The Joy of Painted Nails

Metallic gold gel polish was my favourite. I had my nails done  in early March 2020 for my birthday night out. They looked fabulous. They filled me with belief ad confidence. I’m 58 but so fucking what? I am sexy, I am gorgeous. I am going to take on the world. And I nearly did……

But within two weeks my world of being 58 and loving it ad fallen apart. There was a new virus going around as you may have heard. First Eroticon 2020 at which I was going to make my debut as a speaker was cancelled. Then we were plunged into lockdown, or at least of the who are not the Prime Minister’s mates were.  It was to be five months before I had another manicure. Over time the nails grew out, the metallic gel actually peeled off, my hair grew long and scruffy and grey, I had no reason to put on nice dresses or make up, I became a slob, sitting out the days before the work laptop until it seemed a decent hour to open a bottle. And my unpainted, brittle breaking nails were the visible sign of that. I looked terrible. I felt terrible.

Painted nails are all abort feeing good, feeling confident, and, in my role as a dominant in BDSM play, a marker of dominant femininity. Having your nipples tortured by painted nails I think adds something to the submissive experience. It definitely adds something to mine!

I am typing this blog post with unpainted nails but before my birthday do, the first for 2 years, I will be having my nails painted again. This time in blood red. I turn 60 in March and I intend to grow old disgracefully. A manicure seems like a good start.

And this is me, turning 58 with golden nails.