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embarrassment has become a sexual thing for me; somehow I
enjoy it. Perhaps enjoy is the wrong word, but if you don't understand
by now you might as well stop reading. I can't explain it any better
than I have.
-*-
Saturday morning we went to the fabric store. I literally haven't
left the house since (nearly a week, I think). Nor have I since had a
single moment when I wasn't hopelessly trapped by chains, those damned
little locks, etc. Not a single moment. Except for once, briefly.
Since he gave me my car keys (did I tell you that? He has since
taken them away again. It's so hard to keep you consistently filled in
on the relevant stuff), I wore my exercise leotards nearly everywhere,
and I wore them that Saturday to the fabric store, except that he put
that ...device... inside me again, held in with the chain under my
shorts.
He drove me to the store, and we went in together. I was so
embarrassed by the way I looked that I wore sunglasses as a disguise.
Stupid, I know, but I felt protected by them, somehow.
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