Black and blue

I went to Nimhneach with the desire to be soundly beaten. And thanks to my lovely friends that wish was fulfilled.

Thing is on club nights I thrive on hard scenes. Floggings in particular. Strokes land on my thighs, the backs of my legs, all over me. And I don't care at the time. Riding out the pain, loving the publicness of the play. I want to be marked and bruised. Reminds me of my early club nights on the scene where I was black and blue for days.

And those who like to play with me seem to enjoy inflicting such marks on me too.

But that's all well and good at the time. Waking up on Sunday mornings after the fact are not as fun. When turning over in bed hurts and I'm limping around the place. Dreading getting into my car. Unable to wear short PJs around the house or my short skirts to work. Almost shocked at how my ass and legs look.

Cancelling a wax appointment once again, cos there is no way earthly way I can explain the marks. And being slightly concerned I've jeopardised an upcoming weekend of play.

And when I'm next at the club, will I take it easier? Not play so hard?

Of course not, pain is fleeting on this eternal quest to fly.