Howling winter wind
the night is full of voices
shortest day, ending.
Yes, I just wrote a haiku about it being the shortest day as my piece of writing for today. And?
About Me
- one_lost_kitten
- I am a late 20-something kitten living in a large city in Northern England. I live in a little house in a big city with my cat and my chap and try to make enough money to get by with. My dreams don't involve making a lot of cash but do involve being happy, receiving love and owning more cats.
Haiku - A Cop-Out
Yes, I just wrote a haiku about it being the shortest day as my piece of writing for today. And?
Merry Solstice!
Woohoo! Shortest day today (well, yesterday now). This means from here on in the days can only get longer and there can only be more sunshine - hurrah! Soon there will be crocuses and snowdrops and fresh green grass and the smell of growing things and leaves on the trees again - glorious.
It's also only four days until Christmas, which is not actually a big deal for me - we don't really celebrate. It's my first poly Christmas though, which is going to be interesting. I know I can't be with Scholar, because he's at home with his folks, but Beautiful Man and I are going to have curry followed by Christmas pudding and drink wine and do as we pleased. I'd also like to see Gorgeous Girl if at all possible. Complicated much? I'm working Christmas eve so I doubt I'll be awake before about mid-day on the day, but it isn't a biggie.
The Wednesday of the following week is the shibari workshop with the uber-talented MailerPhong, which I am thoroughly looking forward to. I really admire his work - it's very beautiful and elegant. I'm off to Sheffield to see Scholar for a couple of days after that and we're going to go to see Sherlock Holmes...if he likes it or not! I'm looking forward to spending some time with him.
I've been on a bit of a writing bent the last few days; okay, most of the writing has been of the erotic variety but it's writing, isn't it? I wonder...can I write a new piece every day from now until New Year? Hmm. Challenge accepted!
It's also only four days until Christmas, which is not actually a big deal for me - we don't really celebrate. It's my first poly Christmas though, which is going to be interesting. I know I can't be with Scholar, because he's at home with his folks, but Beautiful Man and I are going to have curry followed by Christmas pudding and drink wine and do as we pleased. I'd also like to see Gorgeous Girl if at all possible. Complicated much? I'm working Christmas eve so I doubt I'll be awake before about mid-day on the day, but it isn't a biggie.
The Wednesday of the following week is the shibari workshop with the uber-talented MailerPhong, which I am thoroughly looking forward to. I really admire his work - it's very beautiful and elegant. I'm off to Sheffield to see Scholar for a couple of days after that and we're going to go to see Sherlock Holmes...if he likes it or not! I'm looking forward to spending some time with him.
I've been on a bit of a writing bent the last few days; okay, most of the writing has been of the erotic variety but it's writing, isn't it? I wonder...can I write a new piece every day from now until New Year? Hmm. Challenge accepted!
His - Erotica
Just a bit of OTK spanking and domestic discipline type fun! Not 100% sure of the quality of this one, I seem to be a little bit off form at the moment but it doesn't do to not post things and forget how to write at all.
She sat at the foot of his bed, her legs folded underneath her and her heels pressed against her round behind. Her glossy hair flowed down her back and tumbled over her shoulders. Her hands were cuffed in front of her, feminine lilac and pink leather cuffs held together by a short length of silvery chain. A matching collar encircled her slender neck, the chain attached to the bedpost, giving her just enough space to move slightly, but not enough to stand and walk away.
She shifted slightly on the satin-smooth cushion, aware of the press of the restraints around her and of the soft feel of the pale pink silk panties against her smoothly shaved sex. The white vest top hugged her figure and kept her warm enough to not shiver in the open room but her small dusky pink nipples stood out and pulled against the fabric. White and pink thigh high socks completed her meager outfit. She rested her head against the cold metal of the bed frame for a moment, taking deep breaths.
He had caught her as she came home, pressing her up against the wall in a forceful, passionate kiss before instructing her to shower, shave herself smooth and dress as he would wish: she knew his preferences and liked to please, and had selected the evening's wardrobe appropriately. She had waited in the bedroom for him and had not resisted when he placed his hand on her hair, gently stroking for a moment before forcing her to the ground, onto the pillow she knew was her place. She had looked confused and a little upset for a moment - she hadn't done anything wrong, why was she being punished? but didn't make a sound: she was Sir's girl, to do with as he wished. Once the small, heart-shaped padlocks had clicked into place she looked up at him, her eyes wide, clear blue pools. He smiled down at her for a moment, warmth and love in his face and she relaxed, blinked - and he slapped her, hard, across the cheek.
She cried out with pain and surprise and forgot herself for a moment: "hey, what?" - greeted with another hard slap. This time she kept her head.
He frowned at her. "You've been a bad girl. You thought I was asleep when you fucked your dirty slut cunt in the shower this morning, didn't you?" She swallowed hard and looked down - caught out. "And did you ask for my permission to cum? I don't think you did. Didn't I tell you that this - " he slid his hand between her thighs to caress her womanhood through the delicate fabric - "is mine?" She hung her head even lower, shame coursing through her and reddening her cheeks. "Now, you filthy fucking slut. Sit here and think about what you've done."
Without a second glance he turned and strode out the room, leaving her sitting at the foot of the bed.
She wasn't sure how long she had been waiting now but it felt like forever. The sting of her cheek had gone now but she knew he wasn't done with her. She hung her head even lower, shame coursing through her and reddening her cheeks. "Now, you filthy fucking slut. Sit here and think about what you've done."
Without a second glance he turned and strode out the room, leaving her sitting at the foot of the bed.
She wasn't sure how long she had been waiting now but it felt like forever. The sting of her cheek had gone now but she knew he wasn't done with her. The anticipation was beginning to be intense, exquisite, and every small sound which carried to her from his movements in the other room became magnified and exaggerated until she could barely stand it. Again, she closed her eyes and tried to find peace, to slow her pounding heart but it was too much...but when she reopened her eyes, he was opening the door and walking slowly towards her across the floorboards, one hand in the pocket of his suit trousers. In the other he held the tawse.
She swallowed hard, trying not to panic. He never used the tawse on her, it was brutal and never failed to make her sob and plead with him for mercy. She shrank away from him reflexively and she saw a frown pass his face momentarily. Dropping the weapon on the bed he reached for her, unlocking her from the bedpost and dragging her to her feet by the collar. One strong hand gripped her chin and made her look up at him. "Girl, do you know what you've done wrong" he asked, eyes hard. She tried to reply without fear: "yes, Sir. I did not ask for your permission to play with myself this morning, and I did not ask to be allowed to cum." Her eyes dropped. "I am sorry."
Once more he lifted her face and kissed her softly, his lips warm and inviting and the rough scratch of his goatee familiar. He held her against him with one strong arm as he sat himself on the bed, pulling her down after him and pushing her over his knee. Her breasts pressed into his thigh, his hands lifting and repositioning her until she was restrained simply by not being able to touch the floor. He took her cuffed wrists in one hand and without saying a word lay a sharp smack across each cheek of her pale arse. She gave a tiny muffled cry of pain as he lay into her soft flesh again and again. After ten sharp, painful spanks he paused to stroke her stinging, reddened flesh for a moment before another ten spanks. Her teeth gritted against the pain she barely cried out...but the worst was still to come. He let her slip to the floor as he stood and stretched, lazily like a cat, and picked up the tawse.
"Stand up, bitch, pull those panties down, and bend over the bed." She felt sick, shivering with fear and lust as she eased the silky fabric over her hips, her exposed mound smooth and inviting and the folds of her pussy glistening with honey. He ran his hand over her hot, reddened cheeks, almost as if he was lost in contemplation of her form, her dark pink womanhood peeking out beneath the roundness of her rear. But all too soon a sharp intake of breath gave him away and she barely had time to brace herself for the red-hot flick of the tawse's tails. She screamed. The tawse bit again and her scream was driven from her throat. Three more times it rose and fell, three times she shrieked and by the fifth stroke the tears rolled down her face as she sobbed over and over "please, please, no more, I'm sorry Sir, please!"
Through her pain and tears she saw the tawse drop to the floor beside her, but it barely registered until she felt him turn her around and grip her hair in his fist, forcing her to the floor with a crash, her head yanked back hard as he unzipped his trousers and withdrew his rock-hard cock. "For your indiscretion, whore, you can make me cum now" he growled, forcing himself deep into her throat. She gagged and gasped, swallowing hard around him and pressed a little further forward, satisfied to hear his groan of pleasure. Her eyes closed as she worked his cock, long deep strokes alternating with shorter, her tongue teasing his shaft, flicking and swirling over the head before plunging him into her throat, making her gag and drool. His hips began to buck into her, pushing his cock uncomfortably deep into her throat, bringing tears to her eyes as his balls tightened under her ministrations and with a groan he shoved her back, giving two long strokes and shooting his hot load over her tear-stained face.
For a moment she sobbed, humiliated and filthy, her own drool and tears mixing with his cum and dripping onto the white vest, her panties still tangled around her ankles and her own arousal wetting her thighs. He stood for a moment, taking stock, looking at the little whore crumpled in front of him, before stripping his trousers and underwear and picking her up into his arms and lying with her on the bed. He rocked her gently to and fro as she shook and wept a little, making soft noises of comfort and stroking her welted arse until her breathing grew even and she looked up at him, eyes reddened and beautiful face streaked with dirt.
"Now baby," he said "have you learned your lesson?"
Her voice cracked and she nodded.
"Yes Sir: I am yours."
She shifted slightly on the satin-smooth cushion, aware of the press of the restraints around her and of the soft feel of the pale pink silk panties against her smoothly shaved sex. The white vest top hugged her figure and kept her warm enough to not shiver in the open room but her small dusky pink nipples stood out and pulled against the fabric. White and pink thigh high socks completed her meager outfit. She rested her head against the cold metal of the bed frame for a moment, taking deep breaths.
He had caught her as she came home, pressing her up against the wall in a forceful, passionate kiss before instructing her to shower, shave herself smooth and dress as he would wish: she knew his preferences and liked to please, and had selected the evening's wardrobe appropriately. She had waited in the bedroom for him and had not resisted when he placed his hand on her hair, gently stroking for a moment before forcing her to the ground, onto the pillow she knew was her place. She had looked confused and a little upset for a moment - she hadn't done anything wrong, why was she being punished? but didn't make a sound: she was Sir's girl, to do with as he wished. Once the small, heart-shaped padlocks had clicked into place she looked up at him, her eyes wide, clear blue pools. He smiled down at her for a moment, warmth and love in his face and she relaxed, blinked - and he slapped her, hard, across the cheek.
She cried out with pain and surprise and forgot herself for a moment: "hey, what?" - greeted with another hard slap. This time she kept her head.
He frowned at her. "You've been a bad girl. You thought I was asleep when you fucked your dirty slut cunt in the shower this morning, didn't you?" She swallowed hard and looked down - caught out. "And did you ask for my permission to cum? I don't think you did. Didn't I tell you that this - " he slid his hand between her thighs to caress her womanhood through the delicate fabric - "is mine?" She hung her head even lower, shame coursing through her and reddening her cheeks. "Now, you filthy fucking slut. Sit here and think about what you've done."
Without a second glance he turned and strode out the room, leaving her sitting at the foot of the bed.
She wasn't sure how long she had been waiting now but it felt like forever. The sting of her cheek had gone now but she knew he wasn't done with her. She hung her head even lower, shame coursing through her and reddening her cheeks. "Now, you filthy fucking slut. Sit here and think about what you've done."
Without a second glance he turned and strode out the room, leaving her sitting at the foot of the bed.
She wasn't sure how long she had been waiting now but it felt like forever. The sting of her cheek had gone now but she knew he wasn't done with her. The anticipation was beginning to be intense, exquisite, and every small sound which carried to her from his movements in the other room became magnified and exaggerated until she could barely stand it. Again, she closed her eyes and tried to find peace, to slow her pounding heart but it was too much...but when she reopened her eyes, he was opening the door and walking slowly towards her across the floorboards, one hand in the pocket of his suit trousers. In the other he held the tawse.
She swallowed hard, trying not to panic. He never used the tawse on her, it was brutal and never failed to make her sob and plead with him for mercy. She shrank away from him reflexively and she saw a frown pass his face momentarily. Dropping the weapon on the bed he reached for her, unlocking her from the bedpost and dragging her to her feet by the collar. One strong hand gripped her chin and made her look up at him. "Girl, do you know what you've done wrong" he asked, eyes hard. She tried to reply without fear: "yes, Sir. I did not ask for your permission to play with myself this morning, and I did not ask to be allowed to cum." Her eyes dropped. "I am sorry."
Once more he lifted her face and kissed her softly, his lips warm and inviting and the rough scratch of his goatee familiar. He held her against him with one strong arm as he sat himself on the bed, pulling her down after him and pushing her over his knee. Her breasts pressed into his thigh, his hands lifting and repositioning her until she was restrained simply by not being able to touch the floor. He took her cuffed wrists in one hand and without saying a word lay a sharp smack across each cheek of her pale arse. She gave a tiny muffled cry of pain as he lay into her soft flesh again and again. After ten sharp, painful spanks he paused to stroke her stinging, reddened flesh for a moment before another ten spanks. Her teeth gritted against the pain she barely cried out...but the worst was still to come. He let her slip to the floor as he stood and stretched, lazily like a cat, and picked up the tawse.
"Stand up, bitch, pull those panties down, and bend over the bed." She felt sick, shivering with fear and lust as she eased the silky fabric over her hips, her exposed mound smooth and inviting and the folds of her pussy glistening with honey. He ran his hand over her hot, reddened cheeks, almost as if he was lost in contemplation of her form, her dark pink womanhood peeking out beneath the roundness of her rear. But all too soon a sharp intake of breath gave him away and she barely had time to brace herself for the red-hot flick of the tawse's tails. She screamed. The tawse bit again and her scream was driven from her throat. Three more times it rose and fell, three times she shrieked and by the fifth stroke the tears rolled down her face as she sobbed over and over "please, please, no more, I'm sorry Sir, please!"
Through her pain and tears she saw the tawse drop to the floor beside her, but it barely registered until she felt him turn her around and grip her hair in his fist, forcing her to the floor with a crash, her head yanked back hard as he unzipped his trousers and withdrew his rock-hard cock. "For your indiscretion, whore, you can make me cum now" he growled, forcing himself deep into her throat. She gagged and gasped, swallowing hard around him and pressed a little further forward, satisfied to hear his groan of pleasure. Her eyes closed as she worked his cock, long deep strokes alternating with shorter, her tongue teasing his shaft, flicking and swirling over the head before plunging him into her throat, making her gag and drool. His hips began to buck into her, pushing his cock uncomfortably deep into her throat, bringing tears to her eyes as his balls tightened under her ministrations and with a groan he shoved her back, giving two long strokes and shooting his hot load over her tear-stained face.
For a moment she sobbed, humiliated and filthy, her own drool and tears mixing with his cum and dripping onto the white vest, her panties still tangled around her ankles and her own arousal wetting her thighs. He stood for a moment, taking stock, looking at the little whore crumpled in front of him, before stripping his trousers and underwear and picking her up into his arms and lying with her on the bed. He rocked her gently to and fro as she shook and wept a little, making soft noises of comfort and stroking her welted arse until her breathing grew even and she looked up at him, eyes reddened and beautiful face streaked with dirt.
"Now baby," he said "have you learned your lesson?"
Her voice cracked and she nodded.
"Yes Sir: I am yours."
Fuck THIS!
I am so fucking sick of being ill all the fucking time! I'm exhausted, feel constantly fuzzy-headed and disconnected from everything and every time I do something the least little bit stressful or strenuous like, oh, do a couple of days work, or go out, I end up back in the same god damned state of exhaustion where I sleep for fifteen hours and wake up feeling great...for three hours, until I can't keep my eyes open and I'm falling asleep into my cup of tea.
I'm pissed off with all my bloody joints aching, with wanting to go out and motivate myself to do things and with not being able to get off my arse and do them. I'm tired of not caring about how I look, or what I do. I can't tell if my fucking antidepressants are working because I just feel so fucking SHITE all the time anyway! Half the time I just want to cry my eyes out because I feel so fucking ghastly and alone and scared of what's happening to me and sick and fucking tired of waking up constantly in the night shivering and sweating and then bloody SLEEPING all the time and having skin which is so sensitive it hurts for someone to fucking touch me and all I want is for someone to hold me and for everything to just stop feeling so fucking appalling. I want to be looked after, for once - is that too much to ask? To be more important than a TV show or a computer game or a fucking god damned story?
Or relationship is vanilla. I'm not his sub and I'm certainly not his slave. So why the FUCK do I feel like I spend my life looking after him and getting nothing in return?
I probably feel like this because I'm ill, and so, so tired of it, but right now I want to just...leave. Go away. Take a week and just fuck off out of this place, this city, this house, and be myself and do things for me. Go see a show. Eat food he hates. Go to the cinema. Actually spend a whole day doing something, not feeling like it is a massive big deal...you know...like sitting in the park. Sounds like heaven.
I'm pissed off with all my bloody joints aching, with wanting to go out and motivate myself to do things and with not being able to get off my arse and do them. I'm tired of not caring about how I look, or what I do. I can't tell if my fucking antidepressants are working because I just feel so fucking SHITE all the time anyway! Half the time I just want to cry my eyes out because I feel so fucking ghastly and alone and scared of what's happening to me and sick and fucking tired of waking up constantly in the night shivering and sweating and then bloody SLEEPING all the time and having skin which is so sensitive it hurts for someone to fucking touch me and all I want is for someone to hold me and for everything to just stop feeling so fucking appalling. I want to be looked after, for once - is that too much to ask? To be more important than a TV show or a computer game or a fucking god damned story?
Or relationship is vanilla. I'm not his sub and I'm certainly not his slave. So why the FUCK do I feel like I spend my life looking after him and getting nothing in return?
I probably feel like this because I'm ill, and so, so tired of it, but right now I want to just...leave. Go away. Take a week and just fuck off out of this place, this city, this house, and be myself and do things for me. Go see a show. Eat food he hates. Go to the cinema. Actually spend a whole day doing something, not feeling like it is a massive big deal...you know...like sitting in the park. Sounds like heaven.
Pin Me Up
I say all this after just having had pizza for my dinner. My excuse is that I am really kind of ill and honestly don't feel like doing anything at all. The Man has suggested that it might be something to do with our ghastly leaky damp house and that I don't seem to be getting well because of the mould. Suspect that's got something to do with it, but I'm so sick of feeling rotten and sleeping all the time.
OOPS!
I am really, very drunk. Very, very, very drunk.
Why am I posting this on the internet? Because I can!
Why am I posting this on the internet? Because I can!
Brrr!
Today it is 2 degrees Celsius (36 degrees Fahrenheit) in my city and it is bloody horrible. I am combating the nasty by spending the day crocheting presents for my lovely friends for Christmas. This year I am not really doing presents unless they are hand made, so I've got an awful lot of crafting to do! I have one (massive) blanket to make - so not going to happen before Christmas! - and several scarf/glove combos which ideally I would like to get done before, oh, Sunday. HAHAHA. Trust me to leave it right to the very last minute to get on with them.
My cough is still lingering in a highly annoying way, and making working on a busy night a little uncomfortable as the moist air in the bar irritates it and makes me look like a plague sufferer when I spend five minutes coughing solidly. Oh well, it's money and money is good. Especially when you have a fetish for shiny things.
I came across a novel way of making money last night though: someone propositioned me to buy a pair of my used panties! I can't quite decide what I think of that, but £12 for a pair of my dirty knickers...okay, fair enough really!
Navel piercing is getting on a lot better now I have a PTFE bar in it and not the slightly-too-short titanium one it was pierced with. The angry redness is going down a lot, although it has been bleeding a little today. I shall put some nice soothing Savlon cream on it and hope for the best.
My cough is still lingering in a highly annoying way, and making working on a busy night a little uncomfortable as the moist air in the bar irritates it and makes me look like a plague sufferer when I spend five minutes coughing solidly. Oh well, it's money and money is good. Especially when you have a fetish for shiny things.
I came across a novel way of making money last night though: someone propositioned me to buy a pair of my used panties! I can't quite decide what I think of that, but £12 for a pair of my dirty knickers...okay, fair enough really!
Navel piercing is getting on a lot better now I have a PTFE bar in it and not the slightly-too-short titanium one it was pierced with. The angry redness is going down a lot, although it has been bleeding a little today. I shall put some nice soothing Savlon cream on it and hope for the best.
Things
A list, mostly for my own reference, of things I want to make/try making.
Think that's it for now. No doubt there will be more but I think five projects is quite enough for the time being. And now I shall find something to watch (easier said than done) and crack on with that bastard blanket. I will not nap. Not. No napping...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
- Fascinators/hair accessories - I found lots of cute flowers for cheap on ebay. I figure for the cost of one of the really fancy fascinators I lust after I could get enough flowers and bases to make about 10. One for me, nine to sell.
- A circle skirt. This is my project for Wednesday afternoon/Thursday morning. I am currently thinking a patterned fabric with contrasting velvet ribbon waistband. Ideally I want to wear this out on Thursday night. Total budget for the project: £10 or less.
- A man-scarf. This is already in progress. Using green-mix double-knit yarn and a 5.00 hook.
- Hair sticks - I still have the bits for about another four sets; again these can go on ebay or etsy.
- Finish the Blanket Of Doom! Nearly two years in the making and I am getting sick of the sight of the bastard now. God damn granny squares.
Think that's it for now. No doubt there will be more but I think five projects is quite enough for the time being. And now I shall find something to watch (easier said than done) and crack on with that bastard blanket. I will not nap. Not. No napping...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Do You Know What the Coming of the Dragon Means?
Well? Do you?
The Man's copy of Skyrim arrived today - hurrah! I stupidly and rather shamefully failed to get him a birthday present on time this year - I blame my mental health and lack of...oh, bollocks, I just forgot okay? - and got him Skyrim as a late present/make-up gift. Unsurprisingly he's spent most of the day playing it but now claims he "needs a new graphics card" to properly appreciate it. Bless him. I suspect not even a schoolgirl outfit and the promise of oral sex could drag him away from it.
As a consequence though I've had a lot of time to myself, and would love to say I've been productive and all that jazz, but mainly I have been asleep, trying to trounce my horrible chest infection before it really gets started. I want to get rid of it so I can get back to the gym and start getting my body back under control. I don't want to get back to the point I was at where I buried my head in the sand and got fatter and fatter and less and less fit until even I couldn't pretend any more. The modeling shoots I'm doing are really helping me to feel better about myself, as are the wonderful compliments I get on my shots from the delightful perverts on Fetlife. God love 'em! So by next year I'd like to be a couple of stones lighter and a whole lot fitter. I know I can do it - I've done it before and it really can't be that hard. It just takes motivation and desire and at the moment I have desire in spades. Motivation, however...
Part of that motivation has to be that next summer I want to show off my tattoos and my (hopefully healed) navel piercing. At the moment it's giving me some gyp - very red and angry-looking and was discharging a bit this morning, but I've been doing SSS all day (these are sea salt soaks, for the uninitiated) and trying to leave it alone for as much as possible. I never realised how much I touch my belly button or use my stomach for things until I got some metal stuck in it! The bruising is now an ugly yellow but that means it should be gone soon - hooray! - just leaving the redness. Luckily it isn't particularly sore unless I knock it, but when I compare it to my VCH it's certainly a hell of a lot more trouble! It's now about two months (I think!) since I had that one done and it's completely healed and is no trouble at all. The only thing I'd like to do is maybe change it for a longer bar, but even that isn't a particular challenge, and I don't notice it's there 90% of the time. It's a pleasant surprise when I'm getting self-amorous sometimes and ooh! there it is. Saying that I knew the navel was a harder place to heal, particularly for us rather chunkier ladies! Time to get back to the salads (no dissing, I actually really like salad, and used to make the most amazing ones for work when I had a Real Job. Feta cheese and beetroot was one of my faves), and cut down on the takeaways and convenience crap. As a positive shoutout to the universe for my intentions, here's my favourite recipe for a lovely winter soup.
Spicy Sunset Soup (serves about six ish)
1 smallish butternut squash
2 parsnips
2/3 carrots
2 sweet potatoes
1 regular potato
3 cloves of garlic
1 large white onion
1 litre of vegetable stock (I like Kallo Organic)
Cinnamon
Smoked Paprika
Chili powder (I used mild because I am a wuss)
Cayenne Pepper
Ground Black Pepper
Sea Salt
Olive Oil
The process itself is piss easy. Peel and chop all the veggies into cubes, with the exception of the onion. Pop them in water to stop them discolouring in the air and taking on a weird flavour.
Then dice your onion nice and fine. I soften mine in the olive oil with the crushed garlic and a little of the smoked paprika until it's almost browning, then add about a third of the veggies and cook them off with a pinch of each spice and a grind of pepper. After they start to colour or soften around the edges I repeat with some more veggies and then the rest...you get the idea. When they're all starting to soften I add about a third of the stock and cook off for ten minutes or so, or until reduced, then add the rest of the stock bit by bit. When it's all in, cook for 20 minutes or so and taste. This is the point where you add more spice and any salt you need. I rarely add any as I find the stock salty enough as it is.
When your veggies are soft, you can either leave the soup chunky, perhaps adding some rice or pearl barley for extra filling power, or blend using a hand blender. I usually decant half the soup and blend and then add it back into the main pot to get the best of both worlds.
Enjoy!
The Man's copy of Skyrim arrived today - hurrah! I stupidly and rather shamefully failed to get him a birthday present on time this year - I blame my mental health and lack of...oh, bollocks, I just forgot okay? - and got him Skyrim as a late present/make-up gift. Unsurprisingly he's spent most of the day playing it but now claims he "needs a new graphics card" to properly appreciate it. Bless him. I suspect not even a schoolgirl outfit and the promise of oral sex could drag him away from it.
As a consequence though I've had a lot of time to myself, and would love to say I've been productive and all that jazz, but mainly I have been asleep, trying to trounce my horrible chest infection before it really gets started. I want to get rid of it so I can get back to the gym and start getting my body back under control. I don't want to get back to the point I was at where I buried my head in the sand and got fatter and fatter and less and less fit until even I couldn't pretend any more. The modeling shoots I'm doing are really helping me to feel better about myself, as are the wonderful compliments I get on my shots from the delightful perverts on Fetlife. God love 'em! So by next year I'd like to be a couple of stones lighter and a whole lot fitter. I know I can do it - I've done it before and it really can't be that hard. It just takes motivation and desire and at the moment I have desire in spades. Motivation, however...
Part of that motivation has to be that next summer I want to show off my tattoos and my (hopefully healed) navel piercing. At the moment it's giving me some gyp - very red and angry-looking and was discharging a bit this morning, but I've been doing SSS all day (these are sea salt soaks, for the uninitiated) and trying to leave it alone for as much as possible. I never realised how much I touch my belly button or use my stomach for things until I got some metal stuck in it! The bruising is now an ugly yellow but that means it should be gone soon - hooray! - just leaving the redness. Luckily it isn't particularly sore unless I knock it, but when I compare it to my VCH it's certainly a hell of a lot more trouble! It's now about two months (I think!) since I had that one done and it's completely healed and is no trouble at all. The only thing I'd like to do is maybe change it for a longer bar, but even that isn't a particular challenge, and I don't notice it's there 90% of the time. It's a pleasant surprise when I'm getting self-amorous sometimes and ooh! there it is. Saying that I knew the navel was a harder place to heal, particularly for us rather chunkier ladies! Time to get back to the salads (no dissing, I actually really like salad, and used to make the most amazing ones for work when I had a Real Job. Feta cheese and beetroot was one of my faves), and cut down on the takeaways and convenience crap. As a positive shoutout to the universe for my intentions, here's my favourite recipe for a lovely winter soup.
Spicy Sunset Soup (serves about six ish)
1 smallish butternut squash
2 parsnips
2/3 carrots
2 sweet potatoes
1 regular potato
3 cloves of garlic
1 large white onion
1 litre of vegetable stock (I like Kallo Organic)
Cinnamon
Smoked Paprika
Chili powder (I used mild because I am a wuss)
Cayenne Pepper
Ground Black Pepper
Sea Salt
Olive Oil
The process itself is piss easy. Peel and chop all the veggies into cubes, with the exception of the onion. Pop them in water to stop them discolouring in the air and taking on a weird flavour.
Then dice your onion nice and fine. I soften mine in the olive oil with the crushed garlic and a little of the smoked paprika until it's almost browning, then add about a third of the veggies and cook them off with a pinch of each spice and a grind of pepper. After they start to colour or soften around the edges I repeat with some more veggies and then the rest...you get the idea. When they're all starting to soften I add about a third of the stock and cook off for ten minutes or so, or until reduced, then add the rest of the stock bit by bit. When it's all in, cook for 20 minutes or so and taste. This is the point where you add more spice and any salt you need. I rarely add any as I find the stock salty enough as it is.
When your veggies are soft, you can either leave the soup chunky, perhaps adding some rice or pearl barley for extra filling power, or blend using a hand blender. I usually decant half the soup and blend and then add it back into the main pot to get the best of both worlds.
Enjoy!
You Don't Need Me, No, Like I Need You
This blog post brought to you by the following music:
Positive Things
Negative Things
Things
They're not positive, they're not negative. They're just things.
All in all it's been a really shitty week and I have learned a couple of things. The best one is that your friends are the people who are there for you when you're being really emo about a Man at 1am. I guess one of the hardest things about being Poly is that sometimes you encounter someone who isn't poly in the circle of your love life. This makes life hard. I have some shit to sort out, I think. Currently I feel very much like a third wheel or a dirty secret, and I am not and will not be that. I don't like feeling second-rate and, even worse, I don't like feeling unwanted or pushed aside. I entered into polyamory to open myself to more love and affection, not to feel like someone's bit on the side.
Next week *will* be better.
Please god, let next week be better.
- You - The Pretty Reckless
- Hurt - Johnny Cash
- Rest Stop - Matchbox 20
Positive Things
- I have quit smoking. This currently doesn't feel like much of a positive.
- I did a photo-shoot! Check out the glorious above photo of me!
Negative Things
- I somehow managed to miss a shift at The Shop without even realising I was meant to be in. This has all kicked off into a mega-clusterfuck and I an now, at very least, going to be given a disciplinary.
- A massive ruckus kicked off at The Pub and, while I wasn't there, a friend was and it resulted in her quitting her job there, so I no longer have her wonderful boobies to sleep on when it's quiet.
- I got sent home from work at The Pub for passing out behind the bar.
- I have got a vile chest infection, sound like an 80 a day smoker (which I was not!) and feel like I am coughing a lung up.
- I am having what may be titled 'emotional difficulties', which is perhaps a header for generalised unhappiness regarding my life and situation. Frustration with The Man and his lack of any kind of motivation to do anything, sympathy for me and the fact that I have to deal with said issues on top of everything else I generally have to deal with, plus cabin fever and a desperate need to get away from Leeds and from everything in it for a few days and just hide somewhere warm and safe and free from my Mother, The Man, The Jobs, The Lack of a Decent House...all of it.
- My poor cat got run over and left to die =( This is easily the most gutting thing. I love my animals so much, and poor Binky had a rough start. He was so wild when we got him that he wouldn't let anyone near him but we won him round. I miss him already.
Things
They're not positive, they're not negative. They're just things.
- I got my belly button pierced! Wooo. It is currently inflamed and itchy and annoying. However not very painful which bodes well for the potential nipple piercings (still not sure about them) and ear lobes which I hope to get done in the near future.
All in all it's been a really shitty week and I have learned a couple of things. The best one is that your friends are the people who are there for you when you're being really emo about a Man at 1am. I guess one of the hardest things about being Poly is that sometimes you encounter someone who isn't poly in the circle of your love life. This makes life hard. I have some shit to sort out, I think. Currently I feel very much like a third wheel or a dirty secret, and I am not and will not be that. I don't like feeling second-rate and, even worse, I don't like feeling unwanted or pushed aside. I entered into polyamory to open myself to more love and affection, not to feel like someone's bit on the side.
Next week *will* be better.
Please god, let next week be better.
Trust
Love is a difficult thing. You can never see it coming - it's like a cyclist on the pavement after dark. You don't know it's there until it's already hit you. And, like the cyclist, sometimes it leaves permanent marks.
I find it very hard to trust people; weirdly, the more I love them, the harder it is to let them in, to trust them with something so intense as my actual self. I want to trust them. I yearn to be able to just...feel things without constant fear of betrayal or abandonment or anything else. I don't know why I am how I am - daddy issues, problems with previous relationships, it can't be that hard to work out...but I want to not be like that. I want to be that happy, confident, sexy woman who can love and trust and all of that without wondering if the person they love is just with them because they are good at making tea, or something equally dumb.
This is all far too serious! But actually...it is serious. And I don't really know what to say.
I find it very hard to trust people; weirdly, the more I love them, the harder it is to let them in, to trust them with something so intense as my actual self. I want to trust them. I yearn to be able to just...feel things without constant fear of betrayal or abandonment or anything else. I don't know why I am how I am - daddy issues, problems with previous relationships, it can't be that hard to work out...but I want to not be like that. I want to be that happy, confident, sexy woman who can love and trust and all of that without wondering if the person they love is just with them because they are good at making tea, or something equally dumb.
This is all far too serious! But actually...it is serious. And I don't really know what to say.
Daddy's Home - Erotica
When he kissed me goodbye that morning I knew I was going to be horny all day. He held me, one hand gripping my hair, the other around my throat, and kissed me hard.
"Be good for Daddy, princess. Keep your hands away from your pussy, baby. I want to be the only one to make you cum today." he told me, and I nodded, smiling up at him from the bed. He looked so fucking good in his work suit, and the smell of him was intoxicating. Even after he left his aftershave clung to me and was just enough to make me want to slide my hand into my underwear and stroke my wetness...I was going to miss him today but tonight would make it all worthwhile.
"Be good for Daddy, princess. Keep your hands away from your pussy, baby. I want to be the only one to make you cum today." he told me, and I nodded, smiling up at him from the bed. He looked so fucking good in his work suit, and the smell of him was intoxicating. Even after he left his aftershave clung to me and was just enough to make me want to slide my hand into my underwear and stroke my wetness...I was going to miss him today but tonight would make it all worthwhile.
I read my book, watched some TV...but I couldn't settle. All I could think of was him, his warm hands all over me, stroking me, bringing me to the edge of orgasm and then denial and teasing. Or perhaps his tongue exploring my soft, rose-pink womanhood and savouring my taste, so that when he kissed me I could taste myself on his lips. Oh fuck, he made me so wet! I tried to waste time, did some washing up, alphabetised some books. Eventually I decided to have a soak in the bath - I wanted to be perfect for him when he got home.
I perched on the side of the bath as the steaming water cascaded into it, mixing with the jasmine and patchouli bath essence, creating elegant mountain ranges of crystal white foam. The scent washed over me, sensual and soothing and my mind drifted off for a moment. The bath filled and I slipped my robe off and slipped naked into the steaming water. I soaked for a while, barely even thinking, as my muscles slowly, slowly relaxed and the tension drained out of me. I massaged my left shoulder with my right hand then swapped, the bath essence lubricating, leaving my skin as soft as silk. My full breasts glistened as I caressed them with salt scrub, gently smoothing my skin even further. My body wasn't perfect but I liked to make the effort for Daddy, knowing how much he loved to stroke me. So I shaved, scrubbed and smoothed myself, washed my hair - for him.
I dried myself, fixed my hair and lay out the underwear set I had chosen for tonight - creamy silk with white polka dots, a combination of vintage glamour, which I love, and with the hints of lace it had a little taste of innocence...just sweet enough for Daddy. I still had an hour before he got home. I lay back.
Surely he'd never know. I ran my fingers over my naked flesh, my skin tingling. I felt my wetness getting more intense and my explorations took me closer and closer to my pussy. They rested over my freshly-shaved pubic mound, soft and inviting. He wouldn't know. With one easy, gentle movement I pressed my fingertip between my lips, stroking my clit. Oh fuck, it felt so good. I stroked a little more firmly; I shivered with pleasure and kept stroking, pressing down, making tiny circles around my clit, my own wetness enough to slicken my fingers. I arched my hips into my own hand, dipping my middle finger into my tight cunt over and over. I could feel my muscles tense, my breath coming faster and harder now and little yelps and groans of animal lust ripped from my lips. Ohh fuck. Fuck! Oh god yes! I couldn't help myself. I came hard, flooding my hand and the towels ruffled under me.
I lay, spent for a moment, on Daddy's bed. My eyes half closed. My muscles relaxed. Oh fuck that was good. But one look at the clock told me I couldn't afford to relax too much. I got up, slipped into the underwear I had chosen and drew on a pair of silk hold-ups in matching cream. Then came a little tea-dress in black and ivory checks. Simple, understated. But short enough that Daddy would be able to see my panties if I bent over...a tantalising glance for him. Five minutes to go. I lay on the bed on my front, and began reading my book as if there was nothing at all going on...and within minutes I heard his key scrape in the lock, the door open, then close, and his footsteps in the hall. Then he was there, smiling at me and looking so good...mmm. He came and sat on the bed next to me, his hands immediately reaching under my skirt to stroke my arse through the silky fabric.
"Hey baby girl. You look so pretty!" He tilted my head up and kissed my lips and I sighed with happiness. "So have you been good?"
I smiled right back and nodded, "mmhm, I've been reading Daddy." I sat up, kissed him again and held his hand. He brought it to his lips, as if to kiss but - he paused, and inhaled deeply.
"Princess...are you lying to Daddy?"Oh shit. My hand. My pussy...that he loves to taste...my eyes went wide with shock.
"Oh...Daddy..." I paused. For a moment I didn't know what to say. Then I hung my head. "I'm sorry Daddy. I...I played with myself. I came, too. But I was only thinking of you!"
He looked hard at me, then his hand darted out and grabbed me by the throat. "Princess, what did Daddy tell you? I'm sure I told you that I wanted to be the only one to make you cum today. And what have you done? Little bitch!" He slapped me hard and I reeled. My eyes filled with tears as he looked at me, a mixture of disappointment and arousal written on his face. "Now you know I am going to have to punish you, baby girl. You have been a very naughty slut, and Daddy doesn't like a badly behaved girl. Now get up and bend over that desk, and I don't want to hear a single word about it."
I knew I was in real trouble, but part of me was drunk with arousal. I stood, walked across the room and bent, knowing he would be looking at my ass...wanting me. I closed my eyes and heard him come up behind me, felt his hand stroke my tender skin and slip between my thighs to tease my cunt.
"So wet, baby. But this is a punishment" and without another word his hand was raised and came slamming down onto my arse and I yelped with pain and surprise. There was the briefest pause and then slap! onto the other side, the stinging pain making me jump again. I gritted my teeth, determined to take my punishment like a good girl and redeem myself, but his hand kept coming down, smack after smack and I began to whimper, then to cry out over and over again, the pain now so close to pleasure that I could hardly stand it. I lost count of the blows but it seemed to go on forever and my heart pounded. Eventually he stopped, and I dared to raise my head. I saw him pick something up and then a split second later - thwack! My head reeled as I realised that he had picked up my hairbrush and was using it as a paddle...again, again, again. Fuck! My cries became screams and I sobbed in pain and pleasure, the agony close to pushing me over into orgasm and then the brush dropped to the ground, I heard a brief rustle before Daddy was close behind me, thrusting his hard cock into my poor, aching cunt.
"Fuck, you're wet you little whore...you feel fucking good around Daddy's cock!" His words made my head spin, my pussy tighten around him and I could barely breathe, it felt so good. His thrusts got deeper and harder, my tender arse so sore that I couldn't help but cry out. His hands were on my hips pulling me back into each thrust and his nails raking my skin. I gripped the desk, my pleasure building higher and higher with each moan from him, each time he called me his whore, his slut, his princess, and I bit my lip to keep my orgasm at bay until I felt him shake and convulse inside me, filling my cunt with his cum - and I let myself go, my cries of pleasure almost like those of pain.
He withdrew, leaving me with my skirt up around my waist and his cum drenching my thighs. For a moment I thought he was going to punish me again, but he stood me up and drew me into his chest, holding me tight and I realised I was sobbing with pain/pleasure. He picked me up like a rag doll and sat on the bed with me in his lap, stroking my poor, bruised arse and kissing my hair.
"Poor baby...shh, don't cry. Daddy's home now."
Honesty is the Best Policy
I really think that, no matter what kind of relationship you are in, honesty is the one thing that you can't miss out. To me, part of real love is being honest with the other party. And I don't just mean romantic love, the kind you share with a partner, but friend-love and even familial love. How can someone think that lying is any form of protection?
"I lied to you so that you wouldn't get hurt".
What kind of bollocks is that?
Lies aren't suits of armour, they aren't swords or shields or lances or rayguns or any other kind of protective device. And I think that honesty is even more important for those of us who are polyamorous. So much of what brings me to poly is that I am free to love many people and to be honest about my feelings for them and for my other partners. I don't have to hide them. But I forget sometimes that not all people have the same views and attitudes as me, and sometimes people lie to themselves too.
*sigh*
Anyway. It's nearly five weeks since I had my VCH piercing! It looks fabulous but I think I am going to need a longer bar for it, as the bottom ball does tend to hide underneath my hood rather than resting on my clit. That's easy enough done, though. I've seen some nice ones on ebay and on a couple of body-piercing websites and am currently preferring a titanium and pearl one or a green titanium one. I can't quite find the perfect one, but I will. It's made me think about body piercing again and I am thinking my next one(s) will either be my 1.6mm lobes or both my nipples. The Man still hasn't got his finger out to finish translating my forearm tattoos but that's okay because I haven't really worked out exactly what I want yet. I'm also considering a Latin piece for my upper thigh, a translation of Snow White and Rose Red, with some sort of stuff around it, but again that one's still up in the air. Maybe I should actually get someone who's good at art to help?
"I lied to you so that you wouldn't get hurt".
What kind of bollocks is that?
Lies aren't suits of armour, they aren't swords or shields or lances or rayguns or any other kind of protective device. And I think that honesty is even more important for those of us who are polyamorous. So much of what brings me to poly is that I am free to love many people and to be honest about my feelings for them and for my other partners. I don't have to hide them. But I forget sometimes that not all people have the same views and attitudes as me, and sometimes people lie to themselves too.
*sigh*
Anyway. It's nearly five weeks since I had my VCH piercing! It looks fabulous but I think I am going to need a longer bar for it, as the bottom ball does tend to hide underneath my hood rather than resting on my clit. That's easy enough done, though. I've seen some nice ones on ebay and on a couple of body-piercing websites and am currently preferring a titanium and pearl one or a green titanium one. I can't quite find the perfect one, but I will. It's made me think about body piercing again and I am thinking my next one(s) will either be my 1.6mm lobes or both my nipples. The Man still hasn't got his finger out to finish translating my forearm tattoos but that's okay because I haven't really worked out exactly what I want yet. I'm also considering a Latin piece for my upper thigh, a translation of Snow White and Rose Red, with some sort of stuff around it, but again that one's still up in the air. Maybe I should actually get someone who's good at art to help?
The Princess's Heart - A Poly Love Story
Once upon a time, in a land far from here, lived a beautiful Kitten Princess. Her hair was dark as midnight and her eyes were as grey as the winter waves, and her tail and ears were as soft as silk. She was a happy Princess until one day, when she was still young and more than a little naive, she met an Ogre, disguised by magic as a handsome Prince. He told the beautiful Princess that he loved her, and that she was the most wonderful Kitten the world had ever seen. She gave her heart to him and the Ogre Prince took it and put it in a golden box and locked that inside a great iron chest, and he wore the key around his neck always. And now he had her heart the Prince began to let his glamours slip. At first the Princess noticed his voice changing from adoring to derisive, and then his green eyes turned black, until finally she was able to see him for what he was. But still the Princess loved him, for he had her heart.
When the Ogre told her that she was unworthy, she accepted that it must be so. When he told her that her body was flawed and her fur coarse, she knew it must be so, for the man who held her heart was telling her so. And the Princess became sad and lonely living in the Ogre's high tower, imprisoned by her own heart. Each day she walked in the Ogre's tangled garden, tending the wild dog-roses which could not help but bloom under her care. Until one night she could not find the Ogre-Prince she so adored, and she searched high and low for him throughout the tower. Her footsteps echoed up staircases and down hallways and still she could not find him. Her search eventually carried her along one corridor she had never ventured down before: she had reached the door of his private laboratory, marked with sigils and signs she didn't understand. She knew she should not enter, but so driven by her love for him was she that she pressed on and opened the door. Inside, she foundher best beloved seated at a desk, and on the desk were two near-identical boxes: the Princess recognised them at once. One contained her own heart, and the other contained the heart of another. The Princess cried out in shock and the Ogre roared at her presence and with his massive hands ripped apart the box of her heart and, raising it high above his head, cast it down onto the cold stone floor and it shattered into five pieces and the poor, beautiful Princess screamed in agony and despair and, gathering up the shards, ran from the high tower. The rough stones tore her feet and the wild roses she nurtured so carefully tore her gown and she ran blinded by her tears and pain until, exhausted, she could run no more.
The Princess wandered the world. Her lustrous fur dulled and her skin paled and she became even more depressed, lonely and despairing. She found a small cave and curled up in it, guarding the pieces of her shattered heart, taking neither food nor drink. One day her gnawing thirst broke her, and the Kitten Princess left her cave to venture into the nearest town, to see about getting herself some milk. She buried her heart inside the remains of her silken gown at the back of her cave and, with much trepidation, walked away from it.
The poor Kitten who walked into the town could barely be recognised as the same lovely creature who had become the Ogre's lover. Instead of silk and satin she wore rough homespun cloth and her hair was ragged. But the greatest change was in her eyes: instead of joy now they held only fear. She cowered and hunched and when she glanced up and met the eyes of the lad in the dairy she was unprepared. His eyes were the colour of the bluest summer skies and his skin was white as the milk he poured for her. Deep within the Princess something stirred, something carnal and crimson-dark and she felt she could hardly breathe. Each day for a month she returned, and each day he sent her away with her breath caught in her throat and she would creep back to her cave and there she stroked and scratched and gasped until the carnal thing inside her was sated. But soon it was not enough. Leaving her poor, shattered heart buried under a cairn of ocean-polished stones she left her cave, her safe place, one last time.
That night she gave her body to the beautiful man. He took her to heights of pleasure so intense that she sobbed and in return she pleased him, teased him and drew his passion from him again and again. And when they lay entwined in the darkness he told her he would never fully love her, not with all his heart, and would never ask for hers. The Princess sighed with contentment and knew her heart was safe. Years passed and slowly, very slowly, the Princess began to heal.
Each time the Beautiful Man took another woman to his bed she smiled and reminded herself that he did not love her wholly, and could not break her heart. But, unknown to the Princess, the beautiful man had crept, quiet as the grave, to the cave by the sea and there, under the cairn of polished stones he found her heart in its silken shroud. He returned with it to his humble rooms and lay it on her pillow and when she awoke he was there, smiling. The kitten Princess looked at him with horror, but again he smiled and kissed her softly. His nimble fingers unwrapped the shards of her heart and the Princess gasped, for it was almost whole! One shard remained. The Beautiful Man took it in his and and drove it into his own chest and his blood ran scarlet over his white skin to drip onto her heart and they were forever one, joined by something stronger than iron.
Once again the Princess flourished; her hair glistened and the curves of her lush figure filled once more and she was happy but for one thing. Her heart was not whole. The shard taken by the Beautiful Man had left a hole inside her and she felt its absence, burning within her.
But she was at least content: he was a good man. Their life was decent, and there was no doubt that he did care for her, but still something was missing. Some days she went down to the beach and cave which had been her home and bathed in the clear sea, the waves quieting her restive heart. But she was not alone. One day a Handsome Scholar chanced upon the Princess while she bathed, and he saw her beauty and admired her form. When she rose, the water cascading from her like liquid crystal, he felt as though the world had, for a moment, held its breath. She turned, and upon seeing him she was struck still as if she was made of stone. Gathering himself, he approached, slowly, so as not to frighten her away. She did not move. He reached out a hand and stroked her beautiful hair and the Princess felt herself melt under his touch. But she thought of the Beautiful Man and she froze; she would not betray him as she had been betrayed before. She fled from the Handsome Scholar and that night sobbingly confessed to the Beautiful Man. But to her surprise the Beautiful Man simply smiled at her and kissed away her tears and told her that she would always be his, but her love was also her own to give, and that she could give as much as she wished.
Friendship - What a Con!
Well what a bloody waste of energy. Why some people think it's okay to ditch their friends when something better comes along is completely beyond me - but then it always has been. I have always been the one who is left standing going 'hang on a minute, what's the deal here?'.
Sad times.
Sad times.
Just say no to EMO.
Good god, I am so bloody mopey this evening. I feel like someone shat on my breakfast cereal.
To summarise things which have happened of late:
* Did a lovely sideways suspension with Jon and Jakara.
* Bored myself to tears.
* Cancelled my tattooist appointment due to lack of funds.
* Had my hours reduced to about 8 a week.
* Found out I had a brother and sister I didn't know about. Older. Like...old enough to count as being a different generation.
So the theory is that I am okay, and feeling fine, and functioning as a normal human being...and I am really, really not. I can't remember to eat, my sleep is fucked up, and I don't leave the house unless I absolutely have to. Something is very wrong here. Somewhere in the last few weeks, something distinctly bad has happened, and I'm getting awfully close to that point where really, living in my mum's attic doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
* Found out I had a brother and sister I didn't know about. Older. Like...old enough to count as being a different generation.
So the theory is that I am okay, and feeling fine, and functioning as a normal human being...and I am really, really not. I can't remember to eat, my sleep is fucked up, and I don't leave the house unless I absolutely have to. Something is very wrong here. Somewhere in the last few weeks, something distinctly bad has happened, and I'm getting awfully close to that point where really, living in my mum's attic doesn't seem like such a bad idea.
Crafty Crafty!
I have been a crafty kitten! Yay!
I bought four 8m lengths of lovely hemp rope from my friend Jakara so I didn't have to keep relying on my housemate Dr Jon to provide the rope for the noble and wonderful art of shibari. However, this being me, I couldn't just have it plain rope: I figured as it was a natural fibre it should be easy enough to dye with a procion dye like Dylon's machine dye - and it was! Exactly the same process as colouring fabric - dye in machine, salt in, rope in on top, 40 degree cycle, rinse cycle, job's a good 'un. But it came out the most amazing shade of purple! It's gorgeous, a really lovely dark, true purple. It's currently still slightly damp and is drying out on the bed waiting to be used at Office Hours tomorrow - I can't wait!
I also started my new tablets yesterday. They kick in after about an hour on a full stomach or twenty minutes on an empty one and I WAS TRIPPING MY TITS OFF. I spent 45 minutes in Primark because it was so nice and cool in there and I wanted to lie down and go to sleep. I wondered why everyone was giving me weird looks...after that I met a friend, pottered around and got stuff done and then went into Headingley to get some stuff - the charity shops there are wicked - and then, as you do, decided to get my clitoral hood pierced. You know, as you do.
Actually I'd been thinking about it for ages and a lovely friend who is a qualified piercer was going to do it for me, but we could never find the time and the space when we won't both busy, but the more I thought about it the more sure I was I wanted it. But as I was high as a kite, and passing a piercing studio, I decided to just do it. Wow! What an awesome experience. The studio (Rude Tattoo and Piercing in Headingley) was lovely and clean, smelled nicely of antiseptic and tattoo ink, and the staff were all really friendly and lovely. The piercer (Sam) was really sweet and took me through after I'd done the usual consent forms. She locked the door, explained what would happen and then had me strip off from the waist down and hop onto the bed. She checked my anatomy to make sure I was suitable - she said I was ideal for it - and then she applied anesthetic and made sure it was thoroughly rubbed in - a weird feeling, having another lady rubbing burny numby stuff onto your clitoris, let me tell you - and then left me to cook for a little while until I was thoroughly numb in the pussy department. Then it was a case of positioning the bits and pieces, count to three and then - pouff! Done. It was just like a bit of a pinch, not even a sharp feeling, and it didn't hurt at all. I felt a little tugging as she put the jewellery through - just a simple titanium bananabar - and she explained that I might prefer a longer or shorter one depending on what it sits like when it heals. She showed me my new cunt bling, called me hardcore, and that was it. Sent on my way with her mobile number, aftercare information, and a pantyliner.
Then it was just a case of celebratory pizza for lunch and waiting for the feeling to come back - and even when it did it was a weird itch, not a pain. Of course, I immediately wanted to show it to everyone, but that's just because it's so freaking shiny and amazing!
Later on there was roleplaying and crochet - my Eternal Blanket is coming on nicely and looking really pretty now - and then I took my second mad-pill. Ten minutes later I giggle madly and my roleplaying group look at me. Gordon (our tank) says "bloody hell...your pupils are massive!" and at that point I realised why everyone in Primark had been giving me weird looks. Because I truly was off my face. I looked in the mirror and realised I was white, with pupils blown to 95% of my iris, and a stupid dopey grin on my face. Honestly, it's a wonder that I managed to actually get anything sensible done!
When I Grow Up.
I was talking to my Mother on the phone the other day, killing a bit of time between a medical appointment and starting work, and we were discussing my next tattoo: two magpies on my lower back, one perched on a lock and the other holding a key. It has to be two - one would be bad luck - and it's going to cover up an existing rather shitty tattoo which has been bugging me for the best part of the last ten years. I think it's going to be the biggest one I have done. Then I told her about the Elvish writing I want on my wrists, the two more piercings in my left ear and two in my right ear...I didn't mention the vertical clitoral hood piercing I will be getting (hopefully) in short order but only because she doesn't need to know that, but you get the gist.
And then I came out with something which surprised me a little bit:
"I want to have finished my body modifications by the time I'm 30, really."
I stopped in mid-sentence. Laughed. And said to my Mother something along the lines of "Most women want to have their first baby by the time they're 30, or have secured their ideal job, or got married. Me? I just want to have my tattoos and piercings right!". She laughed with me, and it was nice to know that my Mum isn't disappointed by my eccentricities. But it did get me thinking: why am I like that? Why does having children leave me, frankly, cold and a bit horrified? Why don't I care about getting married, or settling down, or having the 'normal' life my not-mother-in-law insists I secretly crave?
(Also, what's the deal with that? Why does she feel the need to tell me off whenever I have some new body mods? I'm a bloody adult, does she think I don't understand that tattoos are permanent?! And why is it so important to her that we fulfill the social contract and have a big, expensive party laden with religious connotations neither of us believe in - because god forbid if we got married she'd let us have a secular, dare I say, atheist ceremony - and quite frankly she's got eight grandkids already, she doesn't need any more!)
Anyway...what was I talking about? Oh yes. I guess I'm not an ordinary kitten. (Referring to myself as a kitten might be an indicator of that, too). I suppose the kids at school were right; I am a weirdo. But I think I'm okay with that. Pictures of my contemporaries' babies on That Social Network don't make my biological clock start ticking, nor do they make me determined never to grow up and be arrested-development Kitten forever: they make me smile for other people's happiness, and thank the lord that my own happiness lies in a very much different direction.
When I was doing my GCSEs we studied this poem by Jenny Joseph:
Warning
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
I always got the feeling that this might end up being me, and, like with many things in life, it's a pleasant surprise to discover that, in fact, I was right in all respects other than one: I haven't waited to be old to start wearing purple, swearing in the street, and spending my money on inappropriate things - like tattoos and piercings and Mickey Finn apple sours, and trips to London to see old friends - and I think perhaps I am a terrible warning rather than a good example, but someone has to be. How else would humanity learn? And so I will continue to be me:
I am a young woman who wears purple,
With black boots all scuffed, and over-knee socks.
And I shall spend my wages on tattoos and latex corsets
and body piercings, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down in bookshops when I am bored,
and read medical textbooks without buying, and annoy staff,
and play my music too loud and grin at small children,
and ensure my youth is not sober.
So that when I am an old woman with white hair,
and a hat with a feather in it, and old Army boots,
nobody will be too shocked and surprised
that I am suddenly old, and still wearing purple.
Life at the start was not complex.
For some reason I decided it was a good idea to start writing a blog on a day when I am frankly as sick as a dog and feel approximately as rough as the aforementioned animal's bollocks. Why this seemed like a good idea I have no fucking clue at all, but hey, here I am, living proof that one does not have to be a man to have man-flu.
As this is my first blog experience I do feel like I should do more than complain about being ill, like perhaps introduce myself. So, here I am:
Hello! I am Kitten. I am 27 years and one month old and live in a City, in England, somewhere in the North. I am a rather socially-inept feline living in a House, with a Man, and two other Men, and some weird fungus-like life-forms. The Men have names. The Fungus does not.
I like to make things: I crochet, paint, make jewellery, write poetry (rarely) and prose (equally so) and make clothes, costumes and other bits and bats. I also like taking photographs, which no doubt I will make the world suffer.
I like purple, tattoos, reading things, alphabetising stuff, organising things into little pots and watching films. And a bunch of other stuff too, most of which is more of an adult nature. But that's all just stuff. Oh, and zombies. Zombies are awesome.
I don't like being messed around, jelly, soap operas, littering and people with bad manners. All of the above things are wrong. Particularly jelly - uggh.
So one day this might be something worth reading: today, it's mostly something worth waffling at myself about while my brain fizzles in it's own little bath of chemicals and toxins. And now I am going to have a nap.