inventory of hurts

1. The non-kinky

1a) Right foot, bruised.

When I say "bruised", I mean "purple on top of foot from toes to ankle, with interesting mottled effect, and some grazing".

Okay, so, I know that cycling while drunk is bad, but at least you're only likely to put yourself at risk, right? Anyway, I was sober when I cycled to the party, and I wasn't about to randomly leave my bike there, and it was still light, so it seemed sensible to mount up and pedal home at a sober (ahem) pace. Unfortunately I was wearing my long swishy full black skirt of much fabric. Unfortunately, my skirt got caught in the gears as I was crossing a busy junction. I tugged the skirt free, but my chain came loose and I had to freewheel to the side of the road, out of the way of passing cars. I hopped off on the pavement side and leaned over the top of my bike to fix the chain. Unfortunately, my co-ordination was not as good as I thought. The bike slipped from my grasp and fell heavily towards me, landing on my foot, pedal first.

I fixed the chain, remounted, and went on my way. I was tipsy enough and in enough pain that curious pedestrians could hear me cursing "ow, ow, fucking OW" all the way home. (And Ludwig, don't get any ideas.)

It's changed a number of interesting colours over the last few days. I was worried I wouldn't be able to wear high heels for the shoot yesterday, but I managed, although once encased my right foot looked as if it belonged only on the most specialised websites. The tight lacings of my six-inch stilettos left a very interesting criss-cross pattern over the bruising. Pictures to follow for the morbidly curious.

1b) Right leg, bitten.

Something has really got it in for my right side. One enormous mosquito bite on the back of my thigh, one right on the crease at the back of my knee, which is all red and swollen and puffy. And itchy as hell. I have applied antisan and aloe with desperate regularity, and I'm preparing myself to photoshop them out of yesterday's pics, but really: itching is not sexy and I would like it to stop now please.

2. The kinky

2a) Neck, sore.

Being tied up and bent backwards over a glass table to be tormented and have your ballgown slowly and teasingly cut away with scissors? Hot. Hot hot hot. So hot I didn't notice the pain in my neck until this morning, when I woke up and discovered the muscles at the back are swollen and tender and there's an agonising point of bruise right in the indentation where my neck meets the back of my skull. My head was hanging off the edge of the table, you see, and not only did I have to support my own weight while looking prettily frightened, but the edge of the glass table was digging into the back of my neck the whole time. It was worth it, though.

2b) Shoulders, sore.

During this process my hands were tied above my head, also hanging off the edge of the table, and the weight of my arms wholly supported on my shoulders, which are correspondingly achy this morning. Not helped by lugging home a heavy rucksack full of high heeled shoes last night. If ergonomic bondage hasn't been invented yet, someone should work on it. And publish a how-to guide.

2c) Hips, bruised.

At various stages in the proceedings I was bent facedown over the same glass table, with the hard edge pressing into my hips. I was also supporting my weight on my hipbones while bent over the arm of a sofa at one point, and I remember staying there long enough for my back to get tired. My hipbones don't bruise as much as they used to before I started bursting all the capilliaries by hula hooping, but they still complain if I'm bent over a hard surface for any length of time. The endorphines usually mask the pain at the time, but the next day is a different story.

2d) Back, aching.

Actually this is such a normal state of affairs that it probably belongs in 1; I have various back problems which tend to be exacerbated by doing anything interesting. D. has just given me his old kneeling chair, which should in theory help by creating a more ergonomic desk environment, but in the short term it's not helping my discomfort.

2e) Skin, scratched.

D. didn't intend to score me with the scissors, but I was wriggling about a certain amount, and there was a lot of cutting and slicing involved, so it was inevitable that the blades would get a little closer than he intended at some point. No skin damage, just some faint red lines. I'm treasuring them, actually.

2f) One dress, destroyed.

This counts more as "damage" than "hurt", and is still making me grin. I'm not sure what to do with the rags; I want to keep them as a memento of an exceptionally hot scene, but then I'm an incorrigible hoarder. Maybe I could safety-pin it artistically back together and wear it to the next TG...


What isn't hurting is my bottom, despite being subjected to a cold caning, the wooden ruler, quite a lot of hand-spanking, and the belt. It's not fair. When I talked about "suffering for my art" I was thinking of being pleasantly unable to sit down after a shoot, not being unable to move at all!