Monday, May 22, 2006

I had a really lovely weekend with some of my pervy friends, and now it’s Monday again. Max and Roman are both leaving me this week! Not for long, of course. They’re going to Shibaricon, which I elected to skip. I’m sure it’ll be a fine event, but I just didn’t want to spend the time and money. (Plus, you know, some of those kimono boys, they’d be cranky with me.)

So Roman will sell oodles of rope, and both he and Max will tie up and torment various ladies (and perhaps a boy or two, who knows), and I’m sure they’ll both have a grand time. While I’ll miss them both terribly, I think I will enjoy having some time alone. I’m going to hang out with some pals of mine – like Jake, for example - who’ve gotten lost in the extreme busyness that has been my life lately.

I do have one play-date lined up, and I’m looking forward to that. It’s a second date, which in some ways I enjoy more than the first. First play-dates are, for me, always a bit cautious. I’m exploring the territory, seeing what happens when I push here, what happens when I poke there, making sure my play-partner doesn’t go anywhere I cannot safely retrieve them from when I’m finished. But second dates – well, having some knowledge of the terrain, I always feel like I can relax and enjoy myself more. So I have some fun ideas* in mind, although since he graciously offered to cook me dinner afterwards, I suppose I shouldn’t ruin him so completely that he's unable to make a demi-glaze.

Oh, what the hell, we can always call out for pizza.

*However, my play-partner for this scene can be assured of one thing: whatever I do to him will not involve Krispy Kreme doughnuts. Which is not true of a certain other man who is now on my Boys I Really Need To Torment Until They Howl Like Rabid Jackals list. Yeah. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon, my yellow-shirted pal, your number is so going to come up. Did you know I once rented a funeral home to create an appropriate setting for a scene? And Krispy Kreme isn’t open twenty-four hours anymore. I bet if I bribed the cleaning people sufficiently I could get an hour alone with you in there, late at night, with all those dangerous-looking machines. I wonder how hot that glaze is when they dribble it all over those doughnuts? I could take pictures of you, tied to the conveyer belt, and put them here on the blog, as a warning to those who would - against my express wishes - bring those sweet, delicious little pastries of high-calorie evil into my house.

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