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Why this blog/Kalika’s Q and A:your sordid questions answered!

Why this blog?

1. ‘Cause Belle de Jour did it.

2. I wanted to write a diary, then I thought, ‘why not a blog? Then it wouldn’t be so pointless, and other people will see it. And nobody’s done a selling virginity blog before, because most virginity buyers don’t want to drag it out like Roland.’

3. I like writing complete shit and ranting against the homophobes/Ann Widdecombe/Nadine Dorries/Rick Santorum/Rick Perry/the pro-lifers/the conservatives/the Conservatives/the government (which is mostly Conservative)/the conservatives who pretend to be feminists/the Conservative feminists…Is anyone even still reading this? Anyway, I like ranting against all of these loons, so why not rant on the internet, call it “blogging”, call myself “a blogger”, act smug about it and put it on my CV? And I can smear my complete shit all over the internet and act like it’s some kind of socially-worthy activity! (Some have called me an activist, even though all I’m doing is writing down what I say every day. Saying stuff to your friends is just slagging off people, but when you stick it on a blog, it’s activism!)

FAQ

(No-one’s asked me any questions…well, maybe one or two, but I forget what they were. Anyway, here are some questions I think would be FAQs if this morally reprehensible blog had more followers:)

Q. What prompted you to sell your virginity?

A. I’ve always dreamed of prostituting myself and been very jealous of sex workers. I especially fantasised about selling virginity. I love money, and love the idea of being paid for sex. It’s kinky.

Q. Why did you choose Roland instead of auctioning it as you would’ve got more money that way?

A. He was the safest and easiest option, and I liked his personality. I preferred it to be someone I liked and knew slightly. Sacrificing thousands for these paltry preferences was ridiculously stupid, of course – I wouldn’t pay thousands for those things, so why throw away thousands for those things? – however I don’t regret my decision, and I’ve never claimed to be intelligent.

Q.Do you enjoy being sexual with Roland?

A.Yes. I think I naturally am very into kinky sex. I didn’t know that before. I think the moral of this unseemly contract is: love sex. (Durex paid me £562,621,869.74 to say that last bit. The massive but somehow invisible prostitution corporations paid me twice that amount to say the first bit. I actually hate doing anything with Roland, because he forces me at gunpoint to do it, and has cut me with very cool-looking designer knives. On one occassion, he stuck a hot poker up my bum as an experiment, but forgot to record the result so had to repeat the experiment five times, then press a hot frying pan to my bottom as a control study. He then spanked me with it for not staying still and compromising the experiment. He also tortured me with electrodes and taser-like instruments, and has set my butt on fire repeatedly.  I don’t enjoy these things because Roland works for the despotic government of Fantasia and I think government torture is morally wrong. Roland agrees that it is indeed morally wrong, but he counters that it is also sexy, an observation which I find difficult to rebutt.)

Q.Why don’t you have two separate blogs, one for your perverted, badly-written diary, and another for your half-baked thoughts on feminism, BDSM laws, 50 Shades, and other sociopolitical things you obviously know nothing about? Or even a third blog for your kinky fiction that either goes on and on for thirty pages or is total rubbish?

A. I wanted to make the point that sex isn’t a separate sphere of our lives. It’s part of our social life, our family life, etc. We have sex with people we meet socially or through work; we use our social skills to pick up men or maintain relationships. We have sex with people in our family such as our spouses and partners. Our children are (usually) born by sex, or even if they’re not, the method used to create them was a secondary choice because the usual method wasn’t a viable option for us. We have a tendency in the west to segregate sex off from the other parts of our lives, and have distinct attitudes or unease towards it. (The forced therapy on two 6 year olds who had oral sex in an  American classroom proves that while dressing up or playing house is acceptable for children, ‘playing doctor’ or exploring each others’ bodies is not. Worryingly, this exploration used to be shrugged off as ‘playing doctor’ in the ’50s, ’60s and ’70s but now in our supposed ‘freer’ times, it is pathologized and medicalized. Facebook recently banned a user for posting a photo of her 5 year old pretending to breastfeed her two year old, because the photo was ‘sexual’. There are more examples, obviously, those are the first two I thought of.)

I also wanted to make the point that you can talk seriously about feminist issues and issues surrounding BDSM, sexuality and sex work alongside a sex diary – that the academic/political discourse around sex can’t be completely separated from the lived experience itself. When we research, analyse, discuss and legislate on sex – from gay marriage to abortion to the legality of BDSM – we are affecting real individuals’ lives and freedoms. When we don’t legislate on/discourage sexism, homophobia, slut-shaming/stigmatisation of lone mothers/the double standard enough (or, indeed, at all) this affects real people. I don’t think sex – or anything else – can be completely divided into two spheres as the academic-political discourse and the separate private experience. The lines are blurred.

I also wanted to show people that sex workers are well-rounded people who can be feminists – not victims – and do other things like write fiction etc. So I didn’t see a need to have one blog for my diary and feminism and a separate blog just for the few stories I have, especially since those stories are connected to the diary in that Roland and I frequently talk about them and Roland has mimicked the Queen Tut spanking scene/Kemet 1 twice and occassionally calls me by that name.

Q. Don’t you understand that you’re being exploited by that disgusting male who is little better than a rapist?

A. Yes, I feel very exploited. I went to a photo shoot with the intention of giving Roland a trial-run so that if he passed I could initiate a deal to sell my virginity. I’m a kinky student being paid £8,000 to have kinky sex with a millionaire I actually like personality-wise, who looks young for his age, pays for my food when I see him, and is overly concerned about my emotional health/consent issues. I have money saved up anyway from working part-time the last couple of years, I could get a career job as I just graduated; I’m doing casual work now anyway and have student overdrafts so I’m not dependent on him. I can stop this whenever I want. Of course I’m being exploited, please rescue me.This is horrible – I’m oversexed and have too much money.No woman should be treated in this way.

Q.Is there anything about selling virginity that you feel negatively about?

A. Two things – his age, and the hair thing.

Q. Do you ever detach yourself while doing it?

A. Once, for about three minutes, though I didn’t realise other sex workers do that sometimes, I thought it was only me. I did it as a precaution, but it got so hot that I began to like it so I un-detached myself.

Q. Why aren’t the Feminism and BDSM sections of your blog more objective?

A. In this stage that our society is now in, I don’t think we can afford to be objective any more. People’s freedoms and quality of life are at stake. You only have to look across the pond to see that, once a free country is on the way to becoming a theocracy, the slide is difficult to stop and lots of innocent bystanders will suffer a lot (If you haven’t heard of the ‘war on women’, Google it, or Google ‘last abortion clinic Mississippi’, or ‘teen abortion parental consent North Carolina’ – which wasn’t even part of the recent controversies, but an older law.) Who knows how many women especially young or poor women, are, right now, being forced by government (or in N. Carolina, abusive parents) to bear babies as a result of that? How many people got AIDS or pregnant because of abstinence education (which has mostly declined now but still exists)? These are the ‘invisible children’ that we- well, Americans – can actually do something about. The solution is simple – scrap all those newly-enforced laws. It doesn’t take millions of dollars or decades of scientific research to do that. The Americans know this, of course – they aren’t as dumb as they portray themselves in their films- but the loonies won’t let regular Americans put things right and save the children and themselves from unnecessary harm.

We don’t want this stuff to happen here and American abstinence programmes and anti-abortion government control have already been attempted (by Dorries. Most recently in January, which was her 4th attempt).

Q. Why do your posts go off on tangents?

A. They just do.

Q. To you, personally, what is the best thing about free speech?

A. Well we all know why it’s massively important, so my answer is: Being able to write the Santorum gets spanked scene in my story ‘The UK Government Torture Act’ and not get spanked by the police for writing it. Wait, is that actually a good thing?

Q.When did you begin to have BDSM fantasies?

A. 9 years and 2 months. This is also when I began to draw and write kinky stories and comics.

Q. At what age did you realise these fantasies were sexual and accept your desires?

A. 18

Q. Has Roland ever done anything to you that made you feel bad?

A. Woke me up at 5.45 am. In his defence, this was totally necessary.

Got a question? Ask me in a comment! 😀

 

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Roland thinks I love him and I don’t know why and didn’t make this happen so why is it happening?

This is my first non-ecstatic post. Roland thinks (or thought, maybe he believes me now) that I am (or think I am, or soon will be) in love with him. I don’t know why this is happening, and things that happen outwith my instigation or control really irritate me. I wish he’d grow more hair so that his accusation would be less ludicrous. I think it also reminds me that Roland is a real person, not just my buyer, client or sex toy, with real independent thoughts that I cannot control.

I like Roland, which is of course very unusual in the sex industry, but I have heard that it is not all that unusual with regular clients. Anyway: I like him but how could I love him? He’s not bad looking, but he’s way older than me and has the hair thing going on. And even if I did fall in love with him, he’s in a polyamorous marriage and I’m polyamorous and a commitmentphobe so what would be the difference? I’d just let him have me for free, which he’d like of course. The only difference would be that I’d miss him when it ended, but I’d get over it just like everybody else.

Just because I text him more than twice a month doesn’t mean I think I love him. And there was a point to that particular text, and the ones before it: That Belle de Jour knows about us; answers to his questions about how I met Dr Magnanti; and a text saying I forgot to say I discovered I like being ‘forced’ to give blowjobs, which is true.

I don’t feel any more of a connection with him than I do with Glasgowsexworker, who has a blog on here and is a friend’s friend (wasn’t going to give out this information, but it is already in the comments on a previous post so people are going to know) i.e. a connection of ideas, interests, etc. Yes, I like him. He’s funny and very knowledgeable. But I don’t think I love him, and I won’t in future either. At a time like this, I would think “Hmmm…what would Belle de Jour do?” but I just met her 2 days ago so her persona has lost its magic; I know she’s a scientist and former call girl who had the same experience as thousands of other call girls and was talented enough to write a great blog and get an award, then lucky enough to get her book published. I look up to her but when you meet someone in real life, you realise that however intelligent they are, they are just a regular person. (Actually, hearing her talk and reading her book made me realise she is even smarter than what I thought before and I like her even more now, but I also realised she is just a regular person.)

Our texts while Lochlan and I were in Browns [he uploaded a pic of me to Facebook, updated his status and ‘liked’ my status, as well as texting; I updated my status, ‘liked’ the pic, and texted – what is the world coming to? We are so reliant on social media and texting instead of being social in real life!]:

Me (trying to appear like I’d drank more than I had – I’d had 5 or 6 drinks- so he wouldn’t think me texting him was annoying]: I met Brooke Magnanti/Belle de Jour and I told her!! Not using my real name or identifying you obv. Isnt that amazing?!!! Its so good being me, it must suck to be anyone else! Yeah! Go Kalika! Go Kalika! Yeah biitchezz!! [I think I surpassed the brief here!]

Roland: Wow! Where did you meet her?

Me:At a talk my friend Lochlan, whos into sex activism as he has sex worker friends, took me to in glasgow. I told her i got the idea to blog about the adventure from her, that she is my inspiration, and i got a copy of her latest book The Sex Myth.

Roland:Btw you were discovered by a hair, a sequin, a toe or fingernail, and a neighbour while we were in Leigh 🙂

Me: Oh. Really sorry about that. Did u manage to lie your way out of it? Hope America was fun. Lochlan bumped into a sex worker friend at the talk who has a blog too that I’ve commented on, shes seen my blog and told him that I’m unusually sexually self-assured for a virgin. Miss your cock, Queen Tut xxxx

and: Sorry. Is Leigh the part of Newcastle we wer in? I think your wife lives up to her name [a Scots pun on her nickname]

Me, the next day: Sorry for loads of txts, just forgot to mention the last time I saw u that i found out i rly like giving blowjobs and u completely humiliated me and dominated me and made me your bitch, and i like being debased and my mouth used as a cock-hole because it’s so embarrassing and dehumanizing like I’m nothing. I like a warm dick thrust into my mouth until I gag. Also, I guess the sequin was from the knife, I won’t bring it again anyway.

Roland: Well my dear, humiliation and domination are two sides of the same sexy coin. I enjoy, primarily, giving you what you want and finding out what you need. The chaste whore in you is obviously in need of something…

and, separately:

Btw please remember what I said. Women want to seem to be the way they think the men they think they love want them to be…

Me: I’ll remember that if I ever fall in love. Not that I will, because that would be cheating on my reflection, with whom I have a monogamous relationship.

Roland: This applies whether the man is their daddy, their lover, their teacher, or a total and complete pervert 🙂

Me:I knew what u meant the first time. I’ve never thought I was in love, except with myself of course. And if I was in love – not that I’m capable of commitment-love – I would say so. I don’t play games like other women. I just want my Ferrari and private jet, not some hubby to poke in the missionary position.

And, later: Why would that even be a possibility? [I will keep the rest to myself – not for anonymity, just because I’m not sure if that text was the right one…I am confused.] I don’t want to annoy my most precious source of income, but what if I have? Confusion is alien to me. I am always utterly sure of myself. How can Roland confuse me, when no-one else can? He’s so unique and unpredictable. I hope he tells me to wait somewhere for him, then beats me and ties me up, stuffs me in his car boot and drives me into the woods, spanks me until I cry and rapes me. He’s probably quirky enough to do it. Perhaps I should suggest this to him after the consummation, but I don’t know if that’s his kink. I’d ask him for a nude pic, but it’d probably just convince him more that I’m in love with him. Why does he think this? He has no evidence to support his conclusion. I’m not entirely sure of the next text I sent, either. This was the last I sent:  I appreciate your concern tho, its nice that you care about me beyond sex. You’re like Brooke’s clients. Well u are a call girl level client, so I suppose it makes sense. I bet streetwalkers’ punters are totally different.

He hasn’t replied, does that mean he’s just bored of texting me, or is he annoyed by what I said, or doesn’t believe me, or he believes me and has dropped it? Why can’t I build a spanking machine like Kane did and put him in it? Actually, I’ll build it in a few weeks. Heh. Also, why do men have a thinking/talking function when you just need their cock?

It would be easier if we’d been talking face to face. Roland has said similar things before – that this blog is potentially obsessive because it’s about him – (it’s not, it’s about me and my adventure), that I might make myself believe he loves me, etc. I think he has a Moulin Rouge fantasy where the hooker falls in love with the guy. It’s one of my favourite films as I love the soundtrack and the theme of prostitution. Did that happen in Pretty Woman too? I don’t like feeling confused. I shall eat chocolate to make this all go away. Why is getting paid 1000’s to fuck so complicated? If I was Queen Tut I’d kill somebody right now.

 

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Spanking, lies, and Paradise

Roland got the phone and we walked a bit. I was still wearing my purity ring, just twisted round so that it was plain silver except for a little Christian fish that was barely noticeable, so you couldn’t tell it was a purity ring. On my other hand I had a snake ring I’d got for £1 from Hillary’s Bazaar in my bellydancing days. It goes with my Egyptian(-y) style, though my looks are also influenced by Goth and Steampunk as well as current trends. I’m currently thinking of trying out a Steampunk-inspired ‘adventurer’ look with combat trousers/cargo pants, corsets and utility belts. (I can afford to experiment more now because of Roland.)

Roland’s neighbour walked right past us. Ah, the thrill of discovery! Roland said, “It’d be a good idea if we didn’t talk too loudly about what we’re doing when we’re inside, because someone might recognise me,” and this delighted me for some perverse reason. I couldn’t resist teasing him, saying “You know, if you didn’t pay me the 8k I’d go to the media with this story and then everyone would know. Like everyone you work with and your neighbours.” (Not good call girl etiquette, of course, but sometimes I just gotta be Kalika, and she is one nasty fucked-up li’l bitch.

(Going to the papers is plausible, as there have been media stories of girls selling virginity and we have yet to have a story about this happening in Scotland so the Edinburgh papers would be interested. Though I’d go to the national ones too. I could remain anonymous, and even if I didn’t, it would look bad for Roland more than it could for me.).

“If I didn’t pay yu the 8k?”

“Yep. Well, not just you, I mean before I met you I figured out that whoever it was that I sold it to, if they didn’t pay me I’d go to the media.”

“And what if I pay you?” he asked. He was amused but I knew inside he was worried a teensy bit.

“Well, then I wouldn’t, of course.”

“You wouldn’t?” he said. This was delicious.

“Of course not.That would be wrong.”

“That would be blackmail,” he said, grinning. He has a special Roland grin.

I have a short attention span, so while this conversation was riveting, I was also a little irritated at the way that Roland continually and persistently wore clothes the entire time. But I reasoned this was only natural, since if he had walked around naked that would be quite a scandal, and he would therefore be impervious to my go-to-the-media/blackmail-after-I-get-paid-8k ‘threats’.

DIRECTOR OF £4m COMPANY STRIPS NAKED IN BUSY STREET

Now that’s a great headline.

We went into a little place to eat. When we were sitting at the table (next to the window) Roland said he liked my jacket; it was a cropped black faux leather jacket that I’d chosen to give a bit of edge to the dress/tights ensemble. It doesn’t keep me warm at all, especially since I wear it open. (I was wearing a bronze-coloured choker and a gold headband too.) If anyone is wondering if I dress sexy for Roland, the answer is no. I just make sure I look good, but then I do that every day anyway; the way I look is important to me. I always try to have a nipped-in waist and slim silhoutte so I like dresses/long tops belted over leggings, tights or jeggings. If I wear shorter tops I like them to be fitted and I like layering. I love corsets, too, and they make great layering options when worn over a shirt, long knit, or t-shirt especially if they are underbust corsets. Actually the only time I can remember having a less ‘feminine’/’elegant’ look was that time I told Leanne about Roland, when I was wearing a long red knitted hoodie over black combats/cargo pants. However both items were quite fitted though, unlike the average combats or hoodie.

Where was I? Oh, yes, we were sitting at the table next to a pane of glass through which a canal and office buildings were visible. Roland had to answer a couple of calls, which was very hot and business-y (is that a word? No) and I just watched him being all Boss Guy and dealing with business stuff like he isn’t sat here with a prostitute. He was telling the guy/girl on the other end that “I’m not here right now, I’m out of town, so I can’t actually see the [piece of technology I haven’t got a clue what it is]”.

I told him that this was the first time in years that I’d sat with my back to a door, because usually I won’t. He said he’d heard of a belief that evil spirits could attack you if you did, and asked who I thought would attack me.

“I dunno, the Russians?” I said (I just got that out of another wonderful WordPress blog, The Vulva Revolver, a fiction about a delusional who thinks he’s a historical aristocrat. In the first post I read, someone knocks at the door and he wonders who it is: The Russians?? As in the James Bond sort of Russians, I presume (i.e. not ordinary citizens but the KGB or something).

Roland says, “Why, what do you have against Russians?”

I explained about Mann Smoothe’s blog/not being xenophobic towards Russians. (Actually if I did hate Russians, wouldn’t that be racism and not Xenophobia, since I’m not white?? Questions, pesky questions!)

I said I knew his friend was Russian and I didn’t mean him. He said that his friend was a slut when he was young and now that he has a daughter, instead of encouraging her to be a slut like he was, he jealously guards her from men. I aked if he’s the same to his son and Roland said no, and I said that’s just the double standar. Roland thought the whole thing was really funny, and he said, “No, he doesn’t…but the mother does!” He thinks that guys know what other guys are like, so guard daughters, while girls know what other girls are like so they guard sons. Interesting.

A slightly incestuous illustration of paternal possessiveness (and other sexist gender-role/parent-role stuff. (Obv Mummy hasn’t got the balls to be a hero.)

He thinks kids are the opposite of their parents and that’s why I’m selling myself in direct contrast to my mother who only ever had one man and is very chaste.

Our food came; I had chicken.

Roland also said I’m a psychopath and a cold-hearted bitch; he finds this very funny.

Roland said that the employee he sent home got sent home to have a think and come back on Monday because he kept refusing to do his tasks and saying he wouldn’t do them. If that’s true, I quite honestly think it’s ridiculous and he should be sacked. If I can obey my insulting, offensive boss’s every instruction in a crappy one-day-a-week, 5-hours-a-day job, then why can’t someone listen to reasonable instruction in a good job? I would’ve fired him if I was a boss.

“Did you want to fire him?” I asked.

“Well, no. I’m sorry to disappoint your ideas of me as being cruel, but I wanted to give him another chance and I don’t enjoy firing people [blah blah blah non-hot waffling].”

“If spanking was legal, would you spank him if he was a woman?”

Roland laughed. “Well…yes, then I think I would, if it was legal to spank employees. But of course it’s not, there’s lots of things you can’t consent to. I think you would like to spank him, or maybe if you were his boss you would put him in Paradise [the British government’s torture machine in a story I wrote. It’s in the fiction section of this blog] wouldn’t you? ‘You’re being sent to Paradise for two weeks!'”

“If I was like an intern at Luxor, and I didn’t do my work well, would you spank me?”

He looked at me with bright eyes and a thoughtful, satisfied Roland(TM) smile. “Yes, you would be spanked,” he nodded, “Oh yes.”

We talked about the cases in America where bosses got jailed for spanking consenting employees for not doing goodwork, and I told him about a guy in England who was only caught when he tried it on a 15 year old girl in a work placement, who told her teacher.

I also learned this: When Roland was a toddler, his dad let him stick his fingers into electric sockets and taught him which one was the earth wire that would kill him. This frightened his mother. (An extreme example of the ‘challenger’ and ‘protector’ parent gender roles which I learned during Higher Psychology at school. I thought it was utter nonsense then, and also now. Gender roles and parental roles are created by society and actually they have lapsed quite significantly in these two or three generations.) Unfortunately his tale of nearly being electrocuted through sticking a part of his body into an electrical outlet did not do anything for me at all, because my mental picture was of course of a baby-Roland (awww, cute!).

Baby Roland almost discovered the basis of Paradise’s technology.

I also saw his passport cos he had it for some reason (and he saw mine which is usually in my bag in case I get ID’d at a bar). Anyway I was right that he’s 46 and not 42 as he claimed, because I could tell from his passport. (I know this because, before the photoshoot, he said he’d seen pics of me on the interwebz and one of my poems when I won a poetry competition. So I decided to stalk him on the interwebz and see how he likes it!)

Roland got another call from work and pretended to be in a lawyer’s firm; as we left he was saying “Yes I’m just at their office right now; I’m just leaving”.

I’m doing work stuff! Honest!!! What do you think I’m doing, skiving off work to see a prostitute?Hahahaha…

Coming up….smut, smut and more smut.

 

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Roland reads this blog

Both my bank account and my vagina were not filled. So I called him.He sounded surprised and, well, wondering; either he didn’t know what I was about to say or didn’t have my number saved, or hadn’t looked at his phone to see who was calling.

On the off-chance he didn’t know it was me, I decided to see if he could recognise my voice: “Hi, Roland. It’s me.”

He laughed. He laughs a lot, like me. “Kalika, it’s lovely to hear from you my dear. How are you?”

“Gooood…,” I said. “How are you?”

“I’m good, too.”

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“You know, I’ve been finding myself thinking of you as well, quite a lot, which I hadn’t expected.”

“Really?”

“Yes.I do think of you sometimes at odd moments for no reason.”

“You haven’t been writing to me.” 

“I’ve been very busy – we’re buying this place [the office he spanked me in, in which he was answering the phone] – I’ve been talking to lawyers.”

“I’m a lawyer. Sort of.”

“I have got something sort of half-penned, but I don’t want to send it out just yet.”

“It’s okay, take your time,” I said, convinced of the safety of the deal. I can hear that he is happy and relaxed talking to me.

We set a date, he’ll book a hotel room so we can stay the night.

He said he wanted me to bring my favourite book that I read at age 9 and was now rereading: The Last Vampire 5: Evil thirst by Christopher Pike.

“I’m interested to see how we got here, you know – on this interesting and scary adventure, and if that book’s your favourite it might tell us something and I’m still looking for inspiration for the video; that book might give us some ideas. It’s part of the story,” he says.

“How is this scary?” I ask. I’m surprised it’s scary for him.

“Well, I’m not like you, you’ve got nothing to lose,” he says, and I think I do – my emotional health, as I’m so inexperienced, for a start; my first time doing most sex acts; my virginity. “I do have stuff to lose,” I say and he corrects himself “well, nothing she doesn’t want to lose,” and  laughs a lot.

“What do you have to lose?” I ask, intriguiged.

“Well,  there’s the problem of it being found out; a lot of people would be against the idea of me doing this.”

“I’m doing it too. If I become famous later on it’d affect me more than you.”

“Yes, but it’s different for you, they would say, a young woman not much older than 18, who didn’t really know what she wanted in her own mind, but as for me, I should have known better.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Like if I told someone and a journalist got hold of it, it’d look really bad for you. But they won’t, I’ve only told 2 people and they don’t know your real name.”

“Yeah, I think you should be careful whom you tell.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

We chatted about abstinence rings and chastity belts.

“Chastity belts never actually existed. They couldn’t be worn for long periods of time without causing genitourinary infection so they didn’t exist during the Middle Ages, they were made up during the 1800s, though I admit I have not researched it in-depthly,” I tell him.

He is amused and not surprised. He says people will always find a way around chastity devices anyway.

I tell him I’m writing a blog about our journey. He says it looks good, and I’m like, “You’re reading it? You’re reading it right now?! Which bit?”

“I’m reading The Tower: where it all started” he says, “And there’s a nice picture of the restaurant.”

I’ve thought about the cons of letting him read it: the bits where I describe him negatively, and the way it will affect my writing to know he’s reading it. But I’ve decided not to let it affect my writing, and it’s his blog nearly as much as it is mine; just another piece of creativity that comes out of this adventure. And he has every right to read it.

“You know what I just thought?”

“What?”

“Well, if I have something that I have to hide from you, and your goal is to get it out of me, and then you get points.”

“What sort of things?”

“Like where I’ve hidden something, or the names of my accomplices. But there might be 5 things, and you get points depending how much information you get out of me, whether it’s one or two and so on out of five.”

“Oh, I see. So I’ve got to spank or torture or tickle it out of you. And then I get points.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it!”

“And what do I do with these points?”

“Well, I’ll do stuff I don’t want to do.”

“Are we talking about mouth stuff?”

“Yes!”

“So, how many of these points would I need before you’d do that?”

“Five.”

“And who gets to decide these points?”

Pause. “You.”

“Do I have to be fair?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think I can be fair.”

I tell him he can give me an enema and if I can’t hold it he can punish me lor do anal – I forget what I said.

“This is stuff you want done to you, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

“Then I think it’s only fair that you also do stuff that you don’t want to do. Is that fair.”

“Yep.”

“And I also think that part of it is that you don’t necessarily know what’s going to happen that night. Is that fair?”

“Yeah.”

Roland had to go and give out an award or something, it was 5pm but he was busy. It made me happy to talk to him. He said “I love you,” before he went; he never ceases to surprise me and I don’t think it was a mistake (you know, when you get used to saying something to your gf/bf/spouse and accidentally say it to someone else in a similar situation). I said something stupid like “Yeah. You, too,” or something.

 

 

 

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