I don't know why I should have to wait a year to be able to do what I want sexually. I mean, all I want is a little suspension: a little hanging by the feet, a little hanging by the hands, a little hanging by the feet and hands, a little stringing by the thumbs and hair, a little dangling by the toes.

Along with the hanging, I want a little tickling with a quill, a little whisking with a duster, a little rubbing with an ice cube, a little squirting with a pump gun, a little waxing with a candle, a little spanking with my hand, a little flogging with a lash, a little cutting with a dowel, a little lashing with a horsewhip.

Is this so much to ask? Is it too traumatic to contemplate? I don't think so.

I think I should be able to wind up my pulleys more often than once a year. I think I should be able to quarter my meat morsel more often than once per planetary circle. I think I should able to string up, stretch, stroke and stripe more regularly than once per special occasion, namely, my birthday.

What is it about my birthday that makes it more licentious than other days? Am I allowed to be more of a kinkster because I am a year older? Am I permitted to bring out my squeezers and tweezers because I am more of a geezer? Is it okay for me to hang up my co-lodger because I am more of a codger?

I think not. I think a little scaffolding treatment is appropriate at least twice per annum. That way, I won't be ancient before I act out half my plans.