Malflic

So imagine you’re a successful lady, nice house in the burbs, chic ride, good job and enough degrees to wall paper your over sized foyer. Add to that you’re an adventurous lady and very sexual so much so that you’ve kept a stable of people around since your late teens to meet those very particular needs. With an over zealous bore in your past you finally meet the latest man of your dreams a tall dark and handsome type. An he’s got a libido to match your slutty shoe collection and lingerie prancing routing. He even loves to bend you over the sofa and fuck you long, deep and best of all…hard. Just like you like. The only issue is other than the harder faster routing he’s a gentle giant. Not so much as a crisp playful smack. So she’s faced with the age old problem of seeing how Vanilla he is. She hints around but the boy isn’t taking the hint. She’s a little more direct and other than a few great lays in interesting new places he’s not walking down the path she was hoping. Now a sensible woman would sit him down get him all hot and bothered and then make a slightly more direct request. Ease him into things and see if it works. She never did things the easy way instead she calls me, a dark creature from her past that was still part of her present(in a friendly co conspirator sort of way). Now why in the world would she call me? It’s a fair question. We’ve been friends for years and years. I’ve known every dark secret and revolving lover she’s had. Could I talk to him? Sure just what every guy wants to do tell someone’s new fiancée “well bud over all you’re doing pretty well but there are a few things the little lady needs that she’s not getting.” The conversation would go something like this… No no it’s not that you’re one of the few guys she hasn’t complained about size with…trust me she’s have made a point of telling me your weren’t well hung if that was the case. I should know I’ve heard it all before from her. No no you’re going south with your mouth often enough to leave her legs shaking and weak and her smooth little kitty purring away. So that’s not it. What is it then…well you know she’s kind of a wild girl right? You’ve no doubt benefited from the show and tell toy box and lacy underthings collections by now. She loves her stocking and garters and well that leather sofa she likes to be bent over it right? You never hear her screaming out in quite the same way as when she’s like that. No never mind how I know, I just do. Remember I’ve been around for years and helped pick out some of those outfits and shoes. Take it easy there dude you’re thinking the wrong thing here. I’m trying to help so bear with me. She is still a screamer right, calling out to the god’s of sexual prowess right in the act if I’m not mistaken. No No I haven’t been on that ride in years and years I told you relax. Well next time you bend her over it try putting a little color in her cheeks. Actually she likes to have her bare ass whipped with an electrical cord. She keeps in the drawer near by just fold it over give her a few good lashes, raise a few welts and then fuck your little heart out. For the next few days you get the benefit of her strutting around in garters and stockings and flashing her ass at every chance to show off her marks until they fade. Nothing good could come of that conversation so I didn’t have it. After all if you can’t tell your lover what you want in a very graphic way why the hell should I?

This one reads like a script and is  the retelling of our real world conversation about The Chesty Blonde Modeling for Kink Week.   Be Sure to Check out the Audio Portion on our Podcast Exercising my Demons

or in the pickle player above

Malflic
The Chesty Blonde

Whether severely twisted, 24×7, a casual player, or pure vanilla at some point or other we all get asked to try something new…sexually. Well I like to think that happens if we’re lucky anyway. And like everyone should we all have boundaries. Ok I know a few nut jobs who haven’t found them yet but most of us follow the safe, sane, and consensual philosophy.

Now that basic fact is a given but then imagine you live with me. For years your pure and wholesome soul has become gradually jaded and less than snow white because of me.

You’ve indulged my desire to do this or that and hell on occasion your twisted little partner was right it was fun. Then I come along and ask “do you want to be a Fetish model for my upcoming kink week.”

First you pretend the moron you share your life with is not obsessing about his pet project yet again. After all about six months ago the guy had the idea to have 3 of his excessively chesty friends (two of which were actually your friends and not his) pose topless with you standing around him in semi circle holding their breasts for a I’m surrounded by boobs post.

The idea never took off, but I still have hope.

Then as a bonus a few more chest only shots to figure out which pair put up with him. In that case rolling your eyes and ignoring the request a few times worked.

So he asks again adding “I won’t be showing anything too revealing” this coming from the same man who asked in Jamaica why is there was a prude side at Hedo.

(in my defense I believe that if you are there you should either be naked or be ok with people who are)

“Just a little rope work, I can’t really show too much and not get deleted”

he adds.

If that wasn’t bad enough he immediately began testing the how much can he show and get away with boundaries. Not necessarily with the thought police but with me of course beginning with topless and working his way toward decently covered from there, seriously he has absolutely no shame.

As he would do here’s a quick list of things I don’t think I’d ever really wanted to be
A New York Yankee,
The Heavy Weight Champion of the World,,
The President of Any Country
Miss America,
or a Fetish Model.

Then came the biggest obsession; what color should the ropes be…an obsession he mired over alone, not letting me in on what he was thinking, rather he asked questions like…”do you think emerald green looks good against your skin?” “Do you think you look better in Blue or Burgundy?”

Now I was listening but it didn’t really dawn on me what he was actually intending to do until one day when standing in the middle of a store filled with unmentionables I called him for some input on whether a corset would work or did he really need me in a bustier for the pictures. In the middle of color choices and size discussions where he was more concerned with the amount of cleavage than color choice. I realized he wasn’t just including the rope as an element in the picture but planned on using it one me.

Oh sure he explained what he was thinking in the way of the pictures, all too often from the very beginning but new rope and his design and color scheme concerns didn’t show up for a month or two.

A little while later he finally found a hurried minute and showed off his latest literary addition, Hemmingway, well not exactly, More Vonnegut…Hell no he has all of them already. Proust. Actually thankfully not, instead he whips out a tome by the 2 knotty boys and asks if I want to see a rope trick.

“Certainly as long as it’s not on me” I tell him knowing damn well his twisted little mind had it already worked out. Really does the boy think I’m that easy? I should have known he was too happy when a box obviously containing a book showed up at the door.

Frankly he hadn’t been that happy since he got the 12 issues for 12 dollars offer from Playboy. The only thing better than good porn is cheap good porn.

A few days later in a nice quiet moment out comes the laptop and rather than blithering on again he actually kind off ask for my input. By now he wasn’t fretting only over the color but the diameter of the rope had entered the equation.

I’m still not convinced his indecision, wasn’t just a ploy to justify buying more and different kinds of rope.

Kink week might be fun for him and hopefully you too but this time around it was as nothing more than a reason to buy too much new rope and tie me up…not that I’m complaining.

So if your lover ever asks you honey do you want to be a fetish model? Get all the details up front. And then maybe run like hell if so inclined.

Well never let be said I have all my shit together because back in January I decided to do a second edition of kink week. After all why not how bad could it be I’d have the better part of 5 months to put it together. Plenty f time to write and come up with some new kinky ideas and stories. In the mean time I began my “Exercising My Demons” podcast on a whim and figured audio could be a huge part of the event. Adding in the wild idea to have people beyond me and the Chesty Blonde in on the fun and it would be great.

A few months later someone points out that it’s memorial day weekend. Ok I traditionally spend three days over that holiday in Indiana visiting my sister and her family doing the little kid birthday thing. No big deal I planned on being done well ahead of time. A little while after the Blonde pointed out that we had commitments that would keep us home this year…even better I could focus on kink week with out Internet access anxiety.

Well those things that kept me home would mean I’d also have a stream of house guests spending the night from the Tuesday before kink week until Memorial day. Now It’s one thing to put away the ropes, play clothes and sex toys. We don’t have any specialty furniture other than a massive four post bed (yeah that’s a big fucking shock isn’t it). So no need to hide a Saint John’s cross, hooks in the ceiling, or metal rings in the basement walls, and candles are very instyle decorations so nothing odd there. It is something that everybody goes through now and again…house guests with different values than your own but then add in that two of my additional stunt voices would be in town to join us for the festivities. It had the potential to be the wildest of weekends and a complete disaster in the same breath.

So there we are my house a revolving door of day guests and house guests. Parents, grand parents, friends, family and an assortment of other carbon based life forms and a smattering of kinky or kink aware friends coming and going. I’m sneaking off to edit audio like a desperate smoker just trying to get a few puffs in be fore the nuns raid the boys restroom in an act of righteous vengeance. People are also sneaking away from the parties and making their way down to visit me and dying to know what I’m listening to nothing important I reassure them, just a little audio, what ever excuse I could come up with for my isolation and constant disappearances. The down side of that is they thought that I was writing and recording music again which prompted other time consuming questions.

Oh sure then after playing Taxi (airport runs, carting the kids around and buying groceries) , tour guide (we live in St. Louis so the arch is a must see for all first timers to our place), sommelier (a Saturday afternoon wine country tour in a 15 person van with me as th designated driver, and yes believe it or not Missouri has some pretty good wines, it is one of the few things in the region I truly love), chef (and not just a guy standing at a BBQ real cooking thank you very much), host and party guest of my own accord at other functions. There were moments when like a man keeping and assortment of lovers I’d sneak off with one of the ladies, down an unlit stairwell, closing the door behind us fire up the PC, sound board and mics and record them reading my dirty little tales.

The high light of which was Victoria and I marking up our scripts while sitting in a grocery store parking lot and then rushed home and were standing in the studio role playing her calling out “BASTARD” a bit to enthusiastically as she glared at me and me calling her a slut repeatedly in a not so nice tone of voice while a house full of people above us were drinking potent knock you on your ass Margaritas. “I think we can take this so much further, it could be much more intense” Apparently my little scene was not nearly cruel enough to meet her needs.

At 5:00 am on morning I’m sitting at the kitchen table posting a when kink goes wrong. Sipping a vat of strong black coffee, thinking about the potential of blowing off my morning run and clogging my own arteries with a pound of bacon and a nice order of Eggs Benedict and fried potatoes ( a nice Polish boy like me has to have to have his potatoes) When my mother who was in town visiting walks in still in her night shirt, pours a massive cup of coffee as well and sits down across from me. Looking over if she asks “are you still writing that pornography?”

I laugh and tell her I’m working on smut at that very moment but would be done shortly. She has now idea what I write and equates it to dime store romances of her own youth, then again maybe she does in my younger years she’d show up unannounced to see my band play and it was often fairly obvious with the bull whips, girl in a cage and hand cuffs what were singing about even if you couldn’t understand the words.

Some where along the way my pc decides it time to take a dirt nap, but it doesn’t fade in a blaze of glory and go out in flames instead it starts to take an hour to do something tha should take three minutes so the original version of this post talking about the coordination issues rather than the aftermath my surface later once I get my geek hat back on and the urge to stop calling it a useless fucking whore subsides.

Have no fear the rest of kink week will go on as planned with the only change being that I’ll be doing tonight’s reading of the “Devil makes three later that evening” instead of Victoria.

This post comes to you courtesy of my new laptop and th epoor bastards who had to work at Best Buy yesterday.

The Audio features my friend Victoria  and can be heard by visiting the podcast “Exercising My Demons”

or on the pickle player above

Now not that I have anything against nudity, usually some of the most fun things involve varying states of nakedness. Play clothes can be part of a very fun filled life, what’s better than dressing up and pretending to be something you usually aren’t. After all how many times can a girl really act like an angel, I tell you this its far more often than most of us get to act like the devil…in public anyway. You have to keep up appearances you know!

Unlike a fishnet cat suit and dangerously high heels that lacks any modesty at all or a sexy police officer out fit equipped with real cold shiny steel hand cuffs that get put to good use there all those other lovely little things that go along with a little rough sex.

Just like the clothes those delightfully wicked little thing can be put away, carried from here and there discreetly in a bag so other than the TSA on occasion most people have no idea they’re even there…let alone what to do with them. Though I believe a lot more people know than would ever let on!

Well every so often after a particularly fun weekend the after effects get worn for a few days. It is part of the fun, the subtle reminders, after all you earned those stripes right. If you didn’t struggle against the ropes why even use them to tie up your hands…or other things.

So a line here, a splotch there, marks are just another way to savor play that has passed and gives a little something delicious to look forward to next time.

So unless you happen to live at a nudist colony or like getting frisked by larger burly public servants before taking a ride down town and risking getting your picture in the local paper for being a deviant chances are none of use are seen naked by strangers all that often.

Well except for the locker room, oh sure there are curtains and a dressing area’s just outside the showers which are great if you don’t mind a puddle of questionable water around your feet as you get dressed.

Or remember to use them.

On one day in particular you can feel the eyes looking you with out even turning, gawking at your legs, or more so a little higher on your back side as you slip into your jeans.

You begin to wonder nervously if there are symmetrical lines across the middle of your back or where they were all fastened together. Your mind races as to what else they might be seeing that you had forgotten about and as you finish dressing the red rings around your wrists from where you pulled you little heart out screaming in delight are all too obvious. Glowing like Rudolf’s nose of a foggy Christmas eve.

So what’s a girl to do as she turns to find Susie home maker there looking on in horror? Try to explain? Like she’d believe you! Stop going to the Gym on Monday’s? Not a chance. Try to make her understand, well that seems to be the answer.

As I smiled devilishly, rubbed my wrists, and offered a polite ” have a good night.”

To which she awkwardly said “you too”

Coyly playing back “oh honey you have no idea how good really will be.” She blushed as my deep blue eyes met hers one last time before rounding the corner.

The audio of me reading this post can be found under the same title on the snazzy blue pickle player above or by visiting http://malflic.libsyn.com

Since the moring post is mor like brunch this Sunday morning then the mid day play will be out around tea time but today’s bed time story will be mid evening as usual.

Well when kink goes wrong this time is deeply personal because unlike some of the other stories providing you with a morning laugh this one happened to yours truly. I’ve told parts of this story before but here is the complete only moderately embellished details of what happened.

I say moderately embellished because one can never be sure what others are really thinking but their actions usually are a pretty good give away. So I assumed.

So it’s a hot summer night. Not hot as in steamy hot filled with wild passionate sex and exotic play. I mean hot like it was literally a100 damn degrees out and the humidity was as a southern friend of mine would put it “awfully close”. Or to put it in my nice east coast vernacular Fucking sticky and stupid hot.

Anyway the Blonde isn’t around…which usually means I’ll find something idiotic and typically not wholesome to do with my time. Often it involves balls, cruel demeaning profane words and implements of abject misery and torture…but most people just call the game golf.

So the phone rings and it’s a close friend. He wants to go out, but I don’t. He’s single and on the hunt, I want to watch a movie with stuff that gets blown all to fucking hell or has a psycho killer type in it while eating pizza.

He asks again and again finally offering a location that I like, lots and lots of scenery, tons of different clubs and bars with in walking distance and a band I’ve wanted to check out for a while. I agree on one condition, I need to go some where else first.

Now let’s clear a few things up before we go any further…while I’m not exactly a closet kinkster seeing as I write a few blogs, do a pod cast on the subject, and occasionally show up at an event or club here and there. In reality I’m not a big out on the scene guy either, with in certain circles, sure they know. But odds are you won’t see me in line at the leather parade. In another city or two sure there’s a decent sized group of the fetish population who could pick me out in a crowd. For the most part though in recent years I keep my kinky interests confined to a few close friends in my day to day world.

While I’m setting expectations for any Vanilla’s out there who came across this (that means not kinky people incase you were wondering. No really it’s OK to be Vanilla, it’s not meant as an insult just a classification sort of like the dewy decimal system)

Any how I’m planning on hitting my first munch in a city I’m relatively new to. So as I get ready for what is nothing more than a few drinks and a bite to eat with other like minded people who at this point don’t know me from Adam. I do what all good people do before going to such an event in an open and public place, I get dressed, Plaid shorts, white Polo, and to top it all off angelic white tennis shoes. I looked smashing if I do say so myself. Wanting to make a good impression I read the invite and to paraphrase it “Street clothes only, we’ll have tables in the main part of the restaurant, we’ve never had a problem so don’t be a jerk, collars are OK”.

Please note that it didn’t say all black suggested, kinky T’s welcome, but leave the chaps, the whips, and your bare ass at home for later. Since I read between the lines guess it really didn’t need to.

My friend asks…”can I come?”

I politely suggest it’s not a good idea.

They press the issue just a little.

Nah, you wouldn’t have a good time.

“Really I bet I would!” they insisted.

It’s a kink thing bud I finally concede. To which they reply “oh never mind, see you at 10, you are going to show up like we planned right?”

Yes I’m going to show up unless they jump me and leave me all tied up…but I wouldn’t worry too much about that since I am on the side of things that likes to do the tying. At this point I would have paid big bucks to see their face.

Anyway a little while latter I pull up to the place in question.

I make my way inside and find what you expect to find at any casual dining place…a few girls in their early 20’s playing hostess. Fuck where was the part on the directions that gave me the secret code word to tell me how to ask for the group I was looking for? Do you see a trend here? I’m always looking for symbols, outward signs, or secret codes to find other kinky people. Someday maybe I’ll share that with a shrink but now back to the story.

Guess what not a single hint. So after vacillating for a moment and deciding how to ask these nice all American looking young ladies where the other twisted souls were I offer something along the lies of ” I’m here for the social and I’m meeting a group.”

At first hey think I’m with a family reunion type event. I explain politely that’s not who I’m looking for. “it’s a social organization meeting” Blank faces stare back at me before inquiring if I had the right place. Reassuring them I do I use the term munch. “I’m here for the munch.” I inform them in a “Nod, nod, wink, wink, know what I mean” kind of tone wanting to add a bit about just like all the other deviants. They tell me the only other group they had there that night was a leather event.

Fuck it was that easy I could have walked in and said point me to the leather event and they would have known. Note to self always be direct.

Any How little Suzy cream cheese then points adding a “oh really” like she didn’t believe me. I joined in at a group of tables and we talked about all kinds of normal things, dogs, families.

Now unless you’ve ever showed up at a munch being the newbie and dressed a little too preppie it’s hard to relate. At first one guy takes the time to introduce himself and then make sure I knew everyone else at the table. At this point it could have been a rotary meeting with all the hand shakes smiles and curtsies. Ok no curtsies but enough general pleasantness to make me worry.

Shaking hands in the world in general there is often the gamesmanship if you buy into that sort of thing about how hard you squeeze. How do you rotate your hand to be on top of the other person to signify dominance and all that other bullshit. More useless shit from corporate training and B school so I offer my hand open and palm up which is the hand shake equivalent of black jack or a royal flush. It means I know you think you’re in charge and I know that you know that I know and don’t give a fuck what you think.

One old Dom in particular seemed to think that this all mattered and decided to do the squeeze and twist with me. It was the fetish equivalent of dogs pissing on a tree. Oh yeah mother fucker I can lift my leg higher than you can! I laughed as he did it, which kind of pissed him off but it was so ridiculous.

Now admittedly I’m not following the basic black fetish event attire minimum then again if you want an all black event it helps to tell the newbies. I converse, I chat and the entire time I can tell most people are trying to figure out my orientation and why in the world I was there.

Stories get told, over the next few hours another guy who is a real dog lover warms up to me. I share the story of how I came to own my first and only single tail, How and old girl friend once gave me a bull whip and other stories of the sort. He’s a real single tail aficionado and lifestyle guy with a dedicated play space in his house and quite the collection of toys. He would be the instructor at an upcoming event and invites me to attend. I politely deferred due to a previous commitment. Acceptance in close knot groups takes time and I’m not there looking for play friends but to find out about the local scene, to find out what is going on in the area and how the play parties and organizations flow.

It’s a funny thing in my mind there is no doubt that I’m a top, always have been. Some people need to let everyone know that they are the top, in that sense I’m more neutral and could care less what you like as long as you’re cool with what I’m into. I wasn’t hunting play partners or looking to steal someone else’s sub, I just wanted a few hours conversation with other kinky people, maybe get dimed in to a local event or two and I did that and showed up.

The entire night though I could see people were puzzled by me. They weren’t sure, I didn’t have “that look”. The ones that took the time to talk to me a bit rather than just leer at the preppie like the main attraction at a freak show found out I had been kinky my entire life. Despite my wardrobe had been playing for going on two decades, was more of a spanko and bondage guy than true BDSM by many people’s definition. I was in a relationship and didn’t play outside of it. The only contracts I care about had to do with my day job, the only one in my house who would ever wear a collar was the dog and that was only if he was going out of the yard and I was perfectly content with that.

Since then I’ve talked to some of the folks, met and exchanged emails with others, showed up at a few things here and there, read the posts, boards and websites to keep track of things that might interest me. Almost went to a few rope events but watch the local rope sig online choosing to lurk in the shadows and play in private.

And did one really kinky thing…bought a Haynes basic black t shirt not that I don’t own a half a dozen other ones by different companies any how. Something about the term Beefy T made it just seem more fitting for its purpose. Then went to the local craft store and bought a pack of 2 inch tall white iron on letters and hung them in the closet with my new shirt just in case I ever get the urge to go to a munch again I’ll iron “TOP” on the front of the shirt so no one needs to look for that damn elusive secret code to figure me out.

This Morning we find ourselves on day two of Kink Week and starting off with another humorous tale. The audio portion of this one is well worth the listen if you love the sound of a nice English girl, I know I certainly do. You can hear the audio on the Pickle Player above or by visiting http://malflic.libsyn.com See you again in a few hours for the Mid Day Play.

Ladies and gentlemen, Masters and Mistresses and of course all of you on the receiving end of things as well. Today our little story begins like this…

Once upon a time a particular lady who had become fairly well known within certain circles of her twisted little community over recent years was widely renowned for loving strut around munches, play parties, and other social functions in full fetish regalia. You do have to love gatherings with a private room don’t you?

She one night she encountered, as you might imagine from the title, a small problem.

After all she was a very sexy creature. Dangerously high heels and boots gave way to long legs adorned in a second skin of leather, latex, or PVC. Although her knickers usually left very little to the imagination when it came to her body’s form, they and all of her other assets so to speak certainly caused more than their fair shares of imaginations to lose themselves in other even more mischievous thoughts. Her matching tops, ample chest and typically exposed cleavage (with pierced perky nips) didn’t hurt either.

Now with all the slapping and smacking, the looks and word play, the wicked torturous little devices and all those other delightfully sinful games that get played, her very diverse wardrobe only added to her allure and popularity.

She was a fun Girl always up for a little give and a bit of take as well if you know what mean.

Some people have a few sets of play clothes, she had enough to outfit the entire community, and she was from a fucking big city. One with a well established scene, where she liked to parade around like the queen of the club. Although there were a few other “queens” who might disagree. But those boys had a completely different taste in play friends.

At the end of one particularly long torrid evening that was filled with loud music, a bit too much dancing, a few too many pints, an assortment of friends, and a few other things she found her way home. Sadly but by choice alone mind you. Beauty sleep going in to a busy week end is never a bad idea.

Out of the cab, up the steps and in to the cold air of her flat she furiously pulled open her top coat like some perverted old flasher and it was strewn over the arm of the sofa before she closed the door behind her. Personally I think if it weren’t for stuffy old farts, and people hiding sexy outfits under them long coats would have faded from sight years ago.

Think about that next time you’d sitting on a crowded train. It’ll help pass the time.

Well she made her way the room turned on the Tele (check for cultural accuracy), had a few more sips and began peel off her clothes, first unlacing the boots, then restrictive top, ahh freedom felt so good, and finally getting to her smudged after a long night and now not so shiny pants exposed the last of her bits and pieces to an empty room.

Noticing a few bumps. Damned razor burn! What a girl has to suffer in the name of beauty and fun. Sitting there mindlessly winding down she noticed it might be a few bumps but she was also getting itchy, a long night a lot of movement perspiration and rubbing. One doesn’t wear latex because it is a cool breathable garment. Upon further investigation, a few splotches and the start of a rash. A bloody rash!

Those are never a good thing but her mind raced nearing a panic as to why her nether regions were having such issues. No new lovers, being D&D was something she prided herself on. Never mind that her favorite monthly play party was the next day so it made things just a bit worse.

After running all the horrid possibilities through her mind she looked at the baby powder she had used to slip into her outfit, it was the same as always. The same polish she had been using for years put the sheen in her deep black mirror like pants and bustier.

Rinsing off in the shower and inspecting the condition a little more closely the thought that people from time to time just developed allergies occurred to her. A latex allergy wasn’t all that uncommon. How does one find out if that’s the issue? Do you just call the doctor? Imagine that conversation I think I have a latex allergy and here’s why my damn pants made me all splotchy, not to mention the implications of what one would have to for a nice safe go at things with people; and toys. And all those out fits that she loved as much as anything.

Eventually she dozes off concerned and still slept like a baby. The next morning all was fine and well. Even the damned razor burn was almost gone. So putting away her birthday suit and starting her day heads outs on a long list of errands. Still occasionally wondering what caused the condition.

Could it really be a latex allergy? Around mid day things started to bother her again, the itch and splotch were back. As she stood there wondering if it was in fact time to call the doc it occurred to her as she closed the lid on the washing machine she bought a new detergent.

We’re very happy to report that the new detergent was indeed eventually determined to be the culprit. Later that evening she opted for leather but ever since she can still be seen strutting around in latex at will with no ill effects, well that is until she starts to play but those are stripes of a different color.