In the Pink

Yes, I know it has been a while since I have written. You may spank me. To quote the gloriously talented and sadly undervalued Rowan Atkinson*:

"Life.... is one of those things that most of us find is very difficult to avoid."

In my case, life barged in and took over from my fun perving time, not to mention my blogging time, and this, combined with the sad ban on peeking at the Cage and other perverted sites from work (I'm entitled to downtime just like anyone else), has resulted in the dearth of postings here.

What can I tell you? Sometimes, life is just a cunt.

But enough of the apologies. Well, explanations. (Dan, I can see you sniggering from here. :-P) I wish to share with you some of the fun experiences I had last night at the Purim party.

Yeah baby.

I dressed up. But of course! It's Purim! One dresses up on Purim, no? Hell yeah. That said, I had not done so for a good long while and it was fun to exercise the grey matter in thinking of something amusing and catchy as a costume. As a child I was never allowed to just use one of these out-of-the-box costumes, not that they had them in such proliferation back then, but still. Any costume I donned was always a play on words, or a pun, or something funny, and last night's effort was no different -- with an added layer of "will it be comfortable to wear all evening?" thrown in for good measure. Well, come on. I am WAY too old to be staggering around in bits of cardboard, unable to sit down or pee for hours on end.

Purim costumes were another element of self-expression that bit the big one in that murky, floaty period of time before I found myself. I had a black period that lasted several years, during which I feel as though I floated through life. I was working, I was (am still) a mother, but I functioned on a level of inconsequentiality. Anything that might have given some indication that under the exterior working-suburban-mother shell beat the heart of a thoroughly depraved and artistically creative pervert was utterly vanquished.

Fortunately, this is no longer the case. 😄

Last night, once again, I was joined by the World's Most Evil, Mean and Rotten cat. 😄 So much fun. Feline-man in cowboy boots and pink tabby in horns. Not to mention horny, heh. Apparently, it's not just cowboy boots that do it for me big time. At one point, he donned the cowboy hat of my fabulous friend Eli, and I had a moment of near-ecstasy. Temperatures a-risin' and everything. Whew.

I enjoy sessioning (yes I know the grammatical implications of making an adjective into a verb, for this I will surely burn in hell 😃 at any time with the BBC (Big Bad Cat), but the vast majority of time we spend in that sort of situation is one-on-one -- and I wouldn't have it any other way. However, occasionally the opportunity arises where we demo or session in public. Last night was one of them. Moreover, last night I was lucky enough to experience a public session where I was literally surrounded by friends. It was nice, it added an extra kick to the proceedings, by further increasing my feeling of security.

Not that this is unusual. I always feel safe and secure when the BBC is around me, and the rest of the room tends to fade into oblivion. I lose myself to our dynamic, to the commands he gives me, to the requests he makes of me, and to the repeated checks that I am happy, comfortable and that all is well. It's a kind of shared tunnel vision, and the level of intensity to which it cranks the proceedings up, plus the emotional density are something truly incredible to experience.

I had a friend remark to me how amazing it was to witness the dynamic between us, how intimate we were together, how the session was clearly far more about something very personal and shared between the two of us, than mere whipping and restraint. It's all about our love as much as anything else, and the mutual benefits engendered by a session are strengthened in value triple-fold by that fact alone. In the midst of a particularly exciting flogging, where my body lay on the bed but my soul soared far above, i found myself holding the BBC's hand, feeling warm, protected, loved and cherished.

I adore my Dom. Le purr....

Incidentally, my friend also said that he found it somewhat difficult to converse with me on any discursive or philosophical level, when a mere 45 minutes previously, he'd watched the BBC flog and breast-whip me.

"What, the girls have that much of an effect on you?" I laughed to him.

He blushed, giggled and admitted that the three vodka shots he'd downed earlier might also have contributed.

It didn't surprise me all that much. My tits have stopped traffic before. (But that's another story. Heh.)

Understand: I'm not a nudist, and I'm not generally prone to stripping off in public, or revealing more than is necessary to anyone who has not been specifically chosen, vetted and/or has given mutual consent (usually accompanied by mutual undress-age). A session is different though. Being fully dressed during a session is anathema to me, even in public (actually, especially so, since in private it is absolutely not an issue). Naturally, I have my limits when it comes to nudity, of course but I can go to the waist quite happily. It would seem as though my boobs (AKA "the girls") are a couple of blatant exhibitionists, with a life of their own.

Either way, last night sent me soaring into a subspace that lasted even longer than usual. It may have been a little prolonged by the fabulous Screwdriver, who gave me a back-rub for which i should by all rights have paid him... I purr to myself even now as I think of it.

Purim should always be celebrated this way. Chag same'ach, y'all.


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*Mr Bean -- but that was his least funny character. His other stuff is nothing short of comic genius,and he is one of the funniest inventors of comic monologues i have ever seen or heard. /rant off.