I’m seeing One Ball in T-minus 4 days. I’m excited, folks, but I’m also stressed. Do you want to know why? Because there is so much stuff to do and not enough time to do it all.
Let me invite you into my pre-fuck ritual …
I need to shave my legs. I actually prefer epilating but I need to do that a week before the ‘event’, and then again a couple of days after that to make sure that all of the hairs are gone, even the little ones. My legs are always really red and spotty for at least 24 hours after epilating, so if I leave things too late (like this time), I have no choice but to shave.
My bikini line needs some work, and judging from just how [un]successful I was at my last attempt to book a bikini wax, I reckon I’m going to need to shave that too. And that means I’ll need to buy some new razors because we all know what trying to shave your bikini line with a blunt razor is like.
I need to tidy my shit up too. My bedroom is a bombsite of half-finished work projects and dirty laundry. I’ve also got a mound of work to actually do unless I want to find myself running out of money, plus I’m going to have clients on my back if I don’t get things finished soon.
I also need to get my shit together. You know … the kinky shit. I’ve got ropes [that My Mr. Grey made me] that I need to make sure are correctly in place on the bed. I’ve told him about them before and he made me promise to let him use them one day. I keep forgetting, but this time seems as good a time as any to finally tick that box.
I also need to make sure that my sex toys and lubricants are ready and raring to go, with plenty of batteries and cleaning ‘equipment’ somewhere close to hand. I have to hide them when I’m not using them, as my mother and sister have a habit of just walking into my bedroom when they visit. It’s made for awkward moments before, that’s all I’m saying. But the last thing One Ball and I are going to want is to have to rummage around for sex toys in the heat of the moment. I want to have all of that stuff ready for him.
And mints for the bedside table. A towel to catch the drips. Baby wipes for little cleanups. Throw a scarf in with the toys and lubricants because my leather blindfold just doesn’t restrict my sight in quite the way I want it to.
I need to change my sheets and add them to the growing pile of laundry and I need to de-fuzz my top lip … badly. There’s a bookshelf half painted that I should really finish off, and a pile of shoes and handbags waiting to be placed on top of it. My shoes and bags are art; I display them as such.
The kitchen and stairway need a good hoover and the bathroom is a bit of a mess, to be honest. The garbage bags need to be taken out …
See … look how nervous I am about this.
Why am I nervous?
Maybe I’m just stressing myself out?
The whole L-word situation isn’t helping things. Neither of us has said it. It’s still hanging in the air like a bad smell. We’ve both found little, weird ways to suggest to each other that we feel an L-word kinda way, but we haven’t crossed that line yet. It’s like we’re both scared, or waiting for the other person to say it first, or something … I’m not sure. I almost said it. And then he sent a picture that almost said it. But when I asked him outright if he’d just kinda said it to me he changed the subject entirely.
Fine, we’re still playing this game then, I take it.
I’ve also encountered a couple of things that have made me get the ick a bit. He’s sent a couple of outfit photos that show his style and my style do not match … at all. He looks fab most of the time, quite casual, but every now and then, he pulls this outfit out the bag that looks so terrible that it just makes me want to shake my head and re-dress him. I don’t say anything, obviously, because that would be mean for the sake of being mean … but it’s bugging me.
And his spelling and grammar in text messages are starting to get to me a bit. I don’t understand some of his messages at all, and I’ve found myself having to call him and ask him what he means about stuff on more than one occasion because the messages he’s sending don’t make a lot of sense.
And it seems like he’s REALLY eager to make me happy. It’s not a bad thing, but it is a bit much. He’s turning into a ‘yes-man’ and I need an occasional no thrown in. Make me work for it. I’m already a brat, you ain’t gotta spoil me and make it worse, you know? Plus, he has five kids. That’s gotta put some restraints on his budget. I don’t want him to spend money on me needlessly when he’s got a team of little people to feed and support, but it kinda feels like he’s eager to splash the cash for me, no matter what it is. He’s offering to buy and send me sex toys and all sorts of other stuff. I don’t need him to buy that stuff for me. I can do that. He needs to take care of his brood.
So, yeah, that’s where we’re at.
I should really get to work on my to-do list and stop focusing on the things that give me the ick.