Don’t try this2

 I really could go a packet of crisps right now; Cheese and Onion would be nice. Well I can’t get a fuck so I might as well eat…. Eating, Fucking and Sleeping. Oh and Shopping and having rows with rude bloody people on the checkouts, and feeding the cats, oh and defleaing the cats. Where DO they come from? They don’t go out. Is there a sign outside our door that says in flea “There’s a couple of silly cats in here with a pair of sillier owners who would just love you to come in and live off them for a few weeks. Bring a tooth brush?”

 Eating, Fucking, Sleeping, Shopping and Cat Defleaing That’s all I ever seem to do!

What a life!

What about the escape equipment…Oh yes Colin… Sorry. Yes the escape equipment! Where is it? Simple answer? -  I moved it out of the way earlier because the Bed Men were coming and now it’s sitting over there in that nice fitted cupboard and it might as well be on the FUCKING MOON for all the good it’s going to do me!

But, I hear you ask; “What about the handcuff keys? Surely even a wrong headed, simple minded, not to mention, scatty, cow like yourself, would at least remember to furnish yourself with the keys to the handcuffs which are currently locked snugly on to your wrists and making typing, not to mention dallying with your almost permanently lubricated and overripe little peach, extremely difficult and totally bloody impossible respectively.”

Phew!

Well first of all Colin I would like to thank you, on behalf of myself, for raising such a pithy and indeed pertinent question, which has, I feel, got right to the heart of the matter in one short “thrust” as it were.

 Oh and could I do with a thrust right now..Several in fact.

 In reply I would like to state quite unequivocally that the keys to my handcuffs are in fact; UNDER THE FUCKING CHAIR WHERE I DROPPED THEM JUST AFTER PUTTING THE BLOODY THINGS ON NEARLY TWO BLOODY HOURS AGO!

 Thank you Colin. I trust that clears up any misunderstandings or confusion that may have arisen over the last eleven pages or so. Eleven pages, is that what I’ve written? Bloody hell!

See, why I did this in the first place Colin was to see what came into my mind whilst I was tied up. And originally I was going to do it blindfolded to see, you know, what impressions came into my mind and to record how I felt and to see whether or not I started automatic typing. You know like some people do automatic writing …

You’re not really convinced about that are you Colin, I can tell from that sort of, well, blank look that you’re giving me. You just think that I tied myself up to give myself a bit of a wet puss and have a bit of a fiddle about don’t you?….Well let’s say I was trying to kill two birds with one stone shall we?

Escape options. Maybe Salt and Vinegar crisps, Pork scratchings? Grue! What made me think of them, I don’t even like them, yeuck, when I want to stuff bits of hard pig into my mouth…I’m not going any further with that one, thank you!

Escape! Well there’s Plan C which we have discussed but consider should be used only in a dire emergency. This is for me to bang and thump on the floor so much that it causes the Jackson’s, who live underneath me, to come up and find out what the hell is going on. We’re normally very quiet and they being members of the local Neighbourhood Watch Scheme know where I keep the spare key. 

However Mrs. Jackson is a very nice and very kind and cheerful lady of Jamaican origin who is also very devout and I shudder to think what she would do if she were to see me like this! Probably have me exorcised for a start!

So that leaves Plan D, which is to press 5 for the police! Of course I wouldn’t be able to speak much but they would be able to trace the call.

What do you say to the police when they walk in?
“Good afternoon Officer, lovely day to tie yourself up. I say that’s a nice looking truncheon, mind if I use it for a few minutes? Yes of course you can video it for the Station Christmas party…” 
                                        OR
“Hello officer that’s a nice pair of handcuffs you’ve got on your belt, oh look I seem to have an identical pair round my wrists at the moment!”

It would be no good lying to them and pretending that I’d been tied up by a burglar or something, I’d probably get done for wasting police time.

Oh and what if there were women officers present, Oh God, oh God, I mean they look at you with contempt as it is without having to sit here and explain why and how I managed to do this….

(TIRED VOICE) “Oh yes madam and your upper area, how did that, er they, manage to become tied up exactly?”

It doesn’t bear thinking about. But I’d probably tell her anyway in the hope that she’d probably have to go home and have a damned good wank afterwards.

No Police! I don’t care if I have to be here for days until they let him out of the hospital or Linda returns from her wanderings. I don’t care if I have to sit here in a pile of my own poo until someone comes and at this rate it certainly ain’t going to be me…No Police!

Plan B. Ah there’s the rub oh I wish I could, I wish I could….even a little rub would be nice right now. But Plan B ….

I went away for a little while there Colin I’m sure you noticed. I popped off to Ashley Renee’s site, yes Colin I AM a member and yes she is a woman and yes it is a bondage site and no Colin I am not “Into Girls” per se, although that is where Plan B comes in…. but it’s a very nice site Colin and Ashley really does have a lovely body, I’m looking at this from a female perspective Colin, and the pictures are extremely high resolution. But it is not her body that fascinates me Colin.

 It is her POUT!

No one pouts like Ashley Renee. I mean it Colin, no one but no one. Can you see the pictures from the inside I wonder? That look, that pout, it is SO intense it makes my spine tingle. It makes my teeth ITCH! Ashley Renee could pout for America Colin. In fact Ashley Renee could pout for the World. I just go there sometimes just to look at those lips and those eyes in perfect harmony and it feels as if my spine is melting. This, in my humble opinion, is a woman friendly site Colin. The pictures are often huge and in glorious full Technicolor detail.

This is not a collection of posed smutty Polaroid’s with a sexist male narrative chucked in to justify the fee. There is humanity here Colin, there are emotions, there is life, there is action and it doesn’t JUST come from Ashley, although she emotes her socks off (if and when she is wearing any!) and you can see from the expressions of the people with her that they are really INVOLVED, not just bored onlookers.

Sometimes it’s almost surreal. Ashley thoroughly tied up wearing LOADS of eyeliner and looking absolutely gorgeous (I tried the same sort of thing and ended up looking like an old slapper! He said it looked nice, but I KNOW Colin), whilst Eden Wells drinks from a can of Budweiser and then throws her legs in the air and starts playing with herself. Huh, chance would be a fine thing right now!

Then there’s Ashley as a schoolgirl, which is improbable enough, but the pictures are in black and white and they are not your normal, grainy fetishy black and white fare Colin, they are almost art. Ashley really does look as if it’s the thing that she does best. Her expressions are sublime.

Her diary accompanies the pictures each week and she more or less allows the world to see inside her soul, probably revealing way too much…What, like I’m doing now, Colin? Well you’re the only one who’s going to see this aren’t you?  Don’t think I’ve got too much to worry about there!

I FEEL LIKE A CRITIC. Hmmm. Wonder where I could get one right now?

There’s this one picture, where Ashley is in the naughty naked nude, as Ian Drury might say, and she is tied up in some nice Shibari Bondage, (a bit better than the dog’s breakfast I managed to make of this I have to say), and she has a crotch rope and she has been waxed. No not her legs, oh never mind. She has been waxed and there is no pain showing Colin, just that pout, that gorgeous, soul defining, life affirming pout and I very nearly didn’t have to do anything else for a moment… Ashley and I were as one. I think she might have been on the verge in that photo and so was I for a second and then it went. Damn damn damn!

That pout says everything about her that I need to know Colin. It says more than a thousand words ever could and that long black hair and that pale lustrous skin and that perfect high cheeked boned, sultry, sulky face. 

I don’t know whether I love her or I hate her, Colin. It’s simple jealousy of course but I’m a woman and I maintain the right to be jealous so there!

Now I have been known to throw the odd pout or two, HE often tells me I’ll get stuck like it if I’m not careful, but compared to Ashley what passes for a pout with me looks more like I’m trying to fart without anyone noticing.

Yes Colin take no notice of all these strait-laced harridans who tell you that they don’t. …Women do fart Colin, well I do AND I admit to it and I don’t try to blame it on the cats either.

 Perhaps I’m unique!

 After sex, mmm. After sex, that’s a real problem that one. Just when you and your partner are cuddling up, having reaffirmed your lover’s vows and you’re feeling all gooey and he’s probably knackered and could either kill for a cup of tea or a piss, (You must have gathered by now that HE is not a wham bam thank you ma'am, whip it, in whip it out, rollover, go to sleep and snore type), but is selflessly holding you and stroking you and making all the right noises and has even been good enough to stay inside you for a little while and not pull out straight away and thereby allow all your little muscles time to recover.

 Then, just then, when all is right with the world and you have just given him a little peck on the cheek and he is looking at you as if you are a bundle of fifty pound notes that he just found in the street, it is then that you suddenly realize that you are about to let loose a string of highly audible, fire cracker type farts that will not only destroy the pleasant cosy post coital atmosphere of the bedroom, but will also wake up the people in the next building into the bargain.

 It’s the air being pushed through your puss by the man’s enormous throbbing penis, sorry, carried away again, that does it, I think.

Okay plan B. Oh please not Plan B it could cause so many problems.

See plan B is phone Sarah on her mobile. Sarah lives with Linda and Sarah knows about my little peccadillo and me. Sarah’s a sister at the South Hackney and she doesn’t live too far away. Linda’s “dungeon” is in Hampstead and Bill is, oh wherever Bill’s job likes to take him, of course where his mind is is often another matter. Probably being wracked by images of me in a strait jacket hanging from the ceiling. Hmm haven’t done that one yet….now there’s a thought!

Sarah is older than Linda, and I’m older than Linda but I’m younger than Sarah and Bill is, well Bill is older than everybody, (everybody in the world I think). Oh I will have to hide this from him won’t I?

It’s like one of those conundrums. From the clues provided, decide how old each person is, where they live, what they had for breakfast and exactly who is screwing whom? Oh dear that could be slightly more relevant than you might think!

Right let’s sort this out once and for all okay…. Deep breath here goes…

I’ve always thought that I couldn’t have children! I had a miscarriage about 20 years ago and it did me a lot of harm. Well it nearly killed me!  I lost an awful lot of blood and the result was, that I was told none too gently, to forget about ever giving birth again!

Now I was never that strong on kids but it’s still a blow and I DID feel for a long time after that that I wasn’t a proper woman. My husband at the time thought so to. I walked out on him the first time he hit me!

No, I’m sorry Colin, my name is Sheila, NOT Ms Punch bag 1983 and I don’t care how sorry they are afterwards, once they’ve done it the first time and found they’ve got power over you and that they ENJOYED it, they’ll do it again. And again. And again.

So, no second chances with me matey, one strike and you’re out!

I met Linda at school. She was a lot different then to the Linda I know now. She’s had speech modulation training for a start. That’s the new term for elocution lessons. She says that men want to be ordered around by someone with a bit of class, not some old tart with a cockney accent!

Anyway she pulled me through it and we lived together for a while. Well about ten years to be precise and it was ALWAYS platonic, you’ll see why I mention that in a minute. It was about this time that my predilection for the ropes started to reassert itself and Linda encouraged me. Said I needed a hobby! It’s always been there, but latent, if you see what I mean.

 Anyway I’d never really given the child thing too much thought until I met Bill and well, I’ve started to go all broody and hormonal and started thinking about actually having children. Me with kids! I know…. I know. 

I mean he says he’s too old and it wouldn’t be fair on the child. God he’s not Methuselah, he’s only 48. Look at Michael Douglas. But I’m not sure that I would make the perfect mother; well not if I’m tying myself up in some cupboard half the time.

One day I was out with Linda and Sarah and well it had been on my mind for days and Linda could see that something was wrong and after a lot of probing in Starbucks it eventually all came out. Sarah told me not to be so silly and to at least go and get myself checked out. Things having changed a lot in the last 20 years apparently. New technology, new procedures and all that. There was a good possibility that they might be able to patch me up now. I don’t think she put it quite like that but you get the gist.

Sarah managed to get me into an outpatient’s clinic on a cancellation a few weeks ago.

 Look Colin there is something I need to make quite clear at this point. Now I know that I call myself a perv but I don’t hurt anyone except possibly myself. Well definitely myself I think. Oh I do EXASPERATE Bill sometimes but that comes with the territory. Can’t take a joke shouldn’t have joined, that sort of thing. Life, as he has said before, is never dull with me around, he’s normally scratching his head or cocking a Spock like eyebrow at me when he says it, but he likes a challenge…

I also take comfort from Kraft Ebbing who said that wanting to be tied up was not pathological whatever that means. But it sounds good, even if he did say it a hundred years ago. The problem there is that although you, or rather I, may not be pathological, the people who want to tie you up sometimes are! So be warned Colin!

Anyway it might be nice if I stuck to the point for once, wouldn’t it Colin? Well in this case I think I might be trying to put off the evil moment …Outpatients Clinic…. Outpatients Clinic.

So they called my name and I went into this little cubicle where I took all my clothes off and put on one of those bloody paper gowns that make you feel like a packet of chicken pieces and laid down on this gynaecological couch, you know the ones with the stirrups that seem to turn up in a lot of bondage scenarios and this one actually had the straps that secure your legs oooh…

Well that was it! I’m naked apart from my wrapping paper and my feet are up in the air and my puss is extremely accessible and I even gave a thought to just trying the leg straps. Oh and then I was away, imagining myself being tied to this contraption at the wrists and at the legs and having straps put around my body as well…. I was helpless Colin, (in my mind’s eye), and I started to wonder what would happen if the nice, efficient looking young nurse I had seen in the corridor earlier came in and asked if I wouldn’t mind her tying me up and gagging me for a few minutes, purely in the interests of medical science of course.. 

And I could see her Colin! I could see her in my vivid, not to say feverish little imagination. All sweet and clean and smelling of soap and saying “Don’t worry we’ll just tighten these straps here and this one there, just bite on the gag for me, that’s good, just going to take your gown off now….

Ever seen one of those natural geysers Colin, no I don’t mean Vinnie Jones, he’s a natural geezer. Well they start off by bubbling, then the bubbling becomes more intense and it soon turns into a bloody great gush, well that’s how my puss felt Colin. Here I was, nearly naked and nearly helpless, on this bondage table and I was well on the way to becoming A WET BUBBLING MASS!

And then Sarah came in!

 Sister Sarah in her smart blue uniform and her black tights. I assume they were tights only now I’m not so sure. Anyway she knew I was next on the list and she popped in to see how I was doing. BIG MISTAKE!

Sarah is quite big Colin, A size 16 probably and she’s a few inches shorter than me and she’s got that sort of short blonde fluffy/curly hair that people used to pay hairdressers fortunes for in the seventies. Only hers is natural! She’s big, not fat, just big. She’s got a large body but also muscular calves and quite large legs, (probably from doing the wards all day), so she doesn’t look out of proportion. She’s a strange mixture of motherly and sexy at the same time and sometimes she’ll have a wicked little glint in her eye that makes me think that there’s a lot more to her than she lets on!

Now I don’t know too much about Sarah and Linda’s private life. Strangely Linda’s never talked about it and I know her well enough not to ask. I have a feeling that they may JUST be friends. But when Sarah came in and walked up to me and looked at me it was like I knew everything about her and probably vice versa.

She KNEW what was going on with me Colin and I CERTAINLY knew what was going on with me, from the geyser in my nether regions to the tingles in my bare toes to the dryness at the back of my mouth to the little sparks flying up and down my spine and I looked at her Colin and her eyes were big and wide and innocent and I knew right there and then what she wanted…SHE WANTED ME TO TIE HER UP ON THAT TABLE NAKED THERE AND THEN AND GAG GER AND TEASE HER AND STROKE HER…But there is more much more. 

Not only did she want me to do it to her, but I wanted to do it to her too!

I wanted her naked and tied up on that couch Colin. I WANTED her there. I wanted to see those big thighs and those lovely soft titties and I wanted to stroke and touch them and I wanted her to be as relaxed and as calm as she could be under those circumstances and I wanted her to feel what it’s like to be really tied up and really helpless with someone who knows what it feels like themselves.

Having someone tied up is NOT about domination or beating, well not in SHEILA LAND it’s not anyway!

It’s about love and trust. It’s about being utterly helpless and utterly dependent on someone else. (Believe me those people are few and far between). I could do it for Sarah! I knew right then and there that I could.

I could blindfold her and gag her and stroke her and give her little light touches in unexpected places. I could kiss her, I could, well at that moment I could have done a lot of things and I wanted her to wriggle a little and shiver a bit and maybe shudder occasionally and I wanted to hear her gasp and moan and pant, but most of all I wanted her to ENJOY it!

Being tied up to me is not about pain and suffering, well it might seem to be when I do it to myself, but it’s not intentional.  But I KNEW what Sarah wanted right then and for the first time in my life I really wanted to love another woman. Oh dear.

OOOH spasms! Nerve endings! Tingles all up and down my back. Tingles in my fingers Tingles in my toes, this is getting quite intense. Now if this was television you’d be able to help me out wouldn’t you Colin? You know, you’d have a spare proboscis tucked away in your hard drive or a nano hand that you could have a little explore in my nano puss with. How about it Colin come on it’s put up or shut up time…

Typical man! Just when you need ‘em to deliver the goods …nothing! 

Well I’d just seen all of Sarah and she’d seen an awful lot of me and we were just looking at each other like rabbits look at a car’s headlights I think, when, thank goodness, the doctor came in and Sarah, in the time honoured tradition of the News of the World, made an excuse and left. Leaving me with Dr Burtmann, a tall slim angular lass, about 10 years younger than me, with long dark hair and a brusque manner and I was in full Ashley Renee mode by now, trying desperately not to pout and willing myself to become a desert downstairs and she strode dramatically past me on her (slightly) high heels, came back with a stool and started doing what for her is her everyday business. Asking questions and taking notes.

 Normal for her. Like a visit to the female equivalent of a massage parlour for me. And at one point Colin, at one point, she leaned over to me and asked a question in her curt manner and for a few seconds she was touching my knee and I can tell you Colin that there were great concerns at mission control that lift off was about to occur prematurely …but that wasn’t the worst of it Colin oh no!

Now I’m not into medical fantasies much, apart from the couch, so the speculum and the thing they put on their head that looks like a miners lamp didn’t do anything for me at all, but I was really dreading her getting any nearer, you know, hand wise. 

I mean, I don’t know how other women react when they are examined. I didn’t really have anything to worry about for a start but I am absolutely sure that I am not THE ONLY WOMAN THAT WAS WET WHEN DR BURTMANN EXAMINED HER.

Well she put her fingers in and didn’t say anything, she had rubber gloves on as well so she wouldn’t necessarily have felt how wet I was, but I was having these terrible visions of being so wet and slippery that I might cough or something and she might lose her whole hand in there and of her having to hike up her skirt and put one leg on the table to try to pull it out. Worse still, having to call Sarah to grab her by the waist and pull like some bizarre tug of war team before her hand finally emerged with a sudden squelch and they both landed in a heap in the corner of the room.

Well fortunately for all concerned Colin, that didn’t happen but I can tell you that she gave me the gentlest and most thorough examination that I had ever had. I mean some of these doctors (men AND women) are so rough you’d think they were trying to carve a new opening down there, but not Dr Burtmann. No, she was gentle and she was considerate and she kept asking me how it felt and I had to be very careful at times not to say “Wonderful. How is it for you?” But I didn’t of course.

Her manner changed as well, she was no longer brusque and curt. She was kind and solicitous. Still slightly aloof, but I think that’s part of her defence mechanism and also it’s part of the attraction!

 Oh yes Colin, I do feel that there’s an attraction there. Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear. But wait Colin it gets worse…she decided to use the straps and strap my legs into the stirrups…well that was it wasn’t it? First Sarah, then her, followed by a bit of bondage…. Lift off!

Oh God, Oh God. Wobbly legs, shivery back, goose bumps, pounding heart, dry mouth…..rich bubbling puss!

The engines had certainly fired, the gantries were lowering and the countdown had most definitely begun but fortunately I was able to cut in to failsafe mode and abort before I reached the stratosphere.

 Failsafe mode, that’s if I want to delay things, so I think about the most ridiculous thing that I can imagine at the time.

In this case it was HIM in leather trousers and a leather waistcoat and big boots sporting a ponytail and carrying a whip…never been know to fail…had to suppress a giggle. She must have thought I was a fruitcake. Or maybe she didn’t ‘cos the next time she saw Sarah she asked in a very discreet way if she thought I was gay!

 She doesn’t know about Sarah because she doesn’t broadcast the fact that she lives with another woman. Sarah was ostensibly happily married for fifteen years to a doctor who WAS gay and only decided to tell her ten years in when he broke up with a house officer he’d been seeing on the side for most of their marriage!

How did a Mistress and a Full Time Health Professional meet? Well Colin, to cut a long story short, Linda had been having pains in her right arm for some time, but one morning she woke up and she had lost the use of it completely. Worried that she might have had a stroke or something, she took herself off to Accident and Emergency, where Sarah, on that particular day, was Duty Sister.

Now Linda is not an ordinary looking sort of woman. She’s six two in her bare feet for a start; she also has waist length dark brown hair with an impossible shine and apple cheeks and a mischievous look. Oh and she tends to wear a lot of leather. She’s very upright and walks with the sort of poise and grace that even some models can’t manage. You could say that she stands out in a crowd Colin.

Anyway, it was summer and she was wearing blue jeans with strappy four inch heeled sandals and BLUE nail polish and a silk blouse and a leather waistcoat and Sarah, who is nobody’s fool, began asking her questions about her job, whilst she was doing triage on her and they got talking and Sarah, yes Sarah, who was totally sanguine about talking to someone who tied up, dominated and quite often whipped men for a living, eventually asked Linda out for a drink, but not before she had told her, Colin, that in her opinion, which would need back up from a doctor, Linda was suffering from RSI!

Yep, Repetitive Strain Injury. CAUSED BY OVERUSE OF HER WHIPPING ARM, WOULD YOU BELIEVE!

And she was right! So Linda decided there and then that the day job had to go. She’d already done some modeling and a bit of writing and she also wanted to start her own website, which, even as we speak, (or write!), is very close to being launched, and yes, she did meet Sarah for that drink and they haven’t looked back since! 

Is Linda a rebound thing? I don’t think so. Neither of them seems to take roles, they just seem to be two women living together who happen to sleep in the same bed. Both of them deal with men a lot of the time in their working lives, one damages them and one repairs them, if you see what I mean! Between them they’ve got a cottage industry going there!

 They could probably set up their own business as an offshoot of the NHS - The Lady Linda Hutton Memorial Wing for the Mentally Bewildered, or something. That’s Linda’s professional name by the way, Lady Linda! One of her brothers used to be (he’s no longer around) a Beach boys fanatic and he called her that all the time – it stuck!

 I’m probably sending out a lot of mixed messages here, but what the hell. I like women, I like them very much. I am in fact one myself, in case you hadn’t noticed. But I prefer to have sex with men for some unknown reason. Just the way I was brought up I suppose, upper working class background, strong moral values and all that.

 Even if I didn’t, why would I have to be labeled? I HATE BLOODY LABELS! I’m not, as far as I know Colin, gay! But “GAY” is just a label, what does it mean? I’ve never felt the need to have “SEX” with a woman in real life and even if I had, does that mean I’m gay? Does it mean I’m bisexual? God that one sounds even worse.

Why does it have to be labeled at all? Why do people have to be so bloody precious and call themselves something? If you like playing around with women so what? You like playing with women! Do you have to be gay? Ooh I’m having a rant, aren’t I Colin?

 When I was “single” I used to have fantasies, not an enormous amount, because I could do a lot just by tying myself up! Now here’s a thing. When she was “learning the ropes “, as it were, of her current profession, Linda used to ask me if she could tie me up for practice. Oh happy day! Sometimes she’d tie me and gag me and tie me and gag me over and over again. It was like Christmas every day. 

And every time she finished I’d waddle back to my room in my soaking wet knickers and play with myself in utter bliss for what seemed like and probably was hours.  Of course she knew Colin! In fact I think she wanted to see just how much of a state she could get me into sometimes, as a mark of her professionalism and skill! But it always stayed a private thing – actual sex, even just a little rub would have spoiled it between us. I am convinced of that. So we never went there. There were a few close calls though!

Anyway, fantasies... If a woman tied me up in a fantasy Colin, it was more or less coincidental.  To me, being tied up by a woman was less threatening than being tied up by a man. And I’d had some dodgy experiences with men in real life..

It was never sexual as such. It was more what you’d call the Damsel in Distress Fantasy I suppose, where I might be caught or trapped by another woman, have most of my clothes taken off me and then tightly tied to a chair or a post or whatever happened to be available. There was never any sex involved.

 I might be in an episode of the Man from Uncle, or The Avengers, or something like that and yes Colin I DID get rescued by Robert Vaughan a lot, though sometimes, at the risk of going all shivery again, I might be an enemy agent who He had to tie up and let me tell you Colin that he always seemed to take his time over the tying!

Some women have violent sexual fantasies I don’t! I’ve been on the receiving end of sexual violence and the thought of it does absolutely nothing for me at all. There’s no violence in the way I get tied up. In SHEILA LAND it’s calm and measured and a bit (or maybe a lot) sexy.

I’m not into whips, or dominance, or submission. Calling someone Master or Mistress, yeah like I would, yeah like Santa Claus works in July! Sorry. Calling someone Master or Mistress does nothing for me at all. I just like being tied up! That’s it. Don’t read anything else into it, BECAUSE IT’S NOT THERE!

 I LIKE BEING TIED UP! I’m not dominant or submissive – label that one! 

Not in a dungeon. Not in some sleazy back room or basement. But in the comfort, not to mention splendour, of my own bedroom, by someone in whom I have the utmost confidence and trust. That someone obviously not being myself, as you may have gathered. The fact that that someone is also my confidante and lover and best friend…

 Oh you’ve seen him Colin, which is probably just as well, otherwise you’d probably go off the deep end and imagine some sort of 25-year-old Prince Charming with white teeth and a big heroic smile and a little soft moustache. Oh sorry, I’m getting giggly again.

All right, all right, Prince Charming he ain’t, but I love him. Oh God Colin I love him and all of a sudden I’m going all gooey again and I want to have his baby and I know that it’s not sensible and I know that in my heart of hearts it wouldn’t be fair on the child and I know, yes I DO know Colin, that I won’t go through with it because the outcome was that I CAN be fixed. Yes Colin they can rebuild me. They can create the world’s first Bionic Crone…Went again then didn’t I? Problem is I don’t want any little accidents…and I don’t want to deceive him either because that’s happened before…

A short treatise on men and condoms: 

They haven’t got a clue!

That’s it they haven’t.  Bill trying to put on a condom. I mean just watch him! Oh he does try. He’s a dear. He really does try, but it’s hell watching. I mean bearing in mind that we’re both fairly psyched up and he’s trying to open this thing in the dark! (Yes we like to have sex in the dark and the quiet and solitude of the bedroom where we can share our most intimate moments. Instead of, lets say, a roundabout on the M 4, or on the balcony or in front of a bloody web cam. I know that might make us sound weird!) So, by the time he’s got it open he’s probably gone soft and then he has to try and find the bloody thing, his dick that is, well and the condom as well, because he’s probably put THAT down to try and breathe some life into his flagging member. 

His member remember is now only an ember!

 That’s quite clever, I think, for the spur of the moment.

 Now bear in mind Colin that this charade used to take place when I was tied up and I had to lay there watching him fuck about with this bloody condom. I mean for Gods sake, it’s only a penis it’s not that big! (Take it from One Who Knows Colin.) Dear me, for all the effort and the grunting he used to put into it you’d think he was trying to put it on over his head or something…now there’s a thought! And when he was trying to get the aforesaid member going again I used to get quite worried that he’d forget about me altogether and just finish himself off before I even got a look in. Oh and then, when he did finally get the thing on, he’d normally manage to put his finger through it and then he’d have to start all over again!

Just imagine…Having to watch all this malarkey tied to the bed AND gagged and not being able to tell him exactly what you think when he’s hopping around on one leg trying to put this thing on. No, I don’t know why he does that either… But THAT Colin, THAT is REAL torture. Forget all the whips and the chains, just try watching someone being a complete Pratt and not being able to tell them exactly what you think. Yes Colin, it is a bit like Prime Minister’s Question time I suppose.

So we stopped having tied up sex and now I can put the condom on for him and if his member needs a little life breathing into it then I can do the breathing and I don’t have to worry any more about him strangling himself with a Durex Fetherlite. No, because if necessary Colin, I can do THAT for him as well! 

You have to remember a couple of things. I can’t take the pill because of a slightly overactive thyroid. So we have to rely on condoms. Now he’s not used to condoms, as I’m sure you gathered, but what man is? Good grief, the last time he had sex I don’t think they’d even heard of AIDS, but he hasn’t got a problem with using them as such and he even goes out and dutifully lays a pack of one hundred in every so often. Well the way HE uses them that would probably last us about a week. 

But you ask, if I can’t have kids why bother? Well there’s the rub. I still have periods you see (I’ll tell you about them some time Colin) they can be very irregular but I still have them. Oh and PMS as well. With a vengeance sometimes.

 Next time you see him ask him about my Pre Menstrual Syndrome Colin, it’s a subject close to his heart. Tap him on the shoulder and ask to see the cut on his leg where I kicked him, (forgot I had my Fuck Me Pumps on). Ask him about the vase Colin, that nearly decapitated him! 

He walks away.

 He doesn’t try to calm me down, because he knows that only makes things worse. So he walks away and he goes off and does something. Probably sticks pins in a little wax effigy of me. Then later, when I’m back to being Sheila again instead of Conan the Barbarian, I go and find him. Well it’s not that hard in a two bedroom flat and I say “sorry” in an embarrassed little voice and he says that I don’t have to apologise because he knows it’s not really me doing it …Actually sometimes he’s so fucking understanding that I nearly start all over again.

 Women can be very ungrateful sometimes Colin, LEARN TO DEAL WITH IT!

Any way it looks like they can sort me out. Pending them having a poke around with a camera. Oh it’s some sort of oscopy I think. Oh a Pussyoscopy or something, I don’t know! Anyway, it should stop the irregular periods and you never know, it might stop the PMS, or at least ease it. And I know someone who will be very grateful if it does!

It’s a simple procedure apparently and I THINK it can be done under a local and out the same day. Dr Burtmann is going to do it and I think Dr. Burtmann might be, you know. Or am I seeing, er, people who like people of the same sex the way Senator McCarthy used to see commies, under, or in, every bed! 

 In the huge big wide scheme of things when thousands of people can die if the weather changes or at the will of some Mad Man, does it really matter if Dr Burtmannn AND Sarah both want my body and that eventually leads to what we refer to as sex because we have to bloody label things? 

Well of course it does and don’t be taken in by all my Liberal Bullshit Colin, because the truth is that I am frightened to death by the whole thing! 

Now that would be fine if that were all there was to it, but it isn’t. Because it also makes me so shivery and goosy (and wet) sometimes, that I think I might faint. Maybe that’s why Victorian women were always having attacks of the vapours. They all fancied each other!

Why Sarah? Why me? Why now? Why Dr Burtmann! I’d never had strong sexual feelings about one woman let alone two, until that day at the hospital that is, and then like buses, they all came along at once and so, very nearly, did I!
 

For the last however many years women and sex have avoided me like the plague and yet, and yet, the minute I seem to get sorted and am prepared to settle into a nice, (reasonably) stable relationship, the whole of womankind seems to think that I ‘m an object of desire to be sought out at the first opportunity. Why Colin? Why?

And it doesn’t matter if I want to or not. I couldn’t do it to HIM! I don’t want that sort of a relationship Colin, I really don’t. I’ve never been an unfaithful sort of person and just because I seem to have become a Woman Magnet all of a sudden, doesn’t mean that I am going to start now. So you can see now why Plan B has been kicked into touch… I hope. 

I was only throwing in all those references to McCarthy and other things earlier to show you what a clever girl I am Colin and that I used to actually pay attention when I was in school, instead of spending my entire time thinking about who I was going to marry and what sort of house I was going to live in and how many kids I was going to have, and who I was going to shag in the playground. Because I wanted to have a CAREER.

 I’m not a complete idiot, I just act like one sometimes, sometimes like today in fact. But I’m quite single minded and if I decide that I want a thing then I go for it. 

No Colin, I didn’t decide that today I wanted a big purple bruise on my head, that just happened.

Linda and I used to sleep together sometimes for comfort. If either of us were having a bad time, it often seemed the natural thing to do. It’s quite weird to be woken up at one o’clock in the morning by this six foot two giant with just a cardigan wrapped around her asking in a tiny little voice if she can get in bed with you because she can’t sleep and needs a cuddle. Yeah you wish Colin, you wish!

I am (almost) absolutely sure that neither of us even considered sex. We were just mates. End of story. Does everybody who lives together have to have sex? Bloody hell, hundreds of thousands of married couples don’t. Well not with each other anyway! 

When I told Bill about us living AND sleeping together he didn’t turn a hair, well he can’t afford to turn too many at his age. He just accepted it. He didn’t give me a sly look or tap his nose or anything.

 I know it’s supposed to be every man’s fantasy Colin, two women I mean, but it didn’t seem to bother him in any way. I mean he didn’t make an excuse and stroll a little awkwardly off to the bedroom and he didn’t seem to be getting an erection. Mind you that can be difficult to detect at the best of times! Colin if he ever shows any signs that he is going to read this, I want you to crash immediately. Do you understand?
 

And yet, if he told me that he’d slept with HIS best pal, then I would be extremely concerned not to mention suspicious and I’d probably have the private detectives on him before you could say Elton John. That’s just the way the crumbly cookies as they say! So much for our enlightened society! And I’m not going to go into why two women together are acceptable and two men aren’t. … I have a feeling that it might be a penetration thing. We can’t, they can. Oh but where? Brrr.

Sarah, oh yes, Sarah. Now can you see why I’m very reluctant to call her, even though she would be over here in a flash and she’d be all concern and ointment and she’d get me out of this mess…Eventually. 

It’s not that I don’t trust Sarah; it’s more that I don’t trust myself. She’s going to find me like this, remember, and she’s probably going to imagine what it was like if she was like it and she’s going to be all kind and wide eyed and soft and tender and I’m still gagged and she might not take the gag out Colin! She might sit on the bed next to me and say something like “Oh, you poor thing. How long have you been like this?”

 And I’ll look at her all misty eyed and pleading and mumble something and try to smile a little smile and then she’ll take me in her arms and give me a great big Anais Anais smelling cuddle and start stroking my arms and then move her hands ever so slowly down to my bare legs…. bugger, bugger I might be frightened shitless by the thought of it, but obviously the upstairs departments haven’t bothered to tell downstairs about it. Ooooh my back is tingling. Well I might be frightened but that’s not going to stop me right now ‘cos I’m getting desperate. I had myself going again then but I just couldn’t quite make it …shit!

Right, I’ve got one last chance at this before Bill gets here and that is The Dream. Yes, The Dream, Colin. That’s the real icing on the cake that is. Well you can see why I’m reluctant to call Sarah because things might go too far. Just as an aside let me tell you something about Sarah. She never wears nail polish when she’s out even if she’s wearing sandals or mules or just open toed shoes, she never wears nail polish oh unless you count clear varnish which she does wear sometimes and it somehow makes her look more vulnerable, more innocent, more sexy.  Am I strange Colin? No don’t answer that, well you can’t can you? Well I’d be bloody concerned if you did let’s put it that way.

I was going to tell you a very long time ago about what Bill would do when he got home. Oh my back’s starting to ache and my head still is and my nose isn’t bleeding but it’s still sore and my calves and knees are very stiff from being in the air all afternoon and my bum, well my bum is almost completely numb, but, and it’s a big but Colin, there is another area not a million miles from my bum that is not numb at all and is still awash with feelings and other things and my tits, oh my tits just throb and ache and that’s making me wet as well…Oh God I’m perverse. I’m just going to have to lean back against the chair and close my eyes for a few seconds, I’LL BE BACK!

© Wallace 2001. This work remains the property of the author. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. The characters and events depicted bear no resemblance to any real life incidents or to any persons living or dead. No reposting or copying is allowed without prior permission.