When you have people out there who want to play games like 'Maim Me'.

I'm terribly gutted that I don't own a panama hat, or have the required tackle to fulfil Mrs Eisenhower's needs, because WOW the idea of getting my hands on those cold cuts and glossy magazines afterwards is really blowing my skirt up!

Hot stuff.

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Added 27th July:

AHA! Despite the link being decommissioned, I've googled it and some gorgeous person had the wherewithal to paste the text into their blog. So here it is in it's full glory. Tashapalooza is proud to present: ‘Maim Me’!


"I have a simple request: Would someone like to come over to my place dressed in a long, beige trenchcoat, panama hat, and dark sunglasses, smoking a cigarette?

When I open the door (I'll be wearing a polka-dotted dress and wiping my hands on an apron), you will be looking away. You will say, "Is the cake in the oven?" I will hang my head, fight back tears, and invite you in.

We shall move to the bedroom and I shall undress awkwardly, looking upset and ashamed. You will throw me up against the wall and I will scream "Maim me!" as you bite through my strand of cultured (but we'll pretend they're real) pearls, which will fall to the ground and scatter. You will think I've said "Mamie" (as in Eisenhower).

At this point, you will stroke my hair gently and become romantic and tender, renderng unto the First Lady the respect to which she is entitled. Slowly and carefully, you will rub your hand up my thigh. When you reach my genitalia and discover I am genetically male, you will fly into a rage and "rape" me (condoms and lube will be located in an antique snuff box at arm's length; please be discreet in procuring them).

Prior to climaxing, you will push me to the floor, remove your condom (again, discreetly), and ejaculate into my eyes. I will lie in a crumpled, sobbing heap at your feet, softly singing "Happy Birthday, Mr. President."

When your semen has dried my eyelashes together (this might take a while; I will have prepared a selection of cold cuts, assorted beverages, and glossy magazines for your entertainment), you will softly clean it out with a sponge dipped in warm milk.

You will hold me in your arms as we await the coming night. When (and whether?) we part again will be determined from that point.

Other than the above, I am not really looking for a specific "scene."