Two pictures and a story

I’m putting the blog into hibernation.

I haven’t had the energy or inclination for a while.

There’s one more image I’m still debating posting for a final Sinful Sunday, but for now I’m signing off with a quick flashback to the three most popular posts I’ve published this year (not that they’ve needed any help so far).

In reverse order, then…

3. Sinful Sunday: Sharing the bed
Written and posed in late August. Not long after this it really hit me, and as anyone who’s read the few things I have written since will know, I’m still reeling. The lovely Ouizzi picked it for that week’s Sinful Sunday round-up, which I’m fairly sure gave it an extra boost.

2. Cerulean
I work best when I have a prompt or inspiration from a third party. There are two stories I’m especially proud of; I had twice the inspiration for the other one, which should be appearing in an Actual Real Book at some point in the very near future. The origins of this one can be traced to a list of Jade A Waters‘s favourite words… and a Tantus dildo, and the window of She Said.

1. Sinful Sunday: The Reveal
A re-enactment in words and pictures of my biggest public outing to date, as a burlesque dancer performing in front of a slightly overcrowded tent – and The Chap. Apparently we’ll be doing it all over again next May. No, I shan’t tell you when and where to get tickets. Unless you’re very very good.

Thank you those of you who’ve read, commented, held my hand virtually, and encouraged me, but for now… Adieu.

Sunset over the beach, Hove

 

 

Sinful Sunday: That bra

Somehow in the past few years I’ve found myself without a good, sexy, black bra.

Then I managed to find four in a sale, and three of them turned out to be true to size *and* give me a good, oomphy, silhouette – no plunging so low that my chest may as well be flat (something of an achievement given the FF-ness), or giving me a cottage loaf profile.

I could only justify keeping two at most, and couldn’t decide between the runners up, hence the above request to the hivemind.

The reason I’ve managed to go without a black bra for so long is that I have plenty of beautifully coloured bras instead. I like vivid shades and bright things, and my underwear drawer – and the posts featuring its contents – reflect that.

My absolute favourite (at least, it was before this week’s purchases) made a guest appearance a couple of weeks back. Several people commented on how lovely it is – and it is. It’s purple over turquoise, and I swear it’s luminous.

It’s That Bra.

Bra_backBra_kneeling

Bra_cleavage

Actually, it’s still my favourite.

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Cocktail Hour

If you follow me on Twitter, you might be aware of my liking for a Cosmopolitan or two.

I make them with extra cranberry juice and in double portions; I blame my parents for gifting me a set of beautiful but rather generously sized martini glasses a few Christmases back.

And with the darker evenings comes the sense that it’s okay to slip into something more comfortable that little bit earlier. Cocktail hour feels far more decadent when the lighting’s lower and the clothing is… cooler.

Woman in lingerie holding a cocktail

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Sweet release

It’s prompt week, and this month’s prompt is “simple pleasures”.

I could tell you all about the circumstances behind the above tweet – but what it boils down to is that I have a 34FF chest. Walking down to the Co-op for some milk when I’m not wearing a bra is an adventure in physics; pogoing around the living room without something supportive quickly goes from being liberating and fun to quite painful actually.

Any other woman whose nipples can migrate to her armpits when she lies down will tell you about the double edged sword that is the Good Bra. The comfort and relief that comes from wearing something properly supportive, balanced – and, towards the end of the day, negated – by the tightness around the ribcage, the straps gradually rubbing at our shoulders…

There’s nothing like that moment of release.

Woman removing bra

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: Scrubbing up

I have a job interview on Monday. I’m usually a smart trousers and shirt with scrubbed clean Converses kind of gal. You know, female Tenth Doctor kind of thing, only I was doing it years before.

But I’ve been thinking about scrubbing up a little more than usual.

A fine pair of pins

Turning on her heel

Then again, perhaps I should make sure they’re concentrating on my skills and ideas, rather than my more obvious assets?

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: The tummy unleashed

So this is the thing I’m scared of letting loose.

This is the part of my body that even as I grew to like the rest of me, I continued to feel ashamed of.

This is the reason I wanted to keep the lights on during sex – if it ever happened again. Lying on my side, I felt my belly hanging down, a flabby, squashy *thing*. I’d rather people could see it, see how it was in proportion with the rest of me, as opposed to grasping handfuls of fat in the dark, losing their fingers up to their knuckles.

So after weeks of beautiful corsets and beautiful men holding it in, I decided it was time to let my tummy loose and take some honest photos.

Tummy

Last week’s was actually tougher to publish. This one’s face on, which means I do still have curves rather than feeling like I look like a Weeble.

But still, I’ve been ashamed of what, exactly?

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday

Sinful Sunday: The reveal

The stage was smaller than we expected, and the catwalk longer and thinner.

Apparently we almost didn’t have it at all, but the whole show is built around it, and the show before ours on Friday night is a drag act. The combination of the two means the guys in charge of the tent don’t stand much of a chance when they say no one else has requested the runway, so do we mind going without?

The extra length means there are no more fan clashes or colliding bosoms mid-turn, but it also means that to keep the routine as close as possible to what we’ve rehearsed, the three of us out on the limb have to stage run back, fans strategically placed, to get into the circle of fans rotating around our singer, then leap back out as gracefully as possible for the next part. Imagine Dirty Dancing without Patrick Swayze to catch Baby.

Burlesque triptych 1

This is where the narrowness of the runway makes things interesting: after removing our first stockings, we get onto the floor for some pretty legwork and a bit of back arching. The majority of our run through on Thursday afternoon is taken up with working out where to kneel so outstretched legs don’t hover over nothingness, or in someone’s face, and so that when we swing onto our backs, our heads are still safely on stage.

We decide that when we’re coming back up we’ll drape legs over the side of the stage. We’re facing alternate directions, me – upfront at this point – to the right of the stage, the girl behind me to the left and so on; it looks really good. On Friday when it’s seriously oversold, the chairs come almost flush to the stage; as I arch back up my draped leg ends up in someone’s lap. The man – it had to be, didn’t it? – looks pleasantly surprised, and the woman next to him finds it most amusing. I smile “sorry darling”, and proceed to take off my other stocking trying not to laugh or kick the poor fellow as I swing my legs back onto the stage.

On Friday night, the Chap is there, and he’s sitting centre aisle. As I’m at the head of the runway he has an almost unrestricted view of me. I can’t see beyond a few feet in front of me, but I can feel him watching.

Burlesque triptych 2

This is the part of the routine I’ve only just mastered in final rehearsals, and as well as requiring an extra degree of concentration, it involves getting onto knees that under the concealer are still horribly bruised from practising on knackered tiles. The Chap says afterwards that he could see me counting it through – but his attention is soon shifted. For now comes the unclasping; the strategically placed fans as we slut lift; remove bras, shoulder strap by shoulder strap; the final run back to the main stage.

Facing away from the crowd, our fans raised in crown position, we wait for the cue. When it comes, the fans flick back into place, covering our modesty and teasing the audience until the last moment.

With the final line of the song, all that’s left is the reveal:

The reveal

This last image is my contribution to this week’s Sinful Sunday.

Who else is playing this weekend? Click on the kiss:

Sinful Sunday