I took this picture about 4 years ago now, not many minutes after receiving my very first gag in the post. I told the story of my first gag at a munch recently to an aghast response: I ordered it from Etsy, from a shop in the US selling handmade leather goods. I bought it…
Until last year I’d never owned a collar: I’d worn one for an evening of tomfoolery at a swinger’s club, and another on a Saturday afternoon’s worth of mucking about at a porn cinema in West Berlin. The first time anyone ever put a collar on me was halfway through a very unsatisfactory one night…
This photo is an outtake from a set I took for M’s birthday last year. I nearly set fire to my tits and then it turned out he didn’t even like cake. Never mind- the photo still makes me laugh. Here’s to me: never knowingly sensible in my attempts to please bossy men. Another year…
So, after three weeks I ended the hiatus in communication with Monster- and ten days later our Thing, whatever it was, was done. I’ve been a bit thrown by my reaction to the whole affair, which has been much more emotional than I’d anticipated. I was very weepy, and beat myself up for being weepy….
So I’m back in the doctor’s office. My doctor is kind and affirming and I like her a lot. We talk about how happy I am to be out of the horrendous job with the hateful multinational, a job that I knew I was doing appallingly badly but could not summon the energy to do…
I bought these pegs from Flying Tiger four years ago. I paid a pound for a net bag containing probably thirty of them, red and black and intended for miscellaneous quirky household uses, and the one clipped to my nipple in the picture above is the last one left. They were ideally suited to be…
Preposterous things.
CN: discussion of weight gain, food, disordered eating, and fatphobia. It feels like it’s been a really long time since I put a photo that showed any more than just a close up of my tits on this blog. It’s really difficult to talk about my relationship to my body- I know that even at…
Just chilin’
She kneels next the trunk full of discarded clothes. It’s an old leather steamer trunk, elegant and battered, lid opened to reveal a busy contradiction of mesh, PVC, cheap cotton, latex, lace and pleather, in black and red and a clashing cacophony of pinks. Things he bought that didn’t fit, things his other sluts left…