First of all, my email system has recently glitched. I use Calypso in part because Catsy had installed it years and years ago, and moreover I'm used to it, I like it, and it seemed a bit safer than Outlook Express since so many folks seem to target their viruses at Outlook users. I've never had this happen before but somehow a day or two ago my finger stuttered on some key and I ended up with two versions of Calypso opened, and when I closed one I found out that I had picked an archived version to save. The archived version was dated 12/31/01 - and ALL of my January email out and in was gone, vanished, kaput. This both as Peter, and as the name my Mother gave me.
January was a very pivotal month for me in many aspects of my life. Any of my friends, lovers, business partners, extended constellation of whatevers - if we had something in discussion, let me know. If the last thing we had going was an argument - what a refreshing chance for us all to let go. If you owe me money, check your karma. If the last thing we had going was "hey - let's get together and do the nasty" - lemme know please please please?
My apologies to any this may inconvenience - it sure does me!
Oh, and thanks to all the Blue Blazer Regulars who have been continuing to send in such good info on the PDAs and cell phones. Thanks thanks thanks.
So, housekeeping aside, I've got a brief report about last night to pass on.
KSlave came over for our first date kinda play date. We've had chances over the years to indulge in a good bit of fun, but most often it was when her hubby invited me in to do some terrible orgasmic damage to her, whether at LIL, the Wet Spot, or whatever. We started chatting recently about a specific play technique and we were both excited about it. It's something I've been wanting to do for a long time, something that mesmerized her like a moth to a flame, and we figured "what the hell, let's go for it!"
The topic? Labial and nipple saline injections.
I got home from work about 515pm, and thought I had til 7pm to get the place straightened up from dropping yesterday's trousers on the recliner, last night's dishes on the TV tray next to the computer, time enough to lay out all my tools and instruments of joy, and damned if she didn't call me at about 517pm to tell me she was getting off the interstate and ten minutes out. Oh, well. Here's me in all my splendor and welcome to the abode.
I welcomed her in, made a call to the Rickshaw for egg drop soup and prawns in lobster sauce, and we chatted for a goodly while about this, that, a bit more this, some more that, occasionally dropping into her absolute near-paralyzing anxiety over sharp objects getting close to her nether bits. She's had a lot of play piercings, but none below the waist. Her two labial piercings at least left jewelry behind after the agony. She has a whole bunch of beautiful tats, one just started this week, but through all that, and despite being a very experienced and sensual sexual masochist, needles near her nether bits terrify her. Not quite an aichmophobia, but you can see it from here. I did my best to both calm her. answer her questions, and so on. Tried to do my best to give her strength and hope for her trust.
What I want to talk about now is a tale of incredible bravery. Anyone who has won a high military award in combat will tell people that they never set out to be a hero, they just kept on doing what needed to be done even after being scared pissless. That was my date last night.
She came in knowing that she was terrified of needles near her female bits. We talked at length about it. Once I was set up, we lost our clothes, and she was up in the sling, we kept on talking about it. She talked about it and I comforted. She fretted and I consoled. We discussed needle gauges and if a larger needle to inject faster versus a smaller needle for a smaller poke would be best.
I had the 250cc IV bag of NaCl 0.9% sterile saline to tap off of [warmed to body temperature in the microwave] hanging on a hook off the sling chain. The tray next to me had everything I'd need from a selection of needle and syringe sizes to a tuning fork, Eros, and plenty of extra gloves. [Let me just say here and not bother to mention each time - I was changing needles and gloves often through this entire procedure.] My chair, under the rather warm halogens in the sling room, was sitting right at the foot of the sling, about a foot in front of her lovely - I must emphasize lovely - genital region. I explored for a while, making certain of her specific anatomy for our purposes. Sixty cc's of saline were in the syringe, and her entire area was gently scrubbed. I had to exert every bit of self control I had to not just ease myself face down and never come up, and told her as much. I did behave myself tough.
After several "Hold it - I have to catch my breath", and "Will you just hold my hand for a minute" intervals, I attempted the first inflation. First I asked her "left or right to start?" and the question so befuddled her she just said, "Oh, hell, I don't know - you're holding the left right now so go on in there. I inserted the needle in the bottom of the inner labia lip and she screamed to wake the neighbor's dead grandparents up, thrashing and waving at me to stop before I infused any saline. I pulled the needle out, and blood started steady trickling from the pinprick hole down her buttocks, onto the sheet over the sling and down onto the towels on the floor. It's a very vascular area. She caught her breath, I coached her on slow regular breathing and some basic zen calming exercises, and despite being absolutely terrified, she gathered herself and asked me to begin again. This time I got the needle in, and about 15cc injected before her screaming and begging to pull it out made me pull back out and comfort her. The left lower inner labia obviously had a small balloon shape, sort of an itsy bitsy little pear-shape about the size of the last digit of my thumb. I set the 60cc syringe on the back side of the table out of her ready view and talked with her again, listened to her, hugged her, and asked her if it would be better if I left that now throbbing area I'd started in and tried elsewhere. Throughout the entire thing, from our first negotiation through the last needle, I made it clear to her that if she said "That's it!", then that would be it, no questions. We agreed on a much smaller syringe and needle, and to move up to attempt to inflate her clitoral hood. I touched both the original injection site and the new one with a dull cap off a needle, showed her a vial with the approximate amount I'd be using, and tried to take every step, finally asking to make sure if I should indeed go ahead. She told me to, and then at the last minute just as I was moving my hand holding the syringe up closer to her privates she stopped me and said we'd better not do any more tonight, that we'd better not try to do her nipples either, that we should end off. It wasn't the saline, it wasn't me, it wasn't anything but an overwhelming fear of the needles coming over her.
That's what I'm talking about, when I say 'brave brave woman'. She arrived already knowing that the entire idea frightened her entirely out of proportion to the other sorts of play she does regularly. Despite all the hesitations, stops and starts, she asked me to poke her, and repeatedly after that despite being thrown into near hysterical sobs each time, continued to ask me to try again until finally she just couldn't do it any more. And - at that point in any scene, sometimes the determination to complete the scene no matter what overwhelms good sense - she also knew herself well enough to know when to stop and to do so. I don't have any regrets at failing to complete the full extent of our plans. Instead I have admiration for her going as far as she did, in spite of everything she encountered.
Once we were done with a bit of resuming normal breathing, discarding the needles into a sharps container, and so forth, we went on ahead with a non-needle item on our agenda. For this, I got in the sling and she got in the chair. Well, really first I got in the shower and did a thorough prep, then I got in the sling. She has a few friends who let her put a finger up the tushie, but this was to be her first time sitting in front of a boy who commonly calls out "fuck me more more harder harder". I've had a bit of sensitive skin around the bomb-bay doors lately and wasn't sure if this would work, but she gloved up and doused herself with the Eros, and started gently started. It was great from the first touch, but at one point some of the tender skin was hurting a bit so I considered just ending off gracefully, but instead asked her to try a bit more lube. The next thing I knew I heard myself saying something along the line of "fuck me more more harder harder", and then suddenly I was writhing in pleasure. Reality strobed here a bit, and my memories are short blinks of being aware. All of a sudden I found myself arched backwards further than I thought I could bend, nearly standing on my head behind the sling while thrusting her up - it felt like into the ceiling. I collapsed, gurgled, flopped my arms and stumbled over my tongue, and slowly came back to North Seattle. Wow. Yeah, wow.
As we mutually returned to a state of normalcy, we chatted, both agreed that "whatever the hell we do, doing something again soon sure would be nice!", and before too long she was starting on her way on down south to her hubby, child, and warm cozy home. I curled up in front of the fire in my own cozy little home, and started to contemplate just how nice it is to have friends, and to have such a good life.