I have got to get out more

Jay decided on Sunday night that he was sick of not getting any and that whether I liked it or not, something kinky was going down. I let him, because I was kind of getting sick of not getting laid, either.

He puts one of the collars and the leather wrist cuffs on me, and then tells me to get down on all fours on the bed, right up against the footboard. He's got rope out, so I assume that I am to be attached to said footboard in some manner, and I am correct.

The man tied my boobs to the footboard.

This, naturally, broke my head. I mean, don't get me wrong, I bought this bed with the idea that we could tie each other to it - it's a heavy-ass steel or iron or something and there's lots of bars and cross-bars and swirly bits... well, you get the idea. I just didn't expect my boobs to come in to play here.

While my head was broken, Jay got out the crop and practiced his wrist movements for a while, which I did not feel because I was too busy going "so wait, each boob is tied individually to adjacent bars and I cannot move them or myself OH GOD THIS HURTS MY HEAD OH GOD STOP THINKING". Seriously, it was pretty awesome. I had a ridiculously stupid look on my face for at least twenty minutes.

Jay finally untied me (and un-broke my head) when I started shifting around too much it was getting to be an issue. Because my boobs were, you know, attached to the footboard, that meant that my hands were either on top of the board, or supporting weight right in front of me, and eventually my wrists and knees were telling me to fuck off, so I kept moving.

Once he untied me, he proceeded to hook my wrists to the headboard (see? attachment options) and make boob- and pussy-flowers. Unfortunately, the boob-flowers really hurt this time, making me an extremely sad panda. I, was about to cry, and I hate crying.

Meanwhile, Jay had gone to all this trouble, and after the near-crying incident, I was not okay with being awake anymore, and so he wound up coming on my face, which was fine by me because my eyes were closed and I think that if we'd had sex, I would definitely had freaked out, because holy god, pussy-flowers have the amazing side effect of making everything super-sensitive.

We then both got up very late the next morning and bitched all day about being stupid-tired. We are awesome.

"When it detects things, it goes 'ding'!"

I am not sure how I managed to get through the entirety of my geeky-ass life without seeing even a single minute of Doctor Who prior to June 30, but I somehow did.

I mean, not only do I happen to love a lot of other British TV (Avengers and Waiting for God, anyone?) but I used to watch PBS like it was my job.

Never seen it. Glad I have now. Been watching as many episodes as I can get my hot little hands on.

Also, would do David Tennant six ways from Sunday.

No, no it is not.

This journal isn't controversial enough, so I figured I could get this little confession out here:

I refuse to support breast cancer research.

Go ahead and read that again if you need to; it's okay. Because there's got to be someone out there thinking She's not really serious, is she? Oh, I assure you, I am.

I do not support breast cancer research.

Now, any other charity, pretty much, I could come out in every day life and be like, "Nah man, I don't donate to that", and it'd be relatively okay. But breast cancer is the biggest sacred cow I have seen lately. I have people in my office who literally say things like "It's ALLLLL about the pink!" in dead seriousness and me, I just can't connect with that. It's like if you're a woman, which means you may or may not have tits, you should be donating every single spare cent and minute to THE CAUSE. In some circles, some places, there is seriously that expectation.

It's not that I don't know the effects of breast cancer - my aunt had it. Cancer has happened in my family, up to and including breast cancer. Cancer sucks it. I would be down with finding a cure (or cures, as it might very well be) to cancer in its various forms.

But really, I, myself, am so, so sick of being bombarded with pink ribbons and pink t-shirts and pink walks and pink this and pink stamps (okay, they're not pink, but you know what I mean) and just PINK PINK PINK.

Okay, I don't even LIKE pink as a color on it's own, okay?

And the thing of it is, the thing of it is, there are so many other things that need supporting and researching. Like AIDS. Or kids, I like kids. I think literacy is a good cause, as are a number of environmental efforts.

And it's not like I'm against science, hello. Or even against research, or breast cancer research in specific. I just don't feel that my dollars need to go to it. There's a whole lot of money that already goes to it, money that I am not entirely sure is actually spent on cancer research, and I would rather support things like my alma mater and AIDS research and alternative power research and Planned Parenthood and buy Christmas gifts for kids in care and things like that.

Also, I don't care if your dollars or minutes or whatever go towards supporting breast cancer research. That's cool, yo, it's all yours to do with as you wish. Mine just won't be joining yours.

Ah, that feels much better. I still won't advertise the fact around the office, but it was nice to advertise it somewhere.