Phew… I’m going to write this like I just launched myself on the couch and we’re on a video call to catch you up on the last… year. “How have you been babe? What’s new? What’s happening?” I ask you trying to avoid talking about me first. I’m so sick of talking about me. Not because I think I have become boring, oh hell no. It’s been a VERY entertaining year. It’s because I keep doing it, on the podcast, in real life with friends, at work when introducing myself, and for an underpaid job that is called promoting oneself. Inevitably, it sucks the energy out of me when someone goes: “Tell me a story! What’s going on? Let me live vicariously through you!” Welcome to socialising with anyone over 30. So I take a deep breath, put on my performative voice, and tell them about my kinky life and laugh with them. But I’m exhausted. Of performing. Of analysing. Of censoring (to protect identities). Of being a court jester.
I signed up for this though! We both always knew that it would be this way. I’d have to go first. The story has to start somewhere. Someone has to share first. Then the wonderful magic happens. “Interesting, I wonder how I would feel in that situation…” is usually how we start really exchanging some vulnerability. So here goes, another piece of me, yours for the taking.
Well, what do you want to know? The kinky shit? Of course! That’s the fun stuff, innit?
I have to admit, even I am surprised at how easy it’s become for me to talk about the increasingly weird situations I continue to find myself in. I’m not surprised with the turns I’m taking as much as I am with how openly others ask about them now.
You did what?! Wait, wait, wait… how did that even come about?
Ok, so I think I’ve blabbered about nothing for long enough. Let’s get to story time, shall we? FINALLY, they all thought in unison.