Fallen comrades

As one has said before the trouble with getting older is that you forget things. Memories become kaleidoscopes of colour and impressions that fade a little more with each passing day. Personally one doesn’t have a problem with this on some levels... actually most levels to be honest. He thinks it is good to remember things... a bit like exercise for the memory in some ways.

Oh don’t get one wrong, one does realise that most people remember their past, particularly significant events... it seems horribly overrated in some ways. Those boxes are there for a reason and yes the base level of mild anger that one operates from probably is unresolved grief, but one is not convinced that talk therapy works either. The trouble is that although a good time was had by all, some didn’t make it. Sue was one of those.

She was with Hobbit from an early age, a glorious redhead with an engaging manner and an impish sense of humour. Although he adored her they parted. She wanted marriage, children, a home and a white picket fence while he did not. In the end they went their separate ways though like most of his exes they stayed in touch... It was a bit like being a clan member in some ways, all held together by the shared experience of him.

We hung out together, vetted his new girls, sunbathed together and went out. One night a gentleman came up to us and asked to speak to Mrs. Hobbit. There was a peal of laughter and a voice quipped- which one? There are about seven of us in this room tonight. He wanted the original one; an interesting tale in her own right for another time...

Unfortunately living with Hobbit had given Sue a taste for a lifestyle she couldn’t afford. She decided to make the most of her assets and went on the game. The idea was to make her money and run. Of course she spent it faster than even she could make it... furniture, furs and a powder blue sports car that had an automatic roof that would never work when it rained.

When one met her it was ten years on... a long time on the game. She was still glorious, but the alcoholism was taking its toll. Her life was complicated by the fact that her mother had died of  Huntingtons disease. As there was a sister she had a 50/50 chance of having it. Sue wouldn’t get tested... she always knew it was her that had it. She drank to forget; unfortunately combined with her fondness of diet pills it made her volatile... fine and giggly to homicidal in half a glass.

We were home one night when she rocked up sporting a bottle and a black eye. The first she had grabbed on the way. The latter was from her then boyfriend. It turned out she had gone for him with a carving knife and it was the only way he could stop her. That relationship ended with her tipping all his belongings off the balcony of the flat, and her molotoving the lot.

She drifted off into her own world, lost to all of us. We would get the odd message. Like the time a taxi driver turned up with her beautiful silver fox coat. Apparently she couldn’t pay the fare and had told him to take it to Hobbits. She was kicked out of her flat and lived here and there. The last Hobbit heard was from her father; he had her in and out of rehab and care places, but finally she checked herself out.

Sue died alone in a park of complications from Huntington’s disease and exposure. She was 38.

And for years one was so pissed at Hobbit for his hand in all of this and at all of us for not taking better care of her, but the young are judgmental and the old know you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.

Substitute

Out grocery shopping the other day one was happily engaged in apple selection when one glanced up to see Him fossicking in vegetables. It gave one an uneasy pause. He looked at one across the bins and noticing one had assumed a pose that probably resembled a prairie dog, a smirk flitted across his face. None of which allayed the sense of unease that was emanating from a certain part of the anatomy.

Scampering to join Him the heart sank when the worst fears were confirmed. He was handling cucumbers... and not in same way a cook does. Finally He selected one and popped it in the shopping trolley. It is amazing, but when one goes looking for a decent sized cucumber there is never one to be found. Unfortunately He didn’t seem to have encountered that problem at all... in fact the damned thing looked like it had been pumped with growth hormones L

Now you are probably wondering what this has to do with the knickers shot aren’t you. Well for the odd ghoul and ghouleh (yes they are gender specific) amongst you, it’s your substitute. Unfortunately when we hopped into bed... one of us with more trepidation that the other... we realised He was actually shattered and at that moment one’s blood pressure decided to take a nose dive. The end result was the two of us laying there making vague commitments to next week.

 Wonder if He would like to curl up in the car while one does the grocery shopping for the week... and more importantly... does anyone have a recipe that needs an enormous cucumber?

Mirror, mirror

Peering in the mirror with a mild sense of dissatisfaction one turned and said the trouble with working out is you start to notice how asymmetrical a body is. He gave that blank look that women, regardless of relationship style, recognise. It is the one that says why are you talking in tongues? So with resigned patience one pointed out to Him that one side of the hips are noticeably higher than the other. He repeated the blank look. OFFS come here to the mirror.

He dutifully trotted over with the other look women the world over recognise. It was the look of it will just be easier to humour the mad woman. After one carefully pointed out the issue He repeated the blank look with a puzzled frown wrinkling the forehead... and the sideways look that signals He is obviously talking to a completely irrational person. And then it clicked why we were having a communication issue.

Not only was one standing there naked, but there was a bald pussy between the hips. So the process was going something like this; look at one hip, eyes move to the right and hit the pussy. Pause... now what was she saying... oh right... the hip. Eyes go to the other hip. By which time there is no memory of the original hip at all. See the truth of the matter is that men and women do not see a naked body the same way at all.

Women have a tendency to look at body parts in a disconnected from the whole kind of way. We run a critical eye over each part individually. Men on the other hand seem to see the whole. And if it is naked, they see the whole in terms of potential. And frankly the closer they seem to be to the naked whole, the less they tend to be critical. The obvious solution to this is that one needs to wear clothes more often... that should work.

The whole submissive thing

There is an ongoing debate on Fet about submission. While some would say that you have to be submissive to be a slave, others would debate that loud and long. Now generally one just doesn’t join in these debates... in part they are usually not in groups one wishes to be a member of and well... ones view on the topic is usually not warmly received. It would be fair to say it usually upsets people no end.

So for the record... why one will never be considered submissive by anyone who actually knows one small slave.

The whole submissive thing just requires a different type of person than one will ever be. As far as one is concerned submissive is a personality trait. It indicates a person who is malleable or at least docile and yielding. It is a sad fact the only time one even comes close to it is when He has jammed something so large up ones arse that it is temporarily taking one’s breath away. The rest of the time... well... one accedes to His wishes and not always gracefully, though one does try to curb the worst excesses. OK it is often mid stride, but at least one gets that behaviour is wrong and there is a desire to change it.

Even at work one tends to scrape along the edge of things. Just ask any manager that has ever had the pleasure of coexisting. In fact the only thing that saves the work relationship is that usually one works in corners of places they are happy to avoid. It means we have less contact time and they don’t get to experience how twooly difficult one can be. Even with customers that whole agreeable thing is used to up sales... it is a tool not a state of mind.

The school of thought that one’s persona is a way of hiding the soft inner side, that is just waiting for the right man to bring out, is almost as laughable as the Walt Disney version of "Sleeping Beauty". That is not to say one doesn’t try to be more agreeable for Him... one is acutely aware that He deserves the best one can be. Being in love makes one strive for this as much as any desire for harmony. Not to mention a whole raft of avoidance behaviours... there is a healthy respect there J

None of this makes one submissive though.... not even close. And He comes closer to inspiring it than anyone. Mind you as He says it is a bit like the concept behind "A Clockwork Orange"... you can make someone good, but if they have no free will are they really good or just broken? Submission is not some lofty goal for Him. Sighs you know one can just feel that good slave award slipping a little further away...

Improvements

At the moment they are doing a massive refurbishment of the local shopping precinct. The trouble with all the apartments going in is that the shops are a melange of 30’s and 40’s architecture. Small grimy places configured in strips along two parallel roads. Hardly the salubrious area needed for such luxury to nestle in.

So the council is doing its bit by ripping up all the streets and paving to replace them with cleaner looking concrete. It is going to take $20 mil and a year to complete. And despite all that expenditure there is not going to be so much as one extra parking space... something the area desperately needs. Which you have to admit is an impressive bit of planning, even for a council.

Travelling through the area is like traipsing through roadwork hell. Traffic has been redirected along impossibly narrow streets... which probably looked fine on paper. The dust settles everywhere and the noise is abominable. You can’t get to the shops without stepping through the rubble or walking out of your way to use the access points.

The area comprises of small businesses; ice-cream shops, outdoor cafes and restaurants, takeaways and boutiques and specialty shops. All of these rely heavily on the summer and tourist trade to get them through winter. So of course the council started the work just before Christmas. And of course rather than doing the area piecemeal, which would have allowed the businesses to continue, they have tackled all the area at once thereby maximising the damage.

The shops are doing their arse. When you see large handwritten signs in their windows extolling people to support their business you know that things are grim. By the time the council has finished we calculate the only things left will be The Coffee Club, The Hogs Breath, The Rustic Olive and the Wholesale Pharmacy. Mainly because they have an evening trade, which might be enough to offset the fact you can’t frequent them during the day due to the noise and dust. Mind you it hasn’t been enough to save one of the pubs... who ever heard of a pub closed on a Tuesday night in Australia.

On the bright side the area will have the cohesive appearance the council was aiming for. It will be a swish looking area, with an occupancy rate that will be equal that of the luxury apartments... somewhere in the vicinity of 30%. It will be the dawning of a new age for the area. An area that one whit has dubbed Deadcliffe. Perhaps there will be enough left over for a new sign...

Dragonflies

Lately they keep turning up everywhere... in fabrics and jewellery designs. With a steady persistence and increasing numbers they tap away at the psyche. The other day at the gym (which is on the second story of a shopping centre) was the first time one noticed them in person. They floated and flittered on the air currents; all glitter and movement.

Now the ground is swarming with them. You have to step through clouds of them as you walk to the bus stop. And as you walk it is impossible to distinguish between shadow and substance as they zip about in the dappled light coming through the trees. All you can do is trust that they will dart away at the last minute, thereby saving them from destruction.

The very first time one saw a dragonfly was a wondrous moment. Father was home and had been roped into some school excursion by mother and one was taken as well. There it perched on the bush as though aware it was a source of delight to one small child. It had a large striped body in orange and black, with clear blue tinged wings and it was huge. That dragonfly was built for distance and in hindsight one suspects it was not native to the area, but blown in by some freak air current.

Ever since then one has had a certain fondness for them... they are a sort of totem creature. Only a shoephile would choose a predatory insect... why settle for two or four legs when you can have six with a keen sense of the hunt. They have a tendency to turn up when life is in a state of flux or about to take an unexpected turn. Perhaps it is time to take a step into the unknown and dust off the resume.

Something closer to home would be nice. Something that doesn’t involve travel over that damn bridge, which has been condemned, would be smart... ‘cos one suspects that is going to cause delays in the future.

Situation normal

When you live something it becomes normal. You accept it, incorporate it and don’t think about it... well not much. It isn’t until you encounter others and their views that you look at your own. To one small slave our life is quite normal. Well it is our reality... how else is it going to feel?

It isn’t until someone starts a thread, like MT did about privacy, that you sort of stop and go... but everyone pees in a bowl don’t they? Just like everyone’s nails, hair and clothing are dictated by their owner’s preference. And all owners snoop through your mail, peer inside you with speculums and bright lights, take pics of you in compromising positions and enjoy posting them in semi-public places. Actually they don’t ‘cos it depends on what the person in charge is into, but it makes you stop and go- oh OK.

You might know in the rational part of the mind that we are all different, but it is often a surprise just how different we are. And it makes you feel a little more of a freak and disconnected from everyone. This sense of alienation is one of the reasons why many owners are in two minds about letting their property on boards. They are a double edged sword in many ways. Yes you get to reach out and touch others similar to yourself, but there is a price. It makes you question the nature of your reality and it sows little seeds of dissent and envy...

Whines they get to use a toilet all the time... L