Play party tomorrow night, and the paint-on-me scene is all set. I’m amused — and also appreciative — that T. called me last night to talk about specifics of the scene, like, how was *I* envisioning it, what did *I* want out of it, what did I want him to draw/write. I told him that he should choose what he wants to write, b/c for me, letting him choose is VERY subby and that’s what I want. He said fine, but *if* I wanted poetry, I’d have to bring a book — he’d be the one to choose which poem, of course, but he isn’t poetry-inclined, so it seemed too much like homework to tell him to go to the library and try to find something — it’s a compromise I can live with.

He threw out some ideas that I had already thought of — like taking a picture of what he paints on my back (I’m going to the playspace after work today to help set up, and I’m going to talk to the guy in charge and explain the whole thing and what exactly I was thinking of in terms of the picture[s], and see if that will be okay), and did I want other people involved (a world of NO — I’m not even CLOSE to being comfortable enough with my body OR with the collective membership of our group for that to be a possibility).

I’m impressed at how thoughtful he was about it — I told him that it sounds like he’s been thinking about it more than *I* have. T.’s reply was “Well, I like playing with you.” So, yay.

Tomorrow night. Party time. I *am* excited. And also nervous as hell.