I quite like being frowned at, it means I've made an impact on someone even be it negative. As we sit outside the coffee shop, I smoke whilst she gets the drinks. 'One day you'll grow up and stop' she states as if it's absolute fact. 'It must play havoc with your running and the singing, you'd feel better' she continues, probably knowing full well I'll ignore the advice that she's offered for years now.
Talk turns to life, family, what the children are doing at school - what awards they've won, playground squabbles and we share stories. Inane chat and company, talking freely about everything and nothing. 'What's going on with your life?' The magic question! How do I answer?? Do I tell her that it's a whirlwind? Do I give away my secrets to watch her face drop and her silent judgement begin? I smile 'it's good' I reply leaving no room for her to follow up.
Two days prior I was planning to meet my Sir. Painting nails, waxing, tending to my body, finding clothes and discussing what he wanted me to wear. How can I make people understand that my life is very different from hers? That the dull monotone talk of her marriage is precisely what I don't want. We watch the world go by and I light another cigarette - I watch people pass and we cover her sex life, this doesn't take long due to its routine nature - she asks about mine.
'Yes, I've met someone' I continue, 'it's good' half hoping she'll press me further. I show her a picture and she reacts as they all do 'he's beautiful, those eyes' - 'yes' I smile, knowing those eyes only too well. She says she can see changes in me, that I'm different some how - she's right, I am different.
In my head I'm telling her about our exploits - sometimes needing to speak them out loud to let them live and to truly believe that I am that person. Telling her about how the cold, leather collar feels on my neck, how the shackles feel on my wrists. The sting of a crop hitting the bare skin of a thigh and the delight at handing over every scrap of control to a man that knows precisely what to do with it. The all consuming rush of endorphins that buzz through your body to cope with the pain and the feeling of having your body tested to its break point. To be caressed and tended to, loved and repaired with the utmost respect - stroked to sleep after.
'There's nothing to tell' I reply, smiling, sipping my chai tea and knowing that there is so much to tell. So so much that would twist the mind of most - and she thought my smoking was bad.
