poeticdesires

Category: Rope

  • Bondage Bullfight

    “You are using the rope to deliver your message; your receiver is your bottom, not your knot.”

    At the front of the class stood a whiteboard. The bottoms faced the back, unable to see what Dart, the presenter, wrote. The tops read the word and began.

    My class partner started softly, slowly. Immediately there was intense eye contact. Easing in closer, they pressed their body against mine and wrapped their rope around me.

    Bringing my arms up, they tied my limbs in front of me in an almost prayer position. They hugged me from behind. I felt safe, loved.

    Nuture.

    For the second word, the mood in the Pavilion immediately turned cold. My partner took the rope, which they had previously unwound from my body, and used the fibers as a whip, stinging lashes across my skin.

    “Do you like this?”
    “Yes,” I squeaked through yelps and cries, finding some solace in the catharsis of the pain.

    Quickly working, they cinched their rope around me tight, the fibers biting into my skin. They dragged the rope across my body, burning brutally.

    They pulled my hair. They forced me down to the ground. Their boots pressed harshly into my body.

    They tied one arm above my shoulders, the other below. And they tightened. And tightened. And tightened. I screamed. I cried. I dove into the pain.

    Dart told everyone to stop. He wrote something else on the board. We bottoms didn’t see this as well.

    And then everything changed.

    My partner slowly began untying their bindings. They eased my arms from their ropes. Again they pulled the rope across my body, but this time sweetly, soothing my skin.

    They joined me on the floor, laying their body against mine. They began caressing my hair. With a bunch of the rope in their hand, that massaged it against my face. With their body and the rope about me, I felt safe again.

    When Dart brought the group back together, my partner and I never stopped touching each other. Some part of me was always touching them; we needed to remain connected.

    As we began to talk about our scenes, what we noticed, how things affected us, Dart began with a rather surprising comment towards myself and my class partner:

    “You two over here almost brought me to tears. That’s a lot coming from a gay man.”

    People spoke about letting themselves fall into the words given, turning off parts of their brain to allow the scene to go where it needed.

    I spoke about the change in how my partner drew the rope across my body, the same action but with opposite motivations. How something so basic can be performed in vastly different ways.

    The second word Dart wrote: Ruin.

    Dart’s final words: I’ll Protect Your Forever.

    Class dismissed.

  • At That Moment…

    …my head was on his right boot. His left boot was on my back. I was naked, except for the ass hook in my ass. I was…pleased.

    At that moment, I heard him typing on his Mac, his goal near accomplishment.  And once he hit publish, he removed his left boot and turned the screen towards me.

    “I may misdirect, but I never bluff.”

    There it was, emblazoned on my blog. A momento of our scene. A token to symbolize the hour and a half we spent together, both of us gaining information.

    My arms were tired. My legs were tired. My nipples were sore. My clit was still warm. My head was still stuffed up.

    He let me put my head in his lap, rubbed my back, and caressed my hair. I didn’t need him to fetch anyone else. We remained there as we both came back.

    “I like your tummy,” I said. I just felt like saying it.

    He needed water. I crawled away from him, the glint of metal still in my ass as I swiveled my hips in my task. I stumbled a little, but made my way into the Dungeon, found his refreshment, and brought it back. My head returned to his lap.

    After a while, I sat back and smiled. I laid against the blue matts. We just kind of looked at each other for a bit.

    “You still have an ass hook in your ass.”
    “Yes I do.”

    It had been intense. More than intense. I had pushed myself further than I ever expected I could. I loved that he pushed me.

    And then he revealed a little secret: the pepper wasn’t a habenero, but it burned enough all the same.

    As we eventually gathered up our things, my riped off clothing and his toys, he wanted to try one more stimulus.

    He had three small hooks. One went into my nose. The other two went into the sides of my mouth. Using rope, he pulled them all taut.

    “I guess I shouldn’t have taken the ass hook out.”
    “No, you shouldn’t have.”

    I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to. I had no idea how much I would love it. Love it. But he was cleaning up, putting away his toys and recoiled rope. We were winding down. I was being polite, too polite.

    Something else to try, next time…

    Oh, and he found his Ow stick. It was in the grass, hidden by the dim light. He gave me matching ow’s on each of my breasts. Two more bruises as trophies from our scene.

    [For context (or for those who happened to miss it): At The Moment…]

  • Interrogation part 4

    Let’s review.

    It was a dripping-sweat-hot Thursday night.

    I had invited Gray to have an interrogation scene.

    For my trouble, I found myself tied tight in 4mm hojo rope, partially suspended with only my left leg for support. I wore heels and stood on two overlapping matts, both contributing to my general lack of stability.

    My arms were behind my back, my right thigh up in the air. My clothes were cut and riped off of me through his chest tie. There was a metal ass hook in my rear attached to my hair.

    A piece riped off from my outfit served as a gag. In that gag sat a habenero pepper, which I was instructed to not drop. If I did, there stood a threat of mean pincers or large gauge needles to keep it in.

    Nipple clamps dangled from my chest, their chain looped through my gag. If I bent my head forward, I pulled on the ass hook. If I bent my head back, I pulled on my nipples.

    Oh, and in the process of Gray’s layering of stimuli, I had been paddled, caned, kicked, slapped, and punched.

    All this, and Gray hadn’t even gotten to his inquiry yet.

    Pulling up a metal folding chair, Gray sat down just on the outside of the blue matts. He opened up his Mac and went to my blog, this blog.

    He then went to the blogger home page, typed in one of my email addresses, and asked one simple question, “What’s your password?”

    I stayed silent.

    Gray reassured me I would know exactly what he would post. He pulled up WordPad and began writing his diatribe.

    It was mean, calling out multiple riggers I knew, including him, and saying many not nice things, mentioning how I didn’t need them anymore since for this event I was now rigging others myself.

    Gray was especially hurtful towards himself, mocking his personality and his physical features, specifically his stomach.

    He said he was going to post that on my blog. All he needed was my password.

    Finished typing, he looked up at me and again asked for the information.

    In many things I am open. I write a lot about my life, both kinky and not, on this blog. But somethings I am protective of, one of them being my passwords. I use upper and lowercase letters, numbers, symbols, and I throw in a word. I like knowing and feeling secure about my Internet privacy.

    But here Gray was, sitting on a metal folding chair, Blogger up, wanting to know information I have never told anyone, ever.

    I hesitated. Looking at the email address he listed, I realized it was the wrong one for my blog. He had typed my kinky email address, which I’d acquired after I’d begun the blog.

    I didn’t want to give away more than I had to, and if I’d given up the password to the wrong address, that probably would’ve incurred yet more wrath from my captor.

    Through the gag, I was able to spell out the correct email address. But Gray still needed the password. Again, I hesitated.

    Sensing my unwillingness, even strung up and over stimulated as I was, Gray upped the ante. Using his blade, he cut off the tip of the pepper and made a small V.

    “This can easily go on your clit. What’s the password?”

    Reluctantly I said the first few characters, but then stopped. Angered, Gray put the tip of the pepper on my right nipple. Crying still more, I coughed up the rest of the information.

    But it didn’t work.

    Gray asked for it again. I spat it out through the gag, but it still didn’t work. He typed it over and over.

    I suspected he had one of those programs that blocks a site from loading, just another layer of mindfuck. He typed out the password, showed it to me, and submitted once more; nothing.

    He thought I was fucking with him. He thought I was misdirecting. He thought I was lying. I swore to him that I wasn’t lying, swore to him that I didn’t know what was going on.

    In the swirl of emotions, the pepper top dropped. Gray picked up the piece, rubbed its juices on his hand, and massaged my clit. The burning was immediate, as were my sobs.

    I didn’t understand why it wasn’t working. I told him that was the correct password.

    But then, in a flash, it occurred to me: maybe I wasn’t remembering it all. I use a mnemonic device to recall the intricacies of my passwords. Maybe I skipped something or used a number instead of a letter. Maybe I genuinely got it wrong.

    I asked him to switch a number and a letter; nothing. I asked him to try a different variation; zilch.

    Finally we’d tried enough times to enter a password that Blogger asked a security question. This, thankfully, I did remember. I gave him the answer and he was in.

    He closed his Mac, stood up, and began letting me down. He removed the pepper and the gag. He slowly lowered my right leg, which had gone numb. I cautiously put weight on it. He released my chest tie from the arch and slowly helped me to the ground.

    Unclamping my left nipple, I screamed; intense pain surged in my breast.

    “The right’s going to be worse.”
    “I know; just do it!”

    Again my cries filled the tent, echoing out over the lawn.

    “You know, my nipples, they never went numb.”

    He unwound his rope, my arms and hands numbed as well. Finished, he sat back in his metal chair. He instructed me to come and put my head on his boot.

  • Interrogation part 1

    …and I stumbled forward, falling to my knees, my body twisted around. He pulled my hair more, bringing me back up, dragging me to under the wooden arch.

    He placed his arm around my neck, choking me, keeping me close. He pulled out rope from somewhere, either in his pocket or simply in his free hand. He immediately secured my arms behind my back. As soon as he cinched, I recognized the feel: 4mm, hojo rope.

    What had I gotten myself into?

    He was not kind with his tying. He didn’t care if it pinched or was pretty. As he drew the rope across my body, it bit into my skin. I felt the burn of his rope as he pulled through my arms and cinched tight against my torso.

    As he worked, whipping me around like a rag doll, I struggled to keep balance. There were two blue mats under the arch, too big to fit side-by-side. At the center was a small peek.

    As he moved me about, my unsteadiness in the heels showed. Thankfully I was able to lean my body against the side of the arch, trying to keep myself off the ground.

    This only lasted a minute before he pulled me to the center, lifting the line up and securing it above. I was trapped, my arms behind my back, my legs unsteady, my torso bound, unable to flee.

    He grabbed my left leg, threw a quick cuff around my thigh, and raised it up, securing the rope above again.

    “Yes, that is your support leg.” This was getting better and better.

    I heard and saw his flourish with the knife, his butterfly knife, so pretty in its possibility for pain. He trailed the blade over my leg, and then stepped behind me.

    I felt and heard the rip. He pulled off a piece of my shirt and fashioned a make shift gag, tying the fabric tight. No cheating with this one.

    He cut at my shirt and skirt randomly, the pieces of fabric hanging off of me. And then he went for a bra strap.

    “Please don’t.”
    “What happened to full destroyables?”
    “Fuck it, just do it.” And he did, slicing through my bra.
    “The wrong time to tell me to not cut your bra is in the middle of the scene.”

    I paid dearly for my mistake as he pinched my now exposed nipples in punishment.

    With my outfit in tatters, he pulled the pieces of fabric through his chest tie, burning as his wrenched it all off. Note to self: Listen, remember, and NEVER wear an underwire bra when you’re going to have your clothes riped off.

    Now naked, save for his ropes, Gray decided to add some adornment. Strutting back to his bag, he lifted a glinting piece of metal. Stepping behind me again, his hand caressed my very wet pussy.

    “Of course.”

    Using my own juices as lube, he slipped the ass hook into me. With yet another piece of hojo rope, where he pulled it from I do not know, he grabbed my curls and cinched tight. Tracing the rope down my back and through his chest tie, he secured my hair to my ass hook and then back up to my hair again.

    This was not to be a pretty scene, or a sensual scene, or even a service scene. With my head now sitting up, my eyes were wide open.

    I had never been in a scene such as this, with Gray or anyone else. So far, though, I was enjoying the ride.

  • Practice

    I was nervous. Incredibly nervous. We chose a point out in the open, with everyone able to see me. We chose a point over concrete. If she fell and hit her head… We chose a point outside, with the Sun on a downward path.

    I was nervous.

    But Amethyst was my Big Sis, which both increased my worry but eased some of my fears.

    This was to be practice. I needed practice, and she wanted to be in rope.

    I needed to tie other bodies besides my own. I needed to understand how other people’s parts worked. I needed to push myself.

    So we chose Wednesday evening after dinner to play.

    After gathering my things, I began setting up my point on the Y truss beside the Sex-o-Rama tents. The Sun was going down, but I knew I had plenty of time to work. I used every piece of webbing I owned to secure my ring at my preferred height. I locked off my knot and slipped a carabiner in as a safety.

    Amethyst arrived, strecthed, and we began.

    Going into this, she knew I would not be Ms. Dom-ly Domme. It is not in my nature anyway. Instead it turned into a playful conversation as I wound my hemp rope around her body.

    At first I tried one hip harness, but she found this one to be uncomfortable and I didn’t like the way it sat on her body.

    I started again.

    I chose a simple chest harness, adding a line over both of her shoulders.

    And then it was time to lift. I did it slowly, hip and then chest and then legs. She sat back into it. Immediately she knew she couldn’t stay long. It was the one rope over her shoulders. Instead of giving support, it made the chest piece uncomfortable. She was up for about a minute.

    I got her safely down. I unwound my ropes. I asked her about the other pieces she sat in. How could I improve her experience for next time?

    As I checked and coiled my ropes, I realized I had set myself up to fail. I wanted her to have this awesome rope-y experience. I wanted to be this awesome rigger who could get her up and keep her there forever.

    But Big Sis is Big Sis for a reason. She reassured me. She comforted me.

    I got her up and I got her down safely. This was practice, not some intense energy exchange or malicious pain acceptance. Just practice, and two friends getting to spend time together.

    Every rigger starts somewhere. Amethyst was my first tie of the weekend.

  • Temptation

    “She has an unfair advantage because she’s British.” – Gray
    “I’m going to write a letter!” – Slut

    I knew going in just how to act to get my way. I used the smile, the down turned head, the quiet eagerness to lure her in. I dropped into little mode, the fifteen year old girl inside of me wanting something I knew I couldn’t ask for.

    She was obviously interested in me, brushing against my skin, eyeing me up and down. She held rope, which I wanted on me. And she wanted to do the thing I couldn’t ask for.

    And when she asked me about it, I told her how much I liked it. I told her how I moaned and squirmed, and how I like it hard and soft. She seemed to like that.

    Soon her rope was over my wrists, and I was over her knee. I loved the sound of her hand meeting my ass, loved being in someone else’s control.

    But then my Master caught us.

    I groveled at his feet, tried to calm him down. He yelled at her, blaming her. When he asked me what happened, I told him I never said she could spank me, only that I really liked it.

    My Master yelled some more. I stayed at my place on the floor.

    I felt bad for the lady, felt bad that she had to suffer the anger of my Master, but I kept my mouth shut like a good little slave, except that night I wasn’t one.

    ~

    I love Gray’s Apocalytakink class. I especially love it when I’m prompted to act in his scenarios.

    For this particular ideration, I was to lure an unsuspecting Top into playing with me in a way that was specifically forbidden by my Master. Unfortuantely, Slut was chosen as the Top.

    When she spanked me, Gray burst into the scene, acting as my Master, yelling at Slut for crossing a line she did not know existed. True to form, she stayed calm and tried to pivot the conversation.

    The goal of this exercise was to have the class think about consent, explicit versus implied, as well as ways of “How To Not Be A Dick When A Dick Is In Your Face.”

    By staying calm and not letting the argument escalate, I think Slut handled herself brilliantly.

    And, after the scenario ended, I apologized profusely. Afterall, no one can resist my temptations. [/sarcasm]

  • Audience Participation

    “Who are you going to fuck with that?”
    “Her.”

    I had remained at NHF’s knee, watching the various happenings, as Slut delighted in her scene with Dov. However we did have a play date set. Me and her, my vagina and her fist. This however was augmented when she approached me wearing her big blue cock.

    With an audience of two in tow, NHF and a kinkster, and a service top to boot, my One Rope Partner, our little party moved towards the end of the room previously occupied by WykD_Dave & Clover who had since departed.

    Laying down a sheet and a chuck, the fun began. Slut stripped off my clothes, and ORP began tying me. Using some hojo rope (oh, how delightful) he restrained my arms crossed behind my head. He also frogged both of my legs.

    Slut playfully beat me with her big blue cock before slipping on a condom and lubing up.

    And then began the fucking.

    Slut and I have fucked before. In fact I broke in her big blue cock when she first bought it at last year’s FetFest. As she pounded, and I screamed, I asked permission to cum. Thankfully, she gave it more often then not.

    But, being as I was acting kind of bratty, and we both were in a playful mood, this would not be the only activity for our scene.

    With a stroke of genius, Slut grabbed her knitting bag, pulled out some string, and wrapped it around my boots.

    “But you’re a puppy.”
    “I’m a puppy for some.”
    “You’re a puppy playing with a pussy all wrapped up in string.”

    For my snark, Slut used her knitting needles to strike my nipples. And, when once again I ask permission to cum, she began punching my chest. Five hits. I waited, endured the pain, before I was finally given permission for my ecstasy.

    As we were fucking on the sheet, I had completely forgotten we had an audience. That is until the audience members joined us on the floor.

    NHF again wore his leather harness, but this time with no other clothing. The kinkster donned a strap-on. The pair, right next the fun Slut and I were having, enjoyed some fucking of their own.

    As Slut and I continued our amorous interaction, I asked for a position change. My legs had begun to cramp. With a simple push, I ended up on my side. Slut then went back to our fun.

    Soon, though, I had to end our fucking. Though my legs had had a momentary reprieve, they’d begun to cramp again, and now the strain on my neck had grown to more than noticeably uncomfortable.

    Rolling me onto my back again, Slut and ORP began untying me. I looked over at NHF and the kinkster, who had since ended their time as well, and sought out aid.

    Gaining permission to call him Sir again, I asked, “Sir, can you hold up my leg please?” His aid attained, being polite I uttered a “Thank you Sir” while trying to relax my legs and neck.

    Soon I was free of my bindings, happy glowy from my time with Slut and her big blue cock.

    But there were still more orgasms in my future Sunday evening.

  • A Good Friend

    Connection. Appreciation. Care. Love.

    Watching WykD_Dave & Clover play Sunday night in a small side room of the dungeon was so powerful, so moving, I started crying. Seeing what they had. Remembering what I didn’t.

    Quickly and quietly, I slipped out of the space, grabbed a tissue from the rest room, and re-entered, taking my seat again. I wiped away my tears. I brought myself back.

    NHF had not seen me when he first entered the room. Didn’t see me as he surveyed the space. He chose a seat across the doorway from me, close to the opposite corner, and watched the rope scene as well.

    I remained as I was, a quiet little church mouse taking in the play.

    But when I returned and sat again, I suspected he saw me. It wasn’t until I looked up and over at him that our eyes met. I gave him a smile.

    He, in turn, pointed at me and with his index finger beckoned me over. I got up from my seat and quietly scurried towards him. His finger now pointing down towards the ground, I knew my spot.

    My head was soon on his knee.

    I didn’t know if he saw me cry, didn’t know if he gave the silent command because of my strong reaction or just because he knew I’d want it. But I do know being at his knee made me feel better.

    He is not my Sir, nor is he my Daddy, but in that moment NHF was a good friend.

  • Torturous Rope

    “Little different from the last class.” – ORP
    “Yeah, but it’s still one rope.” – Veskrashen

    As I squirmed on the ground in excruciating pain, intermittently crying and laughing, Veskrashen, my current class partner, and my previous partner from the proceeding lesson, WykD_Dave & Clover’s One Rope, uttered that perfect exchange above.

    Yes, our current lesson was a little different, transitioning from simplicity, sensuality, and deep connection in One Rope to here’s some ways to easily fuck someone up in Scott Smith’s Torturous Rope.

    Note the name of the class: Torturous Rope. Apparently that part where it says Torturous kind of just went over my head as I encouraged my rather sadistic friend Veskrashen to attend the class with me and be my partner.

    We had shared a rather emotional lunch, talking about heady things in our lives, and frankly I wanted us to have some fun. I didn’t realize he’d attended WykD_Dave & Clover’s class too until the end; those ninety minutes were that intense. This little gem of a fact made the above comment all the more appropriate.

    The first thing Scott taught us was so very simple, yet so very effective. Larks head around the ankle, under hand knot around the pinkie toe, find a straight line, and pull. Forgetting my previous toe issues, I instantly screamed out in pain, cursing Veskrashen.

    “Our first motherfucker of the class,” exclaimed Scott. Apparently my pain pleased him. Oh, who am I kidding? Scott is a sadistic motherfucker; of course my pain pleased him.

    Scott’s next tie was so dubbed ‘The Tie That Made Bendy Puke.’ Yeah, I was really looking forward to this one.

    First you wrap your parachord around the ankle and secure it with a bowline on a bite in the front. Next you find a pressure point on the top of the foot, “the crunchy spot”, knot the rope just above it, split the lines, wrap around the foot, come back up and diamond through the two lines you’ve created. There was now a knot right over that pressure point making pain happen.

    Pulling up, you twist your two lines, and place them through the second and third toe (another pressure point). Next, split the lines and go around either side of the heel, catching the Achilles tendon, ending up back on the top of the foot. Run each line over to their far sides, catch the heel line, and pull back up to the top of the foot, applying pressure to the Achilles. To finish, over hand knot on top of your first knot.

    As many people cried out in pain multiple times during this process, including myself, Scott bemoaned, “I’ve so got to order some more pity. I’ve been out for years.” Yup, Scott; sadistic motherfucker.

    Scott’s third tie involved wrapping parachord around the face, catching the underside of the nose. I’m not even going there, though I will say it was my least torturous experience in the class. This is probably because some years ago a shoulder running by slammed into my face, centering on my nose. Nothing was broken, but it’s kind of hard to top that pain.

    Scott’s fourth and fifth ties were quite similar, involving the same technique: constricting muscles. Attacking now the calf, Scott explained how to larks head and use reverse tension to inflict your will, adding more constriction as you went. With one of his bottom’s calves tied tight like a baked ham, Scott decided to mix things up, massaging her leg.

    “They really like that sensual shit.”

    Yup, she didn’t.

    Of course Veskrashen, being Veskrashen, came up with the brilliant idea to tie the Bendy tie to the calf tie, creating new worlds of pain. Thankfully he only had one piece of borrowed parachord, saving me from such a fate.

    One of my funnier moments of the class occurred as I tried to keep up with Scott’s lessons. Even as Veskrashen incited screams of agony, I still took notes. After all, I was taking the class too and wanted to be able to recreate the ties as well. And, yah know, Teacher’s Pet.

    Once, as I was jotting down the steps, Veskrashen cinched his rope tight. I heaved in air, but still tried to keep writing, forcing myself to not focus on the pain. Then, of course, either Scott or Veskrashen (I can’t remember who because of how bad I was hurting) started taunting me, reminding me I needed to keep taking notes.

    A room full of sick motherfuckers and their willing victims. Yet another fun class for my Sunday.

  • Drunk Blogging

    My roommate DeepEnd makes the BEST Long Island Ice Teas.

    Haven’t done this in a while. Blogging while I’m drunk. But I didn’t want to go to bed without blogging, cause if I wait til tomorrow morning, I’ll either blog or run on the treadnill, but not both cause then I’d have to wake up way early.

    I was SO horny today that I masturbated for like an hour. And then my roommates made fun of me because I was worried they’d be like offended by the noise, cause I can get loud, what with the screaming and stuff. But then SkinnyBitch was like, “The first time I hung out with you a guy hand his fist inside you for like two hours.” And I was like, “But ya’ll know I’m uber polite.” And it was funny.

    Amethyst makes the best Crescent rolls. They were just what I needed when I was lying on the couch watching Private Practice for a few hours.

    Before I was downstairs practicing my self suspension, before the Long Island cause only stupid people rig when they’re drunk. Yeah, so I practiced tying myself and I totally rocked it. I got myself in a sideways suspension and was on the ground tying my left leg into a Futomomo (learned that term at Shibaricon), and then pulled myself up and secured my hip harness and tied my leg up and was like, “Yeah. This is awesome.” And I tied a one-handed ankle cuff on my right leg and attached the wraps around my chest to my ring and pulled up and ankle and it looked so cool. And then I realized I had no one around to take a picture, and that kinda sucked, but then I remembered I’m going to Fusion and I was like, “Yah know what, I’ll do this again there and get someone to take a picture.” Cause I don’t have any pictures of my tying myself and no one knows you’re a rigger, let alone an awesome one, unless you have pictures of your work.

    I’m suppose to be tying two of my friends at Fusion. And tying myself. And hopefully getting tied. Yeah, I think my Fusion gonna be awesome.

    I was talking about it with the Gent today. He called me, cause I had a nightmare about him and woke up and texted him and he told me he was okay and that made me feel better. But then he was busy tonight so I couldn’t see him. But then he called and my new iPhone 4s was being stupid and he mistakenly hung up on me and I was screaming at my phone in DeepEnd’s care and SkinnyBitch was like, “You know that’s inanimate (wow, I think I spelled that right) object and it can’t hear you.” And then DeepEnd was like, “Yes it can. My phone has an app that responds to when I yell.” And I would have found their conversation really funny except I hadn’t talked to the Gent in a really long time. But then I got him back. And we talked for a little.

    He’s not coming to Fusion. I had this awesome fantasy of him magically appearing, possibly at my abduction, but that’s why I called it a fantasy, cause it’s totally not going to happen. But at least I’ll get to see him when he’s back from his work trip.

    So yeah, I’m gonna have an abduction at Fusion. That, I’m sure is gonna be an awesome blog post. This one…I don’t know about. But then again the last time I did this, which was like a long time ago, people seemed to like it. So yeah.

    PS. So my friend’s blog, no two of his blogs, cause he has like three, were hacked and I’m not happy about that. I read his blog. I like his blog. I really like his blog cause then I get to read his thoughts on stuff and he’s really insightful and wise. And it gives me a piece of his life while he’s far away and busy. So whatever this Saudi Terrorist bullshit hacking of my friend’s sites is needs to go away so I can have my blog posts back. Dammit!

    Okay, time for bed. I have work tomorrow. And Sunday. And family obligations Monday. So I should, well, sleep. Yeah, that. And then wake up and run on the treadmill because it makes me happy. Not because I love it when people notice I’ve lost weight. Or when my clothes fit better. Or when it’s easier for me to suspend myself. Or that I feel more sexually confident the fitter my body gets.

    Yeah, sleep now. Stop typing, Kristen.

    So SkinnyBitch introduced me to My Drunk Kitchen on YouTube. I’m probably gonna watch those tomorrow. And then read this blog, cause I’m not gonna spell check it or anything. Cause, well, I’m drunk and it’s more funny this way.

    Once every couple of months makes this refreshing, right? Not, like, stupid, I hope.

    Bed now.

    So there is this guy… NO! Bed now.