Demo Girl

I have been so busy that my life is falling apart somewhat, like ever-so-slightly frayed edges of a well-worn favorite t-shirt.

Dishes need to be done. Jungle Lawn needs to be cut. Bills need to be paid.

Even notably, my DVR hates me, straining at the seams with over 70 recorded shows to watch. And then there is the half-finished series The Tudors on Netflix that I long to get back to.

Who am I kidding? When will I ever find the time?

Is this what happens when someone has a social life? There must be some way to balance it all.

This weekend I was a "demo girl" for a presentation given by The Actor. As previously mentioned...

The Actor. My age. Sincerely warm, sweet guy who has a spanking fetish ... Likely to be a friend and nothing more...

The presentation was about spanking for fun. Spanking with humor. Yep. For real. These people are great. They know how to laugh. They know how to communicate. They don't give a bloody Effin about you being thin, fat, tall, short, bald, purple, blue, orange, gay, or straight. And they just happen to have a hobby that is a little bit different from, oh say, playing softball.

Anyway, I was asked to help out with the presentation, because I would make a great "demo girl" apparently. And why was that? Well, I guess my facial expressions and my honest, genuine curiosity would be great for new people to see. I'm thinking more along the lines that "fresh blood" draws a crowd. The Actor likely needed new demo girls after wearing the old ones out!

This is likely the closest I'll ever get to being a model/actor/performer in any way shape or form. Although I still need to try karaoke, so there's still some small chance I'll make it big in the karaoke world.

It was very interesting. The stage. The lights. The audience (about 20 people) all seated as if they were going to watch a play.

The part of the presentation that involved me was really short, and it was about using music. How appropriate is that considering I list music as one of my Six Things I Can't Live Without? Anyway, I got spanked to the drumbeat of Foreigner. Yes. That 80s group. I've Been Waiting for Girl Like You. Hilarious, isn't it? Good. It was supposed to be. I laughed nearly the whole way through it. In the end, a great stress relief.

At the party that followed the presentation, there were a lot more people dressed up like gods and goddesses and angels. Apparently it was a theme. A man approached me, said he liked my demo, and then we started talking about other types of kinky stuff. And before you know it, I was also trying flogging. It was an interesting thuddy smacking noise and honestly felt like a really nice back massage. I'm sure someone who gets it on the front of their body wouldn't have the same review.

I met many more people. Everyone was so warm and friendly.

And then my heart skipped a beat. I saw a dead ringer for a young Rick Springfield at the bar.

Tall, thin, long black hair, dark eyes, wearing black. Our eyes met for a long long time across way. I didn't have the nerve to go up and talk to him until just before I was leaving. I really had to push myself. I took a deep breath, stood next to him while he was looking elsewhere.

I let out my breath, "Hey..." as if I'd just run a marathon and when he turned toward me, I leaned in close to his ear so I would only have to say it once, "You are by far the sexiest man here tonight." And I quickly stepped back, prepared to go, so he would know I had no intention of taking up his time or anything. I really was leaving with my coat on and everything.

He smiled a genuine grin, and asked, "Can I please kiss your cheek?" OhMyGod, slight accent.

Of course, he hadn't asked for my number, or in this group's case, email or profile name.

In hindsight, it would not have been inappropriate if I retorted, "Which one?" or just turned around and bent over. Instead I said "Sure." Leaned in, he kissed it, said thank you, I said you're welcome. I stepped back and left as quickly as my feet could take me.

I don't know what in the hell that was. A severe case of Cinderella complex or what? Was I hoping he'd come after me on the stairs up to the street and profess his lusty need for a fat chick in a red bra, lace stockings and black wedge heeled boots? He didn't.

I barely made it home awake. The ride out of the city after a night like that is just simply too damn long. I need a chauffeur. But once I was home, I did dream about the Rick Springfield lookalike. You can take the spanking demo girl out of the romantic setting, but you can't take the romantic out of the 80s wild child.