Day 685: Different Kinds of Porn

Today I have indulged in 'porn' of many types. It started with grammar. Reading my really rather special Spanish language textbook on the train, I caught a glimpse of how many pages it had - 253. I'm on page 46. What sensous pleasure! I was excited in anticipation of finding new words to hold in my mouth, of ingesting new rules to try out on new bits of syntax, of knowing an extra way of describing someone. I imagine that this is what it must feel like as a bondage lover zips a gimp suit closed, buckles a dog collar tight, prepares the whips. 

Or, more gently, how it feels when, before a date, and often despite the intention of the thing, I step into lovely knickers and a matching bra. I'm not planning on revealing them tonight, but there's a glory in the promise of it for a future time, the anticipation of possibles to come. 

The next was dogs. Don't get the wrong idea. I want to be a dog mama soon, possibly just temporarily, but I do. To do that, I looked up hopefuls on some rescue sites. There were many involuntary noises on my part, more genuine than many moans uttered in the throes of love. I don't think there was one of them I wouldn't want to take home, when I get a place I can. I want this dog companion so much. 

The morning's jaunt helped with that. I stuck my head inside a studio, where another woman had just gone. The artist, Jackie, was lovely. She described the project she was doing and offered me use of one of two sewing machines to make my trousers and a dress. She also accepted my offer of dog company next Thursday. I can go and love her dog for her while she's away. I think we all won there. 

I had goes on many dogs today... a scruffy, fat black lab, a tall, grey lurcher and a spindly-legged puppy, brewing itself to outgrow its larger friend. A solid staffie, dense like a rubber brick and at the station, a silky, sand-coloured lurcher/greyhound cross. His owner greeted me with the question 'are you in the lurcher world?'. Wasn't sure how to answer that. In that moment, yes. Not what he meant, though. My generic face has once again led somebody astray. 

That station (Frome) was a source of many gifts today. The lurcher; a very playful, pleasing, vocal child; a lift from lovely Jean, a stranger, who answered my question about where the town centre might be with a lift into its very heart, and lots of information about the buildings, history, finds. And later, though I didn't find a train (my app misled me), the lady in the cafe gave me tea... no charge... 

I found a library of things. That was very pleasing indeed. You join and either pay a subscription, then get things for free, or you don't pay in an ongoing way, but you pick up a tab when you rent an object. And just from that, I started fantasising about living in Frome, playing guitar, meeting someone lovely (oh, that list!)... and living in a fantastic big barn conversion with a magical mezzanine and a fistful of dogs. Fantasy is a good thing... it paves the way towards things to be. Better than the opposite - the dread, the fear, the discomfort that lead us away from what we don't want, in the direction of what we do. So, lurchers beware, solid men with laughter in your eyes, barns, and Spanish grammar. I'm coming for you!