It turns out that you can’t actually make a living at staying in a castle with a whole bunch of kinky poly folks and having orgies all the time. Not unless you’re, I don’t know, Hugh Hefner or something…and to be quite honest, judging from the outside, I think my sex life is probably better than his.
So it came to pass that the last day of our stay at the castle was upon us, and rather sooner than I would have wanted. After the morning’s slinky hex–err, kinky sex, I spent a good bit of the afternoon running around the castle grounds and exploring the nearby village taking pictures, many of which you’ve already seen.
Later that afternoon, I was joined on the castle grounds by Emily, who suggested we take advantage of the opportunity for more photos. This seemed like a most excellent plan to me.
One of the projects I’m currently, albeit slowly, working on is a simple tutorial for do-it-yourself basic erotic photography, for folks who might like to take some fun pics of their partners but don’t have a lot of technical know-how. It’s designed to cover the essentials of basic composition and the like. I tried to take some deliberately poor pictures of Emily to use to illustrate the “dos and don’ts” part of the tutorial. She’s surprisingly difficult to get bad shots of.
This is not a bad shot of her. In fact, I quite like it.
While out and about a short distance from the castle, we came upon this rather ominous warning sign:
I don’t know French, but it seems to me that this sign is either saying “Caution: Gigantic Child-Erasing Space Alien Balls May Attack You In This Area” or “Attention Soccer Players: Mind the Tiny Leprechaun Children Who May Be Playing On The Field.”
Either way, I made it a point, if ever I find myself in France again, to be very wary of soccer balls.Which, now that I think about it, doesn’t change much.
The next morning dawned altogether too early, and featured altogether too much moving things about and piling things into a van. By this point, a number of folks had already left to parts unknown, and the rest of us–with the notable exception of emanix‘s partner Lexx, who is almost supernaturally cheerful in the morning–were shambling around in a state of “ungh, I need tea, where’s my tea?”
There are two asides that I feel I must interject here. The first is on the subject of tea. I have decided that the ubiquity of tea in British culture is quite a delightful thing, almost sufficient to make up for the invention of black pudding, which is neither pudding nor black, it being instead concentrated evil on a plate. One can almost–almost–see how the British love affair with tea led to the creation of a massive slave-trading empire just to keep it flowing.
Even if they then adulterate it in foul and abominable ways by the addition of milk.
The second concerns cooking. Lexx is rather good at it, and also rather experimental. One of the nights we spent in the castle, he prepared a variety of different strange and exotic cuts of meat, including horse meat, for our culinary pleasure.
I asked him, in passing, if the store he’d visited had had long pig on display, if he’d have tried some of that too. I made the mistake of asking that question while he was sharpening his knives, and the grin he gave me in reply will haunt my nightmares forever.
Especially considering that the population of the castle seemed to dwindle, as folks left to return to their homes. Or so we were told.
On drive back to London, we stopped at a convenience store for dinner, which had a large sign proudly advertising its “Long Bacon menu.” I wasn’t aware that’s what they called it overseas.
And now that grin is back, haunting me.
I spent most of the drive back looking like this.
I rarely sleep in moving vehicles, but as it turns out, I’ll make an exception for vans that I’m spending eleven hours with after a week of slinky hex in a Medieval castle. It’s good to learn new things about one’s self, I think.
Though that’s not to say I slept the ENTIRE way. I was awake for the English Channel crossing, which, as I’ve mentioned before, involves driving into an enormous train car and then sitting there for thirty or forty minutes whilst the train drives beneath the Channel.
Or, err, not sitting there.
I had, you see, awakened feeling a bit…frisky. And seinneann_ceoil was looking very yummy indeed. And so, err, well…
…I hadn’t actually set out to go all slinky hex, mind. The other folks who were riding with us got out of the van to stretch their legs, leaving only seinneann_ceoil and emanix and I. As I mentioned, seinneann_ceoil was looking very yummy indeed, and so I soon found myself smooching on her (she’s an excellent kisser, by the way, ad should any of you ever find yourselves with an opportunity to smooch her, I quite recommend it).
The smooching turned to squirming, and I quite like when girls squirm, so the squirming turned to holding down, and then emanix mentioned that she had some scissors with her, see, and…
The two of us soon overpowered seinneann_ceoil, and not long after that her clothes were cut and torn and ripped to shreds. She made the most delightful sounds, which only made me just that much more interested. It wasn’t long before we were both holding her down and emanix was doing…um, things and stuff, and then I saw that look in seinneann_ceoil‘s eye, and she said that she wasn’t, and I said that she was, and…yeah. She did. It was hot.
It wasn’t until about that point that I realized our fellow kinky poly van-goers had returned and were crowded around the van watching through the windows. Somehow, that detail had escaped me ’til then.
So I can now check “group resistance play scene in front of an audience in a train under the English Channel” off my bucket list.