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Consensual kink
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![]() 5/6/2008 1:52 pm [Post a comment] |
That be where I did be this weekend. Down in deepest Bournemouth I was invited to attend some time ago and finally made the trip, with entourage, last Saturday. I loved it, got good pics off the photgraphers there and had an hilarious time at the after-party with two of the most obnoxious twats it has ever been my squirming duty to be in a room with. Followed by having the best time ever with two people I really wasn't expecting much from. Let's start with the lady in the sheep shall we? Cause she was a fucking GEM! To be sat in a club is one thing, to have a buzz around your arrival is another (usually good, I like a ripple whisper, and my escorts for the evening were beautiful and well turned out, as was I - I BRING something to a fucking party) to stand at the bar, and be chatting with wonderful, erudite, cheerful, slightly pissed people is great. To have a comically unattractive (and I mean that in every sense of the word) person suddenly bray very loudly behind you "well all this full latex really does nothing for me you know. Who do they think they are?" to a companion who at least had the decency to look embarrassed; is quite hilarious. Indeed, who am I to up the tone? I did nothing for her you know, thank all the Gods for that. The second truly boring induvidual, sadly, was a fetish photographer. Who made a similar comment - why do we 'townies' insist on all this effort? Well, because a fetish party isn't so fun if everyone's in jeans really is it? Whilst I am to some extent a purist who feels strongly that BDSM permeates all levels of the social structure and should be enjoyed by those who simply want to tie Mildred to the bedposts with a hankie right up to....for arguments sake (and I do love an argument) the CODA (BWAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHHAAHHAHHAH) I am of the opinion that a dress code is a dress code and one is duty bound to do one's best. So to make everyone happy my escort (the other had gone off to do unspeakable things to his sub bless him) decided that the only way forward was to take ALL THE LATEX OFF and get in the pool. I donned the World's smallest pants, which, for those curious are featured in one of my profile pics. And nowt else. Now to the lovely people. One is a prolific and far too good for his own good DJ, and one is his astonishingly funny Missus. We all left together, and decided to hit Bournemouth proper, at 8am. On a Sunday. Drunk. Wearing a bowler hat. After a brief but eventful splash in the sea we toddled to the pier, and after finding the arcades closed, decided the only sensible thing to do would be to go to a bar until they opened. Feel the logic. This bar had a parrot. I liked her, she liked me. Now my descriptive powers must be perfect, allow me to set the scene: We were seated by a picture window on a set of bonkettes so filthy we contemplated mass masturbation in order to elevate them to the status of performance art, the walls are white, there is (for reasons unclear) a swing hanging from the ceiling. One of the bonkette backs was missing (see previous bracket) and faced the direction of the parrot approximately 30 feet away. I wanted that damn parrot. Bowler hat askew, I slithered over the mass of mess that was the cushion and through the missing section onto the floor, like a poo. Landing smartly on my elbows I proceeded to drag myself, regiment-style, a good ten feet along the bar floor before being spotted by a spotty oik who was all they could get to man a bar at 8am. Adopting my best 'casual' swagger I sauntered over to the parrot, and we had a chat, and a little bobbing-head parrot dance. The formalities done with I offered her a shoulder which she gladly sat upon and we headed back. Minutes of pleasant conversation ensued with her chatting and dancing and having a preen, much to the amusement of my fellow bird-nappers. She was a happy parrot, and I feel we bonded. Cue spotty oik number two who said I had to give her back as she was 'distressed' (I know a bit, a lot actually, about parrots) so I said that was fine, but he'd have to take her. He blanched, offered a hand (never offer a hand to a parrot) and tried to take her. She started the funniest 'Benny Hill-esque' dance around my shoulder and arm, I actually felt sorry for her, then she tried to bite him. Finally he managed to convince her she wanted to go back in her cage. Then I spotted the balloons in the staff room..... We left shortly after, me cheerful (after tearful farewell to parrot) with a balloon emblazoned with 'I AM A FUCKING PARROT' tied to my big toe. pic - my impression of Keres as was - in me bowler hat |
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View my blog 5/6/2008 3:37 pm [Add a Comment] [quote] |
The parrot was the "Lord Worshipful Grand Master Ogre Bus Conductor Ticket's Please" of the TheCOLON...
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View my blog 5/6/2008 3:52 pm [Add a Comment] [quote] |
Well now Im just depressed, I cant see tiny pants..and Im lacking a parrot. Thats it Im moving to england. Its the only solution. xoxo
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View my blog 5/8/2008 12:21 am [Add a Comment] [quote] |
The parrot was the "Lord Worshipful Grand Master Ogre Bus Conductor Ticket's Please" of the TheCOLON... I hereby dub you 'Lady Bnice, giver of all nicknames from this moment forth, forever and ever, arseholes. *you may rise oooo don't mention rise... you'll have the food monster101 talkin about cakes and bread and stuff... there see now I'm hungry Ggggrrr...
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