Girl on the Net

The next chapter of this story happens when I’m probably in the middle of a breakdown. Perhaps it’s the way my life has been lately – an agony of paranoia and mistrust – that’s causing me to make some dodgy decisions. But this particular decision led to something good, I think. As helpful as it can be to hear ‘I love you’ in times of hardship, ‘I trust you’ healed my heart right now.

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There’s this guy I’m going to see on Saturday, with whom I am definitely not going to have sex. I imagine from the way I’ve phrased that sentence, and anything you might already know about me, that you can surmise this is a man with whom I would very much like to have sex. But I am not going to have sex with him. No matter how good he smells. No matter how deeply I yearn for his perfect, perfect dick. I am definitely not going to have sex with him, and that’s final.

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I haven’t had many guest blogs that cover the pleasures of needle play. I’ve keyworded this for ‘sharps kink’ in general because this doesn’t always involve needles: sometimes people use staples or knives instead, but broadly we’re talking piercing here. Penetrating the skin. As is so often the way when my blog is lacking in a particular kink topic, the incredible Jenby Doll has an outrageously cool story to fill in the aching gap. Today she’s here to talk about what I believe to be one of the most romantic uses of staples ever to hit the BDSM community. Do not try to change my mind on this: it’s made up. Take it away Jenby…

Note: needles, staples, blood. 

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If you missed the first part, here’s an overview: I had a test date with a blog reader, “Jack”, who took me up on my offer to do a phone chat and message exchange then give him feedback on where he might be going wrong. It was also a challenge for me. I am prone to avoiding constructive critique because I’m a rampant people-pleaser who never wants to upset anybody. Would I be able to tell Jack where he was going wrong without burying anything useful in a torrent of consoling positivity? Let’s see, shall we?

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Love does not write in pencil on your heart, it’s permanent. Impossible to erase. Sure, it might one day turn to hatred or disgust, like fresh wounds becoming twisted scars long after they were first carved into your flesh. But you don’t forget it easily. Love can change and it can die, you can lose it or throw it away or cure yourself of the cravings for it like a powerful addiction… but you can’t just erase it altogether.

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