I am able to pinpoint what the initial spark was. It started when I first saw the film 'The Great Race' when I was seventeen. The film is a one of those ensemble comedies from the 1960s with a big-name cast. My parents had it on VHS and that Christmas, at my parents' insistence, we had sat down as a family to watch it. It had funny moments, undoubtedly, but it held no great interest for me until the story arrived at a scene set in a bakery. There is a ridiculously huge pie fight when everyone gets covered in cream cakes and pies. The entire cast covered in cream from head to toe awoke something and it inspired my first tentative experimentations with messy food. From then on, any time that I had an opportunity to get messy I did. I became quite an expert in the methods and techniques of getting messy. Unlike some messy fetistists, I prefer to be naked from the start of a messy session. For me, getting messy with clothes on is just an inconvenience and a waste of nice clothes and the things I am getting messy with.
The events that changed my and my sister's lives happened when we were in our mid twenties. I had my own flat in Primrose Hill, north London. With three bedrooms on the top three floors of a Victorian townhouse, it was much bigger than a single girl needed and at local prices, it's not somewhere I could have have afforded to buy on my income. Very fortunately, it had been given to me on my 21st birthday by my grandparents who had bought the whole house and a number of others in the area during the 1960s when property prices were low and blighted by a major inner city motorway scheme that was eventually abandoned unbuilt. My identical twin sister Lucy, had been given a similar flat in a similar house along the road. We each had keys for the other's flats in case of emergencies. We probably could have lived together in one flat and rented the other, but we both enjoyed the freedom of having our individual spaces. For me, it also meant that I had perfect freedom to indulge my messy fetish without fear of interruption - or so I thought.
WEDNESDAY, 19 JULY 2006 - DAY
It was a Wednesday in mid-July and I had the day off. I work in advertising and the team I am a member of had just completed work on a TV, radio and print advertising campaign for a large carmaker. The project had involved a lot of writing and design work as well as managing photographic, recording and film shoots all to a very short and demanding production schedule. There had been a lot of very late nights, early mornings and several weekends sacrificed to deliver everything on time and we were all exhausted when the project was wrapped-up on Tuesday lunchtime. After a few celebratory drinks in our favourite wine bar, my boss and best friend Katie (now my wife) gave the team the rest of the week off as thanks for the effort and time sacrificed.
That fateful Wednesday, I woke-up early, as I always do and decided that I was going to have a "me day" and indulge myself. I started the day with an early yoga class followed by a swim and a sauna at my gym and a visit to my favourite café in Regent's Park Road for a coffee. When I got back to my flat, the sun was out and the temperature was rising quickly. It had been a very hot week for London with temperatures over 30°C since the previous Sunday and the forecast was that it was going to be even hotter at 35°C. I was thankful to be able to enjoy it rather than be stuck in the office. I decided that it was such a perfect day I would do a run as well, before it got too hot.
I have a route from my flat that goes through Primrose Hill park, down to the Regent's Canal across that into Regent's Park, then loops round the west side of the boating lake, along the south side of the Park and back up the Broad Walk, passing the Zoo to cross the canal again by a different bridge and then back into Primrose Hill to my flat. It's a lovely 5 km run downhill and up again that I can do it in about 23 minutes or 48 minutes if I do it twice, which I did that morning - once in each direction. By noon I was back at my flat, warmed-down, showered and stretched-out on the lounger on my tiny roof terrace. The Gipsy King's were playing quietly on the sound system and I was enjoying the post-exercise buzz in my muscles and the warmth of the sun on my skin. I was relaxing in my favourite bikini.
Being a pale-skinned, green-eyed redhead of the type one sees in many 19th century paintings by the Pre-Raphaelites and other Victorian artists (the Lady of Shalott by John William Waterhouse is basically me), I have to avoid the sun as I burn very easily. I had applied a good layer of SPF50 all over and was shaded by a parasol. As I lay there properly relaxed for the first time in several of weeks, I began to doze and daydream. My thoughts eventually and inevitably turned to my top three favourite things - sex, masturbation and getting messy. I wasn't seeing anyone at that time, so I hadn't had sex for a while and the long hours I had been putting in at work meant I hadn't had much time to pleasure myself - just the occasional quick early morning masturbatory moment in the shower before heading to work. I was horny. It was some weeks since I'd got messy and once the thought had entered my head it was impossible to shift it out again.
It was the perfect day for a messy session. No plans, no interruptions, nothing to disturb me from indulging fully. I was going to get messy - that decision was made. The next decision was what to get messy with. I considered what I had 'in stock' ready for use - chocolate sauce, treacle, molasses and golden syrup, peanut butter, marshmallow fluff and glue. As it was the first time for a while, I wanted to give myself a proper deep emersion into my fetish and I knew I didn't really have enough of any of these to do that apart from the marshmallow fluff and the peanut butter which I had ordered large quantities of a month before, but had not yet used. So was it going to be marshmallow or peanut butter? I tossed a mental coin and chose marshmallow fluff.
Decisions made, I wasted no more time. The Gipsy Kings were cut-off mid-song and I hurried to my messy store, a locked cupboard in the third bedroom. The marshmallow fluff comes in huge and heavy buckets that I get from a catering supplier that imports American products. It's more convenient than buying dozens of jars at the supermarket and I don't get odd looks from check-out staff. Each bucket contains 17lbs of marshmallow and I long ago worked out that I need four of these to half fill my bath. One by one, I lugged the buckets into the bedroom's en-suite bathroom and stacked them next to the bath. I put the plug into the plug hole and levered the lid off the first bucket of marshmallow. As soon as it was open, the sweet smell of marshmallow filled the small room. I dipped a finger into the white goo. My hand nearly followed, but I told myself to be patient and just licked the finger clean. It was as gloriously, tooth-achingly sweet and sticky as always. I poured the marshmallow into the bath until the bucket was empty. It fell in a thick ribbon of white. I had also brought with me from the cupboard a large flexible plastic spatula which I used to scrape every last blob of precious marshmallow out of the bucket. The contents of the other three buckets joined the first.
Then I needed to a do a couple more things before I could settle down to a long marshmallowy messy masturbation session. First, I needed to set up a some music on the flat's sound system so that it would play on the speaker in the bathroom. I went back out to the lounge and scrolled through the options on my iPod which was jacked into the stereo system and the found and queued-up one of my favourite masturbation playlists; a selection of Eurodance tracks with heavy bass beats. The next thing I needed was a wee as it's best to do that before one gets covered in mess. I removed my bikini.
As I sat on the toilet relieving myself, I looked at the marshmallow in the bath and felt the powerful yearning that I always feel when I'm about to get truly messed-up. A tingling started in my pussy and spread outwards to my extremities. I wanted to touch myself, but refused to compromise the messy session by getting off too early. Once I had finished on the toilet, I had a quick shower to wash off the sun tan lotion and I was ready.
I pressed play on the remote for the music system and the room was filled with the throbbing bass of 'Rhythm is a Dancer' by Snap!. Usually, I will proceed slowly, taking handfuls of the marshmallow one by one and then smearing it on to myself little by little. I usually start with my arms and legs and work towards my centre to finish with my head before I get into the bath and submerge myself in the sticky mess. That was how I began, but after only a couple of handfuls spread across my thighs, I became so worked-up that I next dragged a large mass of the stuff out of the bath. I pushed and pulled the marshmallow over my breasts, across my belly and down between my legs. I was quivering on the edge of orgasm already and my sticky fingers found my pussy like self-guiding missiles. A slow build-up was obviously not going to be the way to go, so I went all-in. I leaned over the side of the bath and took a deep breath and closed my eyes before bringing my face into contact with the surface of the marshmallow. I rolled my face from side to side and the sensation as the sticky mess adhered to my checks and forehead and pushed against my eyelids and into my nostrils was fantastic. I pushed my head further. The marshmallow parted and rose up around the sides of my head. It engulfed and pushed into my ears muffling the music. I pushed on further until I could feel the marshmallow rejoining behind my head. My fingers in my pussy were thrusting frantically for relief. I pushed my thumb nail against my clit and started rubbing that hard as well. All the while, I kept my head under the surface of the marshmallow holding my breath. A minute went by and then my orgasm hit like a car door slamming into me.
I groaned into the marshmallow and sucked in a mouthful of the super sweet fluff which I quickly swallowed like a hungry baby. My lungs were aching and I pulled my head out of the marshmallow for air. I stood up straight and cleared the white goo from my eyes.
In the wall mirror I could see the pile of marshmallow clinging to my head was gradually sliding downwards. I dragged some of it down to my shoulders and over my breasts. My nipples were rigid buds. It was time get into the bath.
I stepped over the side and knelt down into the marshmallow, sitting on my calfs. It came up to my waist. I pulled marshmallow up around me, covering my belly, breasts and shoulders in another thick layer. Only my upper arms and back were now still uncovered. I leaned forward and pushed my arms under the surface. I leaned back and then pulled my legs out in front of me so that I was sitting in the bath. Finally, I laid back, submerging myself slowly until the surface was just below my nipples. I opened my hips wide and bent my knees to bring my feet together. I began to masturbate again; slowly, now that the earlier urgent impulse had been sated. With my left hand I alternated between dragging the sticky marshmallow over my face, stroking my breasts and squeezing my nipples. I dug deep into my pussy with two fingers of my right hand. I imagined being fucked by a guy with a good body, sensual mouth, dexterous probing fingers and a large hard cock. I found just the right leisurely pace to keep me hovering on the edge of orgasm.
