Tuesday, September 19, 2006

S & Hmmmmmm

There I was thinking I was going to another terribly civilized and quiet poetry evening at Home House, care of the lovely Derya, and the next thing I'm stumbling in drunk at 1.40am. I'm not sure if this is how a newly married woman is supposed to behave or not, but it's pretty much how I behaved (on occasion) before I got married, and both Robert and I weren't big on changing once we tied the knot.

So, the poetry evening: wonderful, entertaining, and educational - as always. There's a bunch of really creative people, and it's a chance to drink a glass of wine and listen to their work, and to read out something yourself. I look forward to these evenings immensely.

By the end of the poetry reading, however, we were all a bit tipsy, and instead of being sensible and going home like I should have, I got a drink, and then another, and then suddenly, it's 1am and I'm sitting next to a doctor (GP to the stars he says) and he's asking me, wouldn't I like to have a man to lick the heel of my shoes, run me baths, give me foot massages, sleep on the floor, and then wave me goodbye as I go home to my husband or boyfriend. "Husband", I clarified.

Now, being an open minded girl, I've heard about this submission business in the past, and it’s intrigued me, mostly, I guess, because I'm so not a submissive person. If someone told me to kiss their shoe or sleep on the floor I'd get my coat. But this chap couldn't get enough of the idea, and as he explained these scenarios to me (which became increasingly colourful, and painful) his face lit up with a lustful expression. I asked him (in the interests of journalistic enquiry, of course) what he got out of all of it, because it certainly didn't sound as though he was getting any sex - what with all the running of baths, wearing of chastity belts, and sleeping on the floor he was doing. He smiled beatifically and replied it wasn't about the sex - he derived pleasure from the submissive acts themselves.

I must have chatted to him for about 20 minutes and I still can't quite say I get the appeal, though, if I'm honest, all those foot massages don't sound too bad. He kept looking at my high-heel shoes, not unlike the way a dog looks at a steak, and asked me if my husband wouldn't like me to walk on his back or chest in them. I imagined making this suggestion to Robert, him looking at me like I was quite mad, and suggesting I stop taking whatever drugs I was on - pronto.

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