Long Weekend's Journey into Rubber 4

continued from part 3

Part 4

Once again, she came and lay close beside me – she pulled the duvet up over us, but she didn’t release me. But we just lay there, in post-coital bliss, while she just traced idle patterns around my balls, and up my prick, around the tip, and back again. Me, I couldn’t do anything – Lisa was a most generous woman – she gave without seeking a return. Mind you, she had had two crashing orgasms within half an hour, so she wasn’t doing too badly.

I was beginning to get distinctly warm inside my catsuit, the only thing I could really hear was the beating of my blood in my head, which seemed to get louder the more she played on my flute down below. I wriggled a little, and the suit slithered over my skin: my nostrils were filled with an aroma compounded of latex and sex, and my mouth was still filled with her taste.

We lay there for about half an hour, and as she continued to play with my penis, the inevitable happened and I became hard again.

She stirred beside me and said, “Oh well, we’ll have to do something about that!” She got up from the bed, and went out of the room, coming back a few moments later with a vibrator in her hand. I thought she was going to use it on me, but no. She stripped the duvet away again, and once more lubricated my prick with the KY. Then she slathered KY over her bum, and presented her arse-hole to me, and sat down so that I penetrated her up to the hilt. It wasn’t very difficult, she’d clearly been penetrated before. But she just sat there immobile for two minutes, squeezing my prick with her sphincter, then I heard her start up the vibrator, and then I felt it in my prick – she’d clearly inserted it in her vagina and there it was, buzzing merrily away against my prick, and her clit.

This time we both exploded together. I jerked my hips as I came, intensely, and she screamed – I could hear it, even if I did have earplugs in. She fell forward, and I thought she’d fainted and would overbalance off the end of the bed. But she stayed there, motionless – I couldn’t see her eyes, but I could see that she was still breathing, so that was all right.

After five minutes or so, she stretched her legs, and as I came down from my high, my prick came out of her bum. She left the room, and after another five minutes or so came back. She’d stripped off her hood and catsuit, and was wearing the housecoat she’d worn that morning. She came over to me, and unshackled my legs and wrists; she unlocked the padlock at the crown of my hood, and pulled the zip down most of the way. She spoke close to my head: “Undress, and come and have a shower, but leave your ball-stretcher on.”

I stood up and reached up to my hood, opened it, and pulled it forward off my head, then pulled off the under-hood. Then I took off the separate cock and ball sheath – with my prick now limp, that wasn’t too difficult, but I had to take care that the condom didn’t come off as well, or else there would have been spunk everywhere. I took the condom off slowly, and put it in the wash-basin. In fact, I didn’t feel any great discomfort from the ball-stretcher, so I was content to obey her instructions.

I pulled the body of the suit forward, and stripped it off my arms, one at a time. Then I eased it down my chest and belly, after reaching round my back to complete the unzipping. I eased my cock and balls through the reinforced hole – the other way this time, and then rolled it down my legs. I shivered as the sweat started to dry on me. The suit lay there in a crumpled heap, all slick with my sweat, so I straightened it out tidily (the accountant’s mind, you see), and went through to the shower.

Lisa was there in the cubicle already and beckoned me to join her in there. It was a biggish cubicle, and there was room for two, so, hardly surprisingly, there was a lot of contact. She gave me a bar of soap, and pointed to her breasts. Nothing loath, I started to soap her, and, inevitably, as her nipples hardened, I paid more and more attention to them. In the meantime, she took the soap back from me, and started to wash my prick and balls. She gave me the soap once again and pointed to her cunt, so I duly obliged, working my finger up into her vagina, and giving her clit a gentle rub. She wriggled round, trapping our hands between us and fed me a kiss which had set my back teeth humming. (The American humorist S.J. Perelman, in a take-off of pre-World War II ‘True Detective’ stories had a marvellous expression like this which he used, and I can’t now remember exactly what it was.) However that may be, our bodies were locked together, while the hot water cascaded over us, and our tongues probed each other like a pair of snakes. Her smooth skin was like silk, and again my senses went into overdrive, and, of course, my prick started to stiffen again – though heaven knows, there can’t have been anything left in my balls. After five minutes of this, Lisa reached behind her for the shower control and turned it to maximum cold. I sprang back, and any sexy feelings down below dissipated in about two seconds flat.

Lisa turned off the shower, and stepped out of the cubicle, saying: “Now, now; no unprotected sex, for both our sakes.”

She handed me a towel, and said, “See you in the kitchen when you’re dry and dressed”

The briefs I’d bought yesterday (only yesterday? It seemed a lifetime ago) were there on the towel rail, so I took them next door, powdered them up, put them on (tucking my crown jewels neatly into their pouch) and put on the rubber trousers and shirt I’d worn at lunch. Then I padded along to the kitchen, where Lisa stood in her latex housecoat, and nothing else, as I could see from time to time.

“I’m going to fix us a snack”, she said, “and then, I think, we’ll have ‘a quiet night in.’ To be quite honest, that suited me.

She made us sardines on toast, of all things, and some hot chocolate, and we sat there, side-by-side, on the divan, like a middle-aged, middle-class, suburban couple. Which, I suppose, we almost were – well, I was; 40 next year, and you can’t get much more middle-aged than that. Mind you, I don’t suppose that many middle-aged families with kids and a mortgage normally had 24 hours of sex such as I and (I hope I’m not boasting) Lisa had just enjoyed. But then, you never can tell what goes on behind drawn curtains. Every so often, the really nasty, unpleasant and squalid details come out – such things as paedophilia and cruelty to children – neither of which I can even begin to understand. I would have though they would have been hard-wired out of the human system. But you never hear of the really fun things, and happiness, which people can do with each other. But the Law of Probability says that they must happen, surely?

When we’d finished the sardines, she fetched an apple, saying, as she gave it to me,
“Sorry, there’s only one.”

“That doesn’t matter – come on, we’ll share. We’ve shared just about everything else in the last 24 hours”.

So I took a bite and handed it to her. And she took a bite, and handed it to me, and when it was finished, it was like Tom Sawyer’s apple – no core.

I put my arm around her shoulders, and drew her to me, and she gave a contented sigh, and believe it or not, within five minutes, she was asleep. The last of the daylight had gone, but I daren’t move to close the curtains, or to switch on the light, so I just relaxed there, with this amazing woman cuddled up to me, warm and rubbery.

After an hour or so, I had to shift my position – my arm was already ‘asleep’, and she stirred, and said, in a baby-girlish voice, “Will you sleep with me tonight?”

I blinked: we’re so used to that phrase meaning “have sex” that it took me two seconds to realise that she meant would I share her bed.

So I replied, “It will be a pleasure and a privilege.”

She got up from the divan and said, “I – am – bushed!” And I said, “Me, too.”

Lisa said, “Give me five minutes in the bathroom, then it’s all yours.”

I put the dishes in the sink and drew the curtains, checked that the doors were locked, and if there had been a cat, no doubt I would have put that out, too. (For a very good reason: Jenny had had a cat, and once when we were making love in bed, the wretched animal had come into our room without a sound, and jumped on me au moment critique, as the French say, sinking its claws into my buttocks.)

Lisa said a soft “Coo-ee”, from down the passage, and I went along to wash and clean my teeth. I took off the rubber trousers and shirt, but left my briefs on. I crossed the passage, and Lisa was there in bed, with a simple shift nightdress of white latex, her hair unbound.

The bed was a Queen-size bed, without any of the refinements of the bed next door, but with latex sheets and pillows. The rest of the room was ‘normal’, and, as I said before, feminine – pastel colours, tie-backs to the curtains, knick-knacks on her dressing table.

She held out her arms to me without speaking, and I went to her, folding her in my arms as I lay down beside her. I stroked the back of her head, and gently nuzzled the hollow of her neck, and she wriggled around so that her back was to me, and we fitted neatly into one another. Then she placed my hands over her breasts, reached out and turned out the light. I lay there, not attempting to fondle them, but both of us in perfect harmony with each other. I heard her breathing slow down as she drifted back to sleep again, and five minutes later I was asleep, too.

I woke, feeling extra-ordinarily calm and refreshed, sometime after five in the morning, just as dawn was breaking – it may well have been the birds’ dawn chorus which brought me up from the depths of sleep. Lisa lay alongside me, one bare arm over my back. As I moved, so did she, giving a little snort, but then she settled down again, her breathing shallow and regular. We lay face to face, and I drew back a little, so that I could see more of her: but she followed me across the bed, so I gave up, and studied her face on the red latex pillow, from a range of about nine inches. Her skin was smooth and pearly, but she had a small mole under the angle of her jaw. Her lips were full and generous, and as I lay there, they twitched into a little smile – I hoped she was dreaming about us.

I tried to analyse my feelings. On a bodily level, I hadn’t ever had such pleasure – the love-making which Jenny and I had enjoyed hadn’t been so intensely physical: and the addition of rubber had added an additional dimension to it. And Lisa was pretty, and had that indefinable quality which a woman has for her one man, and she had a voice which was always a pleasure to listen to. (It works both ways, I know, but I’ve sometimes wondered why some women have a voice like the whine of a circular saw.) But as regards that funny thing called ‘love’, I thought I was falling in love with Lisa. OK, we shared a dislike of smoking, and a liking for Foster’s lager, but that was hardly the basis for a long-term relationship; but she was generous with her physicality; she was generous with her recognition of services performed, and altogether, I began to realise what “love at first sight” implied. (Jenny and I had known each other for eighteen months before we’d got engaged: we didn’t just drift into marriage, but somehow we just grew together – a sort of slow-drying glue process. With Lisa – from my point of view anyway – it was instant epoxy-resin: mix the two tubes together, and scrunch – you’re fixed.)

Her latex nightdress was low cut, and one breast was partly out, so I started to circle the nipple with one finger tip: after a little while it started to swell and perk up, so I started gently to roll it between two fingers. Lisa stirred and said “Mmmmmm”, and pushed herself towards me. I took my hand away, bent my head and started to lick, nibble and suck at the nipple. She opened her eyes, but said nothing. Another two minutes and she rolled slightly away from me, presenting her other nipple to my mouth. At the same time, one of her hands found my crotch, and a finger started to run up and down the length of my prick. I disengaged my hand from the first nipple, and felt down for her mons, pulling up her nightdress. I started with slow stroking between her thighs, then entered between her lips, then found the bud of her clitoris, and started to work on that, while continuing to play with her nipples above.

After a few minutes of this treatment, with the first of her secretions starting to run down her leg, she raked her finger nails across my balls, and I raised myself and plunged into her. I drove in as hard and as far as I could, and she gave a little moan. Then I started to stroke in and out slowly, giving a twitch to my prick at the end of each inward pass – each time she gave a little gasp. I continued with the same treatment, wondering if I was doing anything wrong, because Lisa didn’t seem to be particularly aroused, until suddenly she screamed, and her vaginal muscles spasmed, as her orgasm hit. Ten seconds later, I came too, and then, holding her in my arms, I rolled sideways, still in her, while we both came down off our highs.

I continued to kiss her, on the lips and in the hollows of her neck, and after ten minutes she gently disengaged herself, sat up, and said,
“Well, that beats being woken with a cup of tea!”

She went to the bathroom, and climbed into bed again. I went to the bathroom after her, then went out to the kitchen and made us both a cup of tea, and brought it back to the bedroom.

I said “Two for the price of one – you get both a fuck and a cup of tea. But I don’t know – do you take milk or sugar in your tea?”

“Just milk,” she replied, and I said, “That’s the third thing we’re in tune over.”

She giggled, “Don’t you count the sex, and the rubber?”

“Oh well, those are the big things – too often it’s the little things which couples fall out over.”

“Do you want to think of us as a couple?”

“Yes, but who’s proposing to who? I was lying here, thinking about just that, and deciding that I want to put our relationship on a more permanent footing, and then you beat me to it.”

An anxious thought came to me.

“That is what you meant, wasn’t it? I mean, for me, you’re someone I’ve been waiting for, without knowing it, for a year, I suppose. But for you, the pain of splitting up is more recent, and from the little you’ve said, more acute.”

Lisa replied thoughtfully, “Yes, it is what I meant. I certainly don’t want to rush into anything - you’re right, my break up with Peter is still too fresh in my mind; but I would like to see more of you and find out how many other little things we have in common. But let’s leave that for later today – I still have some more rubber ideas for you before you can consider yourself a fully-fledged rubberist.”

We lay there for about another five minutes, till she said,
“Right, this won’t buy the baby a new shirt”, and jumped out of bed. “I’m going to have a shower, and get us some breakfast to keep our strength up – you can use the bathroom after me, but would you clean up the suit you were wearing yesterday? All it needs to have done is to sponge the inside to get all your dried sweat off;, then hang it up to air before it gets powdered and put away.”

“Ooh,” I said, “sorry, I do know enough not to leave rubber or latex uncleaned, but I had other things on my mind last night.”

I went into the playroom, and sorted out the suit, leaving it hanging in the window, with the top casement open.

By the time I’d done that, had a shower and shaved, I could smell frying bacon. So I slung the cape over me again, and went along to the kitchen. Lisa said,
“Special treat for Sunday, bacon, tomato and fried bread”

“How did you know? – that’s common likes and dislikes number four.”

After breakfast, Lisa said,
“Now, I’m going to prepare your rubber for today. I warn you, today will be a little more thorough, even severe, than yesterday – I’m going to give you a little bit of sensory deprivation no hearing, and no sight. I really find that it can be very calming and allows you time to reflect which is so difficult otherwise – phones going, texts on your mobile and so on. Are you on?”

I just nodded.

She went on. “In the meantime, if you want to make yourself useful, you can do the dishes from last night and this morning, please.”

Now that really does sound as though we were a couple! But fair crack, she’d made the breakfast – it wasn’t unreasonable that I should clear it up.

Fifteen – twenty - minutes later, I heard an imperious voice from down the hallway, “Come.” (They’d obviously taught her about Power of Command in the Navy all those years ago.) So once more, I went. This time she was in black, rather as I’d seen her a week ago, when I broke in and started this whole experience. She had put her hair up, and wasn’t wearing a hood, but had made her eyes up fantastically in gold and black.

She didn’t speak, but pointed to the middle of the play-room floor. I went and stood there, and she came over and took the cape off me, so that I stood there naked except for the ball-stretcher which I’d had on for 24 hours. She took it off, and it was PAINFUL but not for long. She said,
“We’ll do something different with your balls today, I think. Face the mirror, then you can see what I’m doing”

She produced something which seemed to be a number of strips of black leather, with rivets and press-studs.

“This is a ball-divider”, she announced.

She took two ends of one of the strips, passed it behind my balls, and pressed the studs together in front, and over the top of my prick, so it formed a tight ring round my cock and balls. Then she took a fresh condom, and gently rolled it up my stiffening member. Then she took the cock-and-ball sheath I’d worn yesterday, and slipped my prick into it, and then stuffed my balls into the ball bag, leaving some of the leather straps from the ball-divider outside the bag. She pulled one of them forward between my legs, so that my balls seemed to be in a separate pouch each side of the base of my penis, and I could see that the ‘front’ end of the strap divided into two, with press-studs on the end. Then she ‘popped’ each end on to the base ring round the top of my jewels, each side of my prick. And there they were, neatly trussed, looking for all the world like a chicken’s giblets you stuff inside the bird when you’re roasting it (or my mother used to – the hygiene police won’t let you buy giblets these days.)

She found another crotchless leotard, this time with a full body, short sleeves and a back zip.

“OK, you can put that on yourself – here’s a hook for you to do the zip up on your own.”

She pointed to a can of silicone polish and said,

“And buff yourself up, as well – I’m going to sort out your cat suit.”

So, I struggled into the leotard – it wasn’t too difficult once I’d managed to connect the zip pull and the hook, and found a cloth and polished my front and sides with the spray and the cloth. (It’s amazing how it comes up to a sheen.)

In the meantime, Lisa had checked out the suit I’d worn the day before – the one hanging in the window - and lightly dusted the interior with talc, and then turned the feet so that I could put my feet in. As it had been yesterday, the constricting latex gave me the shivers, delightful shivers. We’d got it up to my thighs when Lisa said;
“Help! I’ve forgotten the corset.”

She turned round to the bed and picked up a thick rubber corset, zipped at the back, and laced at the front.

“This was another of my ex’s bits of kit” she said. “He had a bit if flab round his middle, and this held it in. You haven’t, but it won’t do you any harm to try a bit of restriction. Normally, you’d step into it before you put the suit on, but today, because we’ve made a start, I’ll unzip it and then wrap it round you – it should be easy enough to zip it up again, with the laces all slack.”

So she did that. It came down to just above my prick, and went up to just under my nipples. Lisa zipped it up, and then came round the front to do up the lacing.

“Draw your stomach in”, she commanded, and started to draw the laces tight at the top of the busk. She worked her way up gradually, and managed to close the busk. The corset had spring steel stiffening, and my waist was about three inches smaller than normal when she’d finished – not particularly tight, but tighter than anything I was used to wearing around my waist.

Then she went back to the cat suit, and drew that up over my waist, once again putting her fingers through the reinforced hole to draw out first my prick, and then my balls. Then it was hands into sleeves, settle the fingers into the gloves, and zip the suit up to just below the neck.

The she dropped her bombshell.

“Right, no sex for you this morning – I’ve got too much to do, and besides, you need to have a bit more straight rubber experience. So we can’t have your cock bobbing about like that in front of you (I was hard, both from the rubber and anticipation of fun to come) – it might give me ideas. Instead, we’ll take charge of it”.

She produced a small, triangular, leather ‘apron’, which had buckles at the top two corners, and a long strap at the bottom. At the bottom there was a pear-shaped hole, while above the hole were four small buckled straps, one above the other. As a separate item, there was another strap, with a small buckle hanging down in the middle.

She turned the ‘apron’ upside down, and squeezed my balls and prick through the pear-shaped hole. Then she turned it back again, so that the long strap hung down. She took the other strap, and fastened it round my waist to the buckles at each of the upper corners. With my waist already constricted by the corset, she settled it exactly round the narrowest part, then did each buckle up as tight as it could go. Then she went behind, reached through my legs for the long strap and drew that up as tight as it would go, buckling it to the waist strap. So there I was, with my divided balls in their rubber hanging down, and my prick standing up – all this handling had, not surprisingly, given me an A1 hard-on.

I even tried a joke:
“You don’t know what you’re missing”.

“Yes. I do,” she replied, “but unlike some, I can restrain myself. I don’t want you to cum – keep it for later”.

She took my prick, stroked it to make sure it was fully erect, then proceeded to strap it up using the four smaller straps on the front of the apron. Next, it was the wrist and ankle cuffs which she’d used the other day – well, only the day before – to secure me to that bed.

Then she turned her attention to my head. She took the same under-hood as I’d worn the previous day, and the ear-defenders, which she reinforced with some waxy compound.

Before she put them in, she said,
“For me, anyway, one of the things about total enclosure is to turn my thoughts inwards, so I deprive myself of hearing and sight – I’m going to do this to you this morning, and I’m not going to tell you for how long, but I promise it won’t be for too long”.

When she’d done, I really was deaf – I might have heard an explosion, but ordinary conversation wasn’t on – she’d have to write me messages or resort to sign language.

Then finally the hood: it slipped easily over the under-hood, and I settled it comfortably, nose, mouth and eyes, then the final zip and there I was, encased in rubber once again, with my prick firmly under control. I noticed that she hadn’t put the little padlock at the top of my head this time.

Lisa moved across to the bed once again, leaving me staring at my image in the mirror. She handed me the can of spray polish, and indicated that I should get on with polishing my front, which I did. In the mirror, I saw her bend down and reach under the bed to pull out what looked, at first sight, like a folding stretcher, except that it appeared to have padded side-bearers rather than fabric. She dragged this across to the wall I was facing, and leaned it up against it.

She spoke to me – but I couldn’t hear a word. She put her hand to her mouth and giggled - well, you can see a person giggling, as well as hear them. She indicated the ‘stretcher’, and indicated that it would go against the wall. So what? Well, you remember, when I described the room earlier, I said that this wall had some ringbolts let into it. What I hadn’t noticed was that there were also four bolt-holes sunk into the wall, alongside four of the ringbolts. (In some of the stories I’d found on Gromet’s Plaza, there were descriptions of ‘dungeons’, which always seemed a bit far-fetched, or so I thought, but here were the makings of a mini-dungeon in what was otherwise an almost normal bedroom, except perhaps that a casual visitor would have thought that the occupant was a bit narcissistic, with all those mirrors.) And I don’t quite know how they’d explained their requirements to the builder, because this wasn’t a d-i-y job.

Anyway, Lisa opened the ‘stretcher’ out, and I saw that it actually formed an ‘X’, and that each of the upper and lower ends bolted into the wall, to form a St. Andrew’s Cross for bondage purposes against the wall. As I said earlier, clearly Lisa and her ex had been well into bondage and rubber – the cost must have been considerable. But I suppose, if you don’t go on a holiday to Thailand this year, but spend it in bondage at home, you save all that money and get just as much pleasure and fun.

She set the cross up, took four bolts from a small bag which came with the cross and bolted the cross to the wall. I saw (I was naturally interested, wasn’t I – it was clear that this was all for my benefit) that there were some small shackles and turnbuckles at the cross’s intersection, and at the ends.

She went back to the bed – which still had a number of items on it - and came across with a third hood, zipped and laced at the back, and with two short straps on the sides, one at eye level, the other at mouth level. She showed me the interior before putting it to my face – it had eye nose and moth holes, but the nose had two three-quarter inch tubes on the inside, which she settled into my nostrils before pulling the hood fully over my head. She zipped it up, then pulled the laces tight so that the hood was quite wrinkle-free. She must have tied them off at the back (I couldn’t see what she was doing, of course), then fastened the two small straps round the neck (which I had seen when she showed me the hood)

I wondered how long it had taken her to decide on all this clobber, and the sequence of putting it on. I knew (at least I thought I knew) that she hadn’t lain awake all night working out which went first.

Then it was back to the bed again, from which she produced a three-inch stiff leather band which she proceeded to buckle round my neck. I realised that this was a ‘posture collar’, and its effect was to prevent me turning my head or lowering my head.

Finally, she produced an even bigger – well, leather corset, for want of a better term. It was about eight inches deep in front, six inches deep at the back, and four inches deep in between. It had three heavy duty straps and buckles to fasten it at the back, and D rings at the sides. Lisa wrapped it round me so that the bottom came just above the end of my captive prick: then she buckled it up tight.

I wondered what more she would do. I was becoming quite warm in all that rubber and leather, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. But it seemed that that was about all – there were other items on the bed, but nothing big.

She propelled me over to the cross, and backed me up to it. (I know I was being pushed around – many of the stories you read are of people being reluctant to be rubbered or gagged, or bound, but I’d gone into it with my eyes open, and actually, I was enjoying the experience.

She snapped one of each of the hooks at the intersection of the cross to each side of my waist. She raised each of my arms and snapped each of the hooks at the cross’s upper ends to each of my wrist cuffs. Next she fastened a strap two-thirds of the way down the upper arms of the cross around each of my upper arms.

Then she did the same to my feet and thighs. So there I was, spread-eagled on this cross, though only loosely. But that wasn’t for long, because she started to turn up the turnbuckles at my waist, so that my waist could neither move up, nor down nor forwards nor sideways. She went back to the bed, and again bent down to reach under it, and pulled out a spreader bar – no, two – and a small step. Being unable to move my head from that posture collar, I could only tell what was going on by watching in the opposite mirrors. She knelt at my feet, fastened each end of a spreader to my ankle cuffs, then tightened the turn-buckles so that the whole thing, turn-buckle, snap-hook, ankle cuff, spreader bar, ankle cuff, snap-hook and turn-buckle was in tension and immovable. Then she stood on the step, and did the same to my arms at the upper end of the cross.

Was that it? No – the cross had a padded headrest, with the same snap-hooks and turn-buckles at each side, and there were a couple of D rings at each side of my helmet. So it was snap, and turn, and now my head was as immobile as the rest of my body.

There I was, trussed like a Christmas (or Thanksgiving, if you’re American) Turkey (now there’s a thought for the Christmas menu, Turkey à la bondage – but that would include the stuffing, which I didn’t have!).

Lisa disappeared from my view, and reappeared with a blindfold which she secured with those two upper straps on that bondage hood – and I realised what she was going to do with those lower two straps. The next thing I felt was a soft kiss on my lips, the only part of me not covered in rubber or leather; then sure enough, she inserted a flabby bit of rubber between my teeth, and fiddled at the side of my head, fastening it, obviously, and then I felt the gag start to swell, until it filled my mouth.

That was it. After a couple of minutes, I realised I was on my own – well, I don’t think there was anything else she could have done, and I began to experience total sensory deprivation. I couldn’t see, I couldn’t hear, I couldn’t touch, I couldn’t taste. I heard my heart beating: I felt the sweat very gradually begin to gather in my pores and to work its way southwards. I could breathe comfortably, my feet were on the ground taking my weight, and altogether it was really quite relaxing. So I relaxed and began, as Lisa had suggested, to turn my thoughts inwards, and meditate.

09.12.09