Innerspace soldiers (gross, illness)

I do this thing where I anthropomorphise my immune system. It started a few of years ago and I’ll need to explain the circumstances.

So 2 years ago, at about this time, I was dying. I didn’t know that I was dying. I thought I had the flu. And to be fair, I did have the flu. And because of my weakened immune system sometime in the midst of the flu, I think on Sunday, so about 2 days into hardcore symptoms. In that time frame, a old wound that my body had sealed with a hard lump, probably around a object, grew swollen and popped. It was oozing a mix of pus and blood. It was whatever, I have a number of wounds on my legs that will do the same thing from time to time. I wash the wound site and it scabs over, no big deal.

Not this time. I’m so deep in fever that I just wipe the site clear then stumble to my bed and collapse. I feel I should point out that I rarely get sick and when I do it is rarely for more than a couple of days. And it will be something that is harvesting people at work like wheat in a field. They’ll be sick for weeks. Me a handful of days with only 2 or so being rough.

So I have the flu and this wound on my leg. The fever from the flu gets worse. And I start getting fluid buildup in my leg. I call out sick on Monday. It gets worse. While I can walk the 10 feet to the bathroom, I don’t want to. It hurts and takes time because I’m lying down. And when I go vertical I can feel the fluid sloshing down my leg internally and it is about a 7 on my pain scale. Note: I can completely ignore a 4-5 and a 6 I can push down to 2. And if the pain is persistent instead of sharp, I can convince my mind it’s pleasure.

So a 7 on my scale is rough. I once broke my ankle in a fall. I got up, walked into work, worked my shift and went home, using it to drive. I walked on that ankle(I thought it was a sprain) and 6 weeks later rebroke it. I continued to walk on it and it healed and I have the ability to bend my right ankle so that it touches the ground. So, I have a weird scale.

So I’m at a 7. And I don’t want to walk to the bathroom because it will be blinding pain for several minutes cause of my leg and the flu. Now clearly I’m not thinking straight cause who associates fluid in the leg with the flu but I had a high fever so problems. I piss in my trash can. Cause it’s big and right there and fuck it. And now it hurts to pee

Then Tuesday and my flu is better but I still have this fever and leg thing and I think, one more day and I’ll be fine. I stay home. I feel like shit. Repeat of the last night, it still hurts to pee, leg is even harder to stand on and is swollen enough and hot enough that I have trouble putting on pants. Which I do because shorts are for children and the gym.

Wednesday rolls around. I’m not better.
My work has a new policy that if you are sick for a third day, you need a doctor’s note. I call my mom and ask if she’ll take me to urgent care because they can sign off on this. She says OK and after taking 10 minutes to walk from my front door to the curb, we’re off. Yes I can walk on it, yes it hurts but remember pain is something I’m good at. Waiting in urgent care, 2 hours. People who are clearly less sick than I keep going back. They finally see me. Take one look at my leg which is about 2 times it’s normal size, muscular about 20 inches in diameter. So it’s ballooned to 40 inches and sloshing. They take one look and say uh uh, you need the emergency room. So away we go to the emergency room with their initial prognosis.

I choose a hospital based on the emergency room reviews. Because, duh. And we end up at Thunderbird Hospital. I check in and things start to go quickly. They look at the diagnosis and put me in the little area next to doors going back while they set up my area. They weigh me and do the rigamarole and then I walk back to my partition. The doctor takes a look, draws blood and I’m polite and smiling and joking. I point a couple of the nurses to my blog cause I do that all the time. They send me off to pee in a cup and it sucks and takes forever and is really far to the bathroom, it has to be 20 feet.
I take off my clothes and have put on the gown and tied it, and I find I’m not self conscious and I’m joking with the nurses, half hinting at my private life. Nothing crude. Just very comfortable.

They say that they are going to need to get antibiotics into me. And I know that means I’m going to lose a bunch of my immune system because it’s going to kill the good bacteria too. And I set up in my mind shelters in my intestines for the bacteria to retreat to before this happens. I talk to them and appoint one of the ones who has been fighting the infection as leader and general.

They have me on 3 different bagged IV antibiotics. One of which they have to monitor because it is strong enough to potentially collapse my veins.

I’m diagnosed with cellulitis which has not reached the lymph nodes in my thigh, (my immune system rocks) flu, and a urinary track infection. Basically, it took 3 major infections all at once to sideline me.
They tell me once the cellulitis reached the lymph nodes it would have begun reproducing in my bones and that would have been it. Probably a day or two if they hadn’t caught it.

I spend a couple of nights in the hospital. I’m bored out of my skull. Nothing to read, phones dead that first night. Sucks. Plus they are checking on me every 3 hours or so and changing IV bags. They switch arms because after 2 changes with the major one its either switch veins or collapse.
I’m still on antibiotics the next day.

I have to say that my ER doctor was amazing. She was calm, cool, collected. She marshaled that place like a 3 star general. She got me a room in hours while I was waiting for tests. The nurses were in awe of that. She was great. And because I’m me and I like strong women, I noticed a wedding ring. Damn.

Anyway, I anthropomorphise my immune system and it seems to work. After the antibiotics I were done, I let the army and families out of the shelters and they were mostly OK. My immune system is led by the hand picked chosen of the initial General. All honors to him for fighting in the Great cellulitis war of 2015. And I view my immune system as honored soldiers and friends.

You can say it. That’s odd.

Secondary definitionĀ 

I say always and
You say That’s sweet
I say always and
You sigh happily
I say always and
You smile and duck your eyes
I say always and
You say I love you
I say always and
You say not ready
I say always and
You say not now
I say always and
You say goodbye
I say always and
There is only silence
I say always

Always wasn’t a promise
Always wasn’t an endearment
Always wasn’t romance

It was a warning
A cry
A bell chiming

It was the deep silence in the winter dawn
It was the quiet hush of a summer afternoon
It was the deep and abiding melancholy of 2am

It was a plea
Of understanding
That some people
Never forget
That there is nothing so fundamentaly luxurious
As the fading light of memory

And here I stand
Saying
Always

Weird brain shit

If I’m confident in a situation then I’m utterly comfortable and I will be kind and playful. Loving and caring.
If I encounter something I don’t understand or something I hadn’t foreseen, I will go completely analytical. I will ask questions that will make me seem like I’m being oblivious. I will try to hash out my own feelings and fears because I don’t understand what is happening, not in the moment.

I think it’s probable that I don’t have a high EQ. Just that I’ve encountered many prior situations and I’ve already worked the scenarios and I have contingency behaviors for my contingency behaviors. Which may make me seem weird right? I see that. What I am is a INTJ that is sufficiently self aware that I know why and what I’m doing.
Not that it helps me much in the moment.

I have to have things explained to me. Once I know then I’ll start looking for the situations and try to have plans in place to handle things. And I’ll try to not make the same mistake. But I’ll make others.
Contingency planning only goes so far.

Mind/Heart

I lead with my heart where those I love are concerned. My mind constructs the path but my heart determines it.

For those who aren’t in my heart, I lead with my mind. My mind sets the course and my heart determines how far I am willing to go.

This is my problem with personality tests. Because my actions and choices are relative to both the situation and the people involved. And is informed by the possible outcomes, the benefits and detriments, and the well-being of those involved. Always looking to safeguard those in my heart and be truthful to my self.

I am looking for the correct action. The neccesary step. For myself and for those in my care.

I test as INTJ but depending on questions, also INTP. Am I either of those or some 3rd thing? Or, for someone changing and growing beyond the boundaries of their limits, is such a test reliable or is it merely a tool to determine a starting place for change.

Passing thought of a Sir

I read many blogs about BDSM. Mostly they are stories written by or in Submissive voice. Because I don’t need to know Master voice. There are a few that I read that are for Dominants but those are mostly theory or techniques. I read those to learn or to see what other Masters think on a subject.

The ones written by Submissives or in the Submissive’s voice almost all seem to focus on the acts or what they feel during them. And a repeated theme is the suddenness of switch from normal to scene. The seeming randomness and, for some, the thrill of fear that this elicits.

Now, I won’t speak for other Dominants. But, those sudden scenes, those seemingly random changes? If I may pull back the curtain? They aren’t.

They are not random. They are constructed. Piece by piece, idea and accouterment. Sometimes they are pulled together on the fly from already used or existing pieces. But the sequence is planned. The beginning to the finish, as much as possible, each possibility and the outcome of each branch.

For the Submissive , it’s a bolt out of the blue or a rollercoaster ride. For the Dominant, it’s nested if/then statement. Done well, the Dominant can let one thing flow to the other naturally, each piece of the orchestra working in concert. And they can be in the moment, but at another level, they are running the scenario.

The Dominant has goals, has points that must be met and, in some cases, a scoreboard of reward vs punishment.

The Submissive dances on the stage. The Dominant is the choreographer, the stage director, and the audience. Done well, they feel like they are a fellow dancer.

Just, there is much thought and planning that gets us to that point

Valentine’s day 7

Tara’s whimpers work their magic and I find myself hard. Her voice struggling to not scream out while her hips grind into the padded leather. The soft buzzing of the latex cock, vibrating it’s way through her.

Taking Sara by the hand, I walk her, hand upraised to the creamy leather couch. Settling down into the soft cold.

Sara looks me in the eyes and wordlessly mouths, “Good job.” I smile, pleased. I’m not much for the impromptu. I prefer planning and the coming together of elements to form a greater hold.

As a reward, I remove a bell from Sara’s left breast. Careful to unclamp it to prevent potential tearing. Not for Sara’s sake. She pouts a bit. Generally, I pull clamps off and that extra jolt of pain thrills her. But this time, I have future plans. And blood would make those plans problematic.

The long slow swirl of Sara’s tongue pulls a soft moan from my throat. Not quite making it to the warming air, the heat of the day pouring through the softly curtained terrace doors.

Birdsong fills the house, over the slight buzz, the pleased moans, the soft drip of wet gathering in a puddle from rivelets flowing down the bench. The soft tinkling of bells in A minor. This perfect moment where all that I want and all who I love are happy.

Right on the edge, Sara pulls her mouth over the head of my softly swollen cock, the wet pop. Looking into my eyes, she moves up my torso dragging her blonde hair over me. Holding my gaze as my erection fades.

I reach out, caressing her muscular side, hand brushing against bells. With one swift jerk, I pull one free eliciting a sharp yip of surprise and a kiss hard against my lips, chewing my lips and tongue.

She pulls back triumphant in the pain of returning circulation and the harsh snap of removal. Her fierce predator smile steals over her. Eyes holding mine as she works her way back down.

I work my hand into her hair, fingers skimming scalp. Tangling, I pull her head back.

“Drape yourself over the table,” voice scoured of inflection.

She looks at me, head pulled to the side at a acute angle. As the light comes on. She kissed me. Kissed me without permission. While having been ordered to other action.

She hooks her leg around mine, not wanting to further disobey. Twisting around, body contorting to keep in contact with mine, she places her body against the St. Andrews Cross we use for a coffee table.

She waits while I decide what punishment, if any, I decide to meet out for disobedience.

In truth, her savage kiss pleased me. It was authentic, enthusiastic and of the moment. Choosing to punish will enforce the rules but will rein in her spontaneity.

This is the fine line. Between desire and rules. In a way, I feel obligated to the Scene. But in another, I love her. And want her enthusiasm. So my decision is made for me.

“Get up, my dear girl. Clean Tara up and go to the bed. I think now is a good time for a midmorning nap.”

“Yes, Sir,” Sara replies, relief in her tone, and regret.