Thursday, August 18, 2016

Hello, 2012 me.

You'll be glad to know that future-you is still a patronising bellend, albeit a very well intentioned one. You're about to fall head first into the world of BDSM, and with that in mind, here's some advise.

Stop mucking about on dating websites and get your ass on Fetlife. You'll meet people who aren't just trying to get in your knickers. You're welcome.

The amount of paperwork your dominant asks you to do is not even a little bit normal. Question that. 

The guy who says he doesn't want a romantic relationship won't change his mind if you just hang around long enough. Get out. 

You don't need to reply back to every message. 

The bloke who's lying to his partner about his relationship with you is (not suprisingly) lying to you as well.

The guy who wants you to be faithful to him but won't give you his mobile number is definitely married.

If a man insists on showing you a PowerPoint presentation of his sexual preferences before he'll fuck you, laugh in his face. That does not make you a bad sub.

Don't play with anyone just because you feel sorry for them. No one enjoys pity blowjobs. 

It's okay to say no. Don't do anything just to be polite. If you don't want someone to know your address, or come to your house, say so. If they argue, tell them to fuck off. Don't be afraid of causing a scene.

Read more. Learn about other ways of doing kink. Try them.

Say yes to things that excite you. There's nothing wrong with being a slut. Stop feeling ashamed that you want to fuck people. Fuck all the people. Own your sexuality. Stop being ashamed.

Tell anyone who views your sexuality as a threesome conveyor belt to fuck right off.

Don't buy butt plugs with small bases. Just trust me on this one. 

Your body is never going to look better than it does right now. Take more naked pictures. Post them everywhere.

Are you still doing all that bloody paperwork? Cut that shit out, Vickie. Get out the house.

You are bad at drinking. Stop trying to be good at drinking. There will be regrets.

You deserve a relationship. You deserve companionship. You deserve to be loved. Stop settling for what you think you deserve.

It is much more graceful to just ask for what you want and risk being told no rather than waiting til you have a hysterical, snotty breakdown.

Message people you want to be friends with. Message people just to tell them they made you smile.

Go to that munch. Don't be nervous. It's not actually an orgy planning meeting. You won't make a social faux pas and accidentally agree to be anyone's live in slave. 

Say yes when people want to hang out. Be a good friend. Make the first move. 

Don't be so nervous of play events.

No one cares if you don't book your minge waxing appointment the day before a play event. No one will give a shit if your stomach isn't flat. No one will think you're boring if you wear the same outfit a dozen times. Be proud of who you are.

Fall in love. 

Watch out for wanky men. 

Don't be afraid to say yes.

Don't store your dildos next to each other unless you want them to melt into one mega dildo. 


2016 Vickie

PS - Remember the thing about the butt plug. Please.

Wednesday, February 24, 2016

I blamed myself when my friend's brother forced my hand down his pants when I was 12, because I liked it when he put his hands down mine.

I blamed myself when a minister's son forced me to go down on him while he drove his pimped out Fiesta around town, because he'd threatened to rape me an hour earlier and I still got in the car with him. 

I blamed myself when I woke up at a party with the host's fingers in my cunt, because I'd drank far too much and by the time I realised what was going on, I was too embarrassed to shout for help.

I blamed myself when a friend raped me, because I'd fucked him before and loved it.

I blamed myself last year when a random bloke in a kebab shop grabbed my tits, because I was buying food to binge eat.

And I know that's utter bollocks. But I still do it. Every time some tosser violates my consent, I hang onto this ridiculous attitude for months or years that it was actually my fault, that I could have prevented it.

I blame myself because that's a lot easier than believing that it could happen again. I blame myself because I don't want to live in a world where I can do every fucking thing right and still end up with an unwanted cock in me.
If it was my fault, I can stop it happening again. I've got some control back. And sometimes that's a comforting thought.

Saturday, January 30, 2016

I was off work today. I had a waxing appointment in the morning. The girl who did it was really chatty. I went shopping after and bought two dresses that made me feel pretty.

When I got home I cleared out my wardrobe; I threw out a lot, and boxed up anything I want to keep that is too small for me. I talked to Heidi a lot.

I only ate two small salads today. I'm feeling more tired and dizzy now, but I'm starting to look smaller eventually. 

Saturday, January 23, 2016

I realised today I had a huge black chin hair so I pulled it out with salad tongs in Wilkos. It was that big. Couldn't wait til I got home. Fucking hell.

Sunday, January 03, 2016

I have a cold. I am a pathetic baby right now. It's an unusually horrible one; my eyes are stinging and I've broken the skin under my nose from all the constant wiping. Justin has been babysitting me for the last week and has been remarkably patient with me.

I went to IKEA and had fun. It's like a giant dolls house. I think that's why I like it. 

I ate healthy today. It felt good. I cooked. I still feel big but not bloated.

Friday, October 30, 2015

"Gaslighting or gas-lighting is a form of mental abuse in which information is twisted or spun, selectively omitted to favor the abuser, or false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception, and sanity." - Wikipedia

9 months ago, I wrote a blog entry about emotional abuse in relationships. It wasn't exactly my finest piece of writing ("HEY EVERYONE, PEOPLE WHO SOCIALLY ISOLATE YOU ARE PROBABLY BAD!") but it got a bit of attention, because a lot of people seemed to relate.

I described a relationship where a partner would isolate me by lying to me. Whenever I saw any of my friends, he'd flip out and accuse me of cheating on him, or ignoring him. It would get pretty nasty. But when I confronted him about it, he outright denied he ever got angry. To me, it was a pretty obvious pattern of behaviour. But according to him, it wasn't. When I made my accusations specific, he'd make an excuse for that specific occasion, where it was my fault, and I was lucky I had such an understanding and supportive boyfriend as him. He'd say I was paranoid, and obviously couldn't remember it properly. He'd say it was ok, because I was his, and he forgave me. For months, I was obsessed with arguing him into seeing my point of view. I thought it was all a misunderstanding; that once he understood how awful he was making me feel, he'd apologise and stop hurting me so much. I eventually grew tired with arguing it out. I stopped provoking him, I stopped speaking up. He never did understand.

A kindly soul in the comment section (A phrase which, not surprisingly, has zero hits on Google) identified that behaviour as gaslighting. I'd never heard that term before. I started reading. And god, my eyes were opened.

I remember the first time I read a list of symptoms of social anxiety, and it blew my mind because I had no idea it was a thing. Suddenly these horrible feelings I was experiencing weren't just me being an awkward twat; other people were talking about it, it was a thing and other people understood what I was going through. Discovering the word gaslighting felt like that. I read article after article, and identified with a lot. I had a name for something I'd experienced. It helped me understand my history better. And it got me to thinking about how it still effects me now.

I suspect the main way it effects me is in my expectations; part of me always presumes it's going to happen again. I struggle communications problems, because I still believe that I won't be believed. That there's probably no point speaking up, because I'll be argued out of what I'm feeling anyway. Instead of bringing up issues relatively quickly, I'll spend months internally reflecting on them, hashing out what I'm feeling with third parties, preparing counter arguments in front the mirror. I build myself up for exhausting arguments; it still surprises me when what I think or feel isn't dismissed.

I suspect that through "losing" my reality to gaslighting years ago, I've become hyper protective of it now. I'm terrified of being argued out of it. My reality is not up for debate. I've come out of the mindless haze I lived in for so long where I didn't trust my own head, and I'm very aware of my thoughts, my feelings and my intentions. I like them. I don't want to lose them. 

Which makes me a little shit to disagree with. Because however much of a wise oracle I like to think I am, I get things wrong. Regularly. Sometimes other people have insights I really need to listen to. Sometimes my presumptions are wrong. And when people call me out on that, I just stop listening to them, because I think they believe that my thoughts and feelings don't matter.

I don't hear, "You've got the wrong end of the stick." I hear, "I'm going to completely disregard your reality. Try this one, where you're a little bitch."

Which is unhealthy. I need to listen to other people. I need to consider what they're saying. I need to believe, most of the time, that people aren't lying to me or overriding my reality, or I'll end up a lonely, self important bitch.

I just need to learn how to do that while holding tight to my own reality. I'm not losing it again. I like it in here.

I just looked at pictures of myself 18 months ago. Fuck. I was different. I'm a fucking state.

I make reference to my eating issues constantly (I think I reassure everyone I've met in the last year that I used to be skinnier at least once a day) and I know that's crazy fucking irritating, but I really don't think anyone listens. This is killing me. I feel like I'm drowning, and I have no idea how to make it right. So many times I've gone to sleep thinking tomorrow I'm going to be okay, I'll kick these habits, and sometimes I can go a week or so, but that's all. And it's getting worse and worse, and I feel so out of control, I have no idea how to feel ok in my own skin again.

I know I had an eating disorder back then too, but I felt so pretty. I know I felt miserable and crazy in other ways, I'm not mad, I do remember that, but I felt pretty. I don't feel pretty now. I haven't for a really, really long time. I hate how I look. I hate getting dressed up. I hate people looking at me. I hate how my face looks with a layer of blubber around it. I hate that my fat day pants dig in so much it hurts. I hate it more now. I miss my old type of miserable.  God, that's fucking emo of me. Fuck. I hope this doesn't last much longer. I can't handle this. I'm not handling this.

I think I'm the only person in the world who has "accidentally" visited a brothel. I appreciate how ridiculous that sounds, but this is all true. I am that stupid.

It started innocently enough; I'd noticed a new Chinese massage place had opened near my bank. I'd just had my nails done. I felt a bit low, I figured I deserved a treat. I went to go see if it had a price list, and to see if I had to pre-book. I like massages. 

I think it's a point in my favour that they had some printed price lists next to the door. What brothel has a price list? (Well, maybe all of them, I'm hardly an enthusiast.) I skimmed it, didn't really understand it, so went inside. I remember thinking they had unusual opening hours, because one handwritten sign said "OPEN LATE" and the printed price list said 10pm. How handy, I thought.

I got inside. There was a clean, simple waiting area with a young male receptionist. He looked up at me and seemed panicked. 

"Hello!" I said. "Do I need to make an appointment, or can I just walk in? I don't mind waiting."

"You... You want massage?" His English wasn't incredible. He was younger than me. I smiled at him, trying to make him feel at ease.

"Yes please!"

"You... You want massage here? In waiting room? Or, or, private massage. In room. On bed?"

I take a better look at the price list. There's a list of prices for "chair" massages, which I presume are the ones in the waiting area, then there was a list of prices for "private" massages. Then a further list of prices for "VIP private" massages. The price jumped up significantly.

I didn't twig.

"Yes, on a bed!" I pointed at the price for 20minutes. "That one."

He seemed flustered, and went into a back room. He returned with a smirking elderly woman with wiry arms, who ushered me into another room. It was pretty bare; a massage table on either side, and a sink in the corner. 

There was a language barrier. I couldn't really understand her. She pointed at the sink, and told me to "wash myself." She pointed at one bed and said something about my clothes, then she left.

It was then that I realised this might not be the quaint, family owned therapeutic massage business I'd originally envisioned. I am not ashamed to say I panicked.

I kept my clothes on. I... I didn't wash myself, because I honestly didn't know where she wanted me to wash. I laid down and tried to figure out how to politely decline sex with a woman I'd already paid, and couldn't. In the most British moment of my entire existence, I decided I'd have to sleep with her, because I couldn't figure out how to get out of it politely. 

The woman came back. My heart was beating so fast. Was I in a brothel? Was she about to do something sexy? What if she wasn't, but I presumed she was, and really offended her? Does this happen to massage therapists all the time?Then she climbed on my back, straddled me, and started jabbing me with her elbows. Hard. I had no idea what to do, so I was a good masochist, gritted my teeth and concentrated on surviving.

At was at this point that my assailant put her mouth next to my ear, and in a very loud, slightly gleeful voice, decided to make conversation.


"It's ok," I said, my voice breaking slightly as she started using her bony knees to assault the small of my back. "Maybe... Maybe a bit softer? Please?"

I think at this point she took pity on me. She climbed off me, and used slightly less of her elbows. "I have special treat for you," she said gleefully. "Extra 10 minutes!"

And so, I endured a full half hour of her bony abuse. Thankfully, she didn't try and touch my underwear parts at all. I was very relieved about this, and almost relaxed towards the end, until she mounted me one final time, and put her lips next to my ear.

"I AM LINDA," she announced.

"Erm, hello Linda."

"What is your name? My name is Linda," she said.


"Hello Vickie. My name is Linda." She pushes her knee into my spine. "Next time you come Vickie, you will have one hour session. With Linda. Ask for Linda. A whole hour."

A murmur something I hope sounds positive. She slaps my arse, then leaves. I throw on my clothes, and run. Then tell my friends, and they laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Since that distressing day, I have done a little research on that business. It would appear that yes, I did go to a rub-and-tug shop. Yes, a "VIP Private Massage" is exactly what I presumed. Yes, Linda probably had a good laugh at me.

My shoulders did feel incredible afterwards though, so I'll give her that.

Sunday, September 20, 2015

I'm currently planning my cosplay for Glasgow Comic Con; I have a fantastic latex Star Trek dress I bought from a local cosplayer, just figuring out what race I should be. I'm thinking Trill, because I don't think I can handle the stress of making my eyebrows look Vulcan.

It's got me thinking about cosplays I'd love to do in the future, so I'm writing them down for reference.

- Babydoll from Suckerpunch

I mainly want to do this just because I love the costume, and Suckerpunch is a weird guilty pleasure of mine. And any excuse to wear cute bunches, right? If I was tiny and crazy I'd probably wear this every day. Things that put me off doing this costume are I'd want to be quite a bit skinnier and I hate wearing wigs.

- Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy

I love this film. Covering myself in green paint would probably be a laugh, and the hair is fabulous. I tried to put together this outfit earlier this year and struggled, so I think I'd have to take to the sewing machine.

- Scarlet Witch from Age of Ultron

I like the Scarlet Witch mainly because of how she dramatically waves her hands about when she does her mutant magic, but her outfit is how I dress 90% of the time but with added wrist gauntlets. And I'm lazy, so this appeals.

- Morticia Addams

Morticia would be so fun to do. Long dramatic dress, gothic make up... I see no negatives about this at all.

- Captain Malcolm Reynolds from Firefly

 I've never done a genderbend character before, and I think Mal would be really fun to do.

Pretty sure I'm going to think of a dozen others now. I'm mainly excited about Morticia and Mal at the moment!

Thursday, September 17, 2015

I was working today. I didn't feel great; I ate terribly yesterday, and I'm coming down with a cold. I skipped breakfast, because I was still full from the night before.

I drove past a car crash on the way into work. Firefighters were prying the doors open. As I walked to my car, I walked past an old Volvo in a quiet street. A young guy was in the driver's seat, with the window down, talking loudly; he was saying something like, "Yeah, I have all the pot, but I need to grow my business... Cocaine, yeah..." I'm sure that will go brilliantly for him. I had some coffee.

Work was quiet enough I managed to get a few things done. Not nearly as much as I would have liked, but I didn't feel rushed. I had an overpriced salad from Greggs for my lunch, then bought some false eyelashes. I'm not sure when I'll ever wear them, but my staff were proud of me. An elderly woman has taken a liking to me; she showed me a letter from her daughter saying she didn't want to see her again. It was sad. I gave her a free gift to make her feel better and she cried. I'm not sure if I made her feel better or not.

I felt more ill by the end of the day; when I pulled up into my parking space, I ended up sitting in the car reading articles for 10 minutes before I got out. I used what I already had in the fridge for tea, even though it didn't fit together particularly well, because I've already spent enough on food when I've binged this week. I ended up having feta and Mediterranean veg with courgette noodles. I snacked on a few slices of ham and cheddar while it cooked, and I finished off the dessert experiment I made on my day off afterwards, which I'd somehow forgotten about (It was a coconut cookie base, with a layer of strawberry cream cheese frosting. I think calling it a strawberry and coconut shortcake sounds better, but is a bit of a stretch).

I read a few more chapters of the book I'm reading (I'm on the last book of the Kushiel's Legacy series), tidied up the kitchen, did some washing and had a bath. I drank some coffee while I wrote this.

In two days, I'm off work for two weeks. I almost feel nervous. I don't want to waste it, but I don't have the time or money to do all I'd like. I'm worried I'll end up doing nothing.