The Sideboob – less is more all the way…

I order a dress online based on the positive reviews about it. It’s metallic pink. What could possibly go wrong?

Everything.

The only part of the dress that looks good, is the fact it shows off a delicious bit of ‘side boob’. Yes. The only thing I like about this dress is the fact that as part of it’s cut, it showcases one piece of my flesh. The rest of the dress makes me look pregnant and although, yes, I would love to be pregnant with Family Friends child, if you aren’t carrying a miracle baby (as any pregnancy would be for me because of my health) then to be frank, you don’t want to look as though you are addicted to doughnuts.

I desperately want to love the dress. I heard a program on Radio 4 where the stylist said, that the go-to thing for Glastonbury was a ‘metallic dress’. And when I heard this, my heart cried out for joy as most glittery shiny clothing has an age cut off of 10 so for adult ware to catch up? I was overjoyed.

Flash forward to now and I am standing here in my ‘dream’ metallic dress and I look ridiculous. Luckily, despite my autoimmune disease which fatigues me enormously and my immune suppression which make me more susceptible to infection, I do have access to social media, so if in doubt, ‘Ask your friends’. I post some pictures online and wait.

Out in the real world, there are real problems happening. Don’t I know it. I’ve been on the front line of illness and stepped a little too close to the front line of risk in health. But now, in a moment of slight relief, I relish this silliness. This emphasis on nothingness. On fashion and folly. On ‘side boob’. On a body, I’m bloody lucky to still have.

‘A Letter To My Future Self’ – She is strong, but not in the way most people think…

‘A Letter To My Future Self’
Written by Marian Nicholson with comments by Daisy
https://herpes.org.uk/letter-telling-my-younger-self-how-i-am-now-pity-i-didnt-know-then-what-i-know-now/

Dear Laura,

(Dear Daisy)

I know exactly how you’re feeling. You’re 26, (34) and you’ve just found out from the doctor that you have herpes. You’ve just burst out crying in front of the awkward-looking trainee GP.

(You’ve broken down in tears in your bedroom. The world feels like its ending. No one will ever want to have with sex with you again. Touch you even. You are infected. Dirty. Disgusting.)

You feel like your whole world is over, you’re damaged goods and no-one will ever want to have sex with you again.

(Yes, this is totally me now. It feels like the world has ended. I’m angry at them (yes – I was an idiot twice) and mostly at myself because at the end of the day it was my body and I could have stopped this. Could have prevented this. I will never forgive myself for this.)

You’re going to spend the next week in the flat, crying, downing wine and despairing at the terrible injustice – you only had sex with him one time! And you didn’t even really like him!

(I am not going to spend the week crying, because in my life so far, let’s be honest more shitty life altering crap has happened to you. But you are undoubtedly rocked to the core. And let’s be honest, if Mr Unavailable cared so little about your body to protect you from getting pregnant and catching anything then yes, you do need to think carefully about how he fits into your life.)

Well, I’m pleased to say that ten years’ later, you’re doing great!

(Of course, you are. Great! And amazingly! You don’t know this yet, but you are extraordinary. )

Yes, at the beginning it was difficult, and maybe you did avoid some romantic encounters because you felt insecure about having to tell someone you had herpes. But then, about a year later, you met _____ – such a great guy. You waited until you’d been out a few times, and you were about to get near to having sex, and then sort of blurted it out. And he was absolutely fine about it! You ended up dating for almost a year, and then after that, you went on to have three more really happy relationships. No tears, no rejection – everyone you told basically shrugged their shoulders and never mentioned it again.

(This is hard to believe now, but I do have faith. I do have hope. The more I read about this, the more common it seems to be and the more people seem to have it.)

Married now
Then you met the person that you would end up marrying. You were really nervous because you knew he was someone special. You spent the whole meal trying to eat your dinner and follow the conversation, with heart pumping at deafening volume. Well, that was an anti-climax – again -just a shoulder shrug and ‘Oh, I don’t know much about it but I’m not bothered at all.’ Cut to 5 years later, and we’re still going strong.

(I do believe this will happen, I haven’t given up hope. One should never give up hope. Because at the end of the day, hope is what keeps us going.)

So, what I’d love to be able to do for you (and everyone who might be going through something similar) gives you a giant hug and tell you that IT WILL BE OK!

(I needed to read this here, but also hear it from one of my closest friends. She and her partner have it, and have had it for years, and look at where she is now and what she is doing. It’s not life ending don’t give up hope. This is a blip. It really is.)

You are the person who will be the most worried about things – not your future partners. They will choose you because they fancy you and love you – as you would for others, because why on earth would you not go out with someone because of a skin condition? How ridiculous! And if you do come across someone who judges you on the basis of that skin condition, do you want to waste your time with someone like that? There are so many good ones out there.

(That is what really strikes me, it’s a skin condition. It’s not killing me. It’s really important that you keep reminding yourself about this.)

Honestly, the hardest thing you’ll have to get over is your own feelings of shame and embarrassment – and you’re still working on it (that’s why I’m using a pseudonym here). But there are people like Marian and Nigel trying to break down that stigma, and in time maybe you’ll work up the courage to be 100% open.

(The more people who talk about this, and show it’s not a life-ending life-shattering diagnosis the more that stigma will be reduced about herpes. Daisy, suddenly realises that this sort of thing happens to people like her because things need to change. People need to talk about this, and a difference needs to be made to end the stigma.)

But in the meantime, dry your tears, and try not to worry too much about the future, because it’s a really really happy one.
Lots of love, you +10
Xx

Thank you to https://herpes.org.uk for their informative and helpful website. If you have a moment please consider having a look and educating yourself of this misunderstood disease.

This is what other sites don’t tell you:

  1. Genital herpes is caused by a herpes simplex virus (type 1 or type 2) – nearly everyone (70%) will catch at least one type, sooner or later.
  2. Most don’t know they have it: 1 in 3 will have symptoms and get diagnosed. The others have mild symptoms and so they are unlikely to be diagnosed – or they have no symptoms at all.
  3. The word ‘incurable’ is used to make it seem important when it isn’t.
  4. Some people get recurrences and we can advise on how these can be reduced and stopped.
  5. Many other infections stay with us – chickenpox, glandular fever are two. Other infections also hide in the body. Nobody makes a fuss about them.

 

Daisy call’s him up on his shit – aka ‘The Litmus Test’

litmus test
noun
  1. 1.
  2. CHEMISTRY
  3. a test for acidity or alkalinity using litmus.
  4. 2.
  5. a decisively indicative test.
  6. “effectiveness in these areas is often a good litmus test of overall quality”

Winning the war in your mind.
“The emotional impact of being diagnosed with genital herpes is often much worse than the condition and it doesn’t deserve the upset it causes.”

‘Well’, thinks Daisy, ‘this isn’t quite the sort of gift I would have liked from him.”
Daisy is thinking of the gift of herpes, the sexually transmitted disease she has been given in the last two weeks by her ‘fuck buddy’ Mr Unavailable. Mr Unavavailable thinks he didn’t give it to her, but if they were in a court of law, the evidence would be pretty damming.
1. He has had cold sores in the past.
2. He has been sick for the past month.
3. He went down on her.
4. They had unprotected sex.
Daisy is not in the business of blame. It serves little purpose unless you are trying to achieve some compensation and in the business of sexual health, once it has gone it has gone.
If the local GUM clinic had a loyalty card program, Daisy would have Gold Card status. She has been, pardon the phrase, anal about looking after her sexual health. A youth spent dealing with the life-changing diagnosis of an incurable autoimmune disease threw her into depression, alcohol and the beds of anyone she thought might maybe ‘love’ her? There was also the eternal search for the elusive ‘orgasm’, found only many years later with the assistance of external aids. And truly, she has been such a good practicer of safe sex. Condoms were her friend. So the total debacle of the unprotected sex she had two weeks ago makes her wonder if she was body snatched by aliens.
“The risk of transmitting the herpes virus can be reduced by about 50% if you use condoms.”
This information is like a hug when she reads it. It makes her feel less stupid and more like if this was going to happen, it was and maybe even condoms would not have saved her. In the last few days, Daisy has learnt so much about herpes she feels almost like she could take it on as her specialist subject on Mastermind.
The ‘New Zealand Herpes Foundation’ is an incredible resource of information on every aspect of Daisy’s new medical issue. The more she reads the more she realises how much of a stigma is attached to this awful disease, which really and truly is just a skin condition.
In many ways, the facial cold sore is worse because you can see it, and no one ostracises people with cold sores. Instead, people are just sensible.
Daisy has ‘ummed’, and ‘ahh’ed about messaging Mr Unavailable back after his nice little accusation that she ‘gave it to him’. It’s taken time but today she feels like this is the moment that she needs to lay her cards on the table. Sometimes you need to call people up on their shit. Sometimes you need to know when to do it.
So she begins…

“I’m really upset by all this.
What do you not understand about this situation?
‘Since the genital herpes virus can be transmitted through oral sex as well as vaginal sex, it is also possible that your partner caught the virus from a cold sore on your mouth or face.
Remember, it is possible you can pass the herpes virus on even if you didn’t have a cold sore present at the time of contact.’
I am sure you are more than aware of how much I care about you as a person and despite what you think happened in the past, I have never wanted or set out to intentionally hurt or harm you.
Assumptions aren’t healthy neither is blame.
The other party is being tested, but until both tests are in, we won’t know and even then we might not.
I am not going to jump to conclusions (like you) but he is a lot older than us and has never had a cold sore in his life. I slept with him for years back when we dated and never had a problem. The symptoms didn’t start until after we slept together (positive because in a worst-case scenario if he did give it to me you might be fine) but odd that it was after you and not him.
So if you get tested and don’t have it – great 👍🏻
If you get tested and do have it and your results come back before his – well the odds are on you but at least you know now and can be aware for the future.
A huge number of the population carries the virus without knowing and it was probably due to the weakened immune system that I contracted it.
There is no point in me being angry.
But my life is changed forever.
That does not sit lightly with me.
Some key points through which I think you should be aware of.
1. Herpes is a skin condition – no different from the cold sore virus – as such the stigma associated with it is wrong and although – yes – I am devastated by contracting this disease I will seek to work towards helping others with this diagnosis in the future and making sure that more people realise how common it is.
2. We were both HUGLEY irresponsible and stupid and are fortunate that this wasn’t something worse. AIDS, syphilis, gonorrhoea, chlamydia and trichomoniasis. When you go for your test please be tested for everything. I was clean on the 11th of March. Now I am not so sure.
I had my last test on the 11th of March – at the end of the day whichever way this goes I’m the one that so far has born the brunt of the symptoms.
As someone who knows how terrifying it is not to know about the state of your health, I do commiserate at your current situation.
However, please accept responsibility where the carrier or not for whatever the conclusion of this horrid situation is.
Honestly, yes. I think you gave it to me. But what can now be achieved that will benefit me or you now in blame? Nothing. I think this is a moot point on both sides.
I am praying you to come back clean, even if this makes me the ‘baddie’. I care more about your health than being the baddie in this horrendous situation.
Please see the below information.
“Your partner may have caught genital herpes from you. It is possible that you carry the virus without knowing that you have it since up to 80% of people who have been infected with HSV-2 have either no herpes symptoms or such mild symptoms they are unaware they have the herpes virus. So it is very easy for you to have unwittingly transmitted the infection to your partner. The symptoms of the infection vary greatly between individuals – it might be totally unnoticeable in you but cause severe blistering in your partner.”
And just in case you missed the first part.
“Since the genital herpes virus can be transmitted through oral sex as well as vaginal sex, it is also possible that your partner caught the virus from a cold sore on your mouth or face. Remember, it is possible you can pass the herpes virus on even if you didn’t have a cold sore present at the time of contact.”

Finally, as an afterthought, she adds –

“I hope you are feeling better – I can’t remember if you have asked me how I am, or if I am in pain or discomfort. :(”

Yes. It’s totally too long for a Whatsapp message but he wouldn’t give her his email, so quite simply – fuck it. This is the litmus test of Mr Unavailable. If he really doesn’t care about her then this will be when it shows. Or rather doesn’t. Daisy fell in love with what this man projected but now, she is seeing the light. Beautiful things and people are often in some way tarnished below the surface and far better to know now than later. In a way, this nightmare is a blessing. Firstly Daisy is becoming incredibly educated on a subject which has a huge stigma, and secondly, she is seeing people for who they are.
Her bestie C was honest about her family and how common herpes is, and then even Tom was supportive and got educated so he could be her friend about this. The other possible offender is saying he will make the effort to sort this and the one person she wants to be an adult is being, unfortunately, a bit of a twat about the whole thing. Yes. It does make her sad, but at the same time her new diagnosis has given back Daisy some of her balls and gumption. Life is too short to be with people who don’t care, don’t take responsibility, or aren’t honest when push comes to shove.
He is just as much responsible for this as her and she is still upset. Daisy is trying to not being impetuous, but her heart outweighs her head. He has not once made an effort to ask about her throughout this and maybe it is time to move on. It’s with a heavy heart that Daisy presses ‘SEND’. But she knows that in life she only wants the very best, most positive people and if he isn’t going to be one of them so be it.

[2:19 PM, 5/4/2019] Daisy: I hope you are feeling better – I can’t remember if you have asked me how I am, or if I am in pain or discomfort. 😦

[4:23 PM, 5/4/2019] Mr Unavailable: Hi darling-
(As if everything can be made better by adding ‘darling’.)

I’m really not in the mood for all of this right now.

(Does he think she is? Does he think she wants to have this STD? Or be bothering him, with calling him up on his shit? NO. NO. NO!)

To be brutally honest I’m getting a bit fed up with your general attitude; normally I just brush it off.

(What fucking attitude? Honestly? Christ this man is delusional. Calm yourself, Daisy. Attitude? Perhaps he is referring to how unlike the other women he has met in his life she isn’t just let him walk over her, and onwards without the truth being pointed out? Whatever, which way, Daisy is trying not to seethe.)

But right now the pressure I am under I’m not prepared to put up with it.

(At this moment Daisy realises she is being treated like a naughty, badly behaved child. She is in disbelief. Utter disbelief.)

I’ll message you again when I am back-probably two/three weeks.
You can take some time to look after yourself and I will be in a better place.

(The land of reality?)

Keep well, and I’ll message you soon.

(I won’t hold my breath thinks Daisy. Two to three weeks? Brilliant. In that time, which might be considered ‘another’ ‘reset’ to their ‘non-existent’ relationship she is going to focus on her writing, her art, her body.
As Frank Sinatra said, ‘the best revenge is a massive success’.)

Winning the war in your mind? Winning the war with your heart maybe too. Daisy will always love Mr Unavailable, but maybe now she needs to get on with her life. There is no guarantee he will get back in contact. Indeed if he does test positive it could go one of two ways, and really unless he actually wants to be her friend will he bother? Daisy takes a deep breath and lets her inner voice remind her of the truth.
If he can’t make time for her in his life, what does that really say?
Not that she needs him to, to be honest, but every sign just seems to be pointing out his flaws.
Daisy makes a decision. If they can get through all this miscommunication and misunderstanding then maybe there will be a ‘them’, an ‘us’.
If they don’t, the writing is on the wall. End of.

Sometimes, friends have the answer.

Daisy is still upset though. As much as this isn’t the life ending, earth-shattering end of the world feeling it was yesterday thanks hugely to her GP, (who may be a real-life angel) she is still bereft and feels dirty and soiled.
Daisy’s phone beeps. It’s C. C has just moved into a castle. Yes, literally a castle. She has done it, in the style of only C, with those gorgeous sexy see-through plastic moving boxes which she admits cost her and her partner around 2K. It also transpires that C has three stick blenders. This is hugely fortuitous at Daisy wanted to buy her father one for his birthday, but a combination of a lack of finances and uncertainty over wattage had held her back. (When something varies between 200 – 1000W and all you will probably be doing is soup it’s hard to know which one to choose without assistance). C buys a new one every time she can’t find hers so now has three so is happy to donate one to Daisy so she can give it to her pa a belated birthday gift. The photo she sends of the emersion blenders is of them lying vertically with cables stretched out. They look unnervingly like some form of sex toy. Daisy doesn’t hesitate in mentioning this resemblance to her father when she shows him the picture. As some who when he transfers £15 to his wife and entitles it ‘sex’, it’s not like he doesn’t have an odd sense of humour anyway.
C is sorting out the unloading of her plastic boxes in her new kitchen as they talk, and suddenly screams.
“WHAT!”
“Oh God, what’s wrong?” asks a worried Daisy sure some terrible incident or situation has befallen her good friend.
“There are no drawers!”
“No drawers?”
“There are no drawers in this whole kitchen! No drawers in this whole house! The guy who did the interior must have been a drawer-ophile. There are no drawers at all! Wait a moment! I’m going to facetime you with this…”
Shit thinks Daisy. She is having a particularly ugly day. Her face has decided to get all bloated, and in her attempts to try and sort her nose, she has caused it to erupt into pimples. Fuck.
“Erm, I’m not looking great…”
“Don’t worry!” shrieks C.
“I’m looking rough too, but you have to see this!”
The phone goes dead, and suddenly Daisy is looking at her own face as the phone demands that she accept C’s Facetime call. Here goes nothing…
The screen lights up with the picture of a cupboard door, that then, accompanied by C’s shrieks of dismay is opened to reveal cupboards. C then provides a tour of a kitchen filled with plastic storage boxes, and cupboards. Daisy can’t stop laughing. It’s a veritable nightmare. Cupboards are a nightmare, Marie Kondo would not be impressed. Marie Kondo loves drawers. Drawers are the answer to most organisational situations. Drawers are like air. Without them how can one live? At the other end of the line, C twists the phone around to show her gorgeous youthful face. Her hair is tied back in a rough bun with one of those 1960’s hair bands that shows off her exquisite jaw structure. Despite being 32 she doesn’t look a day over 27. (A combination of some amazing combination of creams, potions and possibly Botox). Daisy yet again makes a mental note that once all this shit in her life calms down and she has some money she will undoubtedly be seeking antiaging advice from C.
“I can’t believe this! A £2.5 million property and there are no fucking cupboards! Anywhere!”
“Not even in the bedrooms?”
“No. None.”
Neither girl can believe the ridiculousness of this. Their shared love of tidiness and OCD tendencies mean that the lack of drawers is something they both feel strongly about. But also, that they also both find this lack of something so essential, ‘fall on the floor’, ridiculous.
“I love you,” says Daisy. And she means it. Without knowing it C has managed to make a devastated, emotionally destroyed Daisy laugh and smile.
This beautiful girl come, woman, that she has never met, is a kindred soul beyond anyone she could have imagined or hoped to have in her life.
“Love you too hun” comes the genuine response.
The camera goes off and they are back to old skool phone chat.
“So what’s up hun?” says C, and Daisy knows this isn’t just the ‘what’s up?’ of a casual hey there. It’s what’s up of someone who cares.
Daisy takes a deep breath and tries not to cry.
“So I got the test back, and it’s positive.”
“Hey sweetie, are we talking about Herpes? Are you positive for Herpes?”
“Yes.”
There is a pause. Daisy holds her breath. She is unsure of what will come next but is worried. Will she be shunned? Will she be rebuked?
“Hun, I’m going to tell you this because I know she won’t mind. You know T?”
T is C’s twin sister. Just like C, she is gorgeous. An ex-model now training to be a lawyer, living in New York with her boyfriend who looks like he stepped out of Gossip Girl.
“Yes…”
“Well, both T and her boyfriend have it. They both have Herpes. Have done for years. She got it when she was 16. Her boyfriend at the time, Mike, went down on her when he had a cold sore and she got it. It was so painful when she went to the Dr she told her to piss in the bath, and then to treat it, to put Aclivovir on it.”
“Seriously?”
Daisy is in disbelief. If this beautiful, talented young lady who looks totally normal can have this horrid sounding disease then maybe, just maybe… She feels tears beginning to well up.
“I’m telling you this hun because I know if she was here now she would be telling you and would want you to know you aren’t alone. This is a skin condition. That’s all it is. And if anyone goes getting all funny with you about it, well then they are uneducated and talking shit they know nothing about. If you had a friend who had a rash, would you not like them? Stop being their friend? Not fancy them? No. It’s a bullshit sweetie. Bullshit.”
Daisy feels the tears falling down her cheek and a sense of relief washing over her. Maybe life isn’t ending after all.
“The fact of the matter’ continues C, in a ‘fact of the matter’ voice.
“The fact of the matters you don’t need to tell every future sexual partner you have that you have it. You are only contagious in the middle of an outbreak, and let’s be honest, you won’t be playing with fire anyway and having any more unprotected sex will you?”i
“Christ no!” says Daisy shocked at even the mention of more stupidity.
“When you do meet someone special,” continues C, “we will discuss how you discuss it with them, ok? When the time comes, we will.”
There are times when phone lines disappear and there is nothing but you and the other soul, connected through life, pain and love, and right there as Daisy cradles the phone, tears rolling down her cheeks she knows that she is truly lucky to have such an amazing friend.
“Thanks” she manages to croak, knowing that it really doesn’t feel enough.

You can find more information about talking to your partner about Herpes here – https://www.herpes.org.nz/questions/tell-not-tell/

Without trust we have nothing – bondage goes wrong

Daisy loves being tied up and restrained. It ticks a lot of boxes for her. But Daisy has always done bondage with partners that she has known, loved and trusted.  As much as she loves Mr Unavailable, what happens on that Thursday night is as much her fault as his. She knows that and she takes responsibility for that… He had wanted to see her toy bag, so that he could see the restraints, the new, under bed restraints. But her toy collection, It’s not what it once was. In America, Daisy had a big brown leather chest, aged either by life or by artists, big and heavy, with sturdy buckles on the outside and then in the inside, all those compartments on a tiered level system not dissimilar from what you find in tool boxes. A bit that lifted out and then all those drawers, and then the pockets that you could either zip closed or stud close with a pop stud that had a satisfying click. It had been a beautifully handcrafted chest of pleasure and she misses it still.
Now, her small limited collection of extra curriculum entertainment is stored in what she assumes was once an exes smart toiletry bag. A double layered black nylon bag, a mixture of the extreme lower level items she played within the heydays of cocaine and booze and would now rather ignore, and then on the top level are the general accumulation of new items and a few old favourites. There are the purple anal beads, one with a vibrating bullet that she needs new batteries for. The smaller, more refined black anal beads, antiques really, now the designs are far sexier with twiddly bits at the end to stop over insertion. Then there are the new soft black nylon ropes she suspects come from China, and the recently acquired nipple clamps (because she always used to lose ‘just one’).
“Ah, so this is them! (He is looking at the nipple clamps) What I thought was…”
“An anal hook.” She finishes his sentence for him.
“Ah yes!” he says grinning.
“And one day we will get you one.”
“No.” She says it sharply, maybe more sharply then she meant to.
“Yes we will” he replies, and she knows she must hit this one on the head.
“No. I’ve seen how that works, what it does. No thank you, that’s not for me.”
“No, what we do is we put it in and then we attach the rope and then you won’t be able to move.”
Daisy didn’t need this explained she’s already done her research and made her decision and although, yes, I changed she changed her mind about the anal sex, there is a line and she is not crossing… it yet.
His expression is indistinguishable, but I think it’s the look of someone, confident, cocky, and who expected to be obeyed. She had said she wanted to be dominated. To be tied up and restrained. What she clearly forgot was to mention that there are rules, rules that she is only remembering now, that are vital if bondage is to work, and is to be safe. Be sexy. Daisy is beginning to think she may have gone down a wrong path, and it’s all seems to be going in the wrong direction.

This list of ten rules is summarized from the book “Screw the Roses. Send Me the Thorns”, written by Phillip Miller and Molly Devon.

Copyright to the authors, all rights reserved.

1: Be skilled at every bondage you undertake risk is unavoidable, however basic the bondage.
Keep this in mind when you do your scenes
2: Anticipate obvious hazards.
The unforeseen happens all the time in bondage scenes, from beds breaking to neighbours calling, kids interrupting, etc
3: Learn basic pulse sites of the body and always fit bondage snugly, not tightly, until you have more experience.
(He demonstrated no awareness of these.)
Never cross pulse points with direct pressure from ropes.
(He did.)
Pulse points are located on the wrists, inner-upper thigh and throat.
4: Ropes, etc., should mostly be snug not tight.
(They were tight.)
Make sure you can easily slip a finger under the ropes, chains or scarves you are using.
(You couldn’t.)
If your bondage is too easily escapable change or alters your technique rather than making it tighter.
Most times a few extra twists can resolve any weakness without making things uncomfortable or risky.
5: Determine how long each bondage can be endured and watch the clock. Begin testing new bondages for around 10 to 15 minutes at a time before working up to longer periods
6: Submissives – never let anyone you do not know or trust tie you up.
(How well do I actually know him? I’ve fallen in love with who he has projected himself to be and want, but really do I have any idea?)
You are literally placing your life in their hands. As with any S&M process, negotiate the scenes beforehand,
(We didn’t.)
Negotiate which bondages will take place and clearly outline both submissive and Dominant limits.
(Again, we didn’t.)
7: Agree upon, and practice, a “safeword” before you begin.
(Oh dear…)
8: Never use a chain or rope around the front of a submissive’s throat and avoid this area and avoid placing pressure on this area during play.
(Oh I forgot to mention the asphyxiation turn on earlier…)
9: Keep a heavy pair of scissors handy to cut your submissive’s bonds should anything go wrong.
(I don’t think nail scissors count.)
10: Always keep watch over a bound submissive, check constantly for numbness, discolouration and cold skin in case, and as, circulation deteriorates.
(Would he? I wonder.)

There are two types of wrist cuffs, one in a softer fabric and one in hard leather, but she has her eye on some luxury ones on Etsy so these are just for the interim. There is the largest of the anal plugs, as the rest is in her drawer waiting for the right moment. A small soft paddle with leather on one side and fur on the other, and a few odd bits, but nothing to write home about.
She is embarrassed by it now, in front of him. After so much talk of kink, she feels it lets her down and although when he asks about the spreader bar she gets that out to show him too, he laughs at how it isn’t very big, and that really to get her fully spread you would need a wider one. At this point, she decides that as he hasn’t brought anything he might as well consider contributing in the future.
“The one I think would be better is longer and more expensive. I’ll send you a link to it.”
He looks a little surprised and then laughs. She gets the distinct impression he doesn’t get back chat much.
“Let’s play!” he says and places the suspender bar between her legs and clips the cuffs around her ankles. The feel of the leather around her ankles is smooth and the feeling of herself secured is not unpleasant. She likes the idea of him having her spread open. She hopes he will go down on her and he does. Seeing his head between her thighs, feeling his tongue exploring her, nibbling on her clitoris…
He reaches for the ropes. Hang on…
It’s been years since she was tied up, and then she loved it, well every time except once. The inability to move as she was subjected to pleasure was unusual and yet exciting, but here? Now? So soon after everything that has happened, something inside her twitches nervously. This is happening too fast.
He pulls her hand gently towards the bar and starts to attach her wrist to the far end. The first knot is careful, and although she is no bondage expert it looks like a quick release one. It’s tight. Tighter than she is used to but surely he knows what he is doing. On the second one, he is getting bored and wants to get back to the bag and she can see that in the way he twists the cord quickly into place. Suddenly, she isn’t so sure how much he knows about this. Very quickly she is becoming uneasy.
“Look, just one thing. Me, like this? Please, no trying to deep throat me. Not like this.”
“Why?” and he honestly looks surprised, interested and she is even more on edge now.
“Well, because at this angle, I would choke. I wouldn’t be able to get you all in and control it. It gets dangerous.”
He laughs and her blood turns to ice.
“Isn’t that the point?”
What the fuck.
The reality of her situation. Being tied up here, with no ability to run, or move hits her like a brick wall, and she begins to feel her anxiety. If she had been beginning to get turned on. That is over. Now she is actually a little scared.
Each of the bag contents is wrapped in a ziplock bag, and one by one, without much care or attention he takes out what he wants to play with. She is reminded of children, how when they see toys become excited and start to play. It is now she realises she should have labelled them. One item, a giant vibrating butt plug on the lower level he looks at with awe.
“Have you?”
“God no! That’s a long way off yet.”
He fingers the black plastic and then, in one almost feels an unguarded moment of honesty measures the width with his long sexy fingers. It’s big. Very big.
“You see this?” he says, in a far off voice, almost as though he is talking to himself, while he gestures at the toy.
“There was a black guy when I was 18, one of the first men I was with, or..” and he hesitates, and utters a little laugh.
“I tried to be with! He was this wide, and this (gestures with both hands to show length), this wide. I tried, I tried to take him but he was just too big for me.”
It’s a rare moment of him being the man she thinks he might be. A boy, who has done adult acts, and had adult pleasure and yet still is slightly lost. For a moment she isn’t so scared, because he is human, he isn’t perfect and he is honestly being him.
“I’m really kinky.”
He looks secretive and pleased with himself for admitting this.
“You didn’t know me long enough to find out before.”
She doesn’t know if he remembers back to when they first met, and he had actually told her he was really vanilla, but she is beginning to get the distinct impression a lot of what this boy projects into the world, is not the real him.
No, thanks Daisy. I didn’t know you at all. I don’t know that I actually know you now, and look where we are.
“What about your vibrator collection? You sent a picture of quite a selection. Where are they?”
In her mind, she had pictured her proudly revealing her ‘Box of Pleasure’ and showing him one by one the different vibrators, and wands. Then in her fantasy of how this all might go, he had tied her up and then slowly and sensitively seduced her. Working his way from her the tips of her ears, down to her toes, kisses, and strokes and all the nice sexy things a lover who wants to arouse you does. Restrained as she is now and totally helpless she can do nothing about showing the collection herself and instead can only weakly direct him to the next room where she is charging them. Left to her own devices she surveys the situation. Normally she would have music on, and soft lighting, but so far this evening everything has just kind of happened and she is flying by the seat of her pants as they would say. If the anxiety had started to abate in his moment of honesty before, before when he returns holding an 8-inch vibrator shaped like a giant penis her heart sinks. There is no way she is wet enough for this.
He starts to stroke her with one of the smaller vibrators and she grits her teeth, this is not what this should be like.
“I’m not wet enough for this” she bleats pathetically.
“No, you’re not are you…”
So he goes down on her for a bit but that’s still not enough.
“Maybe some lubricant?” she suggests.
“Do you have some?”
Does the Pope wear a funny hat?
“Yes, in my drawer, the second one down.

Bondage:
The Sixth Rule of Bondage: (The one I tried to ignore) Submissive – never let anyone you do not know or trust tie you up. You are literally placing your life in their hands. As with any S&M process, negotiate the scenes beforehand, negotiate which bondages will take place and clearly outline both submissive and Dominant limits.

Out of all the lubricants, he picked the ‘Stimulating Tangerine’ one. By this point Daisy was a bit all over the place so it didn’t occur to her it might burn or sting her. When he starts to poke her with a vibrator and it starts to tingle, she can’t take anymore. She could cry. Yes, she actually feels she might. Old Daisy, old Daisy would have just taken it and hoped it would get better. New Daisy, new her wanted it all to be over.
“Stop. Please stop. It hurts. I don’t want to go on.”
He looks at her, and she can tell he is trying to read whether she is actually for real, the kinky girl who wanted so much actually wants to stop, or if this is some sort of game.
“Please?”
When Daisy is about to cry, a lump rises in her throat, almost choking her and now, she can feel it rising. She feels shaky. She feels scared. It stings. She wants it all to stop. Now. Right now.
He laughs.
“Ok…”
He starts to undo the first knot, it’s quickly undone.
“Yes, this was the quick release knot.”
Now for the second one. It’s tight. It’s firm. It’s not a quick release knot and now Daisy is panicking. She wants to be out of the spreader bar. She wants to be free. She wants it all not to hurt. Daisy feels embarrassed. Daisy feels ashamed. She has let him down. She’s let herself down.
“This is fun isn’t it?”
As he stands up and starts to tie the rope back up and put things away, now free, Daisy draws her legs up into a crossed leg position, protecting herself, then she draws her arms in, making herself small and compact. She is shaking and desperately wants to cry. Daisy wants to let these emotions bubble over, but she won’t let them.
“You, who wanted all of this? Now, don’t?”
And he laughs. Daisy wishes he wouldn’t. Right now she needs a hug. I need to be reassured. I need to know I’m not crazy. I need to know it’s ok, it’s all going to be alright.
Instead, he laughs at her, and maybe it’s his way of dealing with awkwardness, but Christ this hurts.
He goes downstairs for a cigarette, and she composes herself. In the bathroom, she stares at her reflection. It’s taken her 34 years to actually believe she is beautiful and she is not going to let some shitty boy laughing at her being uncomfortable to affect her. Well, affect me as much as it could.
Daisy composes herself, goes downstairs and cooks dinner. It is good food but her nerves are on edge.
They will go on to have ‘great sex’. The sort of sex you really get into. The sort of intimacy when two people are made one and it’s immersive and sexual, and all-consuming.
But right then, right there in her room, a place of safety, a place of certainty, she felt scared, anxious and alone.
If this is a love story, it’s definitely got it’s dark places.
Eventually, after one last immersive ‘shag’ we collapse exhausted, and for a while he talks, but she just curls up against him. Against his hard, cool torso, his arm around me, and her nestled in close to him. Daisy feels remarkably safe which is odd considering everything she supposes. His breathing deepens, grows deeper, a bit of a snore because he is on his back. When it’s so deep she can be certain that he is asleep Daisy slides away on to her side of the bed and takes deep breaths. Eventually, he will turn and face away. His back to her. His back to everyone.

The Night That Went Wrong

Thursday 18th of April

Fatigue is more than tiredness. It weighs you down, drags you further under until you feel weighted by stones to the bottom of life’s seabed. Even when you sleep you are still tired on waking, and it seems like while the rest of the world gets on and moves on you are held in this stationary purgatory.
This is how Daisy feels on Thursday morning, the 18th of April 2019. And she cannot feel like this today. There is too much to do, too much to organise. On Friday she has planned with her sister an adventure to the seaside and she must be organised and prepared, ready to be both part of the way driver and puppy mummy to the dogs that they will be taking with them. Her one-year-old puppy has never been to West Wittering and with such lovely weather planned it seems like the perfect excursion for Bank Holiday Friday.
There is currently a coolness to the early mornings, and by getting up earlier, even if it exhausts her further, fewer people to bump into on the common mean that her puppy won’t spend too much of the time diving off to be sociable. If ever there was a dog echoing human life, her dog is. She reminds Daisy of her when she used to go out drinking in her youth, as she has that unrestrained enthusiasm for introducing herself to everyone, dog walker, non-dog walkers, dogs and anything else that she comes across. Although she jumps less, she is still a law onto herself so Daisy relishes the almost deserted woodland, now starting to go green as the burnt toffee browns of winter start to disappear away.
After that, she ventures to the supermarket to get food for tonight, making sure to use hand sanitizer on the shopping cart rail, and avoid touching things unnecessarily. On her return home, she books a doctor’s appointment as there are some funny hard lumps under her arm and she needs to try and sort out her medication prescriptions which have confused her totally with their irregular fashion of delivery by the local pharmacist, but that is quite another story.
Once this, her morning of tasks is completed, she checks the house over to try and make sure that it is presentable. It’s a beautiful house but is showing it’s age, and from what Mr Unavailable has said he lives in a six-bedroom small country pile, with next door neighbours who are millionaires so it’s a stark contrast to here. This lived in family relic of her parents. The walls hold the memories of laughter and tears, and now on the market to be sold Daisy will miss it terribly.
Time ticks on and she starts to prepare the dinner of hamburgers and the accompaniments she has planned. The new recipe she found has excited her with its mention of ‘miso’ which she definitely doesn’t have, and sausage meat which she does. A fifty-fifty split is complimented by mustard and a little Worstechire sauce. The patties are made and dusted with flour sitting neatly in lines in the fridge, covered with a slither of cellophane when eventually he arrives with a knock and saunters in the side door. His tall frame is silhouetted against the dying light outside and her world changes.
Normally so calm and collected, she becomes a girl, all giggles and nervous smiles. She wishes she could relax more, but it is such an odd feeling to be in the company of someone she feels so attracted to. To have him, in such close proximity to her. Every moment is precious, and she treasures the time they have alone together because honestly she just doesn’t know how long they have.
Her jokey text about ‘not worrying if he hadn’t anything to bring’ and if he wanted wine ‘there was Tesco or the Co-Op’ has led to him coming in coming in with a bottle of Co-Op Chablis and some Prosecco Truffles. She grins when he presents these to her, and quickly finds a wine cooler and ice cubes for his wine, which he starts to quaff quickly. As she continues to slice and season, he takes a seat and it becomes apparent that Mr Unavaiable is also the sort of man who has a pair of socks for his boots, and another pair for wearing indoors. It’s these little eccentricities that endear her to him, despite her efforts not to care. Daisy has made valiant efforts to prepare most of the dinner already, mixing, chopping, but the fatigue is heavy on her. She doesn’t want him to know until the food is on the table, but it’s a huge disappointment to her that it won’t be up to its normal high standard. There is fun banter between them, ‘chit chat’ about his work, his positive meeting, how finally he is being taken seriously, and how this is his time. Soon his company will be taking off and he will be able to take on freelancers, and then…
Then he comes over to her, and while her back is to him, his arms snake around her, pulling her tight and close, and she leans into him as he nuzzles her neck. Then he turns her around, leans down and forward and there lands on her lips that sweet feeling of his soft lips, sweet from the wine, against hers, and then he kisses her. She melts. It is probably pheromones because he doesn’t wear cologne, his scent, a mixture of tobacco, and whatever he washes himself and his shirts in somehow drives her wild. Her skin is alight with goosebumps, and she involuntarily shivers as she leans into him and grinds her hips into him, and feeling him start to harden within those expensive navy jeans of his. Long muscular arms slide around behind her and down into her oversized denim shorts, down into the soft black cotton of her knickers, and he starts to touch her. She melts a little more and pushes closer to him, and his crisps, light blue pinstripe shirt, with that tantalizing button undone at the neck, that she desperately wants to undo. Their kisses are those of two people who really do like each other. Who whether the world intended them to come together or not, are in each others company and want to be in it more intimately. She has prepared dinner, but he pushes her out the door and encourages her upstairs where he throws himself on to the quilt and pulls her on top of him. The kissing continues and the shirt is lost, so are the trousers and there he is, naked and her still clothed.
“Striptease!” he teases her, or so she thinks, but no he actually seems to want it, or demand it?
Disappointment fills her, she has let herself down in her choice of lingerie. In her attempts ‘not to bother’ (as encouraged by her reading material), she has failed herself and him. After weeks of provocative lingerie shots, she is now in some sporting some very comfortable Sloggie Black knickers and a Victoria Secrets bra, which is perfectly presentable but hardly a showstopper. Her choice of what she thought was a perfectly reasonable blue and a white sleeveless shirt that had matched so well with her ‘holed’ grey cashmere jumper and little shorts and yet, is now, so inappropriate. The best of an awkward situation is dealt with her pointing out this is hardly the outfit for seduction. Once she is down to the skin, she stands, as confidently as she can in this new body she has worked so hard to get and surveys him, trying to gage him, and exhude as much confidence as she can before climbing onto the bed and on top of him.
He has an unnerving ability to arouse her. His touch on her skin makes her skin tingle and she writhes under him, pushing herself into him, their bodies entwining into one heaving mass of pleasure. Something he does with his tongue and then his fingers, stroking her inside, making her so wet she is embarrassed.
“Am I making you squirt?” he enquires, and she is too ashamed or the fluid everywhere, to respond.
Like an explorer, he has a way of finding her sweet spots, and although she isn’t having orgasms, her eyes are doing that weird flickery thing which is almost like a shutter and she is feeling lost in their intimacy.
They pause for him to go for a smoke and for her to regain her composure. In her wardrobe is a long purple cotton maxi skirt and a light blue and white shirt. There is no need for knickers. Downstairs she puts things away and waits for him to return. It’s so nice to have him here, so close and so relaxed. She wanted him to rest, but he says that time with her and sex is rest, so she will let that slide. He returns and soon they are kissing again and he pushes her up against the island unit turns her around and bends her over the counter so he can penetrate her. It’s another good angle and he leans forward and whispers in her ear.
“Soon I will be able to come and do this to your arse, just as deep, just as hard.”
It’s a naughty thought and it takes them both to higher levels of pleasure.