Fitness

I've spent 25 years on this planet, and nearly all of those I could whatever the hell I liked, knowing that pure fat and salt seemed to magically converted into more space to eat more pies. I could eat two fudge cakes and lose weight, it was ace.

Until the past few months, the past few months I could inhale and gain half a pound from the dust. My metabolism has clearly decided that now I'm quarter of a century old, that being enviably lithe with the appetite of a medium sized shark is no longer a priority.
Nope, now the appetite rages on, but so does the waistline.

Action was required, and this is what this blog post, and subsequent updates will cover.

I want to be fit, I want my Master to be proud of his boy, to have a nice bod that people won't run screaming from at the pool. I want to fill a tanktop without a small wobbly moon hanging out of the bottom.

For this I need Sir's help, my willpower in the face of a double cheeseburger is somewhat limited. I could quite merrily replace oxygen with KFC on an average day. This boy needed rules.

And rules he got.

No fast food, no crisps, chocolate, pizza, cheese and other fatty dairy, no pies, no pasties, nothing high in saturates, no sugary puddings. At the time I dismissed this as leaving me with little else to eat besides 'clouds and air'.
The truth is, in three months I've managed to pretty much constantly follow this whilst having a highly nommable diet. Yes, I could merrily sell my own legs for a Big Mac, but the only thing I've had from the golden arches have been a few consented milkshakes.

Sushi, fruit, low fat yoghurt, wholemeal sandwiches, salad, light wraps, more sushi, lots of chicken, pastas and I'm not dead. I'm happy, I've watched myself get better. It's ace.

I started with watermelon syndrome, hiding a large oval fruit over my belly under my top. My abs disappeared, my hips got grabflab. It was rubbish, I didn't have scales but I must have been well over 13 stone, verging 14.
As a boy who was 10st10 for YEARS this is somewhat alarming. I bought scales last week, assuming since I'd lost loads of weight and the last time I'd weighed myself I was 12st7, I'd bought them primarily for the smugness factor of seeing 11 stone something once again.

Step on. 12 stone 10. Whoa, okay? That was not expected. I was the heaviest I'd ever been, and I could visibly see where I had lost the weight back off again. Thank christ I didn't have scales during my watermelon era. I think I'd have bought Bulemia for Beginners.

So here I am, feeling better, until this morning. I weighed myself. 12 stone 13. Sir let me have fried chicken as a treat on Monday, that had clearly laid several eggs inside me and hatched chickens made out of lead cholesterol. Bastards.

So that's where I am, if I eat anything fattier than water I gain weight. The depressing truth is, it's time to calorie count. Fuck you body!

I start a new job in a week, and with it comes a lot more freedom, and a lot less lethargy. So it'll be time for phase two (which currently would kill me)... EXERCISE.

We'll see how that goes shall we?

Boy x


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A new acquisition

It's been some time since I last updated. Main reason being I've been working such a huge amount that my usual blogging time, the tube home, has been spent napping without exception. Back once again though, and plan to update regularly once again.

So, a major development has occurred. I have been hunting for a slavepet for a good 8/9 months, since Sir gave me permission to take on a boy of my own.

After several false starts, subs that lose interest, and boys who suddenly end up in relationships, I've finally got my boy.

And what a boy! He turns 20 in two days, incredibly cute and never stops smiling. A mere 5'6 which just makes him that much more adorable.
When we first spoke he was just into the idea of play, and felt that ownership was not for him. I asked him why, and his responses revealed he followed the popular misconception people have of M/S relationships. The slave has no freewill, his life is controlled, used for the pleasure of his master, that his life as he knows it will be altered heavily and that it all sounded a bit distressing and too much for him.

Of course some masters DO operate like that, and there are of course slaves for whom that is what they want.

It wasn't what he wanted though, and nor was it what I wanted. I steadily assured him I take ownership to care, train and offer security and companionship to my boy, and that more important than my direct pleasure, was his. A happy boy makes a happy master.
After talking a huge amount and realising just how perfectly matched my wish for a slave was to his vision of a perfect master, we arranged a meet.

Four days before the meet happened however, the surprise Master had been teasing me about all week came to light. I had no honest clue what it was. Blindfolded on the bed I waited, told to remove my blindfold I looked to see the boy knelt beside me, he was my surprise. Grinning up at me I instantly hugged him tight, and didn't let go for ages! It really was the perfect surprise, and one I had not expected at all, as they'd both planned it together and threw me way off the scent!
We had a wonderful evening, and he stayed the night. Managed to miss his train but otherwise it couldn't have gone better. The sight of him collared in the cage, smiling contentedly through the bars was wonderfully heartwarming. I finally had a boy, and he was clearly overjoyed to be owned.
Fast forward three weeks and another meet later, and he's just been ordered to buy his first bit of gear, an orca wetsuit in a very small and tight size. Provided it fits he's gonna look amazing!

Next meet the 4th. Can't wait! Will update more shortly but the news needed to be told. :)

Boy x


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