I have felt extremely burnt out by all the emotional stress of the last few years: from my own dysphoria and mental health difficulties, my husband’s mental health issues, and the final collapse of our relationship of over twenty-seven years.

I have booked a couple of weeks off work to recover and reset. At the end of the fortnight, my brain needs to be able to function again!

To start my holiday, I have booked in a massage!

The chappie (for the masseuse was a he) asked me a little about what I wanted, and then suggested something a little lighter than the deep tissue massage that is initially requested, since he realised that my aim was to relax and unwind after so much stress.

He left the room, while I stripped to me undies. While I was lying there, face up as he requested but wearing an eye mask, I found myself wondering why they leave the room: they get to see everything anyway!

There was a lot of attention paid to my neck and shoulders, since like most people I carry all my tension there. Then he switched to my legs. I remember thinking that he had lovely manly hands, by which I mean a little rough. Then I wondered if it was just my hairy legs that made the rubbing feel coarse. When he got to my back, his hands didn’t feel quite so rough.

Sixty minutes is not a long time, but I felt so much more floppy afterwards!

Since it was now lunchtime, I wandered into town for the street food market. Trolling up and down the aisle I nearly went for momos again, but instead plumped for the seafood paella. It was delicious! With fresh mussels and prawns.

After I’d eaten, I popped into one of the many tattoo and body piercing shops in the centre of town. I’ve had a few piercings done here. My nipples I had done way back in 2018 when I first came to Southampton; although they had to come out when I did a bungee jump and I could never get them back in again. I suppose that wasn’t a bad thing because they’d catch on my dungaree straps or the dog would catch her claws on them when she jumped at me. I’ve never had a tattoo there.

I asked about getting a couple more ear piercings, then I thought to ask about “piercings below the navel”. “Genital piercings?” the assistant asked, “sure, but the piercer who does then isn’t here today and we also need a manger to arrange them.” She wouldn’t book me in and I have to phone up on Monday.

At that shop, a Prince Albert costs £70.

One worry … I’d have to leave my cock alone while it healed – hopefully it would be ready for use by the time I next see Cicero in London for a weekend at the leather club!

I walked home from the centre, unpacked the shopping, and sat in the garden playing with the dog. She proceeded to lick all the residual massage oil off my body!

Not quite the tongue bath I wanted!

All through the day I’ve been thinking about my husband. I sent him a “good morning I hope you slept ok” type message, but he never replied. I was thinking of asking if he’d like to come to the beach with the dog and me tomorrow, but I don’t know whether I should.

I just want to know that he’s ok.

No massage, no piercings, no paella can quite distract me from the hole he’s left.