The end of another year

The plan had been to have breakfast, do little domestic things, go to the gym, have lunch, a little sex and a snooze. It was a simple plan that was executed flawlessly right up until the snooze bit. After drifting into a deep post coital doze the eyes flew open. It was exactly 30 minutes after going to sleep. Sighs so much for that cunning plan L

Now the sleep was important because we are slated to welcome in the New Year with our vanillas. And somewhere along the line the night owl retired to become a bird of a different feather. A bird who is sound asleep by about 10 ish and is up at an ungodly hour... though not as ungodly as He manages most days. The upshot of this is rather than being moderately entertaining one suspects that one will be curled up in a corner... asleep.

In spite of this grim prediction one popped on a little black dress and some heels, loaded up a bag of booze and food and off we scampered. We were merely an hour late for our appointed destination and, as it turned out, missing a few food items that He deemed important. Oooopsie... bad slave... who did look hot in her LBD and heels.

And there would have been pics to prove this had they turned out, so you are just going to have to insert your imagination here J

So we passed the remaining hours of this year nibbling food and drinking. Well that is to say our hostess drank... a substantial amount of alcohol... to the point that we didn't get the hot food component of the evening. Personally one had a couple of Martinis, toasted in the New Year... barely... and snoozed until we came home. Whereupon one crawled out of the clothes, patted ineffectually at the remaining mascara and went to bed for a few more hours.

So to everyone...

Have a happy and prosperous New Year. May it be better than the last year and may good things happen for you all.

You be the judge

He always claims that he is not a sadist and by most definitions he isn't... but... you could just feel that one coming... he does have sadistic tendencies. They are strong tendencies whatever He might like to claim to the contrary. At times the lady Master doth protest too much. Take this evening for example...

It's late evening and He has been up for hours, about 23 to be precise, and he is going to bed. Needless to say He needs a small orifice to cum in... purely for medicinal relaxation purposes of course. Now it has been a while since we have had anal sex, nearly a week, and there has been no butt plugs in for that time... mostly our fucked up busy lives that sometimes don't mesh as well as we would like. And Christmas food plays havoc with things... as one has said before if you want to have regular anal sex the easiest way is to be regular in your habits. This was the start of getting back into the saddle... so to speak.

Of course He kicks off with anal sex rather than a butt plug... 'cos he has needs. Anyway one fronted up to the study lubed and begging for gentle handling. So what does He do?

He gently slides in barely an inch at a time and...

Wait for it...

Proceeds to tickle one's back.

Now some of you are giggling... one can sense these things... and others of you are wondering what the issue is. Well for the record the back tickling, while His dick is wedged firmly in one's arse, does not make the fuck gentler. What it does do is make one small slave squirm around and impale oneself more firmly on it...

It also makes the damned arse tighten up even more than it was already.

When He finally came and one small slave had stopped yelling Bastard... one politely pointed out that experience was neither funny nor gentle

Mmm hmm was the non committal reply

And don't add that one to the repeat performance repertoire either one snapped. Why is it shit one likes never makes it on that list while His stuff always does... oh that's right... He is a mean, mean man

There was chuckling noises... deep, dark chuckling noises... the sort of chuckling that makes the blood run squishy in the veins

Bastard... sadistic bastard!

Christmas booty

Not that kind you sick perverts... though may one just take a moment to say that seeing that festive picture up as His screen saver is confronting first thing in a morning. No, this is about the Christmas presents one received. Well actually it is about one present in particular and what was loaded on it. See for Christmas He bought one an updated Kindle and though e-readers probably are the death knell of the printed book and book shops generally, one loves that thing with a passion.

Anyway one of the things on it was the science fantasy series by Jim Butcher. Personally one had always loved The Dresden Files series... they had RPG playing werewolves in it... what's not to love? What was loaded on it though was his Codex Alera series. And frankly... it is a ripping good yarn.

The one thing that Jim Butcher does, other than write infinitely likeable characters, is pour on the pace. All his books are page turners. They aren't particularly deep or meaningful commentary on the state of the world, but they are entertaining. So if you are looking for a little light reading over the festive season and like science fantasy one would heartily give them a two thumbs up J

A word to the wise

It is not polite to laugh at Master when he puts on his favourite t-shirt and it is too big...

Even if it has reached tent like proportions... and flairs in a girly fashion from his hips.

No, the only correct response is to commiserate with Him on his loss of a good and faithful friend

Bad, bad slave... again

Unbelievable

This isn't about the customer of the day who complained vociferously about one not helping her find what she wanted. That was in spite of one having explained to her that we didn't actually have the product in question. To be honest though, one would have happily given her what she needed after that encounter... bad sales assistant. No this is about sex or rather a strange by product of it.

It is no secret that one small slave is a bit of an exercise junkie. Well one barely coasts along the edges of the cut off point for that... you need to be doing about eight hours of exercise or more to be overtraining. These days one only racks up about four and a half hours a week. Anyway that is neither here nor there. The upshot of all of this is that one is pretty limber and strong so it is always something of a surprise when we have sex... nice, ordinary conventional sex.

Now we have quite a bit of sex, but it is the conventional vaginal kind that causes the surprises. Or rather it is how sore it makes one that is the surprise. Honestly there are muscles inside the thigh that all the squats and lunges in the world don't touch and one can attest to having just found them while doing a warm down after those very things.

Who knew there was such a useful bit of gym equipment in the home. Now all one has to do is convince Him that conventional sex is going to be as much fun as pinning one to the bed/ shower wall/ bench as he fucks one in the arse...

Maybe if one small slave squeaked and tried to get away more it would help...

Maybe it just needs to be less voluntary J

He did a brave, brave thing

He took one small slave to the Boxing Days sales and oh... it was a seething, teaming mass of people. We arrived bright and early and had a quick breakfast before moving to the first point of call... a sports shop. He needed new exercise shorts. It seems you can only tighten a pair of shorts so many times before the inevitable happens... they fall down regardless.

Mollini Rassi Black Patent

After that we emerged to do some serious girly shopping. It was starting to get busy. In fact there was a queue to the changing rooms... which was passed chatting to a charming stranger. A quick first round of the department store netted two skirts, two dresses and a top. Oh and a pair of shoes one had been eyeing off that couldn't be justified until this week, when one got back into a fabulous little tartan skirt (it looks like a slimmed down kilt without pleats... very school girlish) that one has had tucked away... for about five years. But it is out of retirement... and the shoes were on sale J

We then made our way out of the department store and to the boutiques. By then the crowd had started to crank up in an alarming manner. Three stores later there were a total of two skirts, one a fabulous purple... not a word from the peanut gallery... and two tops. Then the fun began because in the midst of all of this girly excess... the credit card is in a foetal position, rocking gently while moaning... we had another mission.

His mother wanted a new mix master and had sent us out to find one. Of course He did... a mere snip at about $500 less discount. For that price the damn thing should make coffee as well, but then one doesn't have kitchen appliances as one doesn't bake these days, so one is a poor judge of these things. The issue was that she had very specific needs and that one did fill the bill. The only problem was that His mother is inclined to be somewhat stingy with buying herself expensive items.

We stood there debating it for a few minutes 'cos it was at the other end of the shopping centre and the path back there now looked like the outer perimeter of a mosh pit. He stepped into the slow stream of humanity for the return journey... personally one would have lied and said there wasn't one... but that is why he got to be in charge. It helps if the leader of anything has some moral integrity.

As we were ascending to the upper levels one realised why His mother had sent us. It wasn't just that she avoided all of this excitement, but because she can't bear to spend that kind of money on herself. This neatly sidestepped that issue, freeing her up to whine gently about the cost while clutching her new appliance firmly to her loving bosom.

One small slave felt so dirty and manipulated... it seems to run in the family... and used... and not in a good way... though He did fix that too, later on J

The upshot of all this gratuitous spending was interesting though...

His purple meme is taking hold in spite of one's best endeavours to resist it and the skirts are about six inches shorter than one prefers...

Dammit He's winning

Bastard!

Merry Christmas

Dead, again

Waking up one stumbled out to the news that father had passed at 2am. It was mercifully brief which is all you can ask for under the circumstances. The baby sister is no doubt devastated as they were close. Personally one is still trying to feel something other than... well relief that it was so fast, annoyance that his timing was lousy, Christmas is sucky enough without this and well, that is pretty much it really.

On some level one suspects you are supposed to feel more when your father dies. We weren't close, but there should be something other than relief and annoyance surely? Maybe you can only grieve for someone once. Maybe that loss of him as a small child was so great that the grieving quota was used then. Maybe all those pundits were right when they declared that there wasn't a heart there but a swinging brick in its place.

Meh who knows...

Putting your tongue in others' hands

It is no secret that while not a huge drinker one isn't adverse to a drop of Sauvignon Blanc with dinner. As a preference one does enjoy the wines from the Marlborough Sounds in New Zealand. An area noted as much for its crisp fruity flavours as it is for wines that someone has taken great delight in naming odd things. For example just the other night one sampled a glass of "Squealing Pig".

Anyway we were over at our Tuesday night vanillas for a seasonal drink when gods forbid we ran out. It was only supposed to be a quick Christmas drink, but it developed into dinner and drinks... plural. So off the men scampered to acquire more supplies...

Now they are not drinkers... though our friend will have the odd several glasses as one discovered. So it was something of a concern when they returned home looking rather like a couple of school boys on a prank

Have we got wine for you they announced. You should see what these are called

Yes that's right, faced with a wide choice their selection criteria had largely been let's find the funniest name.

The first one, selected by Him because it was low GI, had the added wrinkle of being fruity and the other side of dry. In fact all it needed was a little olive oil and it would have been perfect on a salad. It was summarily rejected by all. With a lot of face pulling might one add. Fortunately He had bought a back up bottle named of all things "Lana's Bike". It was surprisingly better than the name would lead you to believe.

The other half of our vanillas choice was a Semillon by an Australian vineyard with the catchy name of Cockfighter's Ghost. Yes that's right, he chose it because it had the word cock in the title. He giggled like an adolescent as he resented it to the table. Frankly it deserved its gold medal... and to be selected by another criterion.

So yes... one wine selected for its qualities turned out to be a dud, while the other two selected by funny names turned out to be not so bad at all.

They both looked smug... if a little tipsy in one case

In fact He took time to point out that their selection criteria had been a sound one

She went back for the rejected bottle figuring enough alcohol had passed that its less than favourable aspects could be overlooked... driven to drink by all the smugness no doubt. Personally we took its reappearance as a cue to leave. It's always time to leave when they bring out the bad wine... even if one of you has been responsible for it in the first place J

How to strike fear into a man's heart

You know, one said conversationally, we could hit the Boxing Day sales.

He visibly flinched before asking in a measured tone, why would we want to do that?

Well we both need clothes...

See this is what happens when the world doesn't end on schedule... life carries on J

On the final countdown

So far the world hasn't ended. That means that there are two more shifts to get through. Then, for the first time in years we will have off from Christmas Eve to the end of Boxing Day. There are no plans to emerge until after Christmas has died. No sales, no people whining about how that wasn't the perfume they wanted as they try to return it, no people looking for the mysterious out back, no irate people looking for certain houses that will involve them going elsewhere and no people waving catalogues at one demanding to know why there isn't x, y or z left.

All one has to do is get through two shifts...

Without killing someone

Sighs is all sounds so simple

A strange thing

The other day one put up the mate to the caning picture on Fet.

Personally one thought it was a much better shot; it was clean and close... He preferred the other one. Anyway it captured the imagination of Fet... that is to say they loved it to Kinky and Popular. Which was lovely of them... if something of a double edged sword as it turned out... so many things are.

Apart from those who took time out of their day to give medical advice about the dangers of the items... rolls eyes... there were those who pronounced it "legit". For fucks sake a cursory glance of the profile would have revealed that damn bat up there. What you thought 11 (one had an unfortunate accident on the way to the shoot) candy canes was going to be a challenge after that? A big enough challenge for us to have to go to the trouble of faking the shot 'cos that was going to be easier?

If it hadn't been for the hard candy edges (which didn't last) and a general feeling of pepperminty stickiness the damn thing would not have noticed they were there.

Oddly enough though the sheer stupidity of those comments was not the problem...

No, it's the eleven sixteen twenty friends' requests from complete strangers who didn't read the profile

Head desk head desk...

Deeply disturbing

In the past one has mentioned some of the quirks of our local bus drivers near Christmas. Today's driver wasn't content with just a hat. No, this one had actually decked out the interior of the bus with Christmas decorations and jaunty little blinking lights...

Dear gods make it stop!

Rocks gently in a foetal position 

Caned

Cats and dragons

This has not been a good day. It started with Him waking one up on both his exit and return from the gym. In fact one stumbled into the study to point out His stealth roll had failed and he had awoken the dragon. It then drifted into the shower playing up in the middle of washing the hair... midway through conditioning and with half a leg shaved. He then went out of his way to piss one off in a multitude of little ways... it was quite deliberate and one retaliated suitably

It must be something in the air...

Even the cat who had commandeered His temporary spray booth... before he could use it of course... was in fine fettle. Not content to just spread black fur over the cardboard, 'cos it knows that black fur looks great in white paint and on white laundry alike, it took the trouble to reach out and sink a fang in. 

Apparently one small slave moving back and forth was disturbing its nap....

Hmmm... there seems to be a common theme here

The cat struck out for the garage after our little altercation and one small slave took a leaf out of its book and struck out for the bedroom, just as soon as the house keeping and lunch was finished. He shut the glass doors firmly on one's retreating arse. He claims it was to cut down on noise disturbance, but it felt far more symbolic than that. Either way one did re-emerge in a better frame of mind...

It didn't last...

He took time out of his day to spank one's arse at every opportunity... something about proving that one was mistaken yesterday. Though how the spanking is supposed to prove that He is needed remains something of a mystery...

But then maybe one small slave's logic is broken...

Or maybe the head isn't on straight

That must be it... beams happily in relief... 'cos otherwise He was being deliberately provocative as one suspected this morning

And so it begins

Coming out of the shopping centre after work the heat hit us like a blanket. Oddly though it had an almost dry feel to it and looking around at the sky one could see the tell tale grey off in the distance. Still the heat was oppressive and we came home via the marina, where we picked up some prawns and fresh oysters for Him. It was simply too hot to contemplate turning on an oven.

By night the heat had gotten worse. It was like there was no air, but the breeze brought with it a distinctive odour. It was all through the house, the nose was no longer working and the eyes were streaming...

The fires have begun in earnest once more.

Life in an Australian summer is hot and dirty and filled with assorted dangers... most of them naturally occurring and outside of the home...

Which does of course make one wonder sometimes why we practise BDSM... we could just go outside for the odd vicarious thrill

Hell for that matter one can stay inside and get all snotty and teary...

So really there is no need for Him to slap one's arse when one is lest expecting it...

Scampers off to tell Him he's no longer needed

The Christmas party

Tonight was the night... the night when we all get together on the company's dollar to celebrate the survival of another year. Except it wasn't such a celebration in some ways. Personally one is planning on bailing in the New Year... for a lot of reasons including the fact that the allergies are playing up and meds are only just making it bearable and even then the results are spotty some days.

It was a topic one had mentioned in passing to the manager a couple of days ago and at the time one thought her reply was interesting... you know normally I would try and talk you out of it, but in this case...

Leaving that little meeting one thought there is something else going on here... that was too easy

Well it seems that was the case...

Chatting to another staff member who is leaving... it is amazing what people will tell a sympathetic ear on a glass of wine... it seems that the business will probably be wound up at the end of the financial year. So there we all sat... with the co workers making merry all around one small slave who just felt profoundly disconnected from the whole event. And here one is stuck with a bit of knowledge that is just going to devastate some of the women who have worked together for upwards of 14 years and one can't give them so much as a heads up.

You know working for corporations just makes you feel dirty sometimes L

How to die like a tourist

At the moment the household is host to family friends from Atlanta, Georgia. That is to say His mother has gone away and we have been left with them. He suggested, as there are two small children, that they might like to go to the Lagoon for the day.

Seems like an excellent suggestion doesn't it...

Well it was until she showed one small slave a lovely little video on her camera of the three of them exploring the tidal pools. And her youngest petting an octopus. A "cute little blue one"...

That child must have a charmed life or that octopus must have been off his game. That or it was a baby who hadn't received the memo about first contact.

Seeing the look on one's face she asked is it dangerous?
Of course it's fucking dangerous. Its Australia.

Rule of thumb in Australia...

Do not pet the wildlife

Late in the evening

Lying on the bed, limbs akimbo, one contemplated getting up. Well it was more that one was trying to will oneself to get up... teeth needed to be cleaned and moisturiser needed to be applied. Just as one was summoning the strength to move He walked in. Or rather his hard on walked in and He followed.

Spying one in that compromising position He pounced, pinning one to the bed with legs over his shoulders. His hard on forced its way into an unprepared cunt... in spite of its attempts to repel the invader. Ignoring the squeals of protest He drove in, pounding the cervix repeatedly and stopping the feeble attempts one was making to get away from the source of pain.

He drove on relentlessly until he came... pulsing and thrusting into resistant flesh

Leaving one with no excuse not to get up

Honestly the man's motivational speeches leave something to be desired L

Don Wands nubby melon crank

Rather like that favourite juicer, this has been sitting in its velvet bag for some time... though not as long as the other one. Today it was pulled to the light to be tried out. To be honest one did rather look at it and think how did you get to our place? It was rather small and He tends towards the idea of go big or go home.

The implement:

• About 15 cm (6") long and about 2.5 cm (1") in diameter
• It has a head of about 4 cm (1 1/2") that is grooved just like that a juicer and that (along with the crank style handle) is what gives it that name
• The insertable length is approx. 9.5 cm (3 3/4")
• The base is approx. 5.5 cm (2 1/4")
• There are four rows of five smooth, raised nubs approx. 3 mm (1/8") in height around the surface and another nine around the base
• The handle is about 3.5 cm (1 1/4") and has a glass ball on it about the size of a marble.

The pros:

• Can be used anally or vaginally
• The nubs on the base are supposed to stimulate the clitoris as it goes round... not that one actually got to find out if that worked
• Pyrex for an easy clean
• Can be heated or chilled
• That smooth surface makes for an easy insertion
• Suitable for most levels of experience 

The cons:

• They are better with someone to turn them for you

To be honest one wasn't expecting great things from this toy... after all one had fallen in love with its big cousin. It did however live up to that adage about good things coming in small packages. When turned around in the arse it produced delicious sensations. So if you come across one in your travels one would recommend picking one up

Good news and bad news

He went to the doctors for a check up before one left and finally got round to seeing him for the results. The good awesome news was that He is no longer diabetic and no longer has hypertension. That means that He is no longer on meds for the hypertension... he didn't last long on the diabetic meds due to those unfortunate side effects. In fact He has surpassed the doctors expectations... it seems that he doesn't get so see anyone clean up their medical issues with diet and exercise very often.

This experiment with diets has also been interesting in other ways. See when He was first diagnosed with the diabetes we cleaned up the diet and he lost a little weight... which made no difference to his medical issues at all. It wasn't only that... He was miserable as well and it wasn't long before he slid off the diet wagon and back into weight gain. What changed all of this was finding the right diet for Him.

In this case it has been very low carb and very high protein diet... to the tune of nearly half a kilo a day of assorted meats, eggs and seafood. The sort of diet that should make any apex predator extremely happy... and it did. He likes having a smorgasbord of meats in the course of his day. There are some days when He trots off to work with gourmet lunches of boiled eggs, roast duck sandwiches, cold roast meats and a small side salad.

Ironically all this meat and eggs has lowered not just his risk of dying, but his cholesterol levels as well. Now that last one is interesting to one small slave because... well... not to put too fine a point on it one has shocking cholesterol levels. It will be interesting to see how they have gone at the end of this journey of dietary changes. Of course those high levels are hereditary... the difference is that father, who cooks enormous meals in an inch of bacon fat deserves his... and what keeps one off meds for it is the fact that one has incredibly low blood pressure and exercises.  

And that of course does bring us to the bad news. Father is taking a turn for the completely expected worse. The surgeon gave him a 50/50 chance of getting out of the hospital and into palliative care. Personally if one was a gambling woman one would have kept the surgeon on as a bookie... he gave optimistically good odds. As it stands he is bleeding again and the baby sister has once more had to fly down to be with him. The prognosis is not good. He's stopped eating and is on a course of fast and slow morphine. Sighs so now we wait and see...

Can we keep them?

Now while away one did manage to cram in a little shoe shopping. Nurses have a tendency to shoo you out of high dependency wards... usually at lunch time. Mostly one suspects it's so you can't see what they are feeding the patients... or rather not feeding them. Lunch, which is often an unappealing melange of assorted coloured scoops of unidentifiable foodstuffs, is usually universally ignored by the really sick.  Often they are struggling to hang on... they don't want to use that precious energy on feeding themselves that stuff.

Anyway while he was left to their tender mercies one scampered off to explore Dunedin. It might be small and there might be an alarming array of shops that are immediately recognisable to anyone from Australia... at times one thought one was there. But they do have something we don't have. Boutiques and independent shoe stores... quite a few of them J

Dagmar

By and large one was restrained. Oh one fondled things and tried them on for size... it was sort of the shoephiles equivalency of flirting really. What followed one home though were these

Not that one is quite sure what they are going to go with, but then as one doesn't have a winter wardrobe thanks to the weight loss no doubt one will find something. Perhaps those bloody jeans one had to buy in an effort to stay warm.

In fact one did ask in the most polite voice if that could be the case.

He smiled and said he would happily go out and buy something suitable.

Sighs one does keep trying to explain that a denim mini and/ or Daisy Dukes are not jeans. They are denim. In fact they are closer to denim belts than clothes.

It's not the same thing L

And the silly season...

Just got more stupid

At this time of the year stupidity is alive and well. Everywhere one looks there are small children dashing around with antlers and flashing red noses. Now this one expects. They are children, but the adults? Oh they take it to a whole new level...

We live on the crest of a hill. Last night when coming back from the gym one noticed an eerie blue light emanating from below the horizon. Of course one scampered along to the edge of the rise to look down to see what was causing it. Lo and behold it was a neighbour. Well to be more to the point it was a neighbours bloody Christmas lights. There were that many of them that it was literally lighting up the neighbourhood for miles. All one could think was thank the gods they are not our near neighbours.

Of course the decorating of possessions is not limited to the houses. Just this morning a car zipped past us bearing antlers. Now the blue balls were bad enough, but antlers? They are neither masculine nor homoerotic. Antlers on your car are just... well kinda sad really. And the matching red noses on the front?

Oh words fail...

Bah humbug!

Knock, knock

Coming home from work one made a discovery; there was no way to get in. His mother, who leaves the breezeway door open so he doesn't get disturbed by doors slamming, cat dodging and things of that ilk, is away. And some time ago He requisitioned one's keys because his bunch is too big to take to the gym. Yes that's right one small slave doesn't even have house keys any more.

Of course He went to bed after locking the house up tighter than a drum leaving one with no way to get in other than scratching at the door like the family pet. It did offer some insight as to why the cat always seems more hostile than grateful when you let it in. He's not exactly fast or gracious when woken. He stood there, bleary eyed and rumpled, and declared that as one had woken him it was only fair that one put him back to sleep.

Several orgasms later, one was shooed out of the bedroom and deposited out in the hallway. At least it wasn't back outside...

You know one can see the beginning of a disturbing trend here...

Paying for admittance

Now the cat might not get fast service, but at least it is free...

For some time now one has suspected that the cat isn't as stupid as it makes out... eyes the cat with deepening suspicion -.-

Separation anxiety

We have spent the last week without any form of communication. Actually one has spent the last week electronically blind... it was beyond frustrating. See one was dropped off at the home of a friend of the second step mothers for the week. There were no Google maps so one knew where the hell one was, there was no way to hop on the net to book an evac out of the damn town to get home and there was no way to work out where anything was in relationship to anything else.

It was all very disconcerting and disorientating and stressful. And it was put on the list of things to never do again... next time will be a controlled exit with electronics. In fact one intends to drip useful technology next time and proudly accept geek status. Mind you all of that stress paled into insignificance compared to being unable to contact Him.

We do everything and go everywhere together. There hasn't been a day where we haven't spoken or communicated in some way. It has been that way for the last 15 years. This felt like losing a limb... actually no electronics felt like losing a limb... that was far worse.

People on the net often waffle on about limb chopping and ketteh amputations... well one thinks that is what they are on about... after the first few years you stop listening. But one is here to say that there are far worse things that can happen than limb chopping... like the removal of that ever present control, direction and physical presence. The absence of Him is far worse L

We're back

Somewhere along the line one has become a white knuckle flyer... which is ironic considering how many miles one has racked up over the years. It's probably because statistically one knows time is running out of good graces. The anxiety has now reached the stage that one only has to roll up to an airport to drop someone off and the stomach starts its own particular dance. Forget about the flight of the bumble bee... this is far more lurching in nature L

In fact if it hadn't been for the problem that one was in beautiful devastated downtown Christchurch one might have contemplated staying there... indefinitely. Besides one had to come home... He was waiting patiently at the airport. Some little instinct says that making Him come to get one probably wouldn't end well... that's probably an understatement. Peers around and whispers the man is completely unreasonable at times.

To be honest though by the last leg of the journey all one wanted was to see Him, have a hot shower and sex... and sleep. This trip has been done with an average of five hours sleep a night... well morning to be precise. It had also been done with no contact with Him... something that was a special kind of hell in its own right. And with that in mind one emerged for customs and immigration far happier than most travellers...

After we had prised ourselves off each other, all the while feverently vowing that this will never happen again... He said even if he has to put a leash through the collar... we headed home to fall through the door, weary with fatigue (He had just finished work), shower and go to bed to reconnect the only way we know how...

That is to say we had glorious sex... lots and lots of sex...perhaps a bit too much of it. Actually as He came for a second time, buried deep in ones arse, one did pass the comment that is going to hurt. And there are probably more bruises and a nipple might need to be reattached...

Needless to say He amused himself for the rest of the evening aggressing those spots at every opportunity

Fuck it is good to be home J

In memoriam

This is not about the kindness of strangers, which one relied on heavily for board and lodgings while travelling, nor about how about how imminent death can bring out the best and the worst in families. This isn't even about the stylish nature of the women of Dunedin... though they are very stylish. In spite of the drab skies or perhaps in response to it, those women rock the brights... fuchsia, cobalt blue, reds, greens and vibrant purples of every hue... in scarfs, gloves, hats, coats and most interestingly to oneself... shoes.

No, this is about the man who caused all of this kerfuffle... father... the pack rat. As we cleaned out his little crib we got insights into the squirrel mindset. The man threw nothing out... every picture and memento of the baby sister's life was recorded in some box or on some wall. Including a picture of that haircut... the one we would all prefer to forget about... perhaps her most of all.

He lived in a small seaside enclave on the wild Dunedin coast line. A place noted for its quiet, breathtaking beauty and the somewhat eccentric locals. Most of whom seem to have gone there to escape someone or something... in his case one suspects it is the domineering women in his life. And having seen them in action this last week one can sympathise with him fully. He found this beautiful oasis of calm and settled in... to take the mantra of condense, reuse and recycle to its max.

He kept every box of every item that came across his door. Some of them were repurposed in inventive ways; Pringles boxes were used to store old bills in, empty pill boxes were flattened and neatly folded up inside a whole one, every plastic bag was stored inside another. While all of this was commendable there was one tiny flaw in the plan. None of it ever made its way to the recycling bin.

In his garage was every appliance that had ever been burnt out, while his previous car kept guard across the doorway... lurking amongst the camouflage of the foxgloves ready to aggress any accidental tourist.

We knew it was bad... we came prepared. As it turned out though, it was all unnecessary. In his cupboards was every cleaning product known to woman... all MIB so to speak. Hell we even found the economy sized bucket of rat bait... still full. Rather like the recycling thing it was never taken to that next vital level... much to the relief of the rest of the residing rodent population no doubt.

Until we came along and ripped it all out... twelve years of it... in one final blow to his idyllically peaceful, squirreling lifestyle. To get it ready for the next owner who will no doubt be no less quirky than the last...