With a little help from my friends...

Just a quick post to say a massive thank you to all the friends who've held my hand through the last year and a bit and offered tea, cuddles and a shoulder to cry on when I've needed it, which has been quite a lot. I haven't blogged much for quite a while because frankly life has been mostly less than sparkly and too many 'feeling sad today' posts are very dull and very self indulgent. It's not to say there haven't been good things - Lowewood, the reformatory and house party, my Central American adventure, the Lakes with uni friends - they've just got a bit lost in the mire of feeling sad and lost.

It's funny how things sometimes all go wrong at once to create a sequence that seems bent on keeping you down. Eighteen months ago I was blissfully happy - I'd just started an exciting new job, met a wonderful new boy, had fabulous friends and all seemed well with the world. What I didn't know (maybe I'd have done things differently if I had) was the boss of the new job would continually sexually harass and bully me for the entirety of my time there leaving me emotional and unconfident. That I'd get glandular fever but be working too hard to rest properly, making me tired and ill for the next year. That the boy interest would move far, far away, that we'd survive the long separation (with lots of tears) but that the damage it did wouldn't be something we couldn't fix. That when I finally got the guts to leave the job the ex-boss would stalk me and turn up at my house, making me scared to be alone. That my Dad would get sick, a lot. I could have predicted various minor annoyances like anaemia, a moth infestation, frauds on my bank accounts. I couldn't predict that the boy and I would plan to go to Australia, envisage a life together and then split up weeks before I was due to leave leaving me to go alone. That all of this would make me teary, tired and blaming and hating myself for not being able to handle it.

So yeah, it's been a weird and emotional time of coping with one problem before moving onto the next. I honestly don't think I'd have retained any of my sanity were it not for lovely friends who fed me tea or wine, listened to me sobbing incoherently or debating the same things in circles and dragged me out of the house when I just wanted to hide. I've not been very myself or very much fun and owe a huge debt to those who have helped hold me together - friends are the superglue of life. I'm not going to name people but you know who you are - so thank you. It really is true that you do get along 'with a little help from your friends'.

For better or worse 2011 will be a year of change - I'm moving to Australia, far away from everyone I care about. It's scary leaving people behind, knowing that they'll move on and I won't be part of things but true friends will always be friends and always have time for each other. It's especially scary going all on my own without the boy by my side - but that's out of my control. I'm hoping it will be a chance to draw a line under the sadness of recent months, recollect myself and re balance a little. One of my vanilla friends commented that she was glad I'd decided to go because it was the most 'me' decision I'd made in a while and she worried that I'd seemed a shadow of my normal self recently - that all the tears and worrying were out of character. Hopefully she's right and it will give me a chance to sort myself out so that when I come back I'll be a bit easier to be around, more fun and less sad. Hopefully there will be more fun kinky posts on this blog detailing my adventures down under too.

To all those who've looked after me - thank you so much - I have really appreciated it and hope you all know that (even if I haven't enunciated it very well through floods of tears). True friends are forever and I love you all so much.

R xx

Less than 'me'

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about headspace and bdsm and how it can make me feel. One thing I’ve realised is that although I love playing in the space where I’m riding the pain, there’s lots of banter and I’m quite ‘high’ sometimes I want something different. I want to be less than ‘me’. It’s odd but when I’m playing like that, not really feeling it when it hurts, minimising my reactions, giving the top a lot of lip that’s closest to whom I am in vanilla life.

I was bought up to give as good as I got – mentally and physically. Not to mention spending a significant part of my formative years in a martial arts dojo where ‘sucking it up’ was the done thing – if someone hit you and it hurt hit them back, if you fell badly or missed a block and got hurt make a joke and accept that it was your fault. Tears were certainly not acceptable, grimaces during training sure to attract extra attention from a fairly sadistic instructor. Retrospectively it’s no coincidence that I loved it and flourished from a scared looking chubby girl to fight full contact, instruct and take no shit from the inner city lads who thought they’d try it on because I was a girl. Fast track a few years to university and I was boxing with the boys before swapping to rowing and ultimately captaining the squad. The learned behaviour not to hurt, not to let anyone see me cry and to focus on succeeding in competition have served me well in many respects. They complicate things somewhat as a submissive.

When I first came onto the scene I wanted to resist, to be taken advantage of, gave tops a lot of lip and mostly played in quite a ‘high’ headspace. I think that came from needing time to become comfortable with the idea of giving someone else control, and also from playing more with people I’d just met and wanting to keep the barriers up. I still enjoy playing like that – it tends to leave me on an endorphin high, which is awesome.

Sometimes I want to go deeper into myself though and let myself be less than ‘me’. I want to open myself up fully to what’s happening and let myself feel things fully. To be vulnerable in a way I can’t in a life that demands me to constantly stand my ground with work and things. If something hurts I want to let myself whimper, I want to feel scared, to wriggle, to fuss a bit. It fuels a feeling of being slightly pathetic, which is humiliating in itself – the little voice in your head berating you for being such a weak, pathetic girl and making such a voice. The inner confusion that comes from acting in a way that makes me less than what I normally am, delving beneath all the conditioning. Doing as I’m told, being a ‘good girl’, being small and broken.

It’s interesting how in the two different headspaces I process pain differently. When I’m ‘high’ you won’t get much of a reaction for a while but when I do it’s because I’ve begun to have had enough and am really feeling it. When I’m less than me I fuss a lot more quickly because I’m not riding the pain, I’m sinking into it but ultimately I can take as much if not more; there just may be tears before bedtime.

What I find very interesting is I tend to drop into one headspace or the other depending on what’s going on – who I’m playing with, how I’m feeling, what the environment’s like but that it’s very rare I move between them once I start playing. Because in my feistier headspace I don’t want to yield an inch and in my ‘good girl’ headspace I don’t want to fight the Dom – it just feels like the wrong thing to do. I have had one or two very powerful scenes that have taken me from one place to the other but it’s not a common thing.

When I first started going deeper into myself I think it confused people a bit – a couple of playmates commented that I was so well behaved that it was difficult to find reasons to hurt me. I guess that’s the thing – there doesn’t need to be a reason when you’re in that space – you’re a sub and they’re a Dom and they don’t need a reason. Try that with me in a feistier mood and I’ll be proclaiming how unfair it is (whilst still loving it). It’s a funny old world.

Wanting to play like that can be unsettling – to be hurting, scared and confused but it also has a form of freedom just to let go. To be less than the expectations you and others set-upon yourself. To submit and trust in someone else, to stop fighting.

Back to College

I go back to college on Thursday to study for a qualification I don't really want. Exams, assessments, homework, long Thursday evenings and Saturdays of studying something I don't *really* care about to be something I don't really want to be. Going back wasn't the easiest decision but however much I stamp my feet about it I *am* working in finance for now for very good reasons. And if I am working in finance and my employers will pay for it then it would be extremely foolish not to take the last few exams to earn my chartered status. It is one of those 'right' decisions that you don't like very much but sort of have to accept.

Thing is, I dropped out of the exams two years ago somewhat dramatically by basically failing a paper on purpose. The same paper that I'm starting this week. The rational part of me knows I just need to get on with it but the other part of me is already griping. I finally sat down to do my pre-course work and realised that I can't actually access it on this computer. I have four online tests to do by Thursday and haven't even started. The worst thing is deep down I just don't care - it's like being a student again and finishing printing an assignment due at 4pm at 3.59 and sprinting to hand it in. The stupid thing is I'm not a student, I'm a grown-up and that part of me recognises that I need to do it for my career, that my employer won't be happy if I fail but some deeper part is still rebelling against it.

I'm trying to decide if I should get someone to 'mentor' me over it and thrash me in a way I won't like if I get behind or if that's a bad idea. I've never reacted very well to 'real life' discipline, my best friend frequently jokes that I have 'a problem with authority' and it's probably true. Somewhere along the line I got bored of playing by the rules and being the perfect student, bored of life's constrictions and started to see how much I could get away with. Maybe it's gone too far and I should ask someone to help me stay on track for this course. Because in all honesty if I don't pass it won't be because I couldn't, it'll be because I didn't.

Dashwood House...

Look where I found on my travels...

Corner Time

"But you don't stand still...ever!"

Was my best friend's confused comment as I tried to explain a little more about what I was 'into'. Some of what we do is difficult for vanillas to grasp, particularly when it's not especially sexual and falls more into the 'DS' than the 'B' or 'SM' aspects of what we do. We've been talking quite a lot about it recently - she's going through some hard times with her partner and our occasional phone catch-ups have become much more regular. As I'm stressed out for different reasons it's been cathartic to talk to someone who knows me inside out for me as well.

We somehow ended up agreeing to talk about different bits of what I'm 'into' so she could understand and also because she's curious. I'm wondering if a pervert may be lurking in there somewhere but won't say more than that.

It was easy enough for her to understand some things. The spankings and canings and other painful pursuits make sense to her as another way of expressing the masochistic side of me that she knew well in sporting arenas. She gets why I'd enjoy fet clubbing and joked that after spending half my working life covered from head to toe in foreign countries it wasn't surprising that I needed to let my hair down - and our group were hardly shy about going out without much on anyway. The control thing she gets a little bit and understands that I need a man who can stand up to me be 'in charge' in the bedroom but questions things going beyond that. As an ex-history student she also understands why I'd enjoy role-playing but found some of it a bit strange (explaining a Victorian reformatory to anyone non-kinky is an amusing challenge if you're ever bored!).

Somehow though we really got stuck on the subject of 'corner time'. It's not something that happens very often or a huge kink of mine but she really fixated on it. A lot of it was not understanding the benefit for either me or the person enforcing it - it's not sexy or physical to an outsider and I think that makes it harder to understand. We talked a lot about the symbolism and also concept of reflecting before being punished and the humiliation factor as it's quite a juvenile position. How it can be an opportunity to swap from a bratty or 'high' head space into something calmer and more obedient and other things like that. That it's a way for a dominant to take control of the situation on their terms rather than necessarily dealing with something straight away.

She had a lot of sideways questions about how did people ensure that you really stayed in the corner. I shared the comic example of a Dom I'd played with quite early on who had made me hold a ping pong ball against the wall with my nose so I couldn't move at all. Unfortunately I'd sneezed, jumped in shock and accidentally kicked the ball which had dropped into a corner and behind the sofa. It was entirely unintentional but got me into trouble and she'd collapsed into fits of giggles as that was a very 'me' thing to do. I neglected to tell her about the occasion whilst role playing when myself and another girl had carefully shuffled out of the corner whilst the Dom wasn't watching as I didn't think it would help.

I'm still not sure how much she 'got' it in the end, although she was very fixated on the idea of me standing still bizarrely!

Inappropriate...

The hotel that we are hosting our annual workshop in is partly old and colonial, which has led to not a few inappropriate thoughts when the planning meetings get too stupefying. It's hardly fair to put me in a 150 year old colonial building that was originally a ballroom and is now used for conferences and to expect me to focus very well on presentations and the best position for the podium. My thoughts drifted back to the Rebecca I might have been 150 years ago - I suspect I'd still want to travel and be somewhat adventurous (something I get from my parents who are only just beginning to be able to do) and imagined arriving in the country as the wife of an ambassador or perhaps daughter of an ambitious merchant. The balls I'd have attended in that prestigious ball room, the arguments when I baulked against safety concerns in a foreign land and the inevitable consequences.

Living a double life can take a toll. Some people manage to merge the real life and bdsm sides of their lives reasonably well - they work in the arts or live an outwardly alternative lifestyle. For me that's just not the case and I take a perverse pleasure in being the last person that people would suspect. The model girl next door or altruistic career girl. It just gets very surreal when I'm reeling from a big scene or my mind is drifting to baser fantasies and then you snap back into it. I'm meeting some overseas colleagues for the first time and have somehow convinced them that I'm competent and there's the possibility of a job in Australia...but I could hardly mention 'what's the fetish scene like' in a discussion about practicalities with one of them. Although the possibilities for transportation scenarios are rather limitless...

I belatedly realised that yesterday was my 100th post - not many in over a year but I have had a bit of a hiatus recently so still a bit of a milestone I guess - but enough of the rambling!

Renaissance

My world is on the move again hopefully for the better. All going to plan I'm starting a new job in a couple of weeks and escaping my psycho boss. Am in Sri Lanka facilitating a 'final fling' workshop but mostly just wanting to go to the beach. Feeling more engaged with my dark and dirty side than I have for a while, mostly due to being generally unhappy and stressed out (hence the lack of posting - too much about being sad, stressed and mixed up doth not good reading maketh). My doctor has worked out what's wrong with me and dosed me and my energy levels are slowly re approaching normal - I swam and hit the gym today despite being jet lagged. I've planned the trip of a quintecade (5 years) for August, may or may not be going on my own and still can't wait. Am still not too sure where certain things are going or even which way they should go but the sun appears to be slowly reemerging (the real sun probably has something to do with this - I'm a summer girl at heart) for which I'm eternally grateful. Whether it's knowing I've escaped the psycho boss, that the sun is out, knowing I'm going away this summer or what I don't know but am happy and my kinky libido is emerging blinking into the sunshine too.

Having had a couple of rather lovely play happenings recently has probably also had a lot to do with it :) It was nice to find that I was in the mood and felt more like me than I have in a while. But more about that another day - off to reconfigure a few more computers (hurrah!)

Feeling confused...

About what I want right now. The certain thing is more play - the boy interest is away, several play dates have been cancelled and work has been making it hard to get to clubs and events I'd like to attend. It almost feels as if the kink within and play-life that were blossoming a year ago have wilted away. I know why and don't like the reasons but they're hard to deal with. Part of me wants the darker intense scenes that I was leaning towards a year ago, things to push my limits, challenge my roleplaying abilities or propel me into experimenting with new things. Part of me wants the safe, comfortable things that right now I'm missing. All of me is more than a little mixed up.

Everything I am...

A teenager dreaming of faraway places or solemnly voicing ambitions to build schools and hospitals in Africa to a disbelieving PSE class whose desires rested upon flash cars and designer trainers.

A school leaver singing a rainbow with coloured balloons teaching quechua children English in darkest Ecuador or trembling with excitement at riding in the back of a pick-up truck for the first time. Pretending to be the sacrificial virgin at Machu Picchu. Living in rural Malawi, tackling Mount Mulanje in the rainy season and feeling as if she's truly awakening to the world for the first time.

A skinny student crossing a river in the Vietnamese mountains or sitting quietly in a temple somewhere in Thailand. Getting lost in Morocco and eating melon and discussing politics with an old man on a deserted roadside.

A girl with a radio in one hand and a map in the other in a muddy English field as we seek to deal with multiple casualties, broken vehicles and general chaos. Remembering what I'm good at and who I am when I'm at my best.

Work sent me on the most useful course ever last week which was all about travel safety and awareness. It certainly covered that but bizarrely has left me feeling more confident in myself having remembered that I am good in a crisis, do think quickly and that other people look to me as a leader. Things that can get lost in the general mire of life. Feeling exhausted and frustrated at work, dealing with friends and relationships and the grind of paying the bills all take it out of you and sometimes make it hard to see the wood for the trees.

Have decided to sod everyone and everything else and to book my adventure for this summer. All on my own, probably somewhere in Asia during the monsoon season. Bring on the spiritual reawakening and hopefully some time to remember who I really am because sometimes right now I worry that between work, relationships and kink I've lost a big part of me. And I like all of me - even the bits that are sometimes hard to fit into life in North-West Enders.

Have also decided to look elsewhere on the work front. They are messing me around, my boss is a psycho and I have had enough. At the very least hopefully it'll mean they take issues that I've raised seriously if I get another offer. Have applied for 4 things and been told I'm very likely to have interviews for two so that's all good.

Sod settling for less than I'm happy to fight for. Stolen from the lovely Echo's blog:

Fuck. That. Shit.

I don't think it's actually on her blog but I definitely got the link from her. You should check her out - not only is her blog named after one of my favourite Catatonia songs ever but she has lots of sexy and interesting things to say.

The plus side is that feeling good about me usually leads to feeling good about kink - so bring on the adventures in pervery as the springtime flowers bloom...

Purple Thursday knickers...

So this week didn't quite provoke the flurry of posting that I'd hoped for. In fact the outcome has been something a little akin to a non-kinky workhouse or sweatshop that has seen me toil for fifteen hours a day with little prospect of resolving half of the issues the team here are facing. Not that I haven't *had* kinky thoughts about living here in ancient times (the place has barely changed - it's utterly charming) and being a harem girl or a carpet maker's apprentice or something of that sort. It's just there hasn't been much time to write about it sadly.

However tomorrow I get to wear my purple satin 'Thursday' knickers and start the long journey home. You see, I fell in love with a pack of days of the week knickers in the January sale and eventually succumbed to the purchase. They are very sweet in different shades of pastel satin with the day embroidered on the front and two little bows. Knowing that this trip was looming and I was likely to be suffering the dreaded combination of feeling lonely and being under massive pressure at work I saved them. So that every day I've worn a different pair and could see how many days were left (which was somehow comforting on Monday - which was the day from hell) and got to wear a new pair of knickers which always cheers one up. The last pair which are lilac are laid out for me to wear tomorrow alongside my jeans and a t-shirt and other comforting western clothes.

It will be nice to get home, although this will be fleeting as I am off to Dublin for the weekend with Jessica, Eliane, Haron and Martha to visit Emma-Jane. Our sixth form weekend away will see us wreaking general havoc and hitting Nimneach on Saturday night so if you do see us do say hi!

Middle Eastern Reformatory

I am on my travels with work again. Sitting in a distant hotel room as the Call to Prayer echoes out across the land. An ancient city surrounded by mountains full of places to inspire kinky thoughts in a girl like me. Work travel has the ability to be terribly isolating as you battle with strange menus, dodgy hotels and the knowledge that everyone back home is probably having a riot whilst you grapple with spreadsheets on a Saturday afternoon. It can however be a time to be introspective, look inwards and rekindle your batteries away from the madding crowd. It's interesting that after months of being a little indifferent about writing I'm feeling the urge to blog again after just two days away from home. Thus this Arabic week (Saturday-Wednesday) I shall endeavour to bring a blog post every day, mainly because I have been having some fabulous adventures over the last few months, I just haven't really felt like blogging about them.

But first (as I really should be preparing a report for tomorrow but have been at work all day and fancy a break) I bring you the striking similarities between travelling in a strict Islamic country and a Victorian reformatory. This is largely inspired by my incarceration in such an institution a couple of weeks ago, which is a story for when I don't have a giant spreadsheet to populate.

1. Rules about dress. Except the reformatory dresses, ribbons and knee socks were far cuter than the long skirt, baggy top and headscarf that I have to wear here. Plus infractions resulted in a beating rather than being arrested or kidnapped!

2. Cold showers. Unlike most of the other inmates I was somewhat unphased by the cold bath at the reformatory (years of messing about in boats do that to you!) but having had three cold showers since I got here is significantly less kinky and really quite annoying.

3. Powercuts. At the reformatory the powercut caused a minor panic and spoiled my cherry batter pudding whilst everyone rushed around trying to find the fuse box. Here there is no fuse box and eventually the generators start roaring and power returns. This happens several times a day, usually when you are just about to save a vital piece of work. Thankfully Jessica bought me a very interesting flashlight that doubles as a vibrator and is perfect for keeping me amused when the power goes out, I would attach a picture but unfortunately the local internet provider has banned the babeland site as 'pornography' :( On that note it is very amusing to discover what does and doesn't constitute porn over here...

4. Working at the weekend. In the reformatory we had to copy boring phrases from the diary and cook for the masters, here I have to go into the office and pretend to do my job. At some point they're going to figure out that I'm a total incompetent but I'm hoping that when they do they won't beat me...

5. Contraband. At the reformatory we smuggled in huge amounts of alcohol and sweet goodies to nibble on. The dressing table of my room here is piled with Mini Eggs, Dairy Milk and Chupa Chupps lollies as often the food in these places is pretty random and I get grumpy when I get hungry.

6. Inspired kinky thoughts...from being wronged by masters at the reformatory to wondering what it would have been like to be a harem girl in years gone by...yes I have a dirty mind.

7. Regular interventions, although at least the hourly punishments at the reformatory didn't wake you up in the middle of the night like the call to prayer!

So there you have it girls and boys - same difference really :)

Do they really notice...

Or even care? 'They' being men in this case. Us girlies obviously spend a lot of time before a scene thinking about what we're going to wear, how to do our hair and which underwear will go best. Thing is I didn't use to spend quite long thinking about it - I had one set of black quite nice H&M bra and pants and the rest were plain cotton and slightly stretched. I have distinct memories of heading back to the house of my first kinky boyfriend after training having not had a shower and wearing a sexy line in trackies and sports vest. He obsessed over me, was desperate to see me, wanted more than I could ever have given. More bizarrely he continued to obsess over me long after we split up.

So I guess what I'm asking is do men actually like the effort? Do you find us sexier in matching lingerie, corsetted and made-up. When you lift our skirts is it more exciting to find pretty lacy knickers or would faded baggy ones actually be fine?

Strange mood

I'm thinking about the Great Halls of ancient warriors. Braziers lit, ornate hangings on the wall, long feasting tables with wooden benches, probably a roast pig or four. A triumphant local Chieftain or petty King, probably some minstrels playing something warlike with lots of drums. One by one the hostages taken to ensure the good behaviour of the kingdoms he has defeated are presented to him by his arms men. The weeping daughter of the old king he defeated on the first stay, the proud wife of another, the aging mother of a third. Then comes one with whom he is more personally acquainted - the sister of the ruler of the last kingdom to fall. She spits in his face, as defiant as she had been leading her brother's men during those last bitter days of conquest after an arrow to the shoulder took him out of action. It had only been the threat to raze her people's visit that had forced the final surrender. Looking down at her the victor could not decide whether he might have been wiser to take her meeker sister as his hostage or whether this woman might finally provide him with some sport...

I'm also thinking about custard. I have this sudden huge urge for raspberry and blackberry crumble with custard. Unfortunately I have neither raspberries, blackberries nor custard, which is a great shame. I did have a very yummy dinner though (nom!)

I'm also thinking about the boy interest and him being far away. We found a very nice castle to explore last time I visited and I was very disappointed when he refused to spank me when I bent over a four poster bed in a turret room (no windows - just stone gaps - very exciting!) and pulled my knickers down. Apparently it was too risky in an English Heritage property...my argument is that there were all of about four people there. Later on he did deal with me in a little nook off the gun room for being cheeky and misbehaving - it's a hard life! Comedy picture to follow once I can be bothered to upload it from my phone.

I have just been watching Glee - it is possibly the best thing ever. I wish my colleagues would just burst into random tuneful singing every ten minutes as it would make the working day much more interesting. Nine to five life seems to be taking it's toll right now - my boss is being a psycho, I'm bored and it's February and thus extra miserable. I have to go somewhere really dangerous in a few weeks when I'd wanted to see the boy and am not too impressed. Rapidly reaching the conclusion that work does send the brain to sleep.

Am loving my burlesque course (nipple tassels next week!) with our fabulous teacher. It's fun and no one takes it too seriously...and I'm sure learning 4 ways to remove a pair of gloves, 2 ways to remove stockings with a chair and two ways without will come in useful at some point! It's all rather fabulous and la-di-da as have just got back from doing my panto in Ireland. I want sparkling lights, screaming children, wonderful people and the chance to drink and dance until the wee hours to go on and on...

So raise a glass to fun, fabulousness, kinky day dreaming and surreality.

Less random posts to follow when I am in a less flippant mood :)

Sunday Night Blues

I have the Sunday night blues, a bad case of them. No one likes Mondays but I don't remember the impending sense of doom hitting quite so brutally on Sunday nights a year or two ago. I'm happier in my job than I was back then (still frequently bored but at least it's worthwhile) and generally a pretty happy bunny so think it must be a bit of a reflection of the pattern that my life's taking right now. Weekend are either taken up with fabulous kinky fun and events, seeing the boy interest or putting on a show with fabulous people. Hence Sunday nights being a bit of a nadir. I'm played out, on my own with a cold bedroom and mounting pile of washing. Usually some cleaning to do. Tired knowing there's a week ahead that will be less fun and more lonely.

Votes for a 5 day weekend and 2 day week everybody?!

Have a funny phone and story to tell from weekend with the boy interest but should probably go to bed or will be grumpy and tired at work tomorrow :( Hope everyone has had much fun and fabulousness :)

Sweet girl, action girl

A vanilla friend once jokingly said that my problem was that I wasn't sure if I wanted to be Lara Croft or Legally Blonde. At the time I was frantically trying on dresses for a black tie dinner in the forty minute gap between racing on the river and having to jump on a bus to go rock climbing for the weekend. The girly part of me demanded trying on virtually every dress in multiple shops despite the incident taking place during my sylph like days when everything fitted, no questions asked. The action girl was getting impatient, thus trying to save time (if you've never seen someone in the stylish combo of a pink frilly dress teamed with waterproof trousers and walking boots you're missing out) and fretting about whether there would be time to pick up new batteries for my head torch or not. My poor friend was trying to ensure that we made the bus and I had something to wear for the dinner the following night, whilst gently suggesting we did really need to pick up some lunch before leaving.

It does sometimes feel like I have two contrasting personalities that want completely different things. So much so that what makes one happy makes the other edgy. Part of me wants fifties dresses, big petticoats, nice kitchenware and frilly knickers and another part of me wants to trek to Everest Base Camp, raft the Nile, push my body until I scream and is happiest in trackies and a hoodie. On the scene the dichotomy raises it's head as well - sometimes I am in evangelical 'good girl' mode and generally want to please people, look pretty and am a generally mellow happy thing and sometimes I want to battle with the tops, pain, starkness and rebellion. We all have different aspects to our personalities and there are lots of subsets to the sweet and action versions of me but sometimes it does seem very pronounced. What's frustrating is that sometimes I can't really control which head space I get into and that's really frustrating.

Right now I feel equally torn about what to save money I don't have for. Part of me is fawning over What Katie Did's adorable pink lace Sarah range for their new spring collection, flowery Vivien of Holloway Dresses and fabulous Mary Green 7 Deadly Sins knickers in pink silk. I am busy totting up what I could afford when if I gave up what (probably eating). Another part of me is plotting my first proper trip in a couple of years this summer and unsure about whether I fancy trekking in Nepal and Tibet, rafting, mountain biking and diving in Central America or climbing and safariing in Africa. I suspect the next few months are going to consist of a battle of wills as I attempt not to spend savings for the summer on more knickers...otherwise it'll be Bognor Regis...or Watford. And there are so many less silly adrenaline sports to be done there...and I'll have to take more then 2 pairs of knickers!

On another note I'm off down South to see the boy interest for the weekend and my case probably displays the disparity in my tastes rather well - in a carry on size bag I have succeeded in packing a corset, pretty underwear and 3 pairs of stockings alongside a ginormous pair of walking boots, thick socks and my favourite trackies...me...complex...never!

Click Conundrums

When I talk about kink I talk a lot about the elusive ‘click’. Click is what makes you instantly warm to someone and thus find yourself giggling over your sixth cocktail and a plate of tapas hours into what was meant to be a quick drink. Or when you start chatting to someone and discover that you both stayed at the same backpackers’ hostel in a tiny African village, have a mutual obsession with Starbucks skinny caramel macchiatos, fancy dress and masochistic attitude towards sports. You just get each other.

Click’s even more important when it comes to playmates – I mean if you’re going to put yourself in the hands of someone you initially don’t know well feeling comfortable is key. In the misty past at my first munch I met someone who went on to be a fabulous long term playmate. He was wearing a red sweater with a shirt beneath that somehow reminded me of Christopher Robin (I never told him that) and I was painfully embarrassed and somewhat weirded out by the greasy men who kept perving on me. There was something vaguely dangerous about him that I liked and he was bemused that I knew what I wanted so young, I think we both saw the other as a challenge. We played scenes I still fantasise about fairly regularly for almost a year until his girlfriend banned him from seeing me (obviously despite never having had sex we’d clicked a bit too much).

It applies in groups too. There are people that you instantly connect with and others that you don’t. In any friendship group some people are closer than others, and over time you grow closer to people that aren’t instant clicks – that’s natural. I can remember thinking that a girl who became one of my best friends was an awful suck-up for coming along to watch us race when she hadn’t made the crew in my first year and was constantly sidling up to the captain. She hated me for being faster than her and I secretly thought she was a bit weak for not being able to push but we ended up becoming best friends and going travelling together. A few years later she’s reverted to being a bit wet but it doesn’t mean we’re not still good friends – I just wouldn’t call her in a real crisis anymore because right now we don’t ‘get’ each other.

The difficult thing is the ‘anti-click’, people that just irritate you. We all encounter them and most of us have at least one in our group of close friends. Generally the peace is kept but every now and again there’s an almighty row – usually when someone says what they actually think. I know for a fact that certain acquaintances view me as an ‘anti-click’ (the interesting thing being that it’s not always mutual) but in the case of the clever ones I may not have a clue. Ultimately we all want to be happy and thus sometimes it’s better just to keep the peace.

This raises interesting issues when examined in the context of the scene and social interactions. Click in a group scene is fabulous – two subs in collusion don’t double the trouble for the top, the effect is definitely exponential as you collectively turn the crank and wind them up. Albino deer in the wilds of the English countryside, Sir Gooseberry Chicken, purple fairy cakes – all manner of fun and amusing things happen when click works in a group scene, and if you’re lucky the resulting chaos and consequences are even better.

What about ‘anti-click’ in a group though? It’s all very well tolerating someone you just don’t particularly get on with at group dinners, birthdays and so on but dealing with it in a bdsm scene moves into different territory. It can come out in tension between characters in a role-play or a total fail of the ability to let go and enjoy a scene, as truthfully none of us like to be vulnerable around those we aren’t sure about. Or things can just not work as well as they might, which in a way is even worse and you’re left feeling like a bad person because someone’s having the affect on you. Ultimately it’s a tricky one because not liking someone and thus not wanting to do something inherently sexual with them does not make you mean or a failed player but it can feel that way, especially if you feel bad for letting others down. It’s especially difficult if naturally you want to like and be nice everyone, so on one level it’s fine and on another it’s really not. I think the difficult bit is finding the line and working out how to keep your unicycle from wobbling too far to one side.

Mermaid

Pearlescent, almost ethereal she lay,
Dark hair pooling around her shoulders;
Slight like silver birch or willow;
Skin pale and perfect as a dove.

She looked like a mermaid he’d said
That first day they’d met in the rain,
Struggling with a pile of library books;
Damp hair whipping in her face.

Tea in a non-descript café
With chintzy cups and chipped plates,
Scones with cream and raspberry jam
As red as blood. Her blood.

She’d cried the first time he’d hurt her,
That innocent, sunny afternoon
Sobbed that hers that would never return;
She’d blossomed as his teeth drew blood.

Her patterned duvet soaked up the tears
The first time he’d promised to make her scream;
Piles of dusty books and dirty plates
Offset the midnight leather, dark against her pale skin.

Philosophy blended with sodomy that fall,
He made her read de Sade and believe
Bound and blind in her university room.
He’d take her finger from her shaking hand.

She feared and cherished his whippings,
The marks he left adorning her body
For days at a time when she was good;
He made her beg him to hurt her.

Pearlescent, almost ethereal she lay,
Dark hair pooling around her shoulders;
Slight like silver birch or willow;
Skin pale and perfect as a dove,
Streaked with marks as red as blood.

The audition pt1

Lavina fumbled nervously with the strings of her corset in dressing room, aware that she could hear him pacing impatiently next door. Although she had only just met Mr Thomas she already had the distinct impression that he was not the type of man who appreciated being kept waiting. She'd got that much from their conversation about her audition over the phone, three outfits, an address and the quiet suggestion that he would not tolerate timewasters. Timewasters? Lavina hoped she wouldn't be one of those, she'd never done anything quite like this before but surely she could? It wasn't as if she had much choice.

Anxiously she eyed herself in the mirror and managed a small smile. Shiny black stilettos with straps that criss-crossed up her calves, black bra and silk bloomers offset by a tiny waist-cincher corset and blonde hair tied loosely back - surely she'd do. His smile as she sashayed into the room was appreciative, eyeing her up and down before as she stood before him trying to disguise her nerves. He ran his hands down her body, got her to slowly turn, placed his hand on her back and adjusted her stance to push her breasts forward and nodded.

"Good, next one." He said, gesturing back into the changing room. Lavina wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not, she'd thought he might at least like to...never mind. Carefully she unlaced the corset and wriggled out of the other things, folding them neatly beside her bag. The next outfit was perhaps her favourite, a waist cincher with matching bra and fifties knickers in black and peach satin overlaid with soft delicate lace. Less dramatic than the corset but perhaps more her. She picked fully fashioned seamed stockings to finish the outfit off and the 5 and a half inch heels she could barely walk in. Carefully she applied another coat of deep red lipstick and let her hair fall down her back. Surely this would get more of a reaction?

Mr Thomas smiled as he sat in the lounge, he could hear the girl pattering about next door. He liked that she was anxious, liked that she wanted to please. This one definitely had potential, it was just a matter of unlocking it, seeing how far he could make her go. He looked up and hid a laugh, she was tottering in the most ridiculous pair of shoes he'd seen in a while; clearly designed for horizontal rather than vertical wear. This time he allowed himself to touch her a little more, getting a feel for the merchandise as Bartholomew would say. Then he smoothed her hair back, patted her on the backside and pointed her back to the dressing room. After the final change, that was when the fun would begin and he wanted her to feel nervous.

Lavina slipped into the black polka dot corselette and clipped the suspenders to the stockings she'd been wearing before. It wasn't as if he was taking any notice anyway, she thought angrily to herself, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stalked back next door. The inspection process was quicker this time, probably because he wanted to move onto examining other things she thought cynically. He noted the glimmer of defiance in her face and was inwardly pleased, after all the feisty ones always were more fun.

Saying nothing he took her wrist and led her next door into the bedroom. Lavina blushed as he questioned exactly what her experience was, she'd been spanked of course? Yes, and rather more than that she admitted unwillingly, staring at the floor and grinding out her speech. She'd heard about his business through a friend and fancied having a go, the play with her ex had hurt but been...exciting. She hated her job and was bored, with any luck this would prove a suitable alternative. As he tapped his riding crop against his thigh, fixed her with a determined stare and grasped her wrist with an iron grip she wasn't so sure...

To be continued (soon this time - I promise!)

Memories...

It's funny how the strangest of things can trigger memories. I was organising my underwear drawer (the one for normal underwear, not the one for super frilly tutu knickers, corsets, camisoles and babydolls - they share a separate drawer with my hair straighteners!) and the whole thing ended up making me feel quite nostalgic.

You see, I almost threw away the knickers that I'd bought to do my first ever scene play with a very good friend. I'd done a little of spanking with a boyfriend at uni but it was my first foray into the wider world. We were going to do a school role-play and reading the uniform requirements I'd realised in horror that I didn't own anything resembling a presentable white bra and pair of knickers. This had led to a frantic search around a well known department store in my parent's town as I was visiting them the previous weekend. I'd found something affordable and quite pretty and my mother had been somewhat bemused if relieved that I was suddenly interested in underwear.

Why relieved? Well because once upon a time there was a girl named Rebecca who owned a vast array of sports bras, an army of faded M&S cotton knickers and an attitude akin to Kiera Knightley in Bend it like Beckham (there's a very funny scene where her mother is waving various lace and gel concoctions at her and she's only interested in sports ones). I did have two nice sets from H&M at the insistence of the first kinky boyfriend but neither of them was white and one was falling apart. It seems pretty funny given the size of my lingerie collection these days, which seems to expand exponentially despite my best efforts to be good.

I remember the scene very well. I'd met the gentleman (who was none other than Jessica's lovely HWMBO) and Jessica for drinks, got pretty merry and thought they were both rather fabulous, if slightly scary. They thought I was a News of the World reporter and I went bright red and mumbled every time anyone mentioned spanking. I nervously accepted an invitation to play with HWMBO and got increasingly nervous after a separate bad IC experience. At that stage in the game I was very body conscious and remember being horribly embarrassed when Jessica came with me to get changed into my uniform. We had a lovely play, I got some very pretty bruises and stripes, blushed a lot, he was charming about it and Rebecca Williams was born. All after I nearly scared the poor man to death by fainting at the realisation that this was actually happening and I was in the house of someone I'd met once in outer London dressed as a school girl and about to be whacked. A week or two later I found myself anxiously looking for a suspender belt in La Senza (I'd thought no one had them anymore - alas poor innocent) as I'd been told to wear stockings and suspenders for another scene and freaking out slightly as I didn't really know what to do with it and everything seemed expensive. I bought a little black flimsy thing that I still have, though was quickly advised by more experienced girls that metal clips and stockingshq were the way forward.

I threw away the bra and one of the pairs of knickers from that set in my last clear out and this pair is sitting looking melancholy on my dresser. I don't wear them anymore, they're a bit grey (though still pretty - very modest at the back with a see through lace panel at the front - Mr S was shocked!) but in a weird way they almost seem to represent something. Perhaps I'll pop them back in the drawer but I don't know if that's a bit silly.

I guess that play and the associated knickers were the start of lots of things really. A lot of fantastic new friends and some playmates that I really care about, forays into fetish clubs, and fabulous playdays and weekends being everything from a school girl to a regency lady, reformatory inmate or chateau girl amongst other things. A gradual process of getting more in touch with my feminine side, accepting my curves and developing an obsession with beautiful lingerie, vintage lace and frilly things. I think the wonderful people are the biggest thing though - am having an odd moment of nostalgia!