31 August 2008

Fatherly Wisdom

I've been having trouble with the blogger interface. I meant to type this out two days ago, but it wasn't happening. Now it's going to have lost something because my memory is quickly working to cover over such incidents as these.

So Friday night at the temple, we are outside taking some photos because everyone says how nice I look even though I am not feeling the best about how I look. Anyway, my dad pulls me aside and says he wants to tell me something. This is never a good sign.

"I know that maybe I wasn't always the best dad to you, or set the best example.... but you need to... you know.... get over it. Stop ruining your life."

There's a pause while I try to work out what he's saying to me. I wonder if Emily told him I was in therapy. I haven't actually mentioned it to either of my parents. "So... I'm ruining my life??"

"Well you don't seem to be able to make lasting relationships for whatever reasons. You need to just get over me."

Another small pause. "Thanks dad, but, you know, it just doesn't work like that."

29 August 2008

From the Road

Well, it's not really the road, in reality it's more a house in the suburbs, but you get my drift.

The flight was not great. It all started badly when we were taxiing down the runway and I could hear this high pitched noise like metal scraping on metal. A noise I have never heard before. That was all it took really. My irrational panic started to rise. Then we got to the runway and the noise didn't abate, it kept up and I was, as usual, convinced that something was grinding apart and was going to break off and we were all going to die. So as soon as the flight attendants had been released from sitting I called one of them over and explained that I was a phobic flyer, blah blah blah. Of course, around this time, the high pitched noise also stopped.

On the plus side, the flight crew on this particular flight were really fantastic and kind about my phobia. Every time there was turbulence they came to check on me and even sat with me (the flight wasn't so full). And obviously the flight was fine and all that, so now here I am in Chicago.

It is strange to be surrounded by Americans. The way they sound and how they talk. I won't lie and say that I don't often find something abrasive about it. However, I am also in the Midwest which is not my favorite part of the country. The accent here is harsher, the people are more isolated and sheltered. It's par for the course really. Still, there are many things that I appreciate as well and feel very much like 'home'.

I watched the Obama acceptance speech last night. That was pretty interesting. Coverage here is obviously far more intensive than anything in the UK and hugely biased and partisan and also racial all at the same time. In a way that I don't think people who aren't American can actually understand. It's not necessarily how I prefer my news delivered, but if you understand it, then you understand far more about American than you would do by listening to the BBC. It's going to be a really tough race. Of course, I hope the democrats can pull through.

In other exciting news, I drove a car yesterday. First time I'd driven a car in over five years. I was nervous but it was alright. It didn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as I anticipated which is good, since I really do want to get my UK driving license when I get back. I still need to take the theory test, but the practical is what I am more concerned about. I just don't drive anymore. So to take a difficult exam about driving when I don't even own a car seems troubling, but I'll try.

After I deal with the citizenship stuff of course.

I do find that I have a bit too much time to think here at the moment. Of course my thoughts cannot help but stray to Mr.Aloof. I wish that they wouldn't and that it was all easier. And I could of course not mention it here and pretend I'm not thinking about it at all, but of course I am. However, I'm not sure what I think about it all anymore. I know that I experienced things that were wonderful and exciting and exhilarating. But I also know that I was lied to and deceived and abused. So it's hard to remember anything good coming out of the past when it's completely overshadowed by all the bad. My mind tries to make sense of it- of course, and unsuccessfully. Because you can't make sense of a crazy person. And this is the conclusion that I am slowly coming around to. That Mr.Aloof is so fucked in the head that it's just... impossible to make sense of anything in his life, and by extension, anything in his actions. Still, there is a part of me that misses the attention, the excitement, the potential. Everything I thought was good, even though now I find it hard to believe that anything was good. I just ache in a rather empty way. Clutching at straws and watching them slip through my proverbial fingers. It's frustrating but it's also healing. Time moves on.

At any rate, this is my one spot of down time in the house for a while. The rest of the extended family arrives today and it's going to be manic. I managed to get left alone for the majority of today so I'm going to go hop in the shower and then have a walk over to some major shopping areas and do some damage.

Oh, and speaking of damage. Looks like my money got returned to my UK account, but short 35 pounds for the inconvenience. At least it's not lost forever but I'm very, very frustrated at how difficult the procedure of wiring myself money seems to be. I am not at all amused and something will need to be done to fix that- when I get back.

Righty-o. Off to wander the streets of Skokie in the sun and heat.

26 August 2008

Fear of Flying

It is truly difficult to explain to anyone who does not have a phobia what one is actually like. Every time I say that I have a flying phobia, inevitably, someone will say something along the lines of, "Well, a lot of people don't like flying.", or "A lot of people are afraid of flying.". And that's fine. I believe this is generally true, that many people have a moment of discomfort at the loss of control. Or don't like being squished into a seat that is uncomfortable for so long. Or don't like being that close to strangers. Or are worried about breathing in all that recycled air.

But these people don't have a phobia, and I do.

Because I cannot give up flying as a means of travel, I cannot possibly count how many times in the course of my life I have been reduced to a crying mass of red eyes and snot terrified and convinced that I was about to die. I can say that I have never been on a flight where I have witnessed anyone else having the reaction I was having, though I have seen people deal with their obvious fear in different ways to how I deal with it.

How I feel on a plane is not common- not like general discomfort or fear. It is irrational, illogical, and is defined by the description of the word 'panic'. When I mentally fall apart on a flight, I am in fact having a panic attack. My panic attacks are not characterized by doing anything stupid (for example, having an irrational urge to "Get off this plane right now!", regardless of being at 35,000 feet). No, my panic manifests itself by uncontrollable crying and the fervent belief that death is imminent.

This is not fun.

It is not enjoyable to have a phobia. It is not nice to think in advance you are going to make a spectacle of yourself or be the laughingstock of the plane. It's not pleasant to know that in any other circumstance, were I to witness someone else behaving as I do, what would go through my mind would be, "What is wrong with that person?". And it's not nice that my days leading up to a flight are generally overshadowed by something that I can only describe as dread.

Last week there was a plane crash in Spain. This morning there was an emergency landing of a Ryan Air flight that lost cabin pressure. So of course my phobic filled mind is considering that bad things come in threes and one more is now due. I know it isn't logical. And really what I'm trying to do is tell myself that the Quantas plane that recently made an emergency landing because of the big hole in the side of it could count as three. Of course if my phobic mind takes over, then it says that really, that's two emergency landings with no deaths- that the fatal crash doesn't count and now we're due a third plane malfunction/emergency landing type situation.

Yes, this probably makes me somewhat crazy. At least it's localized.

Still, I wish I didn't feel this way. I keep thinking of friends and family who have flown recently and how they have all been fine. How I did not worry about them excessively and they went hither and yon and made it back safe and sound and without incident. This is what I want my thoughts to be like when I think of me. But sadly, when you have a phobia, it just doesn't work out that way.

All I can think is that this could be my last post you see. That's the phobia talking. Well. the odds are highly against it. I'd have a better chance of winning the lottery. Still, I can't push off the thought completely. These could all be my last hours on earth.

Having a phobia is horrible.

24 August 2008

Two Weeks

This weekend is the start of two weeks of irregular programming.

First, it's a bank holiday weekend. I can't tell you how happy I am to have this extra day off. Of course I haven't really planned anything interesting for the weekend, just relaxing mostly. But relaxing mostly sounds more than adequate. And there will be a barbecue tomorrow, weather permitting.

Tuesday I will be at work, though I leave early for shrinkage. At the therapy I presume I will be talking about how the last episode with Mr.Aloof did the most to eradicate any good feelings I had left about him, and how my mental state is reverting back to 'purely single' which generally translates in my head to 'alone as usual'. It's not that 'alone' in this sense seems out of sorts, it's more like my default setting. Only child, a lifetime of being on my own, it feels natural, but it makes me sad. It makes me sad because I think I'd like to have a partner, but when I truly feel myself, I don't even know how a partner would fit in to my life- having spent pretty much all of it cultivating it on my own.

The other thing I will be talking about is my flight on Wednesday. I hate flying. I hate flying with a phobic passion which defies logic and makes me feel terrible. It is of course, the only way to travel. So it's not about giving up the flying, but rather enduring the maddening panic that sets in. Unpleasant.

Then I will be in Chicago. I haven't been there for two years now- not since my other cousin's bar mitzvah. It will be nice to see family I haven't seen for a while. And I will also see my dad and step mother who I saw earlier this year. Which will also be nice. I'm looking forward to doing some shopping, even though the dollar has improved recently against the pound. My spending power isn't quite as good as it has been, but it's still much better than buying things here.

I get back from Chicago the following Thursday, and for some reason will be going in to work on the Friday. But basically this means that for two weeks I am only at work for a day each. Fairly strange. I should have timed that all better and am not entirely sure what I was thinking. I was probably thinking how I was out of holiday time to be honest.

And then I will be back, and must really focus full time on getting my citizenship application pulled together which means taking the 'Life in the UK' test. This is the future that I'm looking forward to. The days are getting shorter, the chance for warm weather is getting less and less, and life goes on.

Still, I have hopes for this, my 34th year. Some big things may happen. Some big things should happen. So fingers crossed that it all adds up to something special in a good way. Certainly something to counterbalance the disaster that was last year. One can hope.

22 August 2008

Statistics: My Brain Hurts

So last night I went to see the other couple. This was a lot of fun in general and probably includes a pornalong post in there, though I'm not sure I'm in the mood to tap it out. Sex, oral sex, spanking, threesome, orgasms... it's funny isn't it? Kinky sex is just like regular sex after a while! So that is not the point of today's post. But it does come about because of events from last night.

Earlier in the evening we watched the movie '21' which was a pretty good movie, though it oversimplified a lot of what actually happened and then also gave it a complete Hollywood twist and ending which also deviated from the original true story. Nevermind though. The point is, at some point early on, they are discussing the 'Monty Hall Problem'. Now, don't strain your head, I've read the entire Wikipedia, and I understand the argument of the complex problem.

Except I don't believe in it.

To recap, imagine you are on the show 'Lets Make a Deal' and you can win a car, or a goat. There are three doors, one car, and two goats. The rules are, you must pick a door to start, the host is going to show you a door with a goat (not the one you picked) and then ask you if you want to switch doors or not with the remaining two. Should you switch? Gut instinct tells you that there is one goat and the car left, so you have a 50/50 chance of winning, so you can stay put. But statistical logic tells us that if you switch doors, your chance of winning just went up to 66%. let me explain.

Option 1- You pick the door with the car. The host shows you a goat, you switch, you lose.
Option 2- You pick a goat(A). The host shows you a goat(B), you switch you win.
Option 3- You pick a goat(B). The host shows you a goat(A), you switch you win.

So from your first pick you see that you set in motion a series of choices in which in two out of three cases you win if you switch. Read it again if you don't get it.

See, I read it, I get it, I just don't believe in it. Let me explain my problem.

Lets say the doors open on two sides and that there is an individual on each side who has no contact or knowledge of the other. One one side, there is a person who gets to make an initial choice which influences how the host chooses, and according to the premise, if they switch doors, their odds of winning go up. Now lets say on the other side of the door, there is another person who is simply shown three doors and told that there are two goats and a car. They do NOT get to make the first choice, instead, the same door with the goat is revealed to them (based on the person choosing from the other side) and they are told to choose for the first time. For that person, there is one goat, and one car, and their odds are actually 50/50.

So here is my problem. For the same event, and the same possibility of choice (in the final round of choosing, you have two doors and you can pick one), the probability for the person on one side of the door is higher than the other. Does that make sense? It does not. It does not make sense because the person who had the opportunity to pick in the first round has no higher knowledge of which door the car may be under. Still, if you go back to the wikipedia article, you can read a million proofs about why it works, I just cannot believe that it works.

Now I'm sure that I'm wrong (because I am not a mathematician) but here is my argument for why it's still 50/50.

Option 1- You pick the door with the car. The host shows you a goat(A), you switch, you lose.
Option 1a- You pick the door with the car. The host shows you a goat(B), you switch, you lose.
Option 2- You pick a goat(A). The host shows you a goat(B), you switch you win.
Option 3- You pick a goat(B). The host shows you a goat(A), you switch you win.

My argument is that the host knows he must always show you a goat. But he can show you either goat. When you pick a door with a goat, the host has no choice but to show you the remaining goat (Options 2 and 3). However, when you pick the door with the car, the host has two choices- to show you either goat(A) or goat(B). Following the possible sequence of events, that makes four possible outcomes where the odds are 50/50 each time.

What I understand is the statistical issue with my solution is that you can only pick once, and the host can only pick once. So Option 1 is irrelevant as to whether or not the host picks goat(A) or goat(B) because the outcome is the same.

So mathematics wants me to understand and believe that in my two sided door scenario, the person who got to choose twice will always have an advantage and should always switch doors to have a higher probability of winning, while the person who had no previous knowledge is simply making a random guess between two doors every time and this lowers their odds of winning.

The problem is I simply can't believe it. I cannot accept that at the moment of the second choosing (do you stick with the door you had, or do you switch) that you are in any way better off than the person who is presented with the same doors at that point and told to pick one. Choosing a door the first time around shouldn't carry over. You shouldn't be able to add probabilities. I understand it on paper, but it just does not make sense in my head that the real world works that way.

Can anyone provide a better exlplanation?? Brain. Hurts.

21 August 2008

I Think I Just Fucked Up

So here's a mundane post about nothing exciting in the relationship department or emotional turmoil department, though I dare say, if what I think is about to happen is going to happen, I do see some emotional strife in my future.

I have tried to wire myself some money home and I think I have fucked it up entirely.

Now there are two possibilities to this impending fiasco. The first, is that the transfer simply won't work- the money will not end up where it is intended which means it will be returned to the point of origin and while this may be a time consuming mistake, it won't be the worst thing in the world.

The other option of course is that between international wire numbers and letters and instructions and accounts, my £1100 is going to end up lost for a good long time- deposited into god knows where, which will not be where it should be, and it will not just come back to the point of origin and I will likely spend the next year of my life trying to track down this lost money.

Really what I want to know in all of this is why the fuck are international money wire transfers so fucking complicated?? It really shouldn't be. In fact, I should be able to make a transfer or payment just like I do from account to account here. Why is it that just because I'm switching countries, the entire system has to seize up and go ballistic in terms of how you go about this arcane procedure?


I wouldn't really care that much except that I let my US account drop below where I usually do, my student loan payments keep coming out of that account like clockwork, and I'm about to travel to the states so I'd like to have access to cash and get stuff on my credit card there to make my life easier. I guess I can just put stuff on my UK credit card and pay it here, but that still isn't really going to make a difference when my student loan payment comes due in a week and a half. Yes, I have the money to cover it (and the month after- and possibly even the month after that, though I think that's it) but that's what that £1100 was for!! I don't have another £1100 that I can just send along to replace it just in case. Mother fucker.

Do I send myself £500 emergency cash just in case and deplete my funds here just to cover this possible impending doom? Of course I'm thinking ahead as well to where I need that £700 come October for my citizenship application.

Money is seriously the root of all evil. Or at least the cause of the most headaches world wide. Fuck.

19 August 2008

Stamina and Dedication

I get bored very easily. I'm also not really into hardship. So it's not really a surprise to myself that I often think I am lacking in stamina and dedication. Of course, not entirely- there are many things I pursue and follow through on, but overall, I feel fairly lazy most of the time. If I had more energy and motivation, I would stick with things and always be doing things, but I don't. I like to sit around and do nothing. And read books. And knit. And surf the internet. And watch television. And eat.

It's not something I talk about very much on here because I think in many ways it's not something I think about a lot- my weight. I mean, I do think about my weight, as every woman out there thinks about her weight, but I don't think about it frequently, it's not one of the loudest voices of the many voices in my head, although it is always there.

I'm not 'fat', but I am overweight. At 5' 4", I'm a US size 12 and a UK size 14 (depending on brand of course) which puts me smack average in two countries where obesity is a problem. My doctor tells me I need to lose weight every time I see her. I go to the gym, and I feel more fit, but I don't lose weight. I don't go to the gym and I feel less fit and I weigh the same.

When I first moved to the UK I was probably about 20 lbs heavier. That's what giving up a car and changing lifestyles led to. But generally since then, my weight has been constant within a ten pound range no matter what I may be doing or not doing by way of eating right or wrong or exercising. Even my hospital stint last year when they hacked out a large grapefruit from inside me didn't see me lose a single pound.

Sometimes though, when I'm feeling down or anxious about any number of things, like many a woman out there, the focus of my unhappiness turns to my weight. As in, "I would be so much happier and my life would be so much better if only I weighed less.".

This isn't particularly true. There may be some things in my life that would possibly improve through weight loss, but it would be no guarantee of a boyfriend or love or admiration from colleagues or peers. Of course, that's what I tell myself, but the evil girl voice whispers from the sideline that of course the reason I don't have a boyfriend or don't get taken seriously at work or any number of things is because of how I look, ergo, how much I weigh.

So I don't know what's going on with me this week. Birthday fun aside, I've just been back to feeling a bit blah. I think it probably has something to do with my trip to the states next week. That I'm going to see family who will all make comments of varying degrees about why I'm not in a relationship and what am I doing about it. And my father will inevitably mention my weight which will piss me off and reinforce every negative thought I have about myself. And I'm also just stressed about the flights.

So I've cracked down on my eating which means I'm sitting at work hungry all morning seeing as how I've only eaten fruit and one oat cake after skipping dinner. I'm letting myself pretty much have what I want for lunch, and I'm not necessarily intentionally skipping dinner, but if it's too late and I'm not starving, I'm not eating.

The stupid thing about this entire exercise is that I won't lose any weight, it will reinforce my being grumpy, and I also will eventually forget that I am taking out my general grumpiness on myself and I will just start eating like I usually do just as quickly as I stopped eating like I normally do. It's all very stupid. But it's probably a good thing I don't have the dedication and stamina to pick up an eating disorder. Obviously the potential is there, I just can't be bothered to do it properly.

15 August 2008

Auspicious Days

Tomorrow is my 34th birthday and is also a full moon. I'll be saying goodbye to my 'Jesus Year' and thank fuck for that. May I never see its like again.

Interestingly, my horoscope predicts, "If you were born on August 16, your life will center heavily on partnership issues in the coming year, and it appears one, whether in business or in your personal life, will leave."

Of course I'm thinking that a particular aloof person may be the one who is truly leaving now. This last blip may have been the final blip. We'll see. Wouldn't be bad to knock that prediction out early.

To the Dogs

Last night I went to the dog races.

No, really.

It was sponsored by work- we went last year I think, and so they organized another outing. We went to the Walthamstow Stadium which is due to close this Saturday. Before I went to the dog races last year, I had never been to any sort of race ever in my life.

Dog races are a funny sort of thing. Not quite classy enough for horses, you get the sense it's a real... underbelly sort of entertainment. But fantastic entertainment- those dogs can sure run. Lots of cheering and shouting and betting. Of course there was betting- they take 10p bets for crying out loud. You have no excuse not to bet at the dog races.

I managed to come out ahead on the winnings- started with £2.80 and ended with £4.60. We stayed for all but the very last race. They were running a little bit behind as there was a speech and a parade of protesters/supporters in the middle that pushed everything back by one race. It was interesting.

Of course, our little group huddled there watching the speech whispering quietly about the irony in that what is proposed for the stadium is exactly what we do- erase parts of the city with a click of a mouse and plan new developments to replace it...

I do think it would be a shame for such a rich part of the history of East London to disappear though. Maybe they just need a better marketing strategy and a bit of tarting up. But sadly, it may be too late.

13 August 2008


He replied by saying that I was naive to think that my fantasy was in any way special and he has, in fact, over the course of his life had three different women show up at his office with nothing on under their coats.

Wasn't that special?

He said my post was childish. He said other bullshit. Of course, then after saying all this garbage, he removed that particular offending post of his that prompted my outburst.

I want to hit something.

12 August 2008

Stealing Fantasies

I'm going to cut and paste a blog I wrote someplace else because I think it should also be here- with the story that it goes with. I'm also willing to accept the disapproval of my blog reading greek chorus if you think I shouldn't have posted this where Mr.Aloof is clearly going to read it.

Speaking of which, he contacted me today. To let me know that he has reworded his profile (and would be more active on IC) and that he hoped it didn't upset or offend me. Hey yeah guess what- the only reason you are fucking sending me that fucking email is because you KNOW it's going to upset me. So fuck you fuck you fuck you. That's not exactly what I wrote back however. And yes, I stupidly wrote back in the ten minutes between when I got his email and when I had to leave for therapy and I showed up at therapy a mass of sobbing angry tears. Genius.

Apparently it was a good thing though because my therapist seems to think she feels that much closer to understanding my responses- getting to see me in the middle of having one of the more intensive ones.

Anyway. What I wrote back was not worth mentioning because it was completely off the handle. I also sent him a memo on IC to specifically say that I found his comment offensive (this was before I decided to write the blog there). Then I was still just so seething mad I wrote the following. Was I wrong?

Appropriating Fantasies

It's really difficult enough when a relationship ends for any number of reasons. It's difficult to sort out the baggage. What about the imaginary baggage? When you have felt so close to someone that you open up your deepest darkest thoughts and share them with another. Frequently in terms of sexual fantasies, they can often be inspired by the partner, but also tap into long standing interests or ideas that an individual may hold.

You read things, you see things, they give you ideas.

Me, I'm a wealth of ideas, but I'm pretty shy about sharing them. It doesn't mean they aren't there, it means I usually need a great deal of courage and inspiration to share them with someone. Usually my fantasies are taken from a variety of sources- images, other stories I may have read, situations in which I was bored and imagined an alternative. All of these stray thoughts entertain me.

I shared a fantasy with someone once. It started off with a comment of theirs. About an alley. About the attraction of an alley. This led me to consider two things. One, a series of haunting and exciting photographs that one of my favorite photographers took of his partner in an alley in New Orleans, and second, of a specific alley that wasn't so far from this persons' house.

It was coming on winter, and I thought to myself, how does one get to an alley to do naughty things? Why under a long coat of course! This led me to consider a second set of photographs (by the same photographer) I had seen a couple of years before where his partner and some of her girlfriends went out in the snow with nothing on under their long coats and he took photos of them frolicking in the streets.

So… I thought to myself…. How does one get to an alley in winter? I suppose you can leave from your house, and go out and come back, but since my visits to this particular person involved a train journey (an hour or so and uneventful train journey- key previous comments about stray thoughts) I thought about how naughty and exciting it would be to wear a long coat over boots, stockings, garter, perhaps an underbust corset- and to arrive and then go to this particular alley for some misbehaving.

Now, my fantasies don't tend to be specific. I got about that far, and being the submissive that I am, figured the rest of the exciting adventure would be at the discretion of my partner. And so I relayed this set of ideas to the person around whom they centered.

He seemed keen on this idea when I first mentioned it. So keen in fact, that within a week of mentioning it, I had spent an entire weekend shopping for just the right coat. Some time passed, and the fantasy never came to fruition. But it was mentioned in passing every now and then. The coat was displayed and examined, but no date was ever set. Then one day there were some texts elaborating the fantasy. Obviously he was taken with it and added the idea that he would meet me at the departure station first and relieve me of my belongings so that I was truly made helpless except for my single train ticket.

Of course I appreciated this creative addition; still, the event never happened. Even my friends knew about it (well, they had shopped with me for the coat) and they kept asking if we'd picked a date yet.

Sadly, the weather got warmer and it never came to be. Then my relationship with this particular person ended this April in a rather spectacular fashion of betrayal and lies and dishonesty. This included, oddly enough, a 'secret' profile which when found was shockingly seeking for someone else to fulfill this very same fantasy. How overwhelmingly disgusted was I to see my innermost secret desires used as bait for someone else? How sickened did I feel to know that something that was so dear to me and was shared with someone as a gesture of trust and closeness was being used as a tool to go fishing for another?

I was horrified. And when it was all revealed, I even told him so. Not that he changed the profile. Although a month later it went dead.

Now however, the same story is repeated. Again. Just a small sentence. But still my fantasy. My desire. My idea. My passion. How gauche to be looking for someone else to fill it? How utterly demeaning and insulting. I understand that things you share with past partners are exciting and invigorating and stimulating. I still think of ideas that were shared with me that were not mine to start with- a circle of stones, a hunt, a dinner party. And as much as those ideas appeal to me, it seems wrong to simply advertise for someone else to step in and take the place.

Or maybe I should just feel vindicated. Because what I wanted and created as an idea and possible scenario was so appealing and exciting that he can't seem to get over it?

No, I think I'm still pissed off.

Predicting the Weather

I will never get used to the fact that British meteorologists cannot predict the weather to save their lives. I know, it's been explained to me about gulf streams and island conditions. So I am sympathetic- to a point. But I come from a place where they can pretty much tell you the exact temperature in Fahrenheit degrees give or take a couple. They can tell you almost exactly at what time the rain is going to start falling, and when it will stop. They can also tell you when the temperature is going to plummet.

Not so here. It's sunny outside and I get an email from my friend in Highgate who tells me it's pouring out her window. It's so hot you're sweating and then a cloud comes along to block the sun and you instantly need a jacket or shawl.

This is all summed up for me in the expression 'to talk about the weather' which in the states pretty much means to talk about nothing whereas here, it can provide an endless source of conversation that also creates common ground between strangers. It's a completely different cultural expression and interest.

At any rate, the reason that the weather is on my mind is I had the stupid idea of thinking that a picnic in the park would make a lovely birthday celebration. I mean, on paper it's all good- London Fields by Broadway Market. That way everyone can run to the market to pick up nibbles and drinks and those who want can get and those who don't, don't have to. This was all because I couldn't face another house party twice in one year. Really, once a year is all I can handle. I love my house parties but they are an awful lot of work (and expense). So I didn't really want to do another- that wouldn't be 'fun' and after all, it is my birthday!!

But now I've become a weather watching freak because if it looks like the weather is going to be crappy, I need to last minute organize some other alternative. This will likely mean calling a pub to reserve an area- but we're also talking prime weekend time and last minute. Never a good combination. So we'll see. Pray to the weather gods to be nice to me. After all, it's been a really shitty year, and I think I deserve some sunshine.

10 August 2008

Story: The Red Coat (Part 3)

Bet you didn't think it would come back huh? Tsk tsk. For a refresher, you might want to reread
Part 1
Part 2


It's cold by the coast. Colder than in London. It's dark and ever so misty- or maybe it's just my imagination. I can see my breath- the pale white vapor fading to black. My heels click click on the pavement. I turn right out of the station.

I have done this walk in reverse with him, in the mornings after. Usually when I come late at night I take a cab to the house. It's generally only a fiver, and I'm usually impatient. Tonight I have been given instructions however, and I know that I must follow them. I was slightly disappointed not to see him at the station. I looked around wondering if he was hiding, but I spied no one familiar. Still, I felt observed. I felt exposed- even though in many ways, I was nothing of the sort.

Walking along the residential street away from the station, up the hill, there are no people. It's quiet. It's dark. The streetlights puddle and my shadow is my only companion. A few turns here and there, along this road, along that road. I saw one person about a block away, walking in another direction. I didn't feel threatened but how could I not be aware every moment of my predicament? The red coat seemed like a beacon to me against the white stone of the buildings and the dark blackness of the asphalt. I felt obvious- like a beacon, drawing attention to myself. My heart was pounding in my chest- my barely protected chest. My nipples, previously hard from excitement were practically throbbing with anticipation, adrenaline, and cold.

Halfway along the block I walked along I came to my next turn- a narrow alley. This alley has always captured my imagination, sliding between back gardens. Not big enough for a car- just a pedestrian cut-through. The jumbled garden walls that form the sides. I am a little over halfway through it when I notice there is someone just a couple meters in front of me. Looking at me, behind a mask.

My reactions are slow- or maybe they just seem slow as a million thoughts and emotions rush into my brain, paralyzing me. First I freeze physically, my heart feels like it is going to explode. Quickly I assess his shape, the height, and the eyes... those eyes... it isn't him. I don't know those eyes. I want to scream, I want to pee, I am shaking and slowly take a step back, preparing to turn, preparing to run, but at the same time considering that people with masks don't just appear in alley ways that you have been told to walk down. Part of me is desperately praying that this is part of the deal, but not sure enough to trust. Not sure enough to stay.

I start to turn and stumble backwards, again it all happens as if underwater, in exquisite slowness. I come up against another body. Something is wrapping around me, grabbing me, a gloved hand over my mouth I cannot but help to let out a shriek now- not quite a scream, not quite anything. Just a high pitched noise- a guttural, instinctual animalistic noise of the animal that has been trapped.

"Sh. Quiet pet. Calm down. Breathe. Listen."

These are the words that penetrate my fog as my entire body quakes in the unfamiliar grasp. The masked figure in front of me walks forward and I can't stop staring. I can't stop shaking. A tear of fear and of relief squeezes out of my eye. And I can't stop the intense wave of excitement that crashes through me either.

"Eyes down!", the masked man hisses at me as he draws closer. Do I recognize one of these voices? My breathing is still ragged but calming now. The tight grip on me loosens and then switches to a firm grip on my upper arms holding me in place. I stand on my feet unsteadily, my arms instinctively cross in front of me. The masked man in front of me chuckles and I look up him "Eyes down!!" he snarls at me again and I quickly comply. The man behind me grabs a handful of my hair and pushes my head forward.

"We have a couple of things for you to do, pet, and we're going to send you on your way. If you're a good pet, you'll be on time. If you're a bad pet, you're going to be late. And I don't think you want to be late." I listen to his words, lulling me, calming me, exciting me. "Now give me your coat."

My eyes fly up at him again and I see his slant at me. "What? No..." I say all at the same moment and the terror picks up again.

"That's one, eyes down. And that's two, you will do what I say. Now. Give me your coat."

The hands behind me have released me but I know the man I haven't seen yet is still just there. The alley isn't that big. I look past the masked man, and I turn now to look the other way, catching a glimpse of the shape and size of the man behind me, also masked. There isn't anyone, there isn't any noise. I'm terrified but I'm also excited. I turn towards the wall between them and my hands shake wildly as I pull the tie undone on the coat, and the the first button, the second and the third. The cold air hits my flesh as the trapped heat escapes and I suck in my breath. It's cold! The thought of the cold almost erases the terror of the moments before. I hesitate, now furiously embarrassed. If he sent them, then they know. Still, I'm embarrassed to be (mostly) naked. I'm embarrassed to be aroused.

"Are you going to make three? One.... two...."

I slip the coat off my shoulders backwards and it falls into my hand. I press myself forward into the rough wall and shove the coat behind me towards the man. I make contact with his bulk and I release the coat, my arm pulled back instinctively. If I could merge with this wall I would. I imagine how I must look from behind. The stockings, the corset laces, and my bare ass. And goosebumps and trembling. It feels like an hour I stand there and nothing is said when it was probably just a second or two. The hilarity and madness of it makes me laugh which I turn into a choke. The other masked man speaks quietly now, "Keep your eyes down, turn around pet and let us look at you."

It's like I'm on autopilot. In my fear and excitement I have actually transcended emotion. I keep my eyes down. I turn slowly and press my back into the wall. I feel the rough surface on my shoulders and on my bottom. I briefly wonder how dirty I'm getting. I look at their shoes, their dark jeans. I see that my red coat has fallen to the ground. I guess he didn't grab it when I dropped it. I think all of this in an instant before they are upon me. Touching me. Running fingers along stocking edges, snapping garters, tugging on corset edges, then grabbing my breasts, pinching my nipples, between my legs, slapping my thighs apart so I stand spread. I grab at the wall and keep my eyes down, reveling in every sensation of touch of contact of invasion.

It is like I am no longer in my body, I am just an observer. I hear myself moan and gasp as a leather finger pushes into me and a leather thumb presses on my clit. A hand is on my throat and gloved fingers press into my mouth and my breasts are being pulled and gently slapped and pinched while I'm being invaded and finger fucked from two directions. My eyes are closed. I don't remember closing them. I am hyper aware of the rough stones digging into my flesh, of my growing need, of every single touch on my flesh. And abruptly it stops and the hands pull away from me and if it weren't for the wall I would fall. I feel the cold creep around me, I had forgotten it for a moment.

They work in unison and maybe they said something quietly to each other but I missed it. They each grab my arm with two hands and both pull me forward off the wall and push me down, my legs buckle and they hold me, pushing me to my knees on my red coat. As quickly they are reaching for their pants. Unzipping in one case, unbuttoning in the other. They are both semi-hard. A hand on my hair directs me to one and I open my mouth to receive it. It pushes at my throat insistently, awkwardly. I think about trying to do a good job, keeping my teeth away but my lips making a seal. I reach up with my had to help with the angle and the action. It's wet and it's messy and I keep gagging a bit. Just as I think I have a rhythm I'm roughly pulled off and spun in the other direction and I have to start the process over again. In between I can make out the fist of the man I'm not attending to pumping away, keeping himself hard. I'm spun back again. They move closer so it's easier to switch between the two. My knees hurt. I don't know how many times I've gone back and forth. They're still insistent, they're still hard. My jaw is aching a bit and the cold saliva that has spilled down my chin and dripped on my chest is freezing. But still all I can think underneath the insistent activity is how I am throbbing for release, aching to be touched again, and so excited and turned on I can't believe it.

Pulling me off both cocks, but keeping me in place by a firm hand in my hair, both hard cocks are pumped in front of me- faster and faster. The one on the right goes first. The ropey whiteness hitting my neck and my breasts. At first it feels like it's scalding it's so hot and I'm so cold. He wipes the end of his softening dick on my cheek just as the other sets off and I'm again strung with a rope of scalding white. This one is put back in my mouth and I suck and clean like I know is the expectation. My hands are limp at my side and the cum on me cools. I'm exhausted in some ways but hyper in others. They tuck themselves away then both reach down grabbing my arms again and haul me up as if I weigh nothing. Standing me back on my feet, the man to my right smears their come on my chest. I never really understand this about guys, the fascination with their own come, but at that moment I swear anything at all would turn me on.

Each of them grab my hand and using their legs to keep my legs in place, pull me forward so I am stretched and leaning against the opposite wall of the alley. They tug my legs apart and position me. My weight is on my arms, my breasts hang down. The one who was spreading come on my chest wipes his hand on my exposed ass and then without warning smacks it hard. I gasp and squeak and jump forward, out of position. They both make growing noises and drag me back forcefully into the position I was in before. "That's three," says the one to my left, "I suggest you don't go for any more pet or you might regret it." I make a soft mew in acknowledgement and determine to stay in place.

The smacking starts again and it's thunderous in my ears. I can't help look left and right but there is still no one by the alley. The hand starts to sting and even though I am not moving position I am rocking back and forth and side to side and can't help the small whines that escape my throat. My ass is on fire, it stings and burns and tingles and I'm dripping. "This is one." says the man to my left as he takes over the spanking from the man to my right not missing a beat. I think I'm sobbing in a dry way as the blows continue. I don't know how much more that I can take and know that I can take anything and everything. Suddenly their are hands on my breasts as the spanking continues, kneading them and pulling on them and pinching and pulling the nipples. I arch my back up and away and a hand from the spanking man pushes my lower back down and into the cruel fingers.

I hear a tinkling scraping sound of metal and open my eyes (I guess I had closed them again) to look towards the man on my right who has pulled out some vicious looking clover clamps from his pocket. Again I make a moaning whining noise, but I don't break position. I can hardly feel the blows on my ass anymore, it's just one mass of burning. "This is two.", says the man on my right as he pulls a nipple down cruelly and released the clamp on it. I squeal and try to breath through the cold metal biting into my nipple. The spanking has ended but I barely register it. I'm taking small tight breaths trying to accommodate the new sensation. With every breath my breast swings and so does the clamp, tugging a new little sensation. Too soon the other nipple is pulled down and the partner clamp applied. I squint my eyes closed and again just concentrate on breathing the initial throbbing in my nipples slowly turning into a low ache. One of them slaps my breasts a bit, making them jiggle, making the chain tug. And one of them goes so far as to tug on the chain which again makes me groan, but I don't break position even though my arms are starting to feel fatigued.

Trembling in position spread eagle leaning forward against this wall I feel their hands gently and lightly stroke all over my body. The lightest touch on my sore bottom reminds me of the brutal spanking I underwent. One set of hands strokes my hair, pulling it back from my face, petting me almost while another set of hands spread me further at the apex of my legs and cups me there. They are both being so soft, and so gentle, it's a relief after the torment I've just endured, yet they are no less in control and I am no less compromised. The hands at my head continue to stroke my head, my hair, my shoulders, my face, my throat, while the other set pushes until it finds my clit and starts to rub slowly. I push back against that hand. I'm shameless now, I don't care. They've taken all of this from me and I have nothing to hide from them anymore. I can feel the man moving behind me and all I can think is that I am to be fucked and how good it will feel as the hand keeps rubbing my clit and I keep pushing back, waiting and anticipating.

The hand is briefly replaced by a jean covered thigh which I push against. I can hear something. Something tearing a wrapper? I don't have to look. It's a condom and I'm going to be fucked here in this cold alley with my nipples chained and clamped together, come dried on my chest, my ass red and inflamed. This is all I can think when the leg pulls away and the hand returns, spreading lubricant liberally all over me and in every crevice while still working my clit, much stronger now and harder.

I've been so keyed up and aroused and tormented this evening that it doesn't take long for me to build up to a climax. I can feel it coming, my arms and legs start shaking and again I start making involuntary noises and I wonder when they are going to fuck me as I push back harder and harder into the hand that has become the center of my universe when all of the sudden as I reach that edge and push back hard I feel something cool push back towards me, but not where I expected and I go to move away and break position but the gentle hands that were softly stroking me all this time become like steel and grip me firmly, holding me in position as a strangled yelp passes my throat and the finger on my clit doesn't stop but the pressure on my asshole is like a glass of cold water thrown over everything.

"This is three," the man behind me says and I swear I can hear a grin in his voice, "you're going to take this, and you're going to come.". I want to shake him off, shake them both off. For an instant I wonder how it is I got into this position, I wonder what I can really take. But it's only an instant before a particularly good hit on my clit sends me whimpering back to that climbing edge of orgasm. I don't want to come for these men anymore. I don't want to be their ragdoll and their toy and yet the thought turns me on more than anything else. These emotions wash over me and I struggle as my climax builds and the pressure starts up again with whatever this toy is behind me, slipping in and out, a little further each time, a little wider each time, adding an entirely new sensation to the mix.

"Come on pet. We want you to come for us." Says the vice gripped man as he leans and whispers into my hair by my ear and I can feel myself losing control. Giving up my control. My legs tremble and my arms tremble and my whole body trembles and I can hear the tinkling of the chain and I'm tumbling over the edge just as the toy is pushed home and I grunt and I scream in the back of my throat and I think I would fall if they weren't holding me and the hand won't let up and I'm coming and I'm coming and I'm coming until it hurts and I pull my leg in so I can stand higher and move away a bit and finally it stops and all I can hear is my hard breathing as they pull me up to standing. The one embraces my shaking and dizzy body from behind while the other deftly leans over and picks up my coat, shaking it out and holding it out to me. As I move I am intimately aware of what has been left behind. I can't stop breathing shallow. I try to move in slow motion.

The coat is buttoned up and the tie is tightly tied. One man leans in and kisses me. "You were wonderful pet. I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening." and he starts walking down the alley the way I came in.

The other one leans in and kisses me on both cheeks, stroking my hair away from my face, "You are to leave everything as it is, or you will not like the consequences. Best hurry now, there's not much time and you don't want to be late." And he too walks away in the direction I do not need to go.

I hobble my way along the alley getting used to all the new sensations and warming up a bit. The coat, no matter how satiny inside rubs every step against my inflamed ass. My nipples are tortured by the constant tugging of the chain at each step, and I can't begin to describe the way the plug lets me know that it's there if it's nothing you've experiences yourself. Reaching the end of the alley and another residential street I finally spare a moment for what I must look like. Hair disheveled, make-up smeared. Dirty. I'm horrified that I would cross paths with anyone looking the way I do and it inspires me to move as quickly as I can, more than the thought of being late. After all, I don't have a watch, who knows what late is?

Luckily it is not that far now to the small house. The only people I see are far away or on the other side of the street. A couple of cars pass when I cross the main road. I turn away from them as best I can. Finally I arrive on the doorstep and even though I have already been through so much this evening, I find my heart has the strength to start pounding again, and the dampness is spreading again. I ring the doorbell and fidget and wait. I can hear footsteps, and the door opens, and there he is, in front of me, staring at me. Taking in every detail with his piercing gaze and I want him to tell me he knows and he's proud of me and I want him to grab me and hug me and take me in his arms.

"Just on time.", he says, glancing at the clock in the hall, pushing the door open wide, and standing to one side "Come in."

I Just

I just managed to get myself an early birthday present. The edition was sold out in three minutes. How cool is that? Now I'm off to bed!

Waiting to Click

Tonight I am staying up late and hanging around my computer in the hopes that I can buy a print off of the lovely Ms. Kawasaki. I have pretty much missed every single print that she has done previously and this is the first time that I have remembered, despite the time difference, that a print is coming available. Of course, there are only 150 of them and I feel the chance of my getting one is somewhat slim, but I am going to try. Sort of like when I bought the small prints from Stella, although I shouldn't have been so worried about those- I got a set no problem, even if it wasn't one of the 'special' sets. So we'll see what happens. I'm up, I'm waiting, and I hope I get one but I'm not going to hold my breath.

But I do need to pass the time, so I thought I'd write something here even though there isn't the most to chatter on about. There's the Olympics which are always fun to watch. I've had them on for a good part of the day. Today the weather was astonishingly bad. Me and a couple of the gals went to Broadway Market, ate some 'special brownies', got some food and nibbles, came back to mine and crashed out for the subsequent bunch of hours. Then we went out to meet up with D and V who used to live here for dinner at my local. Aside from the miserable weather it was an overall good and chill day which is just what you need sometimes. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be better.

Head doctor visits continue. The latest thing I've been talking through with her a bit and then subsequently thinking about loads is whether or not I really want to be in a relationship or not. I think that part of me is deeply afraid of relationships because I pretty much expect people to let me down. Even people who love me and care about me- because after all, they are only human. Of course it's not at all just as simple as that. But there is certainly something there- something that has led me to be in the position I find myself. I was talking to her about my biggest fear in opening up to someone and trusting them and loving them is to be afraid that they will hurt me or not really love me back. What's funny about this, is that it was only when Mr.Aloof proved to be just such a person who would not be there for me and was going to hurt me, that I fell in love with him. That's pretty fucked up. Good thing I'm getting therapy then I guess. But there isn't a quick fix or easy answer to this issue. It's deep seated and subtle. Still, that's why I'm going to therapy- to hopefully get to a point where I can change these ingrained behaviors. We'll see.

Forty minutes to go.

It's my birthday a week from today. I can't say that I'm at all unhappy to see this year end. Almost a year ago I was rushing in to the emergency room. It's strange isn't it? It seems so far away and at the same time it seems like it was just yesterday. Trauma is like that I guess.

Twenty minutes to go.

I just spent the past twenty minutes tracking down another print that I really like and finding out that it would be very expensive to buy. Grumble. I don't usually care about not having money coming out of my ears, but times like this I'd like to have a slightly higher disposable income. I suppose if I really wanted to of course I could buy this print, but then I'd have to give up a lot of other entertainments for a while. So it's not exactly an option.

Fifteen minutes to go.

I should quit this now and wait out the remaining minutes with my fingers at the ready. I won't be the most unhappy if I don't get this print- it's not my favorite out of all the ones that have ever been offered. But I think it would be a good investment. And I like it- just nearly as much as some of the others. Given that, I'm sure I'll probably get this one after all. We'll see.

06 August 2008

People are Fascinating

Or perhaps this post should be entitled, 'For the Millionth Time I Consider I Have Made the Wrong Choices in Life'. But that's far too long.

I know many people (mostly outside of my profession- and the related professions) who are not that happy with their jobs. I have felt lucky that I fell into something I am reasonably good at, provides a decent challenge, is interesting, and possibly even useful or socially responsible (well it can be). My job pays me a reasonable salary- I don't struggle for cash, though I don't have it coming out of my ears either. Luckily the things I like tend to be on the less expensive side, in any case, it generally works out.

Yet frequently I feel I have missed the mark somewhere and have ended up with a life not quite doing what I should be doing. This generally comes about when I learn about, or read up on, or become star struck by, other people. It's funny, I was never the sort to be star struck as a kid. I didn't obsess over actors or singers. I still can't tell you most famous people's names now. It's only as I've become an adult, found the things I'm interested in, and then found the people doing the things that I'm interested in that I have found myself awed.

It should come as no surprise to anyone that knows me that my general life fascination is with the sexual side of human interactions. Certain artists, photographers, fashion designers, and rope makers all have a special place in my heart. The fact that these people all have some sort of online presence that makes them that much more accessible and interesting. It's not just their work that compels me, but it's the sort of person who ends up in that sort of work. What are their motivations? How did they get there? These people for me transcend the normal blogging people (who I am also quite fond of) because who they are and what they do somehow have come together. I mean, I know there are architects who blog about architecture. The thing is, that wouldn't interest me in the slightest. And I am not an architect who blogs about architecture, so my inner life and my work life are in many ways separate. I think what intrigues me about these people I follow is how their worlds collide.

This is when I think I have somehow ended up doing the wrong thing. Don't get me wrong- I do like what I do, but I am not... passionate about what I do. It's a job, and I like it, and I like to leave it at six o'clock and I like to do other things. But what if I loved my work the way I love... porn? What if my job was porn? What would it be like to love what you do that much? Of course, part of it would be tedious. I have in part, tried to adjust what I do by taking on my hobby job. That is of course something I'm interested in. And I love it. But I do struggle with deadlines, and sometimes with words. So even though I love it, it has become a little bit of a job and a little less of a passion. Sometimes. Even though I'm quite passionate about it, if that makes sense.

For many years I talked with S about opening up a shop very much like CCK. I had this idea that owning a sex shop would be an ideal job for me. Going to conventions, meeting with vendors, writing reviews, and 'normalizing' sex for the mainstream (by providing lovely coffee and snacks). This is something I think I could be passionate about. Or maybe it would just be a job. I read up on the job offers on kink.com and wrack my brain trying to figure out how I could be of any use to an organisation like that, and pretty much determine that I can't. I haven't spent my life cultivating and embracing my passions. In some ways I've taken a much more traditional route.

Plus my skills are a strange set. My best skill base is actually probably somewhere in the psychotherapy or sociology route. I am intrigued by human behavior and am reasonably good at understanding or predicting people and their actions (even if I don't agree with them). It's a strange skill. I'm not a people person mind you, I just tend to understand people. Not necessarily that useful.

It's not that I'm unhappy with who I am, what I do, or where I am, but I envy those people that have made other choices. I am fascinated by these people. In some ways, I envy these people. Of course, in saying all of this, I completely comprehend that I sound exactly the same as a star-eyed tweenie grasping her latest glossy magazine. I don't know these people. Who does anyone really know from blogging or from meeting people briefly at an event? You don't. I get that. I guess I'm just intrigued upon reflection to find how much these assorted, diverse, and passionate people embody something that captures my imagination so completely.

People are fascinating.

04 August 2008

Demolition (Wo)man

I am not at all happy being back at work today. My weekend was much fun, but it was pretty busy which means I didn't have much time to just chill out and relax. So by the time last night came around I couldn't believe the weekend had already gone and it was time to go back to work. Boo hoo!

I am busy enough at work- today I am working on a phasing plan for an estate regeneration proposal. This means I am coming up with a series of drawings where I erase people's houses in order to put in new houses. In the end I get a lovely ten series sequence. I like this part of my job. Demolishing homes with a sweep of the mouse!

So working backwards, yesterday I spent most of the day with T at S and F's house having a delicious lunch and debating traditional religious and family matters. The debate got fairly intense for a while, which was maybe not the best part of the day, but it never got out of hand, so that was alright. It's interesting though how many cultural things one can take for granted. Or miss, even when you have lived in another country for a while. It's just things people don't talk about but take for granted. Like how a marriage happens, who is in charge of what, what happens when people die, etc etc.

Before that, I met up with S to look at a flat he is interested in buying. That was pretty cool and I hope he gets it. The best part was that it had a fairly large garden and lots of potential for improvement while it wasn't so badly off that you couldn't move in right away either.

On Saturday I met up with Woo and I we went to Kinkfest together which was fun. Except I was fairly disappointed with the event- it wasn't even close to how it had been a couple of years ago. If it hadn't been for the company, I would have been sorely disappointed indeed. It didn't even occur to me to look up the list of stalls or the venue before buying my ticket because I assumed it would be at least as good as it had been in the past. So imagine my surprise when there were only a small handful of stalls in a somewhat small (though pleasant) venue. I'm not sure how that happened, but I'll be much more diligent in the future about checking an event first. For the money, I'd be better off going to LAM or LFF if I want to attend an event in the future, I think Kinkfest is going to get a miss.

On the plus side however, I got some lovely black silk knicker/bloomers with ribbon ties that will go fantastically well with any of my corsets and fishnet stockings and my black boots, so not an entire loss.

Before that, I believe I did some laundry, of which there is much more to do sadly.

Oh, and also, when I left the house Saturday morning, I was pleased to see the rat baby was gone. I would have been upset had it still been there (dead).

01 August 2008

Life and Death

On my way home this evening, as I came up the stairwell to my building, I noticed a small pink thing on the first landing. Upon closer inspection I realized it was a baby... something. Possibly a dog, but I couldn't tell. But there it lay, right in the center of the path, the poor little pink thing.

Then I realized this tiny little being was breathing.


I thought I couldn't leave it right there in the middle of the walk where it was likely to be stepped on, but I also wasn't wanting to bring it into my house. What would I do with it? I have no way to care for a newborn... thing. And as much as I'd like to think it was a dog, what if it wasn't a dog? What if it was diseased? And what would I do except prolong it's suffering?

So I decided to move it. As I reached out and picked up it's tiny cold body, it twisted and curled in my palm, and I moved it to the side of the walk- where another neighbor might see it and have a better idea of what to do with it than I did.

Still, as I came up the stairs I felt wretched. I held the life of a creature in my hand and I cast it aside. That little being is going to die tonight. And it's suffering. And there really isn't anything realistic I can do about it. And I feel awful.

I read something once about people with emotional disorders- the lack of ability to empathize with animals is apparently high on the list. I guess I'm glad to know that this isn't my problem, still, I feel really really bad that I've touched this small life and can offer nothing more. Not even a quick death. Instead I walked away.

I feel awful.

To Kink or Not to Kink

Tomorrow there is an event in London- one I attended a couple of years ago, called 'Kinkfest' (sorry I'm at work or I'd supply the link). Now I don't go to loads of scene things- seeing as how generally I don't find it overly rewarding. People I don't have much in common with, too much posturing and fetishizing, and too much stuff that doesn't mean squat if you don't have a partner to share it with.

Still, I know a couple of people here and there on the scene, as much as I'm not part of it, and every now and then I show up to an event and it satisfies my interests in such things for a time until I do it again.

Well, tomorrow was intended to be one of those events, and I was supposed to go with my friend N although we hadn't talked about it recently, we had spoken about it in the past and I assumed she was going and we would meet up and all would be well.

Except yesterday she says she's not going.

So now I'm really at a loss as to whether or not I feel like showing up at an event alone. Where I don't know that many people, and where, I'm sorry to say but there is no other way to say it, I don't really want to know that many of the people who attend. Which makes it all a bit paradoxical. How do you meet people with similar interests when so many people with similar interests in this very small section of live have no similar interests in all the other sections of life? I really can't be anyone other than myself. I have no interest in dressing a certain way or acting a certain way to prove that I can be part of 'the group'. I believe that all things kinky are entirely possible with like-minded folk, it's just that I am not the typical person who attends such events. So the likelihood of my meeting anyone similar or compatible is exceedingly low. Especially when most people come (almost all the people?) come with at least someone else if not a group to begin with.

On top of that I'm generally shy in crowds. All in all, a bad combination.

In addition to weighing this question, I already bought my ticket ages ago (though it's no real loss if I don't use it and lose the money) which is annoying. None of my non-kinky friends are interested in going with me. So what to do? I think I'm likely to take the loss and just not go which in some ways is a shame, but on the other hand, attending events where you feel like you don't belong doesn't really make you feel any better.

Other considerations are that the maid is likely to be there and I really hope not but there's always a possibility that Mr.Aloof and L would show up and I cannot just bump into any of them without support. I would feel the need to leave immediately and it would pretty much ruin my day if not my entire weekend.

I really wish N hadn't cancelled. Poop.