on the envelope, when I wasn’t thinking about it). 

And let us not forget the whole what to write re names debacle. What to call her? I went with ’Mum’ as really, all other options come off as mean, but I know it will piss her off. Then there is what to call myself (long story, don’t ask). I went with my forename. This will not go down well, but what else to do?

Then I looked it over in detail and stressed about it an considered buying a new card and a blue pen and again decided I had let this idiocy already take me far too far into crazyville. The above is about as opposed to my normal behaviour as is possible.

Then whether to tuck the envelope in, or stick it shut. Was the stamp in squarely enough? Would an Ely postmark cause a problem? Should I just throw it in the bin (Sensible answer: yes. Chosen behaviour: no)? And eventually I posted the stupid fucking thing.

The fact that I can normally do the things I do, competently and happily, but this turns me into a total clusterfuck of insecurity and stress is precisely the reason I should not send cards. But now I have and that means I may have accidentally set a premise. I never thought of that, because I was too busy persuading myself not to do it.  

Versatility.

VBA’s are apparently ‘Versatile Blog Awards’ rather than say Visible Bra Atrocity, Very Big Arse, or Virgin Bootie Alert (this last one thanks, unsurprisingly, to the delight that is N). Who knew? Not I said the chick from Suffolk. But then the lovely Vixen told me. Mwah, Vixen <3

First I’d like to say that I love the fact it’s called ‘versatile' rather than random. Isn’t that sweet?

Being utterly wonderful I am ahead of the game on sharing things about myself , but as per the rules I shall offer seven more random bits of crap about myself fascinating tidbits in the spirit of randomness versatility.

1)  Is how many times I have played scrabble on a board and also the number of times I promptly had a meltdown over said scrabble. Seriously. It made my head glitch because of the patterns. I feel twitchy just thinking about the horrors.

2)  Is the minimum number of orgasms I seem to be capable of having in any one go.  I physically seem incapable of just having one.

3)  Is the optimum maximum number of slaves for me I think. A girl, a straight boy and a gay boy sounds nice, don’t you agree?

4)  Is the number of children I would have liked.  

5)  Is the number of stone I weighed at my lowest weight. I was emaciated and looked like crap, it was hardly some aspirational Kate Moss type thing.  Incidentally five is also the number of stone I would rather like to lose now. The irony, it burns.

6)  Is about the number of cups of tea I try to limit myself to in a day.

7)  Is the number of days of the week I am fucking fabulous. Also modest.

And now as per the rules once again I shall link to seven random blogs I think are cool.

Picking My Own Brain

A Slave Amongst Drivers 

AlwaysHistora

TheVelveteenHoodrat 

Under His Hand

Down The Rabbit Hole

To Do With As She Will

Versatility rocks my friends.

Well trained owner.

07::00, deepest darkest Suffolk. Half asleep. Cold. 

Dashing to get ready to leave for Cambridge any minute now.

Before I can do so though I must get small child ready for school and there is a flaw in the system. Her leggings, necessary for basketball club, which I handwashed last night are still slightly damp. Bugger.

So, naturally in my half asleep; and crucially let us not forget arthritic with Very Dodgy Hands; state I take definitive action. I decide to quickly dry off her leggings by holding them over the gas ring of the cooker. They are not too damp after all and this will solve the matter quickly. I iz a genius, yes?

Ok, so it’s moronic even for someone without dodgy hands (someone who is currently sporting a nasty inner wrist burn from an accident involving failed wrist control I might add). And ok, I’d think someone else doing this was stupid…. but it’s cold and I’m in a hurry and I don’t want to traipse out into the cold to the tumble drier and fight with the lock for five minutes (because my hands are bad.....)

….. But this irritating voice in my head kept saying “If you drop these and set fire to yourself and the kitchen and have to explain to N just how you did this he’s going to lose his shit. Just think of the sanctimonious fire safety lecture, and how he will forever more have legitimate ammo with which to deem you to be a fire hazard of the highest order. And also what a fucking dick you’re going to feel explaining this to other people”.

Warning: Placing fabric, unstably, over naked flame is bad kids.

And thus, like a well trained owner I eventually traipsed out to the tumble drier and shall get the leggings out when I leave in ten minutes.

I am trueness personified. But kudos N - job well done.

Life on the edge.

Today we went to the coast, Blakeney in Norfolk to be precise. This is one of my favourite places, I utterly adore it. It’s peaceful and a wonderful place to walk and just ‘be’.  

So N and I stomped along the muddy coastal path talking and saying  ‘oh look, that tree is pretty. I like that windmill. Isn’t the church nice. Look at the boats. There are lots of birds aren’t there? Shall we have tea soon?’ We have both been very stressed lately so some peaceful wind down time was  really, really good. I made him take me for tea at a fancy hotel which was hilariously funny as it was full of dreadfully well to do people looking chic, and I was there all windswept with hot pink hair, big stompy boots and a trashy fur coat. Also, as I know Bidds reads here Foodwatch at Blakeney involved a freshly baked goats cheese & leek quiche warm from the oven, and very nice apple tart. Yum. It would have been worth the drive for that alone.

Oh and I asked N to buy me a dinky soup bowl and spoon set for 'xmas'. To say he looked bemused by this desire is overt understatement, but with a 'WTF? Well if that makes her happy. Girls are fucking weird.....' look he bought it for me. You are in awe of my edgy hardcore sexy ways aren't you? It's understandable.

Then after some running around doing too many necessary things in far too little time, I had a Doctor’s appointment which they called me in for in a light-flashing-message-come-immediately-fuss-about-nothing. This resulted in new stuff for my eyes, and an extra blood test booked for Friday. Oh and I got told off for missing my last one. Bad me. My contrition knows no bounds.