January 06, 2004

I asked three of my friend to help me change my image, and last night we started playing with chains and hair gel. Heather brought hair-styling products to transform me into something more presentable, but Fraser and Shrish had other ideas — with collars and spikes they wanted to turn me gothy.

Fraser attached his massive chains to my pants, one hanging over my loins like an exquisite rosary and two others intertwined in the back. Without warning, he forcefully yanked the chain dangling between my legs, saying, “Lower! Lower! Your pant line should be around your ass!”

“But my pants aren’t like that, and I don’t have that kind of underwear,” I protested, my hips painfully aware of the pressure he was putting on the chain.

“You’d better get them fast!” he said, finally releasing the chain.

Spikes went into my hair despite Heather’s opposition. “That’s just scary,” she said trying to get my hair to stay down. But my hair had a mind of its own, it seemed, and did whatever pleased it best.

And then Shrish applied her fierce magic, to make the eyes appear dark and profound and the cheeks savagely defined. The makeup was like war paint, bringing out the shadows of cruelty in my eyes.

Once Shrish was done I stood up looking ferocious in chains and outrageous makeup. “I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” Heather said, genuinely distressed by the results. But Fraser and Shrish were rather pleased with their creation and I envied the sensual savageness of my reflection. I stood there for a while, jingling the chain dangling between my legs, satisfaction painted on my face.

So we went out for tea and talked about jingly-jingly, bodily fluids, food, and seduction. My new skin felt great and we had an amazing time laughing at silly things before returning to reality.