Thank the gods that my friend Julie went to the UK this week and left me her car, because it is infinitely more preferable for me to panic-pack a metric-fuckton of fetish wear and saucy clothing and throw it all into the trunk of her car than it is for me to thoughtfully plan outfits.
Besides, a pervy girl has gotta be able to dress fly on the fly.
Critically, I also ran all of my errands, got the thyroid meds for the brocat #A, and my beloved top hat back from the ex-un-boyfriend.
I had a crazy momentary flirtation with The Red Rubber Dress this morning. It IS teh fabulous and of super heavy gauge, and therefore far more forgiving that the average latex dress. But I couldn’t bear the thought of getting a bottle of lube and greasing myself up.
Not this weekend.
So now I get to go be sassy pervy Negress-On-The-Spot, and explain to my overwhelmingly white audience how hot it is to do really filthy nasty edgy play on the precipice of racial and cultural cliffs & crevasses…and why that absolutely are never ever allowed to initiate the aforementioned play with PoC.
Gods, I need to get laid.
Just a nice hard slammy brutal fuck up against a wall over the edge of a cushion across the floor with wails and rugburns and that metallic taste in your mouth that is so gorgeously generated by arousalpanic.
More likely, though, it will be me and my Wahl Vibrator.
Which I, thankfully, remembered to pack.
I love masturbating.
This, at the very least, guarantees me a BIT of fun this weekend, stag status be damned!