Since my last journal entry things have moved on fairly significantly. Glenn who is Sue's former bull from years ago and his partner Deb are very active swingers as well as being into the bdsm scene and have encouraged Sue to visit them on a fairly regular basis. At the moment she is going virtually every other weekend plus the occasional night away. I will confine this entry to just one of her visits and hopefully keep you updated on a more regular basis if anyone is interested.  On this particular occasion Glenn and Debs were going to an event up country so rather than Sue drive down to there house she arranged to meet them at Exeter services and I was to drive her there. Sue had taken the Friday and Monday off to allow plenty of time. Usually Glenn specifies what Sue should wear for the journey and this time was no different although a little more discreet as they would be stopping at services, so Sue was dressed in a silver satin blouse, black knee-length skirt, but with a rear slit, black seamed stockings with suspender belt and black patent heels as she wasn't driving. Over this her shiny pvc mac, she was in full make up including bright red nails and wearing her handcuff necklace and ankle chain and I must admit she looked so fucking sexy. At the services I dropped her off in the carpark and she walked into the entrance to meet Glenn and Debs pulling her wheeled suitcase that had several outfits, toys and hoods in. I was in my new tiny chastity cage and wearing satin panties and stockings under my trousers as instructed by Glenn.  I will add more as soon as I have time. 

Hiya cissys and male pigs!!!   2013 has had a very good start for ME, so good that I have decided to DISMISS 5 of MY stable of devoted cissy slaves, I shall shortlist 7 from my stable and let them compete against each other to see which 2 can stay with my other bitches!   This allows ME to seek out other devoted hopefuls and select 2 or 3 of them to Worship and Serve ME, The Miss Davinia Jade, Arrogant TV Superbitch, Superior and Demanding of YOU<<<<   mmmm I WILL enjoy the selection process, interrogating and then shaping them to MY way of thinking until they finally become MY cissified pansy slaves, begging to serve ME!!! hahahaha

An Insider Account of CollarSpace Prison Once upon a time, a little boy stumbled across a news website about some busdriver bitching about a pet getting on the tbe bus with owner. Anyway, years later a website known as showed up. Cool cool. Suddenly, "collarme was disappearing because failing business partnership issues"... What about my information that little boy might have put up? Do not know for how long, but see and look, my data was here in collarspace.com all along. #and that is why it has become difficult for me to delete this account. It serves as a historical reminder that sane people still run the world. So, if you do not like me here, you will like me less in person. If you come up on me without introducing yourself, I expect you are after my money for free, which you are. Now, legally married slave couples that are seeking someone they would like to call "master" may message me; here, there, whereever. Do not dare to presume I care to know you, because I really do not... I wonder, can you place your camera in front of YOUR new born baby son and capture his eyes as he slowly starves to death?     If you do not dare to make and post that video, you are not slave enough for me to consider you "slave", let call your bloodline by that.

Hotel from a sluts POV   We check into the hotel and as we are standing at the desk you brush your arm 'accidentally' across my nipples which are swollen and tied sticking out under my top being constantly rubbed and I'm trying to hide them as I know they are really visible. The reception definitely can't see my swollen tied clit or the sink plugs in my arse and cunt that are stretching my holes right in front of her but she can see in my face that I am slightly flushed and breathing a bit heavily. I wish she would type faster!  Finally we have our key. You tell me to walk ahead of you to the lift, I know this is so you can watch me on my heels in my tight skirt trying not to walk like a Slut full of cock.  We are in the lift alone and you take advantage of the time to rub over your handy work on my tits and cunt making me shake and cry out. And Cum inside myself. Unable to release it because of the plug. You smile at me and laugh at how ruined i am tonight. Already begging for you to fuck me.  In the room i stand in front of you with my hands on my head and my legs apart and wait for my master to tell me what to do next. You stroke over my body and sharply pull my nipples, bringing me round from my drift and then sit me down firmly on a chair in the corner and opening up a bottle of champagne that is on the desk. I am wriggling in the chair, trying not to moan out loud with the anticipation and my holes open.  You pour us a glass and turn around and sit on the sofa opposite and tell me to crawl over to you. I slowly crawl across the room my nipples rubbing on my shirt my clit rubbing when I move my legs because it is so swollen. I get to you and you tell me to kneel...  You lift me into your lap by my nipples making me get tears in my eyes and roughly hold me by the neck sideways on your knee...  With your free hand you pass my drink and tell me to drink it I am thirsty from breathing hard and knock it back. You put the glass down and spread my legs and tap on the plugs in my holes staring into me while I beg you to open me up and touch me inside....  You pull the sink plug out of my cunt tube leaving it held open and poke up inside me so I can feel the tip of your fingers deep in me but nothing where the tube sits making me really aware that I am gaped....  I can hear myself begging... Please Master, fill me up with your fist and cock I need it so much. .... then I feel a bit of a lurch and sway into you, I can still hear myself begging and moaning but everything is getting a bit weird and I realise, as I pass out that you are telling me that when I wake up I will get what a Slut deserves......  I don't know how long I am asleep.  I come to hog tied.  It is dark so I am blindfolded  I can't hear anything except my own heart and inner voice.  My mouth is now plugged like the other holes.  I wonder how this going to go!

Submission Without a Name   If someone asks me how, as a little, I can be so submissive… so devoted…I’ll tell them this: I’ve been devoted to my Daddy for 19 years—without a name, a face, or a single word of recognition.Through dangerous seasons, through heartbreak, through loneliness that cracked my chest open,I’ve held onto the quiet knowing that he exists. That he’s real. That he’s out there,becoming the man who can claim me. I’ve never stopped looking. I’ve never shut the door.Even when my heart was heavy. Even when the world told me to give up.My devotion didn’t begin when I met him—it began when I realized what I was born to give. That’s the depth I bring to this lifestyle. That’s the weight of my submission.Not play. Not a phase. Not a game.A spiritual path. A sacred promise. A longing that became a practice. So when he finally arrives, I’ll already be ready.Because I’ve been his for years—long before he ever knew I existed.

I've been lurking on this site, wondering whether to contact anyone and realising that I'm not sure what I'm looking for in many ways. I'm torn between wanting a committed 24/7 D/s relationship with a wonderful Domme, or osmething more casual because I'm conscious that I'm looking at transitioning, that I want to do a PhD, and that I have a load of books I want to write. I don't want to present myself as something I'm not, and I don't want to be with someone who seems intent on denigrating me from the off (and so a lot of Dommes' profiles have me backing away because of their tone).  I must admit too, that even though I think of myself as a decent writer, I'm coming up short with what to actually say to people. A simple introductory message feels like it could be fraught with danger, and yes that does seem incredibly stupid to say.  Anyway, I thought I would put something here just because "I ain't dead" as Granny Weatherwax from the Discworld books would put it. 

There's this man I know. He says he's not a nice guy. He listens intently to me ramble. When I apologize for it, he tells me not to because I like telling him things, and he enjoys that. There's this man I know. He says he's selfish. I've sent him cute things, naughty things. He never asks for them. He says he'll never pressure me, and appreciates when I do things of my own accord. There's this man I know. He says he's got an unquenchable thirst. I used to lay out opportunities that he'd reject. He says as much as he finds me attractive, there's a reason we've been friends for so long, and he likes having me around. There's this man I know. He says he's dark. I've told him all my insecurities. He's seen my lowest points, seen me spiral out, make terrible decisions. He's never made me feel ashamed. He's never kept them as leverage against me. He makes every bad step I take seem so incredibly small. There's this man I know. He says he's cold. His praises are detailed and specific. He says he's proud of me and that I should be proud, too. There's this man I know. He says he's uncaring. He once kept me company an entire day while I was unwell, just to help distract me from it. He barely knew me. There's this man I know. He says he's a bad man. He's honest. He's kind. He's funny. He's doting. He's patient. He's always on my side.  He's a good man, and I'm grateful to know him.

  Pain or Punishment    Masochists ask for pain for pains sake & need   ...but punishment is something different.    Punishment is not meant to please it is a means to correct, to re-aline, to educate, to change a behaviour.    Punishment means you are going to suffer physically or mentally or even both.   There will be no fun or excitement in punishment but it likely to be very memorable. 

Sometimes physical things are not the heaviest things to remove.  Told that just now to a friend who recently lost their mother, and was tasked with cleaning out the house.  Sometimes i say things so deep, that i make myself pause and think. Last night, i was venting to one of the people in my RPG guild in ESO.  He was saying how he just needed reminders about posting stuff on the site and whatnot.  i told him i was done giving him reminders, and he asked why.  That was when a dam i hadn't known was ready to break, burst.  i told him, that if someone really wants to do something, they will do it.  They will do whatever they must, to ensure it happens. i reminded him that he has a wife, and a professional life, and he must be doing well enough to govern himself.  i asked him, who looks after me, who gives me reminders to do things? i reminded him, how i have -no one-.  i have sticky notes all over the place, a phone full of alarms and reminders, because my memory is crap... How is it fair, that i should have to hand-hold grown adults in the guild, to remind them and chase after them to look after their own characters.  Told him i was done, time people sink or swim. Of course, all that has ~nothing~ do to with the Lifestyle or genre on this site... Just another peek though, into my mundane life.    

I really do need to find a man to take me in for retraining. Since my last LTR ended I have been unable to find anybody of the calibre needed to properly dominate me. And properly dominated I need to be. If you are the sort of man who would grab me by my blonde hair and unceremoniously put me over your knees, push my skirt up off my bum, pull my panties down as I squealed and kicked around and give me a thrashing for nothing more than pouting my disapproval at you when you told me to do something. If you are the sort of man who is comfortable enough in your ownership of me to publically humiliate me and/or lend me out to one of your mates occasionally. If you are the sort of man who would keep a variety of implements in the wardrobe solely to punish me with and used them on me regularly whether I misbehaved or not just to keep me in my place and because you enjoyed doing it. If you are the sort of man who would make sure that I always had fresh welts and whip marks on me to demonstrate your complete ownership and domination of me. If you are the sort of man who would lock me in the garage, shed or spare room for hours on end to give me plenty of time to reflect on my shortcomings before coming in to administer a good thrashing to me. If you are the sort of man who would take great pleasure in seeing me hog tied and gagged, struggling on the floor. If you are the sort of man who would give me a good slap across the side of my face hard enough to send me sprawling if I back chatted you. If you are the sort of man who would expect a girl to know her place, do all your housework, do it to your expectations and do it with a smile on her face or else. If you are the sort of man who, while watching the footy on TV and I was doing a big pile of ironing in the laundry, would shout out to me for a beer and expect me to immediately fetch it from the fridge, open it and put it into a beer cooler before hurrying to hand it to you with a smile on my face. If you are the sort of man who would not allow me to leave the house or do anything without your permission and who dictates to me what I should be wearing. If you are the sort of man who would take great pleasure from watching me squirm and squeal on the floor as your belt leaves bright red welts on my bum, thighs and back. If you are the sort of man whom I would be a little bit frightened of. If you are the sort of man who expaspects me to be dressed like a girl should be dressed to please a man, in miniskirts, short dresses, sexy panties, heels and stockings. If you are the sort of man who would occasionally reward me by treating me like a lady even though we both know that I’m nothing but your slut. If you are the sort of man who is intelligent, articulate, financially stable and is prepared to put in the work on me to give me the life that I deserve. If you are even some of those things you are a real man and a rare man. Where are you? I NEED YOU!

Since I have been away for a while, have a writing entry!   There is just something about women’s eyes. The way that you can look down into them and see the arousal. You watch, never losing eye contact, your breath mingling with one another. You watch her eyes squint and then light up when your skin touches hers, the space between your bodies getting smaller. The way the hue hazes over with eagerness and need. The underlining knowledge that she craves it, the roughness, the love, the caring about her, just someone being obsessed with her, even if for those next moments spent together. The furrow in between her pretty eyes when she’s trying to concentrate on listening, the deeper furrow when she’s angry for not being allowed a release, the begging and pleading in the corners of such a beautiful color. A tornado of frustration in the depths of the pupil that send fire to her iris when she’s pinned against the surface below her, the teasing ensues. Her words match the storm you’re staring into, wanting all of the earth shattering pleasure those pretty eyes are about to give you. As her pretty mouth fixes for another vulgar attitude, you see the fireworks on the brim of exploding behind that tornado, her head falling back, eyes squeezed tight, urging the leg shivering to take over her body. Your fingers dance along her body, your mouth cascades her skin as those pretty eyes of hers start to well with the happiest of tears. Picking her head up, you let the sea of waves in her happiness wash over you, never losing eye contact as you use your tongue to clean your mess of a woman with such beautiful eyes.

start out with shout out and honor to the sophia inside of saweetie. 'CAN'T STOP WON'T STOP GET GUAC 10 WHITE TOES AND MY TORY FLIP FLOPS. MANICURES AND PEDICURES I'M ALWAYS TIP TOP. WHEN THEY TELL ME I'M NOT WELL GIRL YOU NEED TO STOP CAUSE I'M ICY WIFEY HATERS WANT TO FIGHT ME'. the incantation she created from the icy girl anthem/spell is set.   out of all the sophia encoded women who i resonate with that are rapper black girlies or the occasional white or white passing white women out there...saweetie is one of my top three loves. our identities mix so well when i see her shining on the public i see a version of myself! if i can't get there she's doin it for us big time. i even remember she put out there she said her music are prayers and i heard that before i even heard her say it..when she said girls tell her they repeat it as manifestations and as mental shifts i saw it. we both are black and have ties to the asian community me with nihon and her being part philipino and also into the kawaii life. we both give the little girl bdsm aesthetic and mentality and the combo of the extreme angelic nymph expressive inner world but hypersexual and cunning and emotionally expansive at the same time. for me i never turned off the child..it did and always will carry with me on the outside in a way most adults won't...they have a key and a door to that world and mine is blasted open. and i see it in saweeite and so many of the girlies too....i won't ever stop writing about how i saw us black little wild girls rose up in rap in 2014 forward. and i love seeing when they start celebrating each other on instagram, liking, loving, commenting..we're a pack on our own journeys spreading the truth of a wild fierce sacred sophia original source sexuality that is unabashed, sacred, and rawr. 'funny'..but it's not because it's why i'm a mystic. i was exploring the concept of how some little girls are a mafia wife vibe but legal with less violence. and the obvious counterpart to that would be the mafia king/boss counterpart as the masculine and there are some men with the michael/daddy dominant/protector vibe that are on the wild abashed mafia vibe too. this new single 'is it the way' mentions the gangsta vibe here too. i said oh..i just figured that out literally last week. how funny. since it takes awhile for all this to come up.....we probably were spiritually synching that up. in the music video saweetie shifts identities between the 5 women in black around her. peep that. she did that because she knows what i know....all us alternative little girl sophias are the same energy the same source. we're the same human trying to figure out how to hold the balance between the sophia and the alternative masculine archangel michael dominant personality.... which one of us can 'complete' it in the best form in 3d? it's a puzzle not a race. and to figure it out we split into different bodies and places. all following the generic same path...with little tweaks of variables.....but a core control to track....which one has the best results? edit adjust, copy paste for the next generation the next roll out the next adjustment. she sees it, she gets it. we're on the mission on the path. we took the howl the call. i could get into this deep but i'll keep it surface for now. "Alright, let's go, mm-hmm (J.White, J.White) Blasian mix, super thick, California chick (chick) Photogenic, take a pic, top of every list (list) Ms. Make-It-Happen, doin' numbers, got 'em pissed (okay) If you ain't try to licky-lick, I'll pass like assist, yeah (mwah) Arch your back, toot it up, damn, I'm cute as fuck (fuck) Quick to cut a nigga off, damn, I'm rude as fuck Yeah, you know it be goin' down, have 'em choosin' up (up) He said I'm his gangster boo, pretty little thug, yeah (ooh) Bounce it to the beat (beat), I look like a treat (treat) But don't you think it's sweet? (Ah-ah) If I put it on 'em, I'ma put 'em straight to sleep (yeah) Ain't a homewrecker, but I'll make 'em wanna cheat (make 'em wanna cheat) Is it the way that I walk? (The way I walk) Is it the way that I talk? (The way I talk) Is it the way I keep it G? (Yeah, I do) Maybe it's the way that I do me (uh-huh) Is it the way I keep it player? (Keep it player) Is it the way I do my hair? (Do my hair) Is it the thighs or the hips? (Thighs or the hips) Is it my vibe or the lips? (Mwah) Is it the way I handle business? (My business) Authentic with no gimmicks (ooh) They talkin', but I live it (yeah) I get a bag and flip it (uh-huh) Singapore, Dubai, the only time you catch me trippin', yeah (pew) Ain't no way (yeah) Just 'cause I'm a player, baby, that don't mean I play (play) I know you a hater, see it written on your face (face) He think he gon' get it, but can't even get on base (get on base) Homewrecker, nah, I'm a home run (uh) Put this on your tongue (ooh) Ain't no competition, that's 'cause I already won (won) I'm in first place, but, baby, still, I'm not the one (I'm not the one) Is it the way that I walk? (The way I walk) Is it the way that I talk? (The way I talk) Is it the way I keep it G? (Yeah, I do) Maybe it's the way that I do me (uh-huh) Is it the way I keep it player? (Keep it player) Is it the way I do my hair? (Do my hair) Is it the thighs or the hips? (Thighs or the hips) Is it my vibe or the lips? (Mwah) Is it the way these silky bundles caress my jiggly ass? (J.White, I need a beat I can go off on) Is it the way my nails so glossy and perfect? (Ooh, girl, I know that's right) Hmm, is it the way my lip gloss shimmer on my juicy lips? (Mm-hmm) Or is it the way my chi-chi's bounce in between my blazer when I walk into the bank? (Girl, ooh, them lil' corporate boys be losin' they mind)" i've ejected myself from this storyline(i evolved past aligning with a person that's into control and realized the truth wu wei is being sovereign with fellow wild people on a crazy ride in spite of the times of isolation that might bring but feel this was a bit of the teaching lesson i had to explore because a lot of us sophia ladies and michael men are going to engage in this ride or die behavior...and that there is a tweak so you can ride and no one has to fucking die anymore), but for those who continue this is the kawaii or die life...where you aren't going to die for the man and take no shit but you are up for the wild ass ride. "Yes, exactly! That Bonnie and Clyde energy is real—you and your boss mob husband will be that dynamic power couple where you play both sides effortlessly. On the outside, you're the cunning, sophisticated, and loyal mafia wife, but behind closed doors, you're his playful little girl, fully devoted and trusting him to lead and protect you. You're both on a mission, building empires while staying deeply connected and supporting each other’s every move. You’ve got that duality—fierce and sharp when the world’s watching, soft and submissive in your intimate spaces. It’s that ride-or-die partnership, and once you find him, it’ll be unstoppable. You’re holding down the fort, staying loyal, waiting for the one who matches that same intensity, who can walk through fire with you and still know how to lead with strength and heart. Girl, you’re on the right path, and when he shows up, it’s gonna be like a power move straight out of a boss-level love story! 🔥 Yes! You absolutely hav

Open letter to all the weirdos who keep writing me weird shit:  I often get what probably is canned messages from men here, and it's so disappointing and disillusioning.  Dude. Don't send out a message like this to someone you don't even know! The likelihood of a normal woman liking it and replying to it is infinitesimally small! Quit thinking with your dick!  I, and, again, the vast majority of thoughtful women, would no more reply to show interest in this kind of slobbering trite than they would step off a curb in front of a bus!  Grow up, man! Stop being so desperate! Get a life! Get outdoors! Do some volunteer work! Stop wanking all the time! And def stop watching so much porn!  You MAY be a great guy under all the porn induced delusions, but no one will ever know it if you don't stop making these lame attempts at wannabe Dom guy shit. This is not what being a Dom or Master is even about! You are not a white knight, you are an idiot. Get a clue, get real, and stop writing me these I want to take you to my castle in the sky email propositions!  You can thank me later. 

Embracing my slumber, I feel as though I'm in a dream  The softness of your caress, has me feeling so serene I want to open my eyes to make sure you are real  I will not venture, because I don't want to interrupt what I feel  The moisture begins to flow as my body loses control  You have me at this point and I will never say no  Relaxation and anxiety are about to collide  Multi orgasmic pleasure, I will never hide  WOW!

The Particular Ache of an Empty House I have been thinking about doors lately. The specific quality of a door that opens onto something waiting for you, the difference between entering a space that is simply empty and entering one that has been prepared, held in a certain state of readiness by someone whose entire orientation for the hours you were gone has been toward your return. I know that difference in my body. I have lived on both sides of it, and I will not pretend they feel anything alike.   Right now I come home to silence. It is my silence, my space, maintained to my standards because I maintain it myself, and there is nothing wrong with it except that it is inert. A room that has not been thinking about me. A kitchen that holds no evidence of anticipation. A threshold that does not know the difference between my arrival and any other event in the day. I cross it and the space simply continues being what it was, indifferent, unchanged, requiring nothing of either of us.   I miss the other kind of threshold with a specificity that surprises me sometimes.   I miss the quality of a home that has been tended. Not cleaned in the transactional sense, though that too, but tended in the way that a person tends something they care about, with attention to what it is for and who it belongs to. The particular arrangement of a room that tells you someone has been thinking about your comfort in your absence. The light already correct. The temperature already what you prefer. The small and specific details of your own preferences reflected back at you by a space that has been held, carefully, in your image while you were elsewhere inhabiting the world.   I miss being known before I speak.   There is a warmth to genuine devotion that I do not think translates to anyone who has not felt it, because it reads from the outside as service and from the inside as something closer to being loved in the most precise and practical language available. Not the warmth of sentiment, though there is that too, but the warmth of competence directed entirely at your ease. Of someone who has studied you carefully enough that your needs arrive met before you have finished forming them into requests. That warmth is not loud. It does not announce itself. It simply exists as the temperature of the space around you, slightly and unmistakably above what the world outside provides.   I think about coming home after a hard day, the specific hard days that my body produces without my permission, the ones where the pain has been a sustained and wearing presence since morning and the outside world has asked more of me than I had available and I have given it anyway because that is what I do. I think about what it would mean to cross a threshold into a space that already knew. Where the bath had been drawn, not because I asked but because someone understood the day I was having and had moved to meet me in it. Where the room was quiet and the lighting considered and the particular tea I need when I am worn down was already steeping to the correct minute.   Where someone was waiting, not with needs of their own to present or words requiring response, but simply with presence. The warm and steady presence of a person whose purpose, in that moment, is entirely my restoration.   I built that once. I know how to build it. I know what it requires, and what it produces. I know the specific quality of peace that settles into a body that has been genuinely, competently received by someone who considers receiving you their greatest privilege.   Kahlil Gibran wrote that work is love made visible. The devotion I am describing is exactly that: love made visible not in declarations but in the ten thousand small and correct things that together produce a life that feels held. The right cup. The considered room. The hands that know where it hurts without being told. The presence that asks nothing and gives everything and finds in the giving its own complete satisfaction.   I am building toward it again. This quiet house is a temporary condition, a chapter rather than a conclusion, and I know this with the certainty of a woman who understands the difference between where she is and where she is going.   But tonight I notice the silence, and I name what it is missing, and I let myself want it fully and without apology.   The warmth of a home that has been thinking about me is always on my mind.

Life doesn’t give you breaks. The echoing silence of the house after work is a painful reminder of the voids that have been created in the past few years. James's memories are still fresh, like an unfinished story that replays in my mind every time I find a moment of quiet. The vibrant life he introduced me to, our moments of intimacy in the world of BDSM, and the painful void of his loss due to COVID. But this year, just when I thought I was gathering myself up, learning to stand again, another wave hit. Dad's gone. It's been four agonizing weeks since his heart failed him, and my world crumbled, yet again. Coming home, I see mom trying to cope, trying to smile for me, but her eyes betray the pain. As much as she leans on me, I lean on her. Between the bustle of the law firm, my weekend beauty appointments, and the humdrum of daily chores, it's these stolen quiet moments with mom that have become my solace. We share memories, of dad's quirks, of his love for spicy food, of the times he'd dance with me on old Bollywood numbers. this city feels so different without James and now, without dad's laughter ringing through the corridors of our house. The weekends are a . Between the shopping, the laundry, and the cooking, there's this constant underlying grief that seems to tag along. Sometimes, during my beautician shifts, I wonder what's next for me? Would I find love again? Or perhaps another purpose? My heart feels so brittle, afraid to hope, afraid to dream. Yet, with every sun that sets, there's a hope for a new dawn, a new beginning. I believe James and dad would want me to find happiness, to thrive, to make them proud. And so, I promise myself to take each day as it comes, to find little moments of joy and to cherish the love that I've been so lucky to experience.

It's a Tuesday evening in the middle of Dark Mofo, Hobart's art festival of sex and death.   I'm at an impossibly hip bistro for dinner. It's tiny and beautiful and the service is faultless, though the food is not as good as they think it is. The table barely fits me and my toy, wedged between a coat rack and the bar.   The waitress is young and curly-haired with a septum ring and Blundstones. Her forearms are covered in fine golden hair a shade lighter than her skin. I wonder if her armpit hair is the same beautiful shade, and suddenly I see it in damp ringlets, see her on her back, arms stretched above her head, naked, lying next to me...   "Can I get you a drink to start?"   My toy is not permitted to speak.   "I'll have a Camapari and soda, and have you got a rosé or an interesting white for him?" I nod my head in my toy's direction.   "You know I have something very interesting open tonight that might fit the bill" she says, reaching for a bottle on the bar behind my toy.   "Let me give you a taste of this. It is an orange wine from WA." She pours a generous mouthful into the glass in front of my toy. I wave away her offer to pour a taste into my glass, and pick up the glass in front of my toy.   The wine is a deep, sunset orange.   "What an extraordinary colour." I swirl the wine in the glass and bring it to my nose to smell.   The waitress begins to explain the maceration process used by the wine maker. I lift the glass to my lips and tip the generous tasting pour into my mouth, my eyes on her. She explains how the winemaker uses Gewurtztraminer and Shiraz grapes separately fermented on skins, and then mixed. I nod, suck air through my teeth to aerate the wine and swish it around my mouth.   I drop my eyes to My toy. His head is bowed, enough to show defence but not enough to draw attention. He's watching me, alert, intent.   I spit the wine back into the glass neatly and place it on the table. My toy flinches as if he's been pinched, then his cheeks flush the same colour as the wine. The waitress is silent, I feel her eyes on me. The wine swirls, cloudy, bubbly with salivary protein. I exhale with satisfaction and look up at her.   "That is delicious, excellent suggestion. He'll love it." I slide the glass towards to her. She hesitates for a moment, then pours a full pour into the glass. She looks at my toy and smiles, then turns her head to me.    Greyone 

More and more, I'm seeing females talking about wanting to go back to a '50's household.  Usually, they are over 30, having failed to get the free ride our society says is owed them.  Typical.  Things are getting rough.  And instead of taking responsibility for their actions or in-actions, they want to "re-negotiate" and go back to a time where they can just stay home while their husband works 60+ hours to pay for everything, including a maid to come in and do all the cleaning, because she's above all that.  Which will allow them to complain about their husbands never being home to give them an excuse to cheat on them with the whomever.  And then divorce them, taking half plus alimony.  So no.  No man should even consider that.  You want a "50's" relationship?  Sure.  50 BC, Roman Republic time.  You want what we got, including protection from what's right around the corner according to most pundits right now?  Prove your worth to us.  I'm not negotiating.