My dnd characters die a lot

Myne it's an England thing but I've just grabbed the closest things to me and they both have an extensive list of ingredients.

Hand cream

Turkish delight/Chocolate

from label 1:

in the US and EU, this is a generic term meaning "something we put in here to make it smell nice" and there is absolutely NO way of knowing if that is a scent you are allergic to or not. some of these can be a mix of up to 200 distinct components.

from label 2:

i think you can probably see the problem here?

Like, a flogging bottom might be praised for their ability to take pain and know their limits, or a rope bunny might be recognised as keeping themselves in good physical shape so they can hold complicated stress positions for longer than a novice, but even the most beginner of beginner bootblacks has learnt a little bit of materials science (Will this type of brush scratch this patent finish?), a little bit of basic chemistry (If these were last polished with a silicone wax, how do I remove that to start to bull them?), a little bit of leatherworking history (Is that natural fibre stitching on those surplused Warsaw Pact boots, will my polish rot it?) and spent time practising techniques on their own boots.

And it's one of the few kinks I can think of where the top is so immediately physically and emotionally vulnerable to the bottom in that way: I put my foot in the hands of a stranger bootblacking at a party, and I trust that they won't damage the boots I was gifted by my long-dead Master when I was 17, that they won't soak the stitching and start the rot of the boots I was wearing when I first fucked the love of my life, I trust that they'll carefully work around and treat the cuts and scuffs in the leather that I picked up wearing these same boots marshalling at a dozen prides and going toe-to-toe with strikebreakers and scabs on twenty years' worth of picket lines. The experienced bootblack can look at my soles and where my boots crease, and see that I have a weak hip, that I'm slightly bowlegged, that I don't drive and that I walk even in the weather where I'd rather not. And I trust that they'll see that worn-out, poor, slightly sad old man and still call me "sir".

It’s great for him because he can talk to people and give them this little sample of the kink in a non-sexual setting, but here’s a flyer for the next event where we are doing it sexually and you can get to thinking about if it awakens anything in you to explore. He’s also a wheelchair user, so it’s a perfect way for a friend to help setup his purpose-built platform and cushions, and then all the fun interesting people who like leather in some capacity come talk him.

Often gets to have deep conversations with people, too, which is so needed in a time many of us feel isolated. He’s there reminding us community is built on mutual care. He cares for the boots and the person in a way that fulfills him. That person might bring him food or show their art. Maybe they form a friendship that helps them both get to other events. Good boots in the winter to bring burritos and aid to our homeless neighbors. Or that walk the floors of a local hardware store helping the people build their contraptions. In return he gets tips about a shipment of way more shoe polish than ordered coming in and the store being eager to move it.

He has an aura of care and reciprocity that is so clear to even people outside the kink, and he’s a great ambassador for getting into it. His presence does a lot to make people naïve of kink culture have favorable views. Gets them curious about the classes and books at the local radical love sex and gender shop when they see the ads or event calendar in the paper. A little love live competency porn to spruce up the place. And if anyone objects to his presence, we all know he’s staring and the complainer’s getting ejected as the true threat to the community.