Love and marriage … love and marriage …
Be dishonest and there’ll be much … erm, tearage ….

(Yeah, you try rhyming something with ‘marriage’ that isn’t ‘carriage’ or ‘disparage’ that sounds halfway decent; wearage? Dare-age? You see my point. You’re stuck with something that sounds like the backwater cousin of the language abominations which brought us ‘suckage’ and other-such greats.)

I digress. But I do that.

Greetings and salutations, my … erm, kinky monsters? Evidently, that’s the latest from the japevine. I think it’s cute, and while I don’t believe that men will steal my creativity via my vag, ( … seriously, that Gaga’s got quite an interesting take on life) I appreciate the compliment, and it’s somewhat valid. I do have a degree in forensic-psych and a background in crim, am still – for all intense per poses – still a profiler. (Lotsa monsters in this noggin. And, no, the bloody lambs haven’t stopped screaming yet. But I’m workin’ on it. I’ll get there.) So, the monsters thing is rather apt in my case. And you are kinky li’l basterds, ain’t ‘cha? Well, as you know, I wouldn’t have you any other way. Of course, to be part of -my- monsters’ ball, you’ve got to distinguish yourself. So, we’ll work on that.

Lessee … where on earth to begin? Well, Dodgson was a fan of the beginning, so, in Carrollian homage, let’s follow suit.
(more…)

A trick, indeed.

So, we’ve all been in that particular spot. Someone we know, someone we care about — someone with whom we’re good friends — suddenly gets re-categorised into the ‘why am I blushing? Why is my heart beating this quickly? Why am I Goddamned fucking melting?’ folder.

I remember when it happened with my fiancé, Mr P.

Ahhhhh.

He was with his crazy girlfriend at the time, but it brought out that softer, romantic, definitely submissive side of him that, being his co-worker sharing his office, I’d never seen. As a result, I (somewhat legendarily now) poured myself an extra cup of coffee … having completely forgotten that I’d just done so.

Yeah.

Because my head was so caught up elsewhere. No one had ever affected me like that before — to the point where I still couldn’t forget about them years later. He just got to me. I don’t believe anyone will ever affect me the way that Mr P does — but that doesn’t mean every now and again someone can’t come somewhat close ….

Enter my co-star. Oh, bloody hell. Rational thought just … takes a little holiday some of the time. We writers are all more than just a little cracked anyway, so to find a fellow lunatic is always a bit kismet. That being said, it got me to thinking about this whole Roulette mumbo-jumbo, just what it is, what it was supposed to mean, and what I’ve really been doing with it.

Not much, is the short answer. Question is — why? When deciding to become a domme, and creating my (what is it, third?) alias, I did not do so lightly. Oh, of course, I went through all the classic configurations, finally deciding to stick a bit closer to home and go with something at least French. And, being with a professional poker player, (though, anything even moderately themed sounded retarded) I ventured to explore all gambling possibilities. What’s French and a game of chance? (Well, unless you count the ridiculous house edge, but that’s neither here nor there.) Yep! Roulette.

Ah, but a name has to mean something. It has to be a part of you, or allow you to express that which you’re having trouble doing as yourself, using the name you were given, saddled with your past, and all it entails. Roulette … I mused. What could I do with Roulette?

The answer did not evade me for long … .

What couldn’t I do with Roulette? Nothing.

(more…)