Punch Drunk and Punctured

'uptown one hundred skirts are bleeding
and mr. evangelist says
she's hit ' -Birthday Party, 'She's Hit'

(Monday 24th July)

Woke up this morning with a punch-drunk hangover- disorientated, can't walk straight, everything hurts just enough to prompt constant memories of the night before and thirsty for hair of the dog that bit me repeatedly.

Friday night: Hellfire. Nice big knife takes my breath away, nice big whips leave me breathless with my back all marked up and my bits all a-fluster.

Saturday night: A select group of perverted persons come out to play in honour of Mummy Laura's birthday. This debauched affair was held in the most beautifully equipped playspaces and dungeons (a private house I hadn't visited in a while, living in The Land of 'Nilla as I was *swallows hard*). Swoon as I am shown around- a sling, sharps bins, gloves, drawers full of needles, a violet wand, more whips that I could ever know what to do with, paddles, a coffin, rubber floors (all the better to be kicked around), canes, butt plugs, clamps and many more things of which wet and violent dreams are made... I remember it all so clearly now!

And so, to the fun and games:

First up was my saline labia infusion. Pink bits (inner and outer) pumped full of saline, via a rather chunky needle, then pierced shut- all performed by Mummy Laura (Melbourne). Then the lot was attacked with a violent wand as she tried to see if she could make the metal smoke (see photo above). Throughout this I variously squirmed, wriggled, got all hot and sweaty, scoffed ice water, said 'ouch' a few times, giggled, pulled weird faces (see above pic again) and even whimpered at the end *blush*. Held tight to Hunter's paw, almost biting through his glove at one point, and I was very grateful to have a hand-holder for this adventure! It was quite an ouchy procedurein parts, though I never done any genital piercings apart from the three permanent ones so not a pain I have much experience with. The sensation of the saline going in and eveything starting to swell was magnificent, like lusty engorgements or pre-menstrual tit tightness... just felt ready to burst! Also had an element of genderfucking mutation to it, 'she's got BALLS' alright (and furry ones at that- haven't shaved down there in weeks). Made me somewhat horny to look at them, then when the needles came out and my thighs were dripping blood... thankyou Mummy! Grinning like a fool, delirious and shaky I somehow get out of the sling and head outside for a smoke doing a curious wiggly-wank-walk when I realise that my newly-fashioned bits and pieces rub together every time I move. Lots of crossing and uncrossing legs while having a fag or two.

With ciggies finished and beer fetched I decide to increase the friction somewhat with the help of the abovementioned bear boy. Bleeding lots, and can longer tell whether its from the puncture wounds or somewhere else nearby. And was not trying to staunch the flow either. Messy messy messy.

In no particular order, rest of my fun went something along the lines of: breathplay, knifeplay, punched long and hard and booted and wrestled to the ground and beaten with stick by H. For hours. Inbetween rounds drink beer and champagne and huddle under the outside heater smoking too much. Watched lots of play, talked lots, flirted lots, repeated most of the above for the next few hours, crashed out for a teensy bit once the sun came up and then H got his grrl to come and pick us up because the train seemed impossible to manage- bless that woman! Arrived home in time to have porridge and shower and head off to Biennale art at the MCA and lots of caffeine at the Rocks coffee festival. Good thing I ordered that last double shot in my soy latte- somehow I didn't make it home again until the wee small hours thanks to a random business man buying me vodka at the Oxford, an old friend dragging me to a bar in Surry Hills, a pole-dancing pirate, and dykes from Mars.