In the Pink

After a session, it is often the case that the Big Bad Cat and I have worked up quite a thirst, if not an appetite.

Accordingly, we often repair to our local watering hole, a lovely Mizrachi restaurant, run and owned by a family from a local kfar for many years.

This time, we weren't hungry, unusually, so we decided to just sit and chill over a Coke Zero (me) and limonada (him) and chill for a bit.

To our surprise, this was all we were permitted to do. The tables were laid and the restaurant looked unusually festive, and it was clear to us both that there was some kind of celebration in the offing. This was confirmed by the owner, who happily agreed to let us sit and drink, outside, since we were such valuable and regular clients, but nothing further since there was a private party going on.

The guests were already arriving, all in their best clothes, some in Djellaba, some in Western clothing. We smiled as they arrived, trying to appear as unconspicuous as possible, and speculating quietly between ourselves as to the nature of the celebration -- was it a barmitzvah-equivalent, or brit-equivalent... or just a knees-up for somebody's birthday?

Either way, the time came to leave, which happened to coincide with the party officially starting. As we walked out of the door, the background music began to play... and the two of us looked at each other and began giggling.

I mean seriously -- an Arab-owned and run restaurant, a party of Israeli-Arab residents or Palestinians -- the village is within the green line, so I am not sure how to best describe them. Perhaps it's better that I don't ascribe any identity to them, rather that they self-identify. Who am I, after all, to define their identity?

My point is that the people running the place, as well as those attending the shindig were none of them Jewish.

And this is what was playing. The muzak version, but still.

Laugh? I nearly coughed up a kidney.

OK, I am about to reveal my latest, deepest darkest fetish to you all...

You'll call me a pervert, I know.

What I want to know, is whether I am alone in this...

Rikudei Am.

Anyone?

Yes, folks, the Munch is back.

Back by popular demand -- and by even more popular demand, this time it is in an easily accessible place in Tel Aviv.

In fact, I just posted a notice on the "בליינים" forum -- go have a look and make a nice favourable comment, why don't you? You know, because my poor little notice is sitting there all מסכן and alone, and you love me and want to לפרגן.

Not that I am at all concerned about people showing up. If past experience is anything to go by we'll be packed out, with standing room only. And I have had to turn people away on several occasions, when they didn't reply in time for me to order enough places at the location.

Just that the notice looks so sad and lonely. Go make it feel welcomed, people, hmmm?

A gutte shabbes.
Lilly x

Message from the Big Bad Cat first thing on a Sunday morning -- it quite brought out the switchy side of me. Not original but hilarious nonetheless...

Enjoy.

Have a good week, y'all. Don't eat too much cheesecake...

of the Friday video! Yes, it has been a while; no, you do not have the right to bitch and moan. 😄

Post-session, the Big Bad Cat played me the following, rendering me a helpless heap of giggling tabby and almost unable to dress myself.

Not that he was complaining.

But anyway. Enjoy:

And just because I love you all, yes -- each and every one of you -- here are the words...

Tom Lehrer -- Masochism Tango
I ache for the touch of your lips, dear,
But much more for the touch of your whips, dear.
You can raise welts
Like nobody else,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

Say our love be a flame, not an ember,
Say it's me that you want to dismember.
Blacken my eye,
Set fire to my tie,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

At your command
Before you here I stand,
My heart is in my hand. ecch!
It's here that I must be.
My heart entreats,
Just hear those savage beats,
And go put on your cleats
And come and trample me.
Your heart is hard as stone or mahogany,
That's why I'm in such exquisite agony.

My soul is on fire,
It's aflame with desire,
Which is why I perspire
When we tango.

You caught my nose
In your left castanet, love,
I can feel the pain yet, love,
Ev'ry time I hear drums.
And I envy the rose
That you held in your teeth, love,
With the thorns underneath, love,
Sticking into your gums.

Your eyes cast a spell that bewitches.
The last time I needed twenty stitches
To sew up the gash
That you made with your lash,
As we danced to the masochism tango.

Bash in my brain,
And make me scream with pain,
Then kick me once again,
And say we'll never part.
I know too well
I'm underneath your spell,
So, darling, if you smell
Something burning, it's my heart.
Excuse me!

Take your cigarette from it's holder,
And burn your initials in my shoulder.
Fracture my spine,
And swear that you're mine,
As we dance to the masochism tango.

A gutte shabbes le cooooooooooooolam. Smooch.

Pant, pant, gasp, scream.... gush.

"Sorry!!"

"Sorry? What do you mean, sorry?"

"I kind of gushed... a little... and it happened before I could ask permission to come.... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Hmmm..."

"You are probing me very hard with the glass dildo, I don't know what you expected me to do. I'm only human, you know."

"Human? Feline!"

"True, feline."

"Fine. You're not allowed to come without explicit permission now."

*Evil, mean and rotten Cat continues to probe yet harder, resulting in aforementioned submissive feline clutching wildly at the sheets and picturing various traffic junctions in and around the Holy Land*

"Please let me come, O rotten Cat,
Or I will burst, and that is that!"

"Trying to make me change my mind by rhyming at me?"

"Er... (pant, pant, pant, Tzomet Geha, Tzomet Habankim).. yes. Did it work?"

"Almost. You may come when you have composed and recited a limerick."

"A limerick? Holy fuck, have mercy!! I can't write limericks at the best of times -- least of all in the throes of passion...!"

*Impervious evil mean and rotten cat smiles imperturbably, and makes the "I'm waiting here patiently, it's your own time/orgasm you're wasting" face, much beloved of teachers the world over.

". OK, let's see.
There once was an bad evil feline
Who loved to make his Pink Tabby whine
He forbade her to gush
Turning her brains to mush
Till she cried "You've had yours, now give me mine!"

"Oh, very good, Tabby le Pink. Very very good."

"May I come now"

"Yes, you may. Although you must remember the limerick -- so that you can blog it."

How good a sub am I?

I do not suffer fools gladly.

In fact, I don't suffer them at all. I ignore them, and occasionally, I even point and laugh. Loud and long.

Here is a prime example of a particularly foolish person. Fresh off the doormat of my inbox, please see below the following piece of idiocy:

שוב השעטנז הבלתי אפשרי הזה של...
"מלאה ויפה" - אין דבר כזה כמובן. זה תרתי דסתרי. אוקסימורון מושלם.

I knew shouldn't reply, doing so would legitimize the twat's existence by allowing him to know that I acknowledged him.

However, the knee-jerk response that sprang to mind was:

"I don't know about oxymorons, but clearly you're familiar with the concept of morons generally."

I'm not mentioning his name here, because i do not wish to garner this troll any publicity. And I have it on good authority that not only is he a well-documented troll, but also a person who is despised and reviled generally. I wonder if he knows that?

And I seriously am not bothered by what he says -- anyone who has met me knows that my self-description is entirely accurate.

But sometimes, the wish to bitchslap someone is strong.... and this is precisely why the pen -- or keyboard -- is mightier than the back of my hand.

Similar to events predicted to occur later today, the torture and torment of innocent kitties is documented below.

LOL.

I arrive at work, and walk to my part of the office, some way away from the reception area -- we call it "Siberia".

As I approach the door, I am assailed by a friend who asks me, somewhat perplexingly, if I have a Master.

I'm already tired after my fetish-indulgence over the national holiday (more about that in a separate post -- it's very, very perverted), and my brain is only flying at half-mast, so the question has a sort of mind-blowing effect on me as worlds collide and I slowly begin to realise what I have just been asked.

Do I have a Master?

Well, if ever there were a red rag to a bull, for me, that sentence is it.

It is on the tip of my tongue to let fly my usual soapbox-oriented and impassioned speech about how I am not a slave, I am a sub -- and a very feisty, bloshie, switch-y sub at that -- and how the Evil, Mean and Rotten Feline is my Dom, thankyouverymuch -- when something in my head kicks me back into the regular stratosphere and I realise that he is, in fact, asking me for a Master key.

Were I a cartoon, I would whip out a large red-and-white spotted handkerchief and wipe my freely perspiring brow at this point. Oh, my fettered and befuddled brain... the trouble it could get me into....

😄

You know of my love for the words of Yehuda Amichai. Here is one of his pieces that reduces me to tears.