It occurred to me the other day that while I feel like my life is full of stress and uncertainty, from an outsider's point of view, I lead a pretty kinky life. I attend a regular munch and sporadically show up at others, I go to parties, I get invited to kinky people's homes and invite them to my home.
I do have fun.
Last week my chest was used as a message billboard between three sadists, one of whom was my husband. The week before that, I came home from the munch with my poor breast looking like it had been clawed by an angry cat, thanks to all the clothing pins that had been systematically pinched on and then ripped off (by someone's teeth, no less). Yesterday two friends came over
(hi Monkey Ninja and Winsome Gypsy!)
and we made cupcakes. Then we all went to my local munch together, where we celebrated another friend's birthday, and I got to spank his sub with my SLUT impression paddle.
(I was almost choked to death by a possessed rubber ducky, but that's another story.)
I turn down more events than I attend. With my schedule and family life, I have to. But I'm grateful to live in the community I do, full of warm, generous, fun, and welcoming people, who understand my life is less than easy right now, but don't let me live in self-pity, either. Life goes on. Nipples must be clamped. Limbs must be cuffed. Asses must be welted, and necks must be collared. We cannot spend our lives worrying and feeling sorry for ourselves.
I don't think you'll ever hear a psychiatrist touting BDSM and kink as anti-depression methods, but goddamn, they can work.