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Photoshoot debauchery: the final installment

Before I describe the sexytime, I’ll briefly mention this funny shit:

After we’d decided I should stay over, I was giggling “We weren’t even drinking and it was still daylight; it was 3pm when we started. So we haven’t got any excuse – we’re just sluts!”

And, “You’re easy. I just met you and in less than an hour I had you by the balls.” “Yeah, LITERALLY!” said Donny.

Later, he joked about closing the window in case a rapist got in and came after me. I said it wouldn’t matter because Roland is not a virginity fetishist, so if I sent him copies of the police reports proving that it was rape, he probably wouldn’t cancel our deal and I’d also get Criminal Injuries Compensation for the rape so I’d end up even more loaded.

And I’d also made Donny strip and do a dance with his thing flopping about while I lay on the sofa and giggled a lot.

Anyway, back to the sexytime:

(Sexytime was the best word Sacha Baron Cohen ever coined. Just sayin’.)

I’m not going to give a blow-by-blow account like I do with Roland.

The first couple of times the bottle ended up pointing at Donny, to my great delight. I had him stick the Smirnoff bottle up his bum while facing and watching The Ring as Rachel held Samara’s skeleton in the well. I made him keep watching. It brought me pleasure just forcing him to watch it. At other times I pissed on him (iun the bathroom), discovering that I actually do enjoy watersports after all. I also rode him like a horse, spanking him with the hairbrush to make him go and strangling him with a belt to make him stop. I also got to spank him but only briefly because he didn’t enjoy it.¬† I also tried to make him wet himself but he said he wouldn’t be able to do it. Of course, roughly 50% of the time the bottle pointed at me. So, I ended up doing stuff like cock worship and having a belt tied around my neck and having to be a dog. Donny dragged me around the room on all fours and made me roll over and beg. At other times he made me stick a screwdriver up my bum and do forward and backwards rolls with it in. He also made me stick the other Smirnoff bottle up there. I also got my first taste of anal fisting, which hurt A LOT and I kept screaming and thrashing around, but was utterly determined not to ask him to stop. I can bear a lot of pain, but only sometimes. He did get five fingers in. I also sat on the sofa and made him present his bottom to me, saying “Queen Tut, you have the authority to spank me.” Of course I couldn’t resist smacking the two round cheeks. Then he had to kneel in front of me with arms outstretched and say “Hail Queen Tut.”

So basically I found out that I like being dominant in all aspects of BDSM except spanking, where I’m a switch. Then we went into the bedroom and did anal, which hurt a lot and was just painful with nothing good about it. He never got all the way in. Then we slept as the candle burned. I woke up many times during the night, always aware of where I was.

The next morning, the clocks went back. Donny wouldn’t tell me what time it was, teasing me that he knew something I didn’t. He said I should go round to Roland’s house and see what he says. I pointed out that Roland lives a distance away. We went out for breakfast and somehow got talking about US oral sex laws in Louisiana that had been made to catch gays in the 1990s but sent a 17 year old to jail for 10 years for oral sex with a 15 year old – despite repeated efforts to get him pardoned. He’s still there. Donny said imagine what we’d get for what we did last night – probably the electric chair! Back at the flat, his radiator caught my eye because it was so hot. I asked him to push me onto it. Donny was brilliant – he started interrogating and strip-searching me for drugs, then pushed me onto the radiator. It burned and I yelped; I got a red swollen bit on my bum that was sticky. He said he’d never met a girl as openly kinky as me. We went out on a few business calls, then back at the flat he spanked me, but only for a while because he was tired. Then he drove me to Princes Street, saying he would respect my privacy and not post the photos, and likewise he didn’t want me to put his real name on this blog. He kissed my cheek before dropping me off, saying I could stay over again or call if I wanted.

I wish I wanted to see him again but I don’t. I don’t know why. I enjoyed doing it with Donny more because he’s more attractive than Roland and I actually fancy him. But Roland is sexier – his voice and the way he oozes perversion, and the way he spanks. The spanking and roleplay is better with Roland. I wish I did want to call Donny but I don’t. It’s like, the challenge is over; I won, I had sexytime with him, so now let’s move on to another guy and see if I can get him, too.

But you never know – if Roland doesn’t call me soon, I just might get sexually frustrated and call Donny. Who knows?

 

 

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Rolandanny

I just applied online for a provisional driving license, just before midnight. I didn’t get one before as I know 5 people who either couldn’t afford regular lessons and therefore have never taken the test despite having had their provisional for 2 or 3 years, and any skills they learned are now rusty, or who did pass their test but with little opportunity to borrow siblings’ and parents’ cars and so have had very little practice and are now nervous drivers. But I’ll have a career soon, so it seems like the right time now.

With relevance to this blog, when we were driving to Newcastle Roland we were talking about me not having a provisional licence/going to get one soon, and he said I should get one and I’m like, yeah, I will soon. Then I went, “If I get a provisional, can I drive this car?”

“Ummmmm….no,” said Roland, grinning, “Next you’ll be saying ‘If I get a provisional will you get me a Ferrari’!”

Heh. He’s cuddly because he’s fat ūüôā I like him more now ūüôā

I think I should not have pranked him; he’s a real human being with feelings, not my sex toy slash ATM machine. And old people have feelings too.

Anyway, I was watching the modelling and walking around, taking photos of his bank statement and one of the studio to put on the blog. Roland came over to where I was on the bench and said it wouldn’t be long. He put his camera on the bench and I tried to look at the photos he’d taken of me – this was before he took photos of the models – but he came over and took it back; I think he was afraid I’d accidentally delete them or drop the camera…but if he’s rich it wouldn’t matter if the camera got broken, so I bet it was the photos. He asked if I was texting my friends “that you’ve been abducted”, and I giggled and said no as I didn’t want a repeat of the ‘suicide’ thing.

“So what are you texting?”

“I’m not texting now,” I replied,”I’m just taking pictures of the Luxor bank statement.”

“And what makes you think that was Luxor?” he said with a devilish grin.

“Because you drew out ¬£500, so it’s an account you control,” I said.

He smirked but didn’t have anything to say to this.

Towards the end of the shoot, he tied the models to each other with bondage rope and took lots of photos.

“I can’t believe you would tie two people together,” I said, for dramatic effect. The models were my audience. “I can’t believe you’d do that.”

Later, as the shoot wound to a close, Roland/Danny slapped my bum as I walked over to the bench. The models totally saw it; they were at the other side of the room, behind him, but they were looking at us. I dunno if Danny knew that or not. Maybe he didn’t care. He told me in the Tower that he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him. Actually, he’s told me that a few times. It’s an admirable attitude in today’s commercialized and socially-policed world, where trivial choices cause deep cultural divides and political rifts, and we’re all incessantly worried about what others think of us, a trait exploited by corporations sending us to the clothing stores and makeup aisles in our droves.

Roland paid them Р£100 each I think Рon top of hiring the studio. Danny told them he had to get back to his other job.

“Yeah, your wee, unimportant¬†job on the side,” I said.

We said our goodbyes to Valerie and Daphne outside the studio.

“You still have to pay me for the photo shoot last night,” I said, for the sole reason of it being a delicious thrill to say this in front of Valerie and Daphne, who were still near enough to hear it.

A minute later I told him how thrilling it was to call him Danny and say those things. I said he forgot to lie about us being in Newcastle yesterday.

“Yeah, I forgot to lie.¬† Itold the truth,” he said. Hilarious. And the man has a PhD and all.

He asked me what I’d been doing with the photos I’d taken of the shoot – though actually I’d only taken one photo, not showing either him or the models, which you can see on Twitter.

“I thought you’d been tweeting photos the whole time,” he said. (Well, I did now!)

I said I would never take photos of him and put them on the internet because he could be identified. And generally I get people’s permission before taking photos and before posting them online. I have never secretly taken photos of anyone, nor posted photos to Facebook of people who weren’t my friends or acquaintances.

“Why did you think that?” I asked.

“Because you’re you,” he said, smiling.

I said, “You think me capable of anything.”

“I know you are.”

It’s probably good that I’ve kept my darkest fantasies hidden from him, then. I won’t reveal them to him until I’ve gained his trust and understand his personality more so I can manipulate him into acquiesance. Sometimes quite honestly I fear for him; I like him, and I would never want to see him get hurt by my depravity. And of course he is Magda’s property and I would no more damage another woman’s possessions than I would wreck her house or rip up her bag or clothes.

However, I am restraining myself a lot for the moment; that’s why I didn’t bring any other toys the last time apart from the bodystocking, anal beads, knife and needles. I have thought of a way to combine mental and physical torture, but I won’t ever do it; I don’t want to scare him off. I will be a good, doccile prostitute.

I think the hardest part of prostitution is pleasing the client and not (necessarily) yourself; taking care of his/her/their needs and not yours. That’s what makes it work, not leisure.

We went to Frankie and Benny’s – Americanized ‘Italian’ food.

 

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Someone else gets photographed nude by Roland for a change

It was cold in the multi-storey car park; I had the black fake leather crop jacket over the red jumpsuit. The purity ring was turned round on my finger and I had black dolly shoes on. To think we were in Edinburgh such a short time ago, drinking sweet coffee, and now we were across the border in Newcastle. That’s why I love travelling; even travelling relatively short distances, as in this case, is nice. I’d read the directions well despite feeling dizzy from lack of sleep.

While driving, I’d suggested that instead of fining people for speeding, the police should spank people instead because that’s less upsetting than being fined or having your license taken away. And they could make it a choice – a ticket or a spanking. Although, I added, in my case it would not really be a deterrent.

“I think you would speed just to get spanked,” Roland said with certainty. “‘This is the forty-second time this month, Miss Gold, that you have taken a spanking!'”

Roland came back from paying the meter and wow did he look more ugly when he wasn’t talking about spanking or semi-nude or giving a spanking. I was pretty awed at the power of my brain chemicals to make me see him as less ugly when I was aroused. I realised I’d have to make him talk about spanking again soon if this day out in Newcastle was going to be in any way visually bearable.

He was smiling as he came back.He’s always smiling, like me. It’s slightly weird; now I know why people say my constant smiling is weird. I also notice that he smiles every time he sees me or looks at me (if he’s been looking in another direction first). Perhaps that’s because he’s mentally undressing me.

Anyway as he came towards me I was all, I did THAT last night? God. I mean, yeah, he’s okay looking and looks younger than he is, but still…THAT?? How on earth could I…Oh yeah, ¬£1,000. Cool.

Which reminds me that on the drive down, the radio said that one dumb celeb or another had spent $1,000 on his girlfriend in one night, and with the usual irritated envy I instantly went that’s so not fair, how does anyone get 1k spent on her in a night, etc, but then I remembered that I had! And it was ¬£1k, not $1k, which is more like a bit over ¬£500! I was pleased! Even though I had to earn it, unlike her. Roland seemed amused by all this. The drive had been fun and I felt relaxed with him by this stage in the transaction – actually, it seems like I’ve always been relaxed and never embarrassed or nervous around him. He gets slightly¬†embarrassed occassionally, though he hides it really well. I’m utterly incapable of feeling embarrassed around him; dunno why. It all feels so natural. Anyway, on the drive we were singing along to the radio and chatting about stuff, or trying to guess the answers to radio quizzes.

So, we were in the street in Newcastle and I was cold. I was delightedly happy. It was like espionage; I was supposed to be sleeping at Kelly’s flat in Edinburgh and here I was wide awake¬†in England with a pervert.

I was hungry but Roland said we didn’t have time to eat; dunno why I couldn’t just have bought some chocolate and juice, though.

At a street corner, I goes “I know where you live, I know your address now. So I could tell the papers if you didn’t pay the ¬£8,000. That would be naughty, wouldn’t it?”

“That would be blackmail,” he said, “And that would be bad, not naughty. And bad girls don’t get spanked, they go to jail.”

We got to the place eventually and a guy came out and said “Just the two of you?” and took us up in a lift. When we got out he told us we couldn’t use the lift unless he was with us’ there was a sign to that effect. I realised I was trapped here with Roland. This really was like an abduction (we’d joked in the car about him abducting me to Newcastle).

We’d agreed on a story to tell the two models about why I was there – that I was at a shoot with Ro the previous night in Newcastle and missed the bus. I was introduced to the two models, who were good looking but not as pretty as me, and they must’ve worked with him before because they greeted him calling him “Danny” which is a name he uses for his photography so people can’t Google his name easily.I suspect he¬†rents the studio under this name, too; they probably wouldn’t need to see ID. I’m not going to describe the models as they were dropped unwittingly into this adventure/blog/story. It was a thrill remembering to call Roland ‘Danny’¬†all the time as we chatted with the models.¬†One of them made us coffee.¬†Roland started setting up for the shoot; I helped. I thought he was carrying a whole brick wall which really surprised and confused me, until he said it was polystyrene.

Then he started taking test photos and made me stand there so he could take more test photos. Then I got talking to one of the models – let’s call her¬†Valerie – and she was really nice. We talked about how schoolgirls and the general public think of modelling as glamourous, but it involves a lot of waiting around. I learned that she goes on tours around the UK, modelling in a few towns; she does it on the side while the other model, Daphne, does it professionally; they often tour together. She asked about me; I said that I was a student who modelled sporadically on the side and I had little real experience. She asked if I’d worked with Danny before and we were talking about him, and she said he was one of the nice ones who was good to work with, because very occassionally you’d get men who were looking at or touching you inappropriately and then you wouldn’t model well; one time she just left. She said she really liked working with Danny and had done a few photoshoots with him, as had Daphne. She asked me about the last time I’d worked with Danny, and I said it’d been yesterday evening in¬†Newcastle but the shoot had gone on a little longer and –

“I did a photoshoot with her in Edinburgh,” Roland/Danny said hurriedly, clasping a huge silver-foiled disc, “I¬†was just telling¬†Daphne,” he added, for my¬†benefit, “But¬†Kali missed the bus and I couldn’t get her home at the right time for her so I said she could just come here and I’d drop her off on the way back.”

It was pretty obvious it was a lie.

Then the girls stripped naked and Roland started the photography. I sat with my legs up on a bench, listening to music and eating a Milky Way Crispy Rolls¬†that I’d bought in the student shop shortly before Roland pulled up in Buccleuch Place. They made amazing shapes and I appreciated how light and shadow as well as angles of the body work and combine in photography. Roland was right that I don’t have small breasts and that most models hardly have any – these two didn’t have any. They were very slender, though. I tried to work out if they were skinnier than me but gave up; I didn’t want to distract or stress them by looking. Like the bigshot models, they had athletic/straight up and down/boyish builds, not an hourglass figure like me. It makes sense – though hourglass is the best figure and the easiest to dress as you can wear anything, if it’s on the catwalk then athletic builds look better; the clothes hang off them better.

I wanted to go and buy some crisps or a burger but I was worried I wouldn’t find my way back especially in my sleep-deprived state. And I didn’t want to ask the guy to accompany me in the lift. I felt quite content with my back and a bit of my side against the wall(s), feet stretched in front of me on the bench, listening to songs; probably I was sleepy. Roland asked if I was okay a couple of times. I told him I was. The way he looked at me whenever he glanced in my direction, with that smile of his, I’m sure the models would’ve suspected something if they’d seen it, though I don’t know if they saw it or not.

 

 

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Ad for porn actors on Gumtree site!

I like modelling and since I have a little experience, I answered an ad from Zada modelling on Gumtree.co.uk, a UK site where you can find jobs, flats, buy stuff…it’s our Ebay. I submitted one of the photos Roland took of me (a fully clothed one). When they got back to me, they said that they were seeking models for a new porn site and were only offering topless modelling, nude modelling and making porn films!!

What they said was: Thank you for your recent response to the advertisement for models. I received your attached photo and think you have some great potential. The shoots that are available are for an exciting new erotica website, set to launch very shortly. The shoots range from topless and/or nude photos through to explicit adult movies with the pay rising accordingly. I realise you may have been looking for strictly fashion modelling, and if this is the case, I do apologise. If however, a shoot from the above levels interests you, please email […] directly and we can progress you to the next stage of the application process.

I replied: [excerpt] I was just¬†wondering how much the pay is for the different types of modelling and adult movies? [obviously, I’d only do the latter after Roland deflowers me]

Zada Modelling: Dear Kalika,
Thanks for the link to your portfolio.¬†[…] If you were selected to do a shoot with us the pay would range from ¬£25 – ¬£35 per hour for photo only shoots, and ¬£80-120 per hour for shoots including adult movies. The exact amount we pay depends on if the model has prior modelling experience and also the content of the shoot. For example, adult movies involving anal sex usually pay a bit more than ones that do not. Have you experience of doing adult movies before?

Me: I do not yet have experience of¬† doing adult movies, but I’m in the process of selling my virginity to a guy I met and this will include a film-length adult movie, though¬†the movie will have more plot than the average adult movie. (I’m also¬†blogging about it). How many hours would the modelling shoots and¬†adult movie shoots take? [because a 20-hour shoot would mean around ¬£2,000 which is okay by me if I don’t have to go all the way].¬†I think I’d prefer to do modelling, but I’m¬†open to doing adult movies, it depends – I’m not sure. [ie. ¬£5,000 is the lowest I’d be prepared to go all the way for. ¬£10,000 would’ve done it for sure.¬†I mean, THOUSANDS of people would see it, for YEARS, that’s way ‘worse’ than prostitution!]

Zada: That’s an interesting way to lose your virginity! How much is the guy paying you? The shoots usually just take 1 hour. If your first shoot is successful there may be a chance of us offering you more work or referring you to other producers. So you say you are a virgin; have you done oral sex before?

Me: Yeah, I decided it was about time, and I’ve always had a thing for¬† prostitution, so…[shrugs]. And ¬£8,000 in installments (1k deposit so¬† far). I asked for installments in case I changed my mind (he’s nice¬†and we have things in common but I don’t find him attractive at all).¬† If the shoots take an hour, then I think I’d prefer doing topless¬† shoots for the moment (that’s not to say I wouldn’t do nude shots if I¬†change my mind). I don’t think I’d be confident doing an adult movie¬† for ¬£80 or ¬£120, unless I was just being spanked or something not that¬† “involved”. And no, not yet. I have used my hand though and been spanked but that’s pretty much it.

Zada: Wow, that’s a lot of money. I can understand you being shy about doing an adult movie as it’s all new to you. However, we’d be keen to offer you a shoot involving posing for photos nude, then giving a blowjob. I realise we aren’t offering nearly as much as the man that wants to take your virginity, but, as I said before, if the shoot is a success we can try and get you work with other producers.
Let me know what you think.

I haven’t replied. I think that a company paying ¬£80 to prostitute yourself, be filmed prostituting yourself and have the film on the internet to be wanked over forevermore is immoral. It’s exploitation. The men and women who take up the offer will probably be either students or on the dole. And even for students ¬£80 isn’t even a week’s rent (in Edinburgh, where weekly rent is ¬£90-¬£130) and is maybe one and a half weeks’ rent in Stirling. I think people wouldn’t watch porn that much if they knew. If you’re a student in Edinburgh or Glasgow, London, etc ¬†watching porn, you could very well be watching your fellow students being exploited. And, yeah, you could get more work being a porn star but I doubt if the other companies are going to pay you much more than Zada, as Zada will probably only be able to refer you to similar-status porn companies. Yes, no doubt some porn actors earn a lot of money, but it’s unlikely Zada could refer you to them; you’d need a lot of experience selling yourself for peanuts first. I don’t think that doing this would be good for your mental or emotional health. It might be better to do it for free, because if you do it for free it means you want to do it and you’re doing it for the experience, for yourself. This might have a better mental health consequence than doing it for ¬£80, which you’d probably spend on rent/bills or maybe a few drinks, a video game and a night out clubbing.

 

 

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Being even happier than usual (if that’s even possible)

Before I continue the story in my next post, I wanted to tell you this stuff that happened over the last couple days which illustrates the similarities of poly relationships with mono relationships/similar problems, the unpredictability of social attitudes and just some random stuff that makes me so happy.

Firstly, remember the guy I mentioned who I would consider committing to? He dumped me because “I long ago told you that my personal version of Polyamory involves committed, loving, and trusting relationships.¬† This is not what you want; you have said as much…your comments made me realize that I should not be spending time talking with someone — especially long, drawn-out conversations which only lead to fights and disagreements — who doesn’t want security and care (the “white picket fence is a prison wall” comment was very revealing about your attitudes towards roots and stability) when I should be out there finding someone who does…you will become a formidable person, which is my sincerest wish for you.” Which is all true, so fair enough. I do miss him, though. I am far more attached to him than he realises. I wish I could make him happy forever and never have to be sad. But neither can I deny that since the moment when I read his email, I am the happiest I’ve been in several months; I guess lately I have been worrying about his desire for children; although I’d love to stay in America with him for a few months or even 1 or 2 years, it was getting more and more obvious that he wants much more than that. Being young and beautiful,¬†I am not ready to settle down. I crave thrills, new experiences, adventure, exoticness in all aspects of life.

He claims to be able to pierce labia in a way that would time the piercing with orgasms, but in his infinite cruelty he did not give me the instructions for this when he left (or critique the UK Government Torture Act story, which he had nearly 2 months to do.) I will miss him soooo much! He taught me so many things which I’ll use for the rest of my life and he was someone I could trust with anything, and he made me not feel ashamed about my emotional weakness, which only occurs in a certain situation, but which was very shameful and confusing to me. I read his email just after modelling for the law school, and I was wearing a brown steampunk corset over a long-sleeved t-shirt, with a Goth silky red and black cardigan thing; it had ruffles at the wrist and edges. I was also wearing blue jeggings I got in Sainsbury’s. I got the corset online from an alternative store, and the cardigan thing from an alternative shop in Coburn Street which closed down. I got the tee in Hong Kong 4 years ago.

The next day (31st) I did some modelling for my university (to use in prospectuses, law school website and apparently bus shelters all over Britain to promote our law school). It was loads of fun and I met really nice people, we were actually talking far more than modelling because of all the waiting around. It was great getting to know people, especially Masters and Postgrads because our law school is quite socially¬†“divided”, both from the rest of the University and internally among the different kinds of degrees and different kinds of people. The shoot was cancelled the day after because of rain, then I met up with Leanne, who I hadn’t seen in a while (she’s a law student in the same year as me.) We got takeout coffe in the Main Library cafe (I had a mocha with caramel syrup) and wandered out onto the big grass sqaure, which was sodden. So we were walking round this square (the benches were wet) drinking coffee and eating salad (her) and a double chocolate chip cookie (me) which are quite representative of what foods we like to eat respectively. She’s vegetarian and I subsist on chocolate, though I am eating more healthily now to make my hair grow faster.

Anyway, Leanne was saying she didn’t really want to graduate, which are my feelings exactly – I DON’T WANT TO LEAVE UNI!! She asked if I was going to the Grad Ball, and I said yeah, because I’d thought I might be in America with the guy at the time, but since he dumped me I would go to the ball then, as there’s no rason not to go. Leanne’s going. I told her about the guy. Then I wondered why I have way more friends from my societies and clubs than in the law school; I hardly have any in the law school but loads from other courses, universities, hugh school and work, which is a bit odd, I think. Though a couple of girls at the photoshoot were in exactly the same situation as me, so I guess I’m not that weird. And our law school is not exactly conducive to having lots of friends; we tend to have little groups at best.

Leanne said it’s¬† just about clicking with people and the overrepresentation of snobby students, and that I shouldn’t worry about it. I was saying that I wish I could travel, but for the moment I’ve got to stay here, cos I sort of met someone. She was all, “Cool, what’s he like?” and I didn’t want to lie, but neither did I want to admit that Roland is slightly chubby and really old, as well as only slightly above average in looks, so I just said “It’s complicated,” and I also didn’t want to lie to her that he is my boyfriend because I don’t like lying to her.

Of course she wanted me to spill, and I did want to tell her and had wished I could tell her. But Leanne is a very respectable, conservative sort of person – she even looks like a law student, unlike me and roughly¬†90% of our law school. (She even has nice sensible hair; its long and wavy but somehow looks sensible; I don’t know why.I mean, neither of us have an actual haircut; mine is shorter than hers and has a thicker fringe and highlights, but mine doesn’t look all sensible like hers and I can’t work out why. Maybe it’s her fringe? Because lots of girls don’t have an actual haircut and their hair doesn’t look sensible.¬†So I don’t know why.) She’s a churchgoer and sort of Catholic-y without being Catholic, if that makes sense (does it? No, it doesn’t. And she is against some very fundamental Catholic principles). Anyway, she’s the sort of prim, proper girl that I would be if someone gave me a libidodectemy. Though she’s had several¬†boyfriends while I haven’t had any which is unfair. But it’s not surprising cos she’s really¬†pretty but then so am I. I sometimes worry what she thinks of me, and this was before I met Roland! So this is why I’m having reservations about telling her, even though I already told her friend Jay.

I said, “What if you don’t like it?”

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of pretty crazy stuff,” she said (it’s pretty much unavoidable at our uni.) “I’m not judgemental.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not…but it’s like, well, I told Jay. But I think that’s actually easier, because I care about, like, your opnion -I’m not saying I don’t care about Jay’s opnion. Just like if I tell you, and you didn’t like it…”

So far, only my best friend Lochlan and Jay knew about it. I was too paranoid to tell my friends in my town or my other Stirling friends. We were walking over the wet dirt-path with the Main Library in front of us again. Then I thought, well, if she’s your friend you should be able to tell her. And if she’s negative about it, she’s entitled to her reaction; and if she’s so negative and judgemental that she never speaks to you again then it’s better that it happens now rather than later when you’ve bonded more. And at least you’ll know what she’s like.

So I said, “OK, but you have to let me finish.” Then I told her: “OK I met this photographer guy on an art-sharing website, he does nude photography and he was based in Edinburgh and I liked his art so he did some photos of me.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction, so I went on “And…so he gave me 100 for that and…he gave me extra for letting him spank me. Like, we’d talked about it before on the website and stuff.” There didn’t seem to be a reaction to this either,¬†or she’s really good at controlling facial expressions,¬†which rather spoiled the dramatic effect. It made it easier to go on, though, instead of lying “…and that’s how we met and ended up dating.” So I went on, “Well, long story short, he’s paying me to sleep with him,” and I thought how simple life could be if we didn’t make symbolic associations to actions, gender and sexuality and make such a big deal out of everything.

“How much is he paying you?” she asked

“8,000. I’ve always wanted to sell my virginity,” I added, “It’s like a kink or a fantasy.”

“What did Jay say?”

“He said it was good that I’d have this experiencde that not many other people have and I’d always like be able to talk about it and have a good story to tell.”¬† and we came to a massive puddle and turned back, retracing our steps. Just for the record, I was earing my old leather jacket over a long cable knit fitted¬†hoodie and black jeans with knitted shoes; Leanne was wearing a dark sensible-looking top, purple velvety skirt, tights and boots.

“My boyfriend’s into that – spanking,” she said.

I was incredulous. She was the last person I would’ve guessed to be one of my kind, and I wondered if he liked it and she just went along with it to please him.

“Are you into it, or is it like he is, so you just…”

“Well, he really likes it and yeah, I do. Don’t tell anyone.”

I wondered if she was a switch or a domme or sub, but the question just boggled my brain and slid away because I couldn’t deal with it. I could not believe it.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I said. Not that I could, anyway, even if I was a bitchy wee gossip, because she’d tell everyone I was a prostitute. Not that I’d care because I only care what people I like or respect think about me, so I don’t care what they think if I don’t know them, and lots of them are quite adventurous anyway if the goss is true. I thought of telling her not to tell anyone about it but I think she knows not to, and if she didn’t care about my privacy then telling her not to wouldn’t stop her. Actually, I might’ve told her not to tell anyone earlier, before I told her, while I was stalling and agonizing over it.

Leanne said something like “Well that’s not something I would do, I think¬†losing virginity should be with someone special,¬†but I’m not going to judge you for doing it, I think everyone should be able to do what they want.”

“Imagine how much peace there’d be in the world if everyone thought that,” I mused.

Then we went to do the personality test that the Church of Scientology on the South Bridge was offering. We were put in a room to do the test, it was a questionnaire, the Oxford Capacity test which is meant to be really accurate.¬†Leanne showed me what she’d written on her phone: I put a fake name so don’t be surprised if they call me Elena.

I’d only put my first name. When the results came back Leanne was taken to a different room. The woman explained the results to me and said they were very unusual – my happiness and confidence/certainty were close to the 100 mark (extremely high) with aggressiveness (which they define as ambition, ability to initiate things, get organized, concentrate, etc) also very high, as was responsibility. She said the test showed I was very sociable and active and love getting involved so probably I was doing a lot of extracurricular activities/very sociable and generally I’m goal-oriented and don’t reveal my negative emotions to others. I think its 100% accurate. She said my results were the only ones she’d ever seen that were so positive. She then tried to sell me a Dianetics book. She left me to wait for Leanne, but she didn’t return for a long time and I knew I’d missed the bus home so I’d miss kickboxing class, which didn’t bother me cos I’d rather spend time with Leanne. I’d let my social life fall by the wayside because of the dissertation and the exams right after that, and she’d done pretty much the same thing. I then wondered why it was taking so long and if they were indoctrinating her or something, so I decided to go look for her and pretend she had to catch a bus/train so I could just open the door if I heard her voice and tell her it was time to go.

I went down the corridor but I couldn’t hear her at any of the doors, so I turned back to check out the other part of the building when I saw a cute guy with black hair. I’m a sucker for any boy with black hair and also I wondered if I could get it out of him where Leanne had got to/what they do with people who do the personality test, because it might be quicker to get it out of him where she was instead of listening at every door in the place. So I talked to him about Scientology, and he explained how the body could be healed by healing the mind, which I pointed out was similar to Freud’s study of Clara.I detected no lie in his eyes when I touched on where Leanne could have got to – he didn’t know which room, but I knew they weren’t doing anything weird, because he was telling what he believed to be true. So I decided to stop searching for Leanne and we chatted about Scientology and I asked if Scientology had any values; he suggested I buy a book from them. I asked if polyamory was allowed; he didn’t know the word so I explained, but before he answered Leanne turned up.

We left, and she said they didn’t get her test results right, which is true.

We went into our uni’s microlab and went online and I showed her the times of the modelling shoot tomorrow because they were short on models, but she couldn’t make it. I told her I was blogging about Roland. We were doing stuff online and then she goes, “How do I get to your blog?” and that absolutely floored me, I mean I thought Christians aren’t supposed to be reading blogs on BDSM prostitution! What was happening here?! I mean, I’d guessed she wouldn’t be too negative about it, but actually wanting to read about it?? Anyway I gave her the link and suggested she create a wordpress account so she desn’t have to type the link each time.

After that we met up with her friend Duncan and ended up in Beanscene discussing persecution of Gingers, human rights and the media, the answer to my neverending quest to find the best country to live in, equal marriage, and, because I was thinking about this issue, the liklihood of legalizing poly marriage.

Duncan was very nice. I had a mocha with marshmallows and cream, and a crispy cake thing that didn’t taste very nice. Leanne had a berryade that was too sweet¬†and Duncan had¬†a thingie.

I felt very happy as I went home on the bus.

The next day I did some modelling on Calton Hill and met Kimberley who I instantly took a liking to. She asked me if the gold-coloured handflower I was wearing was “my religion” but they’re cultural not religious. Not that it’s even my culture, I just got it off Ebay. We got talking and she saaid I was the most ‘out of the box’ law student ever and she liked me, I was like, “That’s a great compliment from someone who’s only known me five minutes!” and we were giggling and I was all “I wish I was bi then I could take you out on a date” and we were just rofl. Then we all modelled in Princess Street Gardens and about 6 of us who’d gotten pally during the 3 days of shooting went to Maggie’s Pub in Grassmarket afterwards for some food (I had chicken wings and my first taste of breaded mushrooms because Kimberley couldn’t finish hers, and a Vodka and Irn Bru.)We¬†were talking about the Eurozone, EU free movement law, whether Indonesia has “too much freedom” (of the¬†media)¬†as a girl who is from Jakarta claims,¬† and Ellen gave Kimberley a 101 on the gold standard versus fiat currency, something I know about but don’t know where I learned this.¬†We all added each other on Facebook and¬†got the waitress to take pics.¬†I just checked out the pics on Facebook ūüôā

 

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