My fondness for spending time with The Photographer grows, time in general, and time in play. He's very pleasant to be around, even when he's being unpleasant. Which is, of course, pleasing. We didn't precisely do what we set out to achieve, perhaps because we had set ourselves a mammoth list of high-fantasy sexual challenges that needed a lot of mood and build to set them off right, which I suppose could have felt intimidating or strange, as a second meeting. Although I feel like I know him well, I suppose that in terms of real time spent, I do not. The internet can give you a very strange sense of familiarity and intimacy, and the real world is an infinitely better, but more complicated, place to play.
We went to a play club on Friday night, which was interesting for any number of reasons and gets no other mention here, as it deserves its own post. I really rather enjoyed being driven home still in a collar, wearing his jacket for warmth and decency, handcuffed wrists resting against my spread thighs. Smiling to myself as we passed house after house full of people dreaming in the dark, unaware.
He set some ground rules on our return for how I would behave, whilst collared in his house: kneeling or on all fours, following orders, asking permission, speaking when spoken to. I called him "sir", I followed the tug of the lead upstairs, I got tied to the bed and fucked. It was great and I fell asleep very happy and content.
We took a break for most of Saturday, after ensuring that all needs were satisfied in the morning, of course. We reconvened in the evening to chain me to a coffee table so he coud use me as a canvas for caligraphy and take some shots. It was a new experience for me, and so worthy of its own section. Similarly, he put a hood on me later on, another new sensation, and one that I want to explore further both practically and theoretically, if only for the amazing contradiction of panic and calm that I kept feeling in alternating waves, I'll also write about this seperately as there is something about identity I want to discuss.
I realise that I'm splitting things up a little here, not just writing everything down as I remember it. I'm not trying to re-order things, or re-write them, in fact that is the opposite of my intention. I suppose I'm imposing an unnatural structure to ensure that everything is examined properly, described carefully and acknowledged in it's own right, rather than as just something that happened. Because it wasn't, each had their own flavour and feel, little pearls of experience, connected on a chain.
Sunday morning was strange, I had a genuine pang of sorrow at the collar being removed, as if someone had taken away the sheets as you wake on a cold day and that warm sense of comfort is suddenly gone. We sat and talked, drinking coffee and eating Cadbury's Whole Nut, keeping up that flow of dialogue that helps define and support all that we do. We both came away happy and with a definate sense of this being a good beginning, in fact, we are already planning the next stages.
CALLING ALL ANAL SLUTS
2 weeks ago