aerodrome1: (Anja Rubik (Red Hood))
[personal profile] aerodrome1
Hullo, Perthes-en-Gatinais....

You're somewhere in the Ile-de-France, but...who are you? Are you my ex-Bloomsbury friend on vacation with an Older Admirer? Are you there with a pillar of the British Establishment and your cache of grey-market generic Viagra? Or is a lovely Franco-Romanian model/dancer? I miss your Stories, even if they always leave me feeling socially inferior and utterly inept.

And, yes--- I have zero idea what might be in Perthes-en-Gatinais. A secluded chateau? A super-villain's lair in the forest? A secret code breaking site for French intelligence? Some high-end establishment catering to wealthy Parisian s/m fanciers?

Ah, now--- I do have a cautionary tale to repeat here tonight.

This is from something I posted back in July of the Year Four. This is about my friend Jennifer, who's now (I think) a writer living in Shanghai. When I met her in 2000, she'd just completed her PhD in English and was teaching in Atlanta. She's from Arizona, but did university in California.

When Jennifer was living in Los Angeles between university and grad school, she was involved in an affair with a man she called "my faux-Foucault", a shaven-headed singer with some local industrial band--- a gearhead. All very s/m, of course. Jennifer's s/m fantasies went back to her teen years in Tucson, and at university in Santa Barbara she'd found people who'd taught her to love the whip. Now-- the gearhead singer had the right look for her, and he was willing to use a riding whip without mercy. But he wasn' competent an s/m player as he might have been. There'd already been one Bad Situation-- the gearhead hadn't recognized during an erotic asphyxia scene that Jennifer was turning a bit too blue...

Nonetheless, when he called to say that he wanted to come over one sunlit afternoon and violate her, she went out for lunch at some trendy organic/vegetarian restaurant and then came home and dressed up to be violated and punished as soon as the gearhead made his appearance.

[Note: I did laugh at her description of the bald gearhead as "faux-Foucault". I know what she means-- shaven skull, wire-rimmed glasses, black turtleneck, carefully-tended goatee, carefully-curated tattoos. I'd seen way too many guys like him before.]

So... There the lovely and leggy Jennifer is: on tiptoe, handcuffed to the shower curtain rod, fully gagged, collared, and corseted down to 18 inches. Faux-Foucault is whipping her 'til she bleeds; Jennifer is dripping wet with lust. Then...she senses something going very wrong. The expensive organic/vegetarian spinach-and-alfalfa salad is just not sitting well. At all. She realizes that she's about to lose her lunch.

Jennifer panics and tries to push the gag plug out of her mouth. Faux-Foucault finally realizes that something is very wrong. Jennifer manages to say that she's about to be sick. The bald gearhead loses it. He fumbles getting the gag out; he can't operate the quick-release clasps of the corset. With Jennifer's waist corseted down so ruthlessly, she can't inhale deeply enough to get enough muscle power to expel anything that comes up from her throat. The collar is too tight on her airway. She is in serious danger of...choking to death. Faux-Foucault screams ("like a little grade school girl", Jennifer wrote) and ran for the kitchen to get a knife to cut the corset and collar off.

Jennifer managed to spit the gag clear and tried to contract her muscles. When Faux-Foucault made it back in to cut her down, he found her choking and vomiting up spinach and blood all over the bathroom. He whimpered and shrieked and finally managed to get her out of the corset and get her breathing again and get her over to the toilet where she could empty herself out.

He did clean the bathroom up, Jennifer wrote. She had to give him that. She spent a good half hour on the phone berating and threatening the manager of the restaurant while the bald gearhead mopped and scrubbed. All Jennifer could say was that at least nothing got on her very expensive black silk thigh-highs. That was one small victory. But she was sick for days, and she said the muscles of her chest and raw throat ached and burned for two weeks.

There's a moral to the story. There really is. I'm just not sure where one looks for it. The story says something about sleeping with shaven-headed faux-Foucault gearhead boys. That's always a Vur' Bad Idea. Sleeping with singers always has a bad ending. My own thought, of course, is that it also says something about eating hipster organic/vegetarian. But of course I've lived on small filet steaks and Chinese takee-outee for decades.

Easter Sunday, grey and with rain looming all day. I did...nothing, really. Got coffee this morning, spent most of the day napping and reading. I thought about Easter lunch at the casino boat buffet or at one of the new hotels downtown, but in the end I just defrosted a plastic tub of prepared chicken-and-sausage gumbo and had that with a glass of wine. Not exciting at all, but here we are.

I have "My Brilliant Career" to watch tonight. I think I've seen it once long ago, at a film society showing when I was in grad school, but I can't remember it at all. Anyway--- I'll sit up and eat salt-and-vinegar chips and watch it again.

I must pose a question which requires a List answer. I'll see what N. at RadioKvetch and Jill at Pacific_Lolita have to say, but...I'd love to hear from Girl101 and the lovely Et_Ceter_Ator as well. Let's consider, now...

Imagine that you're my lovely Young Companion, and we're sailing off together into the Far Foreign. Let's say a sailboat of...27 to 30 feet. Big enough for a cabin that fits two, but...not much room to spare. And we're sailing...where? Along the Dalmatian coast, maybe. Or around the Dutch Antilles and the USVI. Or Wellington to Invercargill. Or even across the southern sea to Palau. Pick a destination, but assume fair winds and fine weather. And tell me, darlings--- what would you pack for the voyage? Make a List for me and tell me exactly what you'd take--- clothes, books, accessories, make-up. I miss the days when List Questions were big here, and I do want to hear what N. at RadioKvetch has to say. I only wish Miss Ginny or Laura-Ashlee could be here to make Lists, too.

Anyway--- a sailboat voyage into the Far Foreign. Pick a destination, make a List, and write me about everything.



April 2017

161718 192021 22
2324 2526272829

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 12:04 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios