Katastrophe incarnate

 I’m about to have a high stress Monday, and my brain is already in over drive. I have to go in to the courthouse tomorrow and the anxiety is unpleasant to say the least. 

  A little stress relief in the way of a cuddly partner, hot tea, hotter erotic dark romance of the “why choose” variety, and a massage to follow shortly, is just what the doctor ordered. 
  I have my plan, know what I’m supposed to say, do, behave, etc. My partner is staying home for the chores, and my mother or gran is coming with me, just in case my brain decides to make trouble. I’m not my diagnoses. I know this but that doesn’t mean they don’t give me difficulties in situations like this. 

   I know what I’m wearing, the clothes about 60% more modest than I like but it’s a small town. My hair will be styled back, as subdued as I can make it. My makeup natural rather than my usual dramatic goth. I know it’s not a lot but it makes a difference. I’ll be wearing a mask, strep throat just tore through our house this past week, and if my lip ring is covered? Bonus! 
    
   I loathe the need to compromise on my appearance, that people will look at me and see my tattooed skin, dyed hair and piercing, and automatically think I’m less than them. I’m worth ten of most of these people, looking down their nose at me even as I’m standing a foot taller than them in some cases. Yeah I have a specific person in mind there.   
   No, that’s not a story I’m telling today. 

   The fact remains that I’m going in at a disadvantage on two fronts, and the things that make me comfortable in my own skin? That’s what will be the hardest to put aside for the day. 
   My partner promises after we will watch Beetlejuice together, cuddling on the couch, when I can dress as I please, let my hair do as it wishes. He knows these are things that will make the day better, things that I’ll need after the horrible day pretending to be what I’m not in front of a judge for the traffic tickets. 
     That’s the stress, traffic court for outdated inspection and registration for the car is just bought from my aunt. Fun stuff right? 

The very idea of taking me, the tall, curvy, tattooed, goth lady, to a religious book store is ridiculous, isn’t it? The notion seems foolish, impossible really, how would they even manage to trick me into such a place. 

   There is an unholy power, understood only by the elders and then only just, possessed by grandmothers to get their adult grandchildren to do things they’d never choose to do themselves. 

   A power my grandmother exercised today.

She and my mother had planned to go visit the dispensary today, but my mother was unable to go. Her back pain had returned with the tropical storm dancing her way up the coast and she was barely able to sit upright in her living room, let alone drive 45 minutes out and back. 
   
   I rearranged my day to accommodate their needs, set mam up with her coffee and snacks, and off to the city I went with Gran. We get all the way into the car when she declares she needs to go to the religious bookstore in the same city. 
   I was not dressed for this. 
 I wore my new cardigan, white comfy and reminds me of a snug version of the one JLC wears in the first Halloween. Underneath was my favorite black and red lace crop, and a pair of my partners jeans.
       I’d not expected stopping in any book shop today, and while my attire is indicative of what I’d generally wear out, I may have preferred something else. 
   But I went, and the owner spotted me on entry, my hair and makeup in my usual wild and dramatic style likely clueing the sour faced woman in that I am not her usual clientele. 

    She never spoke a word to me, but she didn’t like the looks my chest was getting. The cardigan is snug, the top button is not enthusiastic about staying closed. So I wore it open.  I have lovely breasts, the chest above have beautifully designed tattoos which I paid quite a lot for. Covering them seems a waste. 

    The shop owner apparently disagreed. 

As my gran looked for a replacement mug for my grandfather, her reason for the trip, the woman glowered at me, and the three male students watching my bored perusals of her shelves. The “youth” section was utterly depressing, and nothing on the section seemingly devoted to books written by mega church pastors. 
   I noticed after a few minutes she was signaling me. I was confused. The only person who knew me there was Gran, she wouldn’t have told the woman about my hearing issues, so why was she miming at me in a vaguely insulting manner. Then I realized, she didn’t want to say anything, but wanted me to cover up. 
  The woman was miming closing a jacket, and buttoning up to the neck. 
   I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or curse. But then she glared again, and the petty bitch deep in my being slipped on her boots. 
      Showtime! 

  When next she motioned me to button up, I shook my head, not happening. She motioned more insistently.   
    I undid a button.

  She did a fabulous impression of a fish opening and closing her less than expertly painted lips. Then she points at the young men in the shop. For those who don’t speak purity culture imbecility, she wanted me to cover up so as not to provoke lustful thoughts in the college students in her shop. Because college boys are known universally for the purity of their thoughts. 
  Had I rolled my eyes any harder I may have seen brainstem. 
 She motioned again. I undid another button. Gran commented on the lovely lace of my crop top, and how over heated the woman kept her shop this early in autumn, perhaps she was struggling with money unable to afford air conditioning? 

   As Gran paid, I grinned at the owner, the dare in my eyes. “Your move” may well have been spoken audibly. The three young men followed us to the line, no books to be seen. One had a bookmark with some Bible passage on it, but nothing really required. Gran and I smiled politely, the lads blushed madly and to their credit attempted to meet my eyes. It was a long way above what they wanted to see, but they did try. 
   As the bell above the door rang while I opened it for Gran, she looked back at the shop and shook her head. Speaking in that way only older ladies can, she expressed her sadness the shop was struggling so, maybe if the owner tried not glowering at paying customers she’d be more successful.

   I blew a kiss at the owner and left the shop laughing with Gran. We were sitting down to a late lunch before either of us had our giggles under control. 

Mischief, my darlings, is what gives a Lady that secret smile. You know the one, don’t pretend.  

    She quirks her lips just so, a brow arches just a bit, and all the deviant dreams you can think up flit to the forefront of your mind. 
  
   What is she thinking of? What puts that smile on her lovely face? 

   Is she reminiscing about tying her servant to the bed, naked save for the silk scarf she’s blindfolded him with? 
    
       Or maybe she’s thinking of the new boots she purchased, specifically for the height of the heel and the potential intimidation such height lends. 

    Or possibly she’s thinking about the naughty little toy, vibrating so nicely against her clit, a secret she only shared with a few trusted pets as she goes about her day. Her arousal dripping down her thighs beneath the perfectly respectable outfit, adequate for any librarian really. 
    
     It’s the glint of mischief in her eye as she smiles that smile at you, the one that begs you to ask, hints at her secret. But you don’t ask, and she’ll never tell. 

Buckle in darlings, Lady Kat has a wild one for you today. 

Last time I brought you a snippet of my family concerning me with their ideas on what a spouse to be should be told prior to marriage. The healthy answer is EVERYTHING, but that’s not this story. 

  No this story is from the foolish people who have lost what little sense they were born with, or at least that’s what it looks like from where I’m sitting. 

   Now I am not a cruel person normally, so I’ll not name the ridiculous individuals on the off chance they ever find this blog and miraculously learn to read. 

  I left the house today, wearing my normal attire, my usual makeup, and with my customary “leave me alone” aura reserved for when the university students have returned. In other words, nothing about my appearance said “come bother me!” 
  I’ll be thrice damned if that isn’t what two young people of questionable mental faculties decide to do. Two of the finest fools recruited to a religious cult I’ve ever come across.

  I’d like to add the disclaimer that I do not disparage all people attempting to spread their faith. Just the ones who choose to harass me about my business. 

  I finished my errands and this pair of prized idiots were waiting outside, pamphlets in hand and bothering everyone leaving the shopping center. When they attempted to stop me I looked down on them like something I’d stepped in and for the first time, they continued talking at me. 

   Had I lost my touch? Am I deathly ill? Perhaps the idiot was visually impaired? No, it was far worse! 

  This walking blight on the gene pool targeted me specifically because of my clothing and makeup.  Goth lady must be a sinner! She wants me to save her soul so she can be a normal pretty girl I can prey on. 
    I could see the warring disgust and attraction behind the idiot’s eyes. Revulsion built so quickly behind mine no one could have hidden it. The fool's partner in imbecility certainly picked up on it. 

   Did he warn his friend away from me, perhaps clueing him in I looked ready fo squash him like a particularly large garden pest? 
   No he declared I had “demons in my heart”. 

Ok you wanna play? Let’s have a little fun. I widened my eyes and split my black painted lips into a massive grin. Standing to my full height they had to look up and bit by tiny bit, they began to see their mistakes. 
   “Oh what fun!” I said in my best talking-to-small-children voice, “you’ve caught on already! Though I much prefer demons in my bed!” 
   Watching these two “men” of God realize what I said at the same time and scramble away like I’d burned the very air around me? 

I’m definitely using this one again.  

Ok darlings, you’ll want to settle in for this one, the topic arose during coffee talk with my female relatives. Being born without a filter seems to be a genetic quirk of my family and it only gets worse as I get older. 

    So obviously, coffee talk can be traumatic or hilarious, depending what the mood of the day is. Today, objectively speaking, was both. 

   My mom, her mom, and my aunt all converged on the kitchen of my mother’s home to discuss various things, coffee and homemade pumpkin pound cake passed around. My sister and I sitting with these three cackling women as, for whatever reasoning they came up with, they discussed my aunt’s upcoming marriage. Or rather, how to make this marriage healthier than the first. 
  
     Aside from not marrying an abusive alcoholic narcissist, which her fiancé is not, they were giving her tips to try and “keep him.” 

  Here we have the issue. 

Of the group present, I am the only one who hasn’t been through a divorce. I feel that this is mostly because I am almost fanatic about proper communication, discussing everything when they come up, and not pretending he’s ever been in charge. 

     Why waste the energy? 
So they then bring up her “kinky side” and how she should leave that alone for this new opportunity at marriage. At this point I want to point out their definition of kinky is very different from mine and likely the majority of the people likely to read this. 
   While they’re talking, and my tongue is beginning to bleed from the amount of biting it I am doing, they turn to me. This bodes ill. 
     They asked me my thoughts on revealing her kinks, and they seemed confused when I asked why he didn’t know already? They’ve known each other for years, been engaged since they reconnected, shouldn’t that be a thing they’d discuss? 
   So they asked when I told my preferences to my partner. 
   Like the second day I knew him, maybe not expressly the gory details, and not the full terminology, but he got the gist in “vanilla terms” when we got together. This shocked them, and I became very sad for them, 

   Communication means more for those of us here in this community than the so called “normal relationship” people. 

WE ARE NOT THE SAME. 

Sitting by the kitchen table, sipping my wine as I admire my hard work coming together.

      The pasta I made earlier today going into the boiling water making a lovely soft splash inside the big pot. The thick red sauce I made from scratch with my father simmering next to the pasta pot. Mini eggplant medallions frying on the back burner. 
    The meal making me smile isn’t surprising, eggplant parmigiana is a favorite from childhood. 

   No the smile tonight has nothing to do with the food, delicious as it may be. 

   The smile is for the man finishing the preparation for me. Wearing my apron and a pair of old worn blue jeans. He came in half an hour ago, when he got back in from his chores on the farm. Saw what I was making and asked me to let him finish up while I changed and got comfortable.
      I returned to find my a glass of my homemade dandelion wine waiting for me. We both know by the time I finish my wine dinner will be served. By the time dinner is eaten, and the tidying has been finished, I’ll have a full plan for how I want to reward my thoughtful servant. 
      Good behavior must be encouraged after all! 

Having the sort of dull Monday, sleepy morning, too much coffee, and terrorizing my family. The morning dragged on, and I had no one to play with me today. 

My partner had farm chores to do, and my sister had to checkup this morning so I didn’t even have her to talk with this morning. She made it by a little later, but the morning was horribly dull for me. 

The farm chores actually wound up relatively quickly, and they had me come out once they’d set everything up. My sister got there and we had the best time practicing archery today. I spent hours with a bow in my hands and I can’t begin to express how relaxed I am now. 

I think an extra special reward is in order for that thoughtful man who pushed through chores that usually take half the day into a couple brief hours, just to set up such a lovely surprise for me. Perhaps a little sensual massage is in order? 

My season is here, or at least close! 

Soft sweaters and tight turtlenecks, stockings and thigh high socks, boots and fuzzy socks? 

Yes please to all of it. I’m so over summer it’s ridiculous! 

Today I’ve pulled out a witchy little ensemble, and gone off the frighten the locals! I even included the cute little red hat that makes the Bible thumpers do a double take. 

I know full well I’m likely to get blasted with another disgusting heat wave at any minute, melting like the wicked witch just by stepping out into the swampy air. 

But let me have my fun while the weather lasts! 

stay spooky folks! 

It’s going to take a wild amount of caffeine to bring me fully awake today. 

In retrospect, reading until two in the morning was not my wisest decision, but those who read A Court of Mist and Fury after hating the so called “romantic” lead in A Court of Thorns and Roses, will vouch for me. Certain allowance must be made. 
 
  Hoping for a more interesting weekend, but I’m not sure if that’ll happen. Last week involved a three story house converted into a bookstore, and what could possibly top that. 

Oh wait, my every faithful servant discovered a new interest this week. Using the Tens Unit I bought him at the beginning of the year for back pain in a decidedly less innocent way. 

  Yesterday I was a bit bored, a bit annoyed, and my partner could feel it as surely as if I’d painted the words across my body for him to read. Cue a visit from my very favorite brat. 

  He spent the next half hour (first try with this after all) whimpering as pulse after pulse of electricity teased him for me. His hands clasped behind his head, he was to stay in that position until I deemed his punishment over. He did hold his position, straining and taut so as not to move and displease me.

   At the end of the first ten minutes he was panting and quivering. 

After twenty he was begging. 

By the last five minutes he was babbling incoherencies mixed with my name. More a prayer than anything else. 

As I peeled the electrodes off, his twitching making it a little tricky, he still held his position, knowing I’d free him exactly when I wished. Ropes and cuffs are nice and have their place,  but not in that moment. 

It was much later when I had another long stretch to think, I realized he’d not actually asked to move in all his begging and entreating me. 

My afternoon afterwards was something of a letdown, but the day itself wasn’t bad at all, just slow.

Here’s to a weekend off to a sleepy start!

Things have been properly dull today, despite an energetic morning. 

I managed my usual routine, even took a little time to play with my partner before his appointment this afternoon. 

I found my favorite black lipstick, managed to get my eyeliner even and relatively neat, I even had plenty of reading time. All the things I generally long for on my busier days. 

But today when these things all line up right, I’m bored half to death because I’m less busy than I’m now used to. 

Time for me to go back to reading I suppose. Boredom is absolutely not my favorite. Gives me time to plot and everyone knows that’s dangerous!