JULIE'S CHRISTMAS EVE HUMILIATION

 First things first; I'm still in the shithole care home, there is a bed waiting for me in the good one, but the respiratory teams from the two different areas need to sign off on a plan of action to get me there. Should be early new year. I cannot wait!

I've had one episode of hamster heart since I last wrote. It was early morning, and happened a little before shifts changed for the staff here, which complicated things. It took a while to get a nurse to my room, and then she refused to call an ambulance, even though my pulse was at 235bpm! She told me an ambulance wouldn't come for me because they didn't come for her friend Dustin when he had a heart attack. What the fuck? My care is in the hands of a nurse who doesn't believe in ambulances!

I called an ambulance myself, and they asked if I had access to aspirin. I rang my call bell and asked a care and she told me she wasn't able to give out drugs. I told her that I understood that, but to ask the nurse if the house had access to aspirin. The carer went, came back, and told me I wasn't prescribed any. I told her that wasn't what I needed to know, and repeated the operator's question. She went off again, and came back asking to speak to the operator directly. She then said the nurse had given her a phone number that emergency services could call if there were any more questions. She then left me alone, taking my phone with me, and cancelled the fucking ambulance, unbeknownst to me!

Luckily it resolved itself quarter of an hour later, and the day staff nurse gave me my phone back, but seriously, what the fuck?! I was hoping I did have to go to hospital, and to need drugs to stabilise my heart (which has happened before) or even defibrillator (I haven't needed that before, but I came on so close, I signed off the paperwork and the anaesthesist came to measure my throat for a tube; another ten minutes and I'd have been on the table!). Fuck, I'd have happily died in the back of a hypothetical second ambulance if it meant the house would get investigated for negligence, and that fucking nurse had to explain why she turned the ambulance away from a tachycardic patient in her care.

This is the main thing I don't get with gun control, and allowing people to carry a gun around 24/7. I could never do it, because within a month I'd shoot myself in an act of passive aggression. Merry Christmas!

Anyways, between my crazy heart problems, fighting off a new round of cellulitis and my breathing issues, plus depression from finding my sentence at this place had been extended, I've been pretty shattered for the last couple of weeks. I will finish off the whole Stinky Lips thing at some point, I promise!

Anyhow, today's Christmas. I'll be spending it alone, but there's a family Zoom at some point, so that'll be nice. My parents have given me my presents; three scratch offs and these magnetic rings, which are kind of a "fidget toy," I guess? The magnets aren't particularly strong, or fun. Better luck next year, I guess!

Not great!

The other gift I've received is a box full of three random smellies and a flannel from the home. Given that I'm bedbound and need to be strip washed it's not a very sensitive or practical gift. A bottle of bubble bath is pretty much useless to me!

I've mentioned before on here that gift giving is very much a part of my love language. I don't always know how best to express how much I care for the people I love. My brother complained to my parents a couple of years ago that I was going overboard getting presents for him and his girlfriend; my theory there is I was making him look bad! I definitely give more to the few people I do give presents to than I get in return. I don't care; I love finding the perfect thing to let someone know that I see them and value them. I've bought Snowball a couple of presents she seems genuinely happy with, there is more en route, I can safely predict she will be thrilled!

I asked my friend Julie from the Strict Julie blog for an address to send her a present, but she asked me to write a story about her and publish it here instead. I don't know why I'm bothering, with any luck her face is buried deep in her friend Paula's asshole right now, and will remain their until this Epiphany! Still, I thought I'd knock something out for her, and for you reading this! Merry Christmas!

THE BALLAD OF STINKY LIPS - PART 1

Hi Malpals!

So today's blog is going to be a little special! I've taken the role play I did with long-term penpal Stinky Lips, and rewritten it in the third person. I met her on r/DirtyPenPals and have referred to her often, always using my nickname for her. For this story I have changed her name to Liza. I've tried to stay as true to our original collaboration as possible, even the bits that didn't turn out as I hoped they would! All the pictures I added in later. Liza's dialogue and decisions were her own, most everything else is down to me. Not all of it, she threw in some details that I wasn't expecting. She's a very naughty girl! I was going to release the whole thing in one go, but I'm less than halfway through adapting it from dual first person to third person. It's nearly 4,000 and I wanted to post something today, so here we go.

Before we get stuck in, it's been a while and I want to catch up. Things haven't really improved at the home, but my safeguarding officer has apologised for how she came over at our first meeting, has been doing some research on me and the home, and genuinely seems to want to find a better route forward. I said that I'm placing all my faith in her as a catalyst for change, as I don't trust the home in general and certain members of staff in particular, and she seems to understand that.

One positive change is I've got them to agree to wash me in the afternoon when I've had a good chance to stretch out and for my painkillers to do their thing. The downside to this is the water is cold and it means getting cleaned with wet tissues rather than flannels. Why is there not an adequate water heater? Why doesn't the home own enough flannels for every resident to have all they need? Good questions!

Negative: My oxygen saturation levels have been low since the heatwave we had a couple of weeks ago. Way back on the 22nd of July I had a visit from Tissue Viability about my ongoing mastitis. A care home nurse was there too. The Tissue Viability nurse asked if they'd been monitoring my SATS, blood pressure and temperature seeing as they were concerned about possible infection. The nurse said they do regularly check my SATS because of my history of supraventricular tachycardia. I said this wasn't really true - if I suspected I was experiencing SVT they would take my pulse and SATS then, but it was not something they regularly did. This meeting was at about 11am.

The care home nurse continued to check my SATS throughout the day. At 7pm he came to ask me if I had spoken to a GP. I said I hadn't. He told me a GP was worried about my low SATS - around 83 - and thought I should have gone to hospital that afternoon. I didn't know what to make of this information, and figured as it was Thursday evening it was unlikely I'd be admitted on to a ward until early Friday, and then would have to probably stay the weekend. Worried about COVID, having previously picked up C. DIFF and gastroenteritis, and not feeling any symptoms, I decided not to go, assuming a doctor would let me know more information if I needed it.

It's pretty surreal to be told you missed a phone call telling you that you need emergency medical attention, if that's what happened. I stayed out of hospital because I didn't feel unhealthy enough to go in. I have more news there, but I don't want to get hung up on it right now. Next time!

So I've been feeling tired and breathless and haven't done much besides watch TV and role play with Snowball, who, as always, is aces!

The main reason I wanted to post today is because it's my birthday! My parents stopped by for a couple of hours and we played an escape-room-in-a-box style game that I got my mum for her birthday. They gave me a present wrapped up with a chain around it and a different puzzle game I need to solve to find the combination to the lock! They also got me the perfect greeting card showing old school go karts going around a track, only when you open it there's a kart that's bumped into a bale of hay and the corner has fallen off. The text inside is about is even when you hit a bump in the road you have a laugh about it and keep going. I don't know how long they spent looking for it but it fits me perfectly!

My brother and his fiancee sent me a difficult looking movie quiz - No multiple choice, no chance of whoever gets closest, it looks like questions such as "Who directed Cabin Fever?" and "Who played the bell ringer in Rocky?" and "In the Harry Potter movies what does the Hogwarts motto 'draco dormiens nunquam titillandus' translate to?" Definitely see my brother getting ready on the next Zoom call when we play that! They also got me an Amazon voucher and a teensy tiny LEGO set of Captain America, a motorcycle and a Hydra agent.

The best gift I've been able to open came from one of my aunts. I have a large extended family that I don't really speak to, but I got sent a handful of cards via my parents which is nice, because who really cares about their nephew turning 34? However, my one aunt's been self isolating due to COVID contact, so she made a card out of some blue paper and an old greeting card, and enclosed two postcards of old timey streets in Bristol as well as a packet of sunflower seeds, ready for planting next February!

I should note that although 34 is a pretty nothing year - the start of my mid-thirties, I suppose? - I do remember as a kid assuming I'd die by 33, because it didn't make sense for me to live longer than Jesus. Well, I've had a couple of close calls, but they haven't shuffled me off this mortal coil just yet! I'm not saying I'm better than Jesus, just better at not having people nail me to shit. Do what you like with that information.

Well, on to the main attraction! I took a picture from Julie Sploogie's BDSMLR that doesn't look like me or the reference picture I was given but suits the mood nicely! Enjoy!

Dark!

For the sake of clarity I've decided to change the bar owner's name to Earl. It was Tankerton/Tanks during the roleplay, but I don't want my good name besmirched with this filth! Lawks!

I'm going to be honest: some parts of this I enjoyed very much, some of this was me trying to find if Liza had a limit when it came to humiliation and degradation. If she has, I couldn't find it! If this were a porn video I would certainly skip certain scenes! Others I would enjoy very much.

I don't have her permission to do this, so I've changed her moniker, which I'm assuming was fake anyway. Similarly, I changed the reference photo she used, because although it was taken from an NSFW reddit account, the model she used only posts photos of herself fully clothed, and I assume would be horrified to have her image associated with this filth!

Her original prompt has been taken down, but it went something like this:

Hey everyone,

I’m Liza, and I'm looking to do a very nasty and humiliating RP.

I want to get dominated and humiliated by the nastiest men. I have a huge fetish for men’s musk and alphas making me do humiliating nasty things. Bullying, tough, humiliating dares, degrading the loser of a bet etc. Even if what I’m doing is nasty, the humiliation still turns me on, so my dom would use that to their advantage.

I'd like to start a scenario where I am in serious debt and will do anything to earn some cash, letting men humiliate and degrade me. They would pay me to do disgusting stuff, maybe the loser of a bet would have to fuck me, stuff like that. Sort of like Jackass but the joke is always on me, as the sub slut.

I think that's all the warning you need! I answered her prompt in character, so I may as well incorporate that into the story. And awaaaay we go!

-

It was a little after closing at the Beefy's Bar & Grill. Earl sat at his office computer, a desktop from the late 2000's he used to keep payroll, set up work rotas, and surf local personal ads for cheap labour and loose women. He was in his early forties, short and balding, with a beer gut that stuck out the bottom of his stained wifebeater vest and hung over his grubby jeans. He found a desperate plea from a young lady who was down on her luck, so he loaded his e-mail program and sent her an invitation to work for him.

Hi Liza,

I saw your post saying you were looking to make a little easy money and weren't worried about whoring yourself out. I have a bar with a rather rough clientele just outside of city limits, and I'm always looking for desperate sluts who don't mind being degraded for a price.

I have a position that would be perfect for you, servicing my patrons in a special seat by the bar. You would be locked in the stool in a kneeling position with your head sticking out by the seat. Google "kinky barstool" for an idea of my set-up. Customers would pay me ten dollars to sit on my seat, and whilst they enjoyed a drink and maybe some of my famous hot wings you would take their sweaty cocks in your greedy whore mouth and sick them off enthusiastically. If you do well enough they might give you a tip, or a sip of their beer, or let you suck their greasy fingers after handling my wings or my bourbon glazed ribs. Of course, they might be wary with all the jizz you'd be chugging down, and might just wipe themselves clean with your pretty hair. You won't get much of a say in the matter!

The occasional broad might want you to service her, either she's naughty like that or showing off for the fellas, it don't bother me none either way. Better not bother you either; ten bucks is ten bucks, and you had better leave all my regulars happy. I need a slut who does what she's told, if you have a lot of principles then maybe look somewhere else. I don't have a complaints box or an HR department but I do have a heavy wooden paddle.

If that sounds good to you then show up ready to strip off and get started at 5, in time for happy hour. It'll be safest for you to just stay there until closing but I have a diaper I can strap on you so you don't piss all over my barroom floor. I'll keep the first 200 bucks and whatever's left over you can keep - after the first twenty guys you'll be making a pure profit! Just make sure you don't end up owing me, because you won't enjoy that.

If my customers like you then perhaps we'll find some other odd jobs for you to do around the bar, or maybe I can find something for you to do around my apartment. I'm always happy to help out a whore once she's lost all respect for herself!

Earl Botham

Owner/Manager, Beefy's Bar & Grill

Earl powered down the old machine and headed across his cluttered apartment to his unmade bed, which he crawled into after removing his jeans. He didn't think about his e-mail to Liza again for a couple of days; he answered a lot of requests for help in similar fashion and rarely heard back. The chicks that did tended to be bitches ranting about how they deserved to be treated better. The way he saw it, he wasn't the one getting them into whatever shit situation they were in, and sooner or later life turns everyone into a whore or a thief. At least he was being straight up.

He was therefore surprised three days later to find an e-mail from Liza sitting in his inbox. He opened it up and read it.

Hey earl! Sorry I’m late on this but it sounds like a perfect job for a dumb young slut like me!

It irritated Earl that she hadn't capitalised his name. Didn't this cunt want to make a good first impression? The rest of the message was very promising though - no fancy airs, no protests that this was beneath her, no negotiations. As long as this bitch wasn't too fat for the cage or a total butterface then he was sure he could make money off her desperate ass. He could probably get his own dick wet for free as well! He sat down on the metal folding chair he kept by his desk and fired off a quick reply.

Well, you certainly haven't made a great first impression with your tardiness! I hope you suck cock better than you keep time. Let me get a good look at you, if you're not pretty enough to work the bar then there's some lower paying gigs elsewhere. I know a silly young slut like you ain't gonna have a CV, but do you perchance have one of them fancy kinklists I could take a look at?

He headed over to his recliner with a bottle of beer and stuck on some wrestling. His apartment was above his bar, but there was no way he was heading all the way down there to pour himself a pint; he never cleaned the lines so the beer was foamy, metallic crap anyways. His customers didn't care, they came to drink shots and to see his girls; the cheap beer was there to help them pace themselves between shots and to keep them cool in the stuffy, sweaty, smoky dive. Earl sold bottles of beer to the clients that didn't want lager that tasted like piss, and always took a handful upstairs to put in his own fridge at the end of the shift.

It was less than an hour before a noise from his computer let him know that Liza had got back to him. He grinned; it seemed she was more eager than she first appeared! Maybe another lead had fallen through. Well, the more desperate the better...

Yes sir! (Ref pic or description do you prefer?)

Also sorry, not a fancy list

Kinks: Blowjobs, facials, Humiliation, Bondage, Stink torture( sweat,musk,farts), Being face-sat, Being a 3 hole slut, bullying, rimming, cock worship, tea-bagging, ball sucking, foot worship, body worship, ass to mouth, light pain, wrestling, pet play, spanking, facials, cum play/humiliating cumshots, drugs, body writing, public humiliation, water sports, dp/spit roasting, rule 34

Hard Limits: Blood, animals, underage, heavy pain, rape

"Jesus Fucking Christ," he thought, "it seems like I've stumbled across a winner here!" The 'sir' was a big improvement to 'earl,' already this chick was showing him more respect. And what a list of turn-ons! Still, best to let her know he wasn't some cuck pushover.

Whatever's good for you! There's definitely a lot we can work with there, and I hope you're serious about taking a spanking because I think you've earned one taking so long to get back to me!

He got another beer from the fridge, but before he could get to his recliner the e-mail notification sounded again. This time she'd written:

Guess I do deserve a big punishment huh? Lol

She'd also attached a photo of herself; a grinning brunette in her early twenties. Pigtails. Nice tits, though they could be bigger. Not chubby by any means, but not one of those skinny bitches either. Couldn't see her ass, but he bet it was good. She'd be in the cage anyway, so it didn't matter about her dumper so much for now.

He imagined her soft warm lips around his cock, and felt himself chub up a little. The message itself was a little too familiar, he bet she was one of these self-important millennial skanks that screwed around on their phone all day and thought the world owed them a living. Best he let her know what she was in for now...

Very nice! You're certainly front of house material! As for your punishment, I think I'll warm you up with a bare ass OTK hand spanking, and then you can bend over and take six licks with my paddle - one for every 12 hour chunk you left me wondering. That'll teach you to take help when it's offered and to be respectful of other people's time!

After that, me, Hector from the kitchen and Hank the bar back have a game we like to play with new birds - think of it as a kind of initiation. The game is called Leaky Submarine, and how it works is we take your clothes off and plug up any holes we might find. Once that's done I'll strap you in your diaper and put you in my stool, ready for my early bird customers. It's payday at the lumber mill today so I'm expecting a packed house full of rough men with bulging wallets. I'll see you at 5 if you're serious about making some scratch.

Earl.

She wrote back once more, and Earl couldn't help but laugh at her naivete.

Yes sir! I’m happy I made front of the house!

Also leaky submarine sounds like a fun game! Does my mouth get plugged too? I’m sure I’ll learn more when I play the game.

What a clueless bitch! She was going to be fun.

Earl opened his bar up at lunchtime, and it was pretty quiet for the most part. At half past four he was sitting by himself at a table enjoying a bottled brew. An eager young lady bounded up to him, sent his way by Hank at the bar. She introduced herself as Liza and wasted no time at all bending over Earl's lap, flipping up her school girl skirt and exposing her ass in a thong to him.

Earl was impressed by this girl's audacity, and pleased to see her toned buttocks were just as nice as he was hoping they would be. He was sure his regulars would enjoy gawping at them and pawing at them as well. Still, no point letting this young broad go getting a big head just yet.

"Figures a slut like you would be wearing slut underwear," he said, pulling the thong taut in a big wedgie. He unhooked the knife from his belt and cut it through the stretched fabric in one rough motion, exposing what little of her rear it was hiding. Then he went to town on Liza's naked ass, slapping it relentlessly, first one cheek, then the other, then right across the middle, the pattern repeating over and over as her bottom got redder and redder.

At first Liza tried to take the pain in stride, but eventually she felt the stinging intensify across her buttocks. It hurt too bad, and she yelped out loud as Earl continued his assault on her smooth derrière.

"Oh my God, it stings so bad!" she thought, her pussy getting moist as Earl slapped harder still. She let out a tiny whimper that mixed with a guttural moan.

Earl grinned. "Ooh, you little slut!" he teased. "Someone likes it when Daddy punishes their little bottom!"

With two far fingers he explored her damp pussy, and was rewarded with a full body shiver. He applied a little more pressure, and pushed his thumb against her asshole, taking care not to go inside her yet. He held his grip for a few seconds, enjoying feeling her squirm with pleasure, but decided it wouldn't do to start off their relationship in such a manner, and he abruptly pushed her off his lap.

He stood up, leaving her on the floor, and instructed her to crawl back across the room.

Liza did as she was told, sore red bottom exposed, looking over her shoulder at her new employer and licking her lips.

"Very nice," Earl thought, before saying aloud "Place your hands on my bar and stick out your backside for me."

Whimpering with pain and pleasure, she stood up, feeling the effect of his handiwork on her booty. She put her hands on the bar and bent over for him, desperate to be seen as a good girl.

Earl gave her red bottom a few affectionate pats, and nudged the instep of her left foot with the tip of his boot in order to widen her stance. As she waited nervously He could see her pussy shimmer, practically dripping with anticipation. He then took his old, wooden frat style paddle from Hank, and wordlessly rained down six hard blows on her tender young bum.

 Liza yelped loudly at each swat that thudded against her already sore ass, her screaming echoing throughout the building for Earl's other employees to appreciate as Liza stood with her legs spread wide, shaking on the spot and breathing deeply. 

Earl spun her around so he could address her directly. "Well, you took that fairly well, despite your caterwauling! Let's get you in the kitchen for your initiation. The way Leaky Submarine works is: You lie down on the island prep station in the centre of the kitchen. You're the submarine, and me, Hank and Hector are three sailors that have to plug up any holes we find, to stop you from sinking. I'm sure you're used to accommodating seamen!" He grinned at his own dumb joke.

Holding her sore butt, Liza sniffle and tried to compose herself. She followed Earl to the greasy, poorly lit back room, listening as he filled her in on the rules of the game

“Oh, that sounds fun! Do you always play games before work?” Liza asked, stripping out of her remaining clothes once they had entered the grotty kitchen.

Earl was taken aback. Was this girl really as big a slut as she was making out? Was she putting on a show for him, or did she have some wiring crossed inside her fucking head? Still, he answered her question, dumb as it seemed to him. "Only with new hires, on special occasions, and birthdays. This is a bar for hard drinking, rough and ready types, not Chuck E fucking Cheese. Hector and Hank here are going to sort it out between them as to who gets to stick it in your cunt and who has to cram it in your turd-cutter. I'm going to work your mouth, I wanna make sure you have some idea what you're doing before I put you in my barstool and let you loose on my customers. Have a bottle of beer, it's important to stay hydrated."

“Yes sir, I guess that makes sense,” Liza said, taking the beer and sipping from the bottle, not liking the taste.

“At least I get to play this time to accommodate all these seamen!” she giggled, winking at Hector and Hank, as they argued over who gets to fuck her in the pussy. "I hope the smaller dick one gets my ass," she thought, "I’m still tight. "

Earl passed Liza's unfinished beer to Hector, who bent her over the kitchen countertop and poured a little into her asshole. He pushed a finger into her rosebud, withdrew it, and pushed the neck of the cold beer bottle into her winking hole. He moved it in and out, and the men all laughed as she howled and squirmed. After moving it in all directions and pulling it in and out a little Hector pulled the bottle out quickly and roughly, causing Liza to stand up straight and rub her tender back passage. The men all laughed at her expense, and Hector gaves Liza back her half-full beer.

Holding her ass, her cheeks still bright red, Liza whimpered even as the three men found furthe merriment in her discomfort. Her asshole hurt from being stretched for the bottle, and beer dribbled down the base of her crack.

Earl grinned at her, luxuriating in her humiliation. "Finish your drink, and we'll start the game!" he instructed, leering at her.

Her cheeks flushed red as she took the cold bottle that was just in her ass, raising it to her mouth and gulping the nasty beer down. Having to taste her own asshole as she drank the beer, she made a grossed out face and finished the beer as quickly as possible.

"Atta girl," Earl laughed, "you came here to play! Well, hope up on the table, Stinky Lips, and we'll kick off the show!"

“Stinky lips! How rude! “ Liza giggled as she hopped up on the table, seeing Hector and Hank pull their big cocks out as she did so.

"I think that nickname's going to stick," he leered, "I thought you'd at least make a token objection. Seems like you'll do just about anything! Let me know when the boys have found their rhythm, and then you can wrap your stinky lips around my nice hard cock!"

-

Well, that seems as good a place as any to wrap up today! I hope it didn't seem too disjointed, turns out editing is not a lot of fun!

✌   🎉 🎁

WHO HAS NINE TOENAILS AND TWO THUMBS?

This guy! 👍👍

I've been having an ingrown toenail treated every week since November. One of the few advantages of being here rather than the flat is that a podiatrist visits once a week. This is great - pre-COVID I was paying for a chiropodist to come cut my toenails every so often, but COVID put a stop to that! When I first moved in my nails hadn't been cut in about a year. The toenail on the big toe of my right foot has been ingrown at least since then. My toenail on my left foot basically fell off in hospital in early 2019, when I was still just about moving around.

Warning: These are not my feet! They are Mistress T's. Photos of my disgusting feet ahead!

I knew the podiatrists were planning on removing it rather than visiting me every week to look at it and dress it. I didn't know it would be today! I wasn't too worried, though I had to sign paperwork acknowledging I could go into anaphylactic shock and die. Mainly the worst part was spending twenty minutes listening to the two guys talking about their golf handicaps whilst waiting for the local anaesthetic to kick in!

I haven't mentioned the toenail before because it honestly never occurred to me, so low down is it on my list of concerns. In fact, since coming from hospital three weeks ago, I've had a doctor talk with me about:

• Blood in my urine.
• A weird skin thing on my back that keeps bleeding; I've been told the NHS views it as cosmetic and won't treat it as it's not in a place that'll stop me getting work. It'll cost £560 to get it removed. I don't care about it and wouldn't have known about it if I wasn't told about it.
• Low blood pressure, diagnosed at the hospital but not chased up because this shitty, shitty care home doesn't have a blood pressure monitor. They're £20.
• A weird skin thing on my chest that feels like a blister with a ball bearing inside. A nurse here swabbed the discharge and sent it off, but I haven't heard back  yet.
• Serious fatigue. I slept all day and night Thursday, Saturday and Sunday. I fell asleep a few times today. I'm tired right now. I don't know why!

It's the tiredness that's bugging me the most. My CPAP machine for my sleep apnoea was like unlocking a cheat code that allowed me to sleep for half the time, wake up feeling refreshed, and stay alert all day. The difference was incredible! Now that I've had my beard shaved and my hair cut it's working better than ever; I should be full of beans! But I guess I'm still fighting my infections.

I'm aware that I've been letting this blog slide. I had a pretty good streak going of keeping it updated at least every other day. I updated it from hospital. It's easier to record positive events, and I worry about crossing the line from being sardonic and self deprecating and making light of my misfortunes, to just straight up complaining and whinging and generally being a bummer. Most of all I want to write something really sexy, or at least sexual; something very unwholesome. It's hard to write sexy when you feel gross.

Last Monday my mother took a photo of my legs and e-mailed them to me! I didn't want to see them, she just did it without asking. I tend to keep my mind busy with other things. Well, I had to look at them, and now you do to!

Worse photos ahead!

The box on my bed is a present for my mum, more on that on Thursday. My right leg looks mostly normal, just a little red! The skin on the left has been awful for about eight years; since the first time I got cellulitis and developed golf-ball sized blisters! The swelling really isn't as bad as it has been, and is mostly at the back of the leg. I'll be up on these gams in no time, all being well! I'm glad she did take the photos, because it inspired me to take a look at some older ones, and I was amazed at the difference. More on that laater!

The tubigrip gathered ineffectually around the centre of my right foot is supposed to keep the dressing on my right toe in place. God knows how many carers would have seen it like that and ignored it! I really try to give this place a fair shake, and refrain from cynical hostility. I don't think anyone on the staff here is bad, but there's a lot of people who are jaded and they're all overworked. The woman who's been in the room next to me for the past couple of weeks won't ring the call bell; she'll just shout for help over and over again. Sometimes the staff shout at her. I get it; it must be difficult helping some our biddy get dressed or help some old duffer to the toilet whilst this woman's screaming for you. I admire her lung power! Obviously the concern is if she does fall nobody will come running.

I sent my housing officer an email a couple of weeks ago outlining four major concerns I've had since getting back from hospital. I mentioned that I've been paying for four carers but only ever had one or two, that my hamster heart (SVT) episodes weren't treated as emergencies, that the home doesn't have equipment as basic as a blood pressure cuff, and that I'm having to pay for Wi-Fi because the home manager hasn't got the passwords to the networks they provide. He agreed these were serious issues and that he would pass the complaints on to the council. So that's good news too.

I decided to post an old photo my mum took of my legs for comparison. This photo was taken in 2017. I was working six days a week on these getaway sticks! The lymphoedema nurse didn't understand how I was staying upright on them all day! There were no chairs in my dry cleaners; I would walk about five blocks and down a flight of steps to a bench to have lunch. They would balloon up even more (as would my abdomen and penis!) the Christmas of the following year.

You are under no obligation to read any further! The next photos are included only for the morbidly curious and for comparison against my current, relatively healthy legs. Thanks for making it this far, there is no shame in stopping here!

MY LIFE AS A BASKET CASE; MENTAL ILLNESS & THE WORST THING I EVER DID

I've been putting this off all week. Well, to be honest, I've been putting this off since I've started writing this blog. I've been treating this blog a little bit like a therapist; I just unload whatever I'm thinking and try and get things clear in my head. I'm not spiritual, I don't believe there's a will to the universe, or genuine karma, balance or justice. That said, we're all the stars of our own little stories, and from our perspective the events we experience are all connected purely because they all happened to us. So whenever life deals me a bad hand, and I crash the company van, or get taken to hospital with swollen, infected legs, or wake up to find ants crawling over me, there's always a voice in my head going "Well, there was that one time you fucked your entire life up. Maybe you deserve this."

Now that I've written this fucking thing, it occurs to me that people I like read this blog, and that friends I make in the future may read this too. I hope that the actions I write about here don't literally repulse you away from me, and that you can appreciate I am a different person now than I was over a decade ago. Maybe don't read this if you don't want to see me at my worst!

Before I get to that, I owe my friend Julie an apology. I didn't proof read my last post before submitting it and did not express myself as well as I am able. The story I last posted was the first one I ever wrote specifically for her, not intended as a comment to her blog. I talk to Julie and about Julie in a manner unique to her; it took a little pushing by her to get me comfortable referring to her using language that is derogatory or misogynist. It's language Julie uses to describe herself; I recall her referring to herself as "Queen Slut" in the comments of a recent post. Obviously language is a tricky thing and intent is everything; if a third party seriously called her that I would be most unhappy. If her husband called her that whilst she was blowing him I'd be most entertained.

Communicating with and about Julie is tricky; I know if I write about her here she'll read it, but this is essentially a public place. Writing on her comments page can be tricky; Julie almost responds to comments as if she is two different characters, with Strict Julie responding to comments on posts where she's mainly a domme, and Sub Julie responding to comments where she's mostly a femsub. Obviously there's a little blurring of the lines, but she'll let readers get away with more on comments to some posts than on others. Plus she can be very coarse and derogatory in the way she describes herself; it's something that Miss Chris picked her up on when visiting for the first time. Of course, she obviously has a role to fulfil herself. Obviously e-mailing Julie directly is when I can be the most honest or the most fake, writing something that will titillate her without worrying about how a third party will react. There are other times when I'll start to write her an e-mail but realise she'll get more of a kick discovering my words here and wondering who else has read them, or in the comments of her blog where her fans will appreciate them and join in the fun. It can be a little complicated!

In my last post I listed a bunch of terms I've used to excite her since she's given me the go ahead to talk dirty. I wasn't trying to offend, but when she quoted my own words back to me it's clear that listing such harsh, derogatory terms without context was an unkind thing to do. Furthermore, I realised my words could be interpreted to mean that I no longer care for her, which I hope is self-evidently untrue. I care for her a great deal. I just know she'd rather be shamed and humiliated a little rather than being treated like she might break. I sincerely apologise.

STRICT JULIE HUMILIATED ONCE MORE!

Hello Functionistas! My last blog post has already become my most popular one to date, thanks to a link from my friend and muse, Julie of Strict Julie Spanks. It's funny how more people read that story rather than the first post she linked to, I imagine it's because the first time round after the link she posted one of my stories as well as a graphic depiction of how she LARPed it with multiple sex toys, whilst this time she presented it as an alternative to hearing her prattle on about her philosophy on political analysis. Walter Cronkite never uploaded photos of himself naked jerking off, we don't need you trying to wrap your head around current affairs. Everyone stay in your lanes!

I'm kidding, of course. For what it's worth I found I've had some formal education in the philosophy of politics, though not in politics itself, and thought her opinions were common sense and apolitical, preaching scepticism as a general sensible approach, which is something I wholeheartedly agree with. Of course the comments immediately turned into a nest of vipers, with some opining that republicans lie more than democrats and others saying that democrats aren't called on for lying when they should be, or are confusing lying with figurative speaking and hyperbole. Oh well, can't blame a girl for trying!

Despite my joking I do like to know a bit about the deviants who write the blogs I follow! It's more interesting to me that these are real people with full lives rather than flimsy characters in a story. That said, if stories are what you're after I should mention that all my Strict Julie Fanfiction has been tagged as such, and that anything I've scribbled down that you might find titillating has been labelled "Pure Filth."

MY LIFE AS A WASTREL, PART 3 - MY OVERDOSE AND MY SALVATION

If you read my last two posts you'll know how I came to be squatting in a flat and barely holding down a job. I had some money coming in via benefits but not enough to pay my rent or to live off of. It was clearly an untenable situation. This is how I overcame those circumstances, but things got a lot worse before they got better. I'm not a fan of the phrase "trigger warning," but I will let you know that I will soon be talking frankly about how I tried to kill myself. If that's going to bother you, maybe skip this post! My next one will be a lot more light hearted, I promise you!

Keep your arms inside the boat, there are rough waters ahead!

I had no idea how I was going to survive and had basically given up on looking after myself or the flat. It was ludicrous. When I decided not to give any more money to my landlord I suddenly had a lot more money to spend on alcohol. My drink of choice was co-op own brand vodka; as a member I got 5% of the cost of own brand products credited to my account, so for every twenty bottles I drank I got one free! My work was meaning less to me, and when they finally got around to refurbishing they installed wet-cleaning machines instead of a dry-cleaning one, meaning my experience and expertise now counted for fuck all. I had no home, no value, no future. I couldn't see a reason to keep my life.

My only concern was my parents; obviously they would be upset. I didn't want to kill myself too close to either of their birthdays, or my brother's. Similarly, I had to avoid Mother's Day, Father's Day and, because of the year, the football World Cup. I didn't want any of those events to be linked with my death. I settled for a date in May, and for a free weeks I lived like nothing mattered. This is when I started shoplifting and stealing from work. I took out multiple payday loans I had no intention of paying back. I might have had another credit card as well? I drank like it was my job, and would call in sick to my actual job when I just couldn't be bothered with it.

MY LIFE AS A WASTREL, PART 2 - HOW I KEPT OFF THE STREETS

The thing about having no money is that it means different things to different people. I got to the point where my income from my job wasn't covering my rent; due to a fire at my place of employment there wasn't enough work to keep me paid in full, and when there finally was work my health had taken enough of a hit that I couldn't do my physically demanding job. I had a letter telling me I was expected to vacate the flat I was renting; I ignored it and decided the best course of action would simply be to stop opening my mail. So although I had no legal place to live I had a roof over my head and some income; all I had to do was live in constant fear of being turfed out on to the streets.

There was some outrage a couple of years ago when a clip from a 2003 documentary called Born Rich was shown on a couple of late night shows. In the clip Ivanka Trump recalls how her father pointed at a homeless guy outside of Trump Tower and told her that the homeless guy was eight billion dollars richer than he was after one of his many business disasters. People took umbrage at the tone deaf nature of the comment, but to me Donald's point is that he has the support network and assets in place that allow him to screw around as much as he wants without having to worry about missing a meal or sleeping outdoors. He was a conman that sold himself on being a great businessman despite having six different companies file Chapter 11 bankruptcy. He shouldn't be trusted to run a church tombola, let alone the world's largest economy. But he illustrates my point that having no money doesn't necessarily stop you living comfortably.

I got my notice to evict in February 2018, I took this as a signal to stop paying any rent. The few months before that were very tight financially. My laptop, a few years old, broke in November 2017 and I didn't have the money to replace it. I didn't have a TV so I would sit in my kitchen and read, if I could focus on a book without anxiety making my mind wander. I soon found this hard and took instead to downloading podcasts on to my mp3 player at work and listening to them in my flat whilst filling out a couple of nonogram magazines I had bought months earlier but never finished. Nonograms are a sort of logic puzzle, you shade in squares on a grid and a picture forms. I still do several a day using an app; by hand they take a lot of time and concentration. Here's a completed one that would have taken about three or four hours with the app; hand shading each relevant square would obviously take a lot longer:

Laugh it up, Chuckles!

ART REFLECTING LIFE, LIFE REFLECTING ART

Art is probably too strong a word, but you get the picture! I'm still playing around with Orange Envelopes of Love and am bloody loving it! A quick bit of housekeeping before I get on to the good stuff!

Frequent commenter and Channing Tatum body double j.stern asked if I could describe some of the care home residents and staff. I can only say that I have a room to myself and have yet to meet any other residents, and that after six months I haven't really made much of a connection with the staff. I keep the door shut because I'm often watching something NSFW on my laptop. It also shields (but doesn't block out) an alarm that sounds whenever anyone on this floor (at least 18 beds that I know of) need assistance with anything, and is therefore going almost constantly during the day. My room is also adjacent to a laundry, and I can hear it going even as I write this at ten to one in the fucking morning!

Staff come in every two hours between 6pm and 6am, so I leave a lamp on constantly so as not to be disturbed by the change of light at these intervals. During the day I get a wash, meals are brought to me and dishes collected afterwards, pills are administered and I ring for a urine bottle or bedpan when needed. The staff all wear face masks and plastic aprons due to COVID-19 (although they're all tested and inoculated) which makes it hard to learn names and faces. The staff is overwhelmingly female, with a couple of male nurses in charge of drugs and all-female carers in charge of everything else! Because of where I live they're almost entirely white, also.

MY LIFE AS A LIMP-DICK: A MEDICAL HISTORY

Fair warning: in this post I'll be going over my medical history and explaining exactly how I wound up bed bound at the age of 33. I'm not looking to bum anyone out, or illicit sympathy and I haven't undergone a bunch of surgeries or anything too gross. I just know my on-going condition will come up a bunch in the future because it's obviously a huge aspect of my life, so it'll be handy to have something to point at that says what my deal is and that I'm not really bothered by it. If this is not your bag and you want to skip the rest of the post then that's cool, but there are bits that are funny and embarrassing and, not to brag, there was a brief time when I sported too much cock for any woman to handle, so I hope you'll find something in here to enjoy!