Do you ever feel that all this fetish stuff is just far too much like bloody hard work?
All this dressing up in horrible tight clothes and uncomfortable shoes and strutting about and going out and thinking up new and imaginative things to do with ropes and whips and tiger balm. I’m worn out just thinking about it.
I feel like in all the rush to do the kinkiest most depraved things one can concieve of and out kink the Jones’s (well I guess I am the Jones’s but you get idea), I’ve lost track of why I’m doing this. And any sense of perspective along with it.
I mean imagine not being kinky, imagine if you just a happy ol’ vanilla and some pervert in head to toe black PVC came up to you in the street and told you that you could have better orgasms if you simply:
1.) Spent half your income on uncomfortable unflattering clothing that was also extremely badly made
2.) Spent the other half of your money on nasty cheap looking leather ‘toys’
3.) Took out a second mortgage in order to get into a truly disgusting niteclub full of yet more people wearing afomentioned unflattering clothes
4.) Left your current partner and gave up hours of your life to sifting through badly-worded misspelt now-wash-your-hands personal ads trying to find a suitable kinky partner
5.) Followed that up by meeting some of these people for drinks in revolting chain pubs in railway stations at risk of rape or murder or both
6.) Then, finally, finally, you meet someone who doesn’t make you want to vomit by asking to – for example – eat your shit (not judging – but based on a true story) and you take them home and then you get to waste huge, huge amounts of your time actually carrying out these bizarre acts of power exchange weirdness, which never ever live up to your fantasy anyway
You’d tell them to fuck off wouldn’t you?
2 Comments
March 31, 2007 at 9:42 pm
Or ask if your partner could come too?
June 4, 2007 at 1:46 pm
yes! i know what u mean! it is exhausting!