I played music Sunday afternoon. For hours! (See, master? Aren't you pleased with me?) In a few week, I'll be heading off to what the philosopher persists in calling "Band Camp." For me, it's Live in One Room with 12 of Your Closest Friends Camp. AND get to play music for hours on an instrument that I own but rarely touch during the year. Bad kitten. Actually, more like stupid, undisciplined kitten. Nothing new there...
My good friend M plays the same obscure instrument as I do. She's the real reason I moved down to the DC area. I suppose I was in love with her for years. Not in a hugely sexual way, though I did sometimes want to touch her breasts. In the old days there was a lot more nudity at camp than now. And I do have a thing for women's breasts. Another of the many things the philosopher and I have in common.
M has a dominant streak. She likes to organize people's lives. Certainly I need that. Periodically, before camp each year, after showing no interest in playing with me since the last camp (playing MUSIC, you perverts!), she'll decide she has to get me in shape. So Sunday, I hauled myself and my 30-pound instrument into the car and drove the mile-and-a-half to her house. And oh my goodness, did we have a great time beating beautiful sounds out of those things!
Of course, it made me think kinky thoughts... of my sweet sadistic master bringing his cane down on my ass the way my hammers were coming down on the strings... of the joy he gets from my moans and cries and screams and sobs... how our music gives me those little convulsions in my womb in exactly the same way his words can. He had been working on getting me to cum on command when we took our vow of silence. We hadn't quite gotten there yet, but he would start counting down with 3 and often not even make it to 2 before I'd get this little internal earthquake and my body would have a tiny seizure. Not exactly what I would call an orgasm. Maybe a mini-orgasm?
Back to Sunday. M is telepathic. For real. Actually, in some cases we're not sure if she heard me or I heard her. But it can be kind of creepy, while funny at the same time. We did a lot of it during our work for Obama in the primaries, so I expect there will be plenty more ahead in the fall. Oddly, though, despite my fears, she has never picked up that there was anything, um... interesting about the nature of my relationship with the philosopher.
She does know about the vow of silence. So when I came over to play on Sunday, I of course wanted to tell her that my master was concerned and had called. But how to explain it? Because he called after reading about the lithium on our blog, and I sure as hell haven't told anyone in my regular group of friends about the blog.
So step in the Censor. It's like editing a movie for content and to fit the screen of your TV. The PG version of the movie of my life has no blog. So I had to say that the philosopher remembered that I would be seeing the doctor and was worried about me. Not anywhere near as dramatic as what really happened.
But you do what you have to. It could have been worse. Someone we know could have passed me driving him home from the bus station, a pink dog collar around my neck, one end of a long, dark green leash clipped onto the D-ring at my throat and the other end clutched in the hand of the innocent-looking redheaded man with the wicked mind sitting next to me in the car.
Anyone have any ideas as to how to explain THAT one?