Recently I found myself with an old friend and her new Dom who while very experienced just hasn’t ever been a rope guy.  After a bit of scheduling and rescheduling I was finally able to provide a less than impromptu lesson in basic rope bondage.  Of course being a total geek I did everything I could think of to prepare except write out a lesson plan.  The truth is there is little else in the world I’d rather talk about than rope bondage.

I planned and taught nothing spectacular, single column ties, double column tie, a few variations on decorative chest harnesses both traditional and TKB’s inspired.  It was mixed with an assortment of knots, some commentary on safety, and a dissertation of where I learned what.  He was a good student, she was a more than willing stunt bunny which is a huge help.   At one point I think she came just by looking at Monk’s Statutory Grape rope next to Aja Rope’s Chocolate Brown that were still in my bag.  BTW they make a stunning combination when used together against a properly contrasting skin tone.

Teaching people how to do things isn’t new to me but teaching people kinky things was.  In my weeks of preparation there were many topics I had thought through again and again, consulting books, recalling conversations, and hands on experiences.  I thought through what rope types and diameters I preferred for certain ties.  What was useful, what worked and didn’t work for me.  I presented these thoughts as my opinion not a case of right and wrong. Perhaps most importantly taking into consideration the bottom (who is my friend) desire to be tied tight & pretty.  Damn bottoms and their wants and their needs (kidding of course).

There were things that I hadn’t thought through properly like how to teach tying a specific knot.  I knew how to do it. Could tie it a million times exactly the same way but lacked the ability to talk about each part of the process in meaningful detail.  So that was a lesson learned.

As the day wore on I talked and demonstrated less and watched more. I added little else to the conversation and practice other than the occasional thought on what to do next if asked and a minor bit of OCD knot clean up solely for aesthetics sake from time to time. As I watched him work I could name the rigger, book, or video I had learned each of the ties from including the person who helped me have the A HA moment on that piece. Like an overly cautious student referencing sources in a research paper I’d point them both to my reference with each piece.

After several hours and a large amount of diet mountain dew there was a natural pause in the action. I took the moment and asked to stop teaching asking to rig her once by myself. As soon as consent was given I heard “there’s the look I’ve been waiting all day to see”.

Apparently I was no longer a mild mannered teacher and had slipped into top mode and begun eyeing her with devious intent before my first coil was unwrapped and hit the floor. The Chest Harness went on exquisitely. I thought to myself “why did I make her wear a shirt again, clamps would have been a fun addition”. The single and double column ties fell into place.  Despite what I had done and was about to do to her the only questioning look I got was when I told her to kneel when her hands were already bound behind her. I of course helped her ensuring she met the floor softly and not with an awkward thud.

After finishing my “work” and as the rope was being put away I thought to myself about all the people over the years who had taken the time to teach me.  Whether it was a commercial endeavor like a book, a video created because of a love for the topic, someone from an event or class.  I can honestly say I’ve never seen anyone tie another person up and not gotten an idea of how to do something from it.  This even held true as I was showing others and found a way to add a minor restraint and mostly decorative wrist ties to a piece with a bit of extra rope.  Perhaps in some karmic sense I had finally reached a point where I was paying back some of what I owed, making a very small reparation for all the joy it’s brought me.  The best part was I had  the most fun watching their confidence grow, seeing them enjoying this new adventure with each other. The ultimate reward truly was that I got to be part of their experience.

Next time I’m looking forward to learning another thing or two from them and so the cycle continues.

So what happened that Easter weekend is such a highlight? Well it can be summed up in one word…..Frolicon! For those who do not know what that means. Well lets just say for me it held more importance than any religious experience related to the bunny ever could. Though the Furries I saw there were quite amazing. Especially the wolf with the wonderful nose!

OOPS….sorry got off topic there. More to cum on Frolican in another write. For now know that weekend was the starting point of major changes in my world that have had me flying on cloud 9 ever since. In all honestly things are better than I have ever wished they could be and with each passing day only get better.

Due to those changes though I have left Malflic hanging as my writing and input here came to a dead stop. Owe him big time for his understanding. He knows all so well how I go silent at times yet never disappear.

Some things in the works are a write on Frolicon….hell that might be multiple writes, a “He Said She Said” series on sensation play, as well as some pieces in regards to my Dom and favorite Top in my life. No they are not one in the same though I am tempted to call the second “Daddy” for some odd reason.

Well back to my other writes……catcha all soon.

~Alice King~2012~

Disclaimer: Before this begins I’d like to thank Jade for allowing me borrow her term for this post.  Neither she or her Mean Guy were in anyway involved in my activities although without her relationship and writing I’d have never seen myself in this exact light.

-          Mal

So there I am literally in the middle of a relatively intense scene, a lovely woman who was well tied, and well tortured much to her blissed out delight by that point was squirming deliciously just inches from me as we kept her on the edge of orgasm for a cruelly elongated period of time while continuing the torment.  Somewhere between deciding whether to pick up a cane or crop and what part to beat (again) next for some uncanny reason I thought of Pieces of Jade and her blogs. Then the thought hit me “Holy fuck I’m the Mean Guy”.

I openly admit to being a sadist but by no means consider myself to be an edge player or at all hardcore.  Sure I love to play rough and at times I like to push limits but thinking of myself as the mean guy out of the two of us that were topping caused me to stop and take note.   I may be wrong, it may have just been my perception, who knows.   I’m not much for titles and actually have a hang up on not having one still the term struck me. It wasn’t the first time I dual topped a scene but wasn’t  the first time it hit me I was the one driving the action in more ways than one. It was the first time I stopped to think I was the crueler of the two at that moment in time.  It seemed to be a label that fit.

In this case I watched her Dom’s face for additional clues beyond her reactions as to was I getting her where she wanted to be or perhaps taking her too close to her limit. Even as I was wresting with my new found self image as the Mean One in the situation it was awesome to have another person there that was an additional checkpoint for guiding my cruelty.  After all making sure you hurt people in the way they want is really what it’s all about.  (Damn that looks weird written out but if you’re reading this you should get it).  The scene continued to progress and the room ultimately looked like a fetish super store exploded with rope, whips, floggers, paddles, and belts everywhere.  Vibes were tucked strategically in the ropes and set to obliterate as I showed my co top a few of my favorite wicked little games and he still denied her a release.  Later somewhere during pulling hair and cropping the bound set of tits I stepped back to watch for a while.  Then I rejoined working the ropes a little tighter, adding a few short ropes to increase the pleasure and or misery (I give credit where credit is due short ropes are literally a trick I picked up from Jade’s Mean Guy at a GRUE demo a few years back).

As that scene wound down a little while later I went into pure top mode as I tied her again which culminated in a hog tied sub that took a hard good old fashion spanking with each of us torching one side of her ass even more.  The night ended with her across my lap taking her 4^th spanking of the night in addition to all the other play.  Selfishly this one was all about me as I made her back arch, found the most tender spots and went after them… perhaps repeatedly.

Afterward we talked about the fact we could have played harder, but why risk running something that was working for all involved.  I could have taken things somewhere much darker, but didn’t need or want to.  Hell I was just having fun which is why we do this stuff after all isn’t it?  Most importantly days later upon reflection I’ve come to grips that maybe just maybe with certain people and in certain situations I’m the Mean Guy and do you know what?   After pondering what that might say about me and my relationships I’m still perfectly Ok with whatever I am whether it’s cruel or kind. Besides we’re already looking forward and planning the next time. I got to admire some of my handiwork in a picture taken 24 hours after the scenes ended and despite the marks, lingering redness, and bruising was told she loved every second of it.  Just as I was assuming I was the perfect amount of mean after all she told me “but it doesn’t hurt that much today and I can still bounce on the spots in a wooden chair.”  I replied “Guess I’ll have to beat you harder and longer next time”  She more or less just giggled and told me that was a great idea.   All in all some days it’s good to be the mean guy.

Welcome to e[lust] - The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you’re looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it’ll be here at e[lust]. Want to be included in e[lust] #37? Start with the newly updated rules, come back June 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

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The Cheshire Cat – Alice felt whiskers tickle her skin and was wracked with sobs of fear. �Oh, little girl, don�t cry. You can stand much more than you think you can.�

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Kink & Fetish

A Pixie Calls Me Daddy
Afterwards, kissing
Another Try at Topping
Bent Over and Exposed
Female Orgasm: Where Do You Get Off?
Hurts
Letting the Sadist Out to Play
more con-slut…
pain & sadism: how they intertwine
Tied Up and Tossed in a Corner
Waiting My Turn
Warm Up

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Fifty Shades Of Me

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Buying a Toy: What You Need to Know
Bring on the wanks
I want your sex
My Mother, The Whore
Poly Fallacies #4
Q&A # 3: Childhood BDSM Fantasies
Sticks and Stones…
Small World of Swinging
The Gauge
Us Lately
White and Nerdy

Erotic Writing

Around and ’round
Down
Golden girl
Hard Love
Hot sunny sex on a rainy day
It Ain’t Sex
I Want to be Watched
I made him watch me masturbate
Jealous
Lazy Day
Lost in Submission
Making out
On Display
Pussy Doctor
Perfect Cover
Pussy Eating- The Fun Way
Rack and Ruin part II
Shower Scene
The Third Date
Tickle Monster
Waiting for It
Watching Skylarks

This morning as I woke up alone in my own bed my thoughts didn’t go to why, or any trivial concern.  Instead it began a quick reflection on where I am.  In a lot of ways today is a really big day for me. Not professionally speaking which is where a lot of my big days come from in recent years.  Rather rightly or wrongly I define much of my life through sexuality (and sports. Sorry its macho warrior mentality I can evolve past).  I have always been open with my children in an age appropriate way about my thoughts on relationships, responsible sex, politics, religion, and just about every other topic.  In many ways I’m a lucky man, I’m also very fortunate to have gifted children who have always been open to the world around them.

Last Night as Diva my 18 year old and I made our way towards home we discussed today.  I told her I’m excited about it.  I talked about taking her to Shameless Grounds St. Louis’ Sex Positive Coffee Shop for the first time tonight.   There is no grand plan, no wild party, rather it is a launching point for her first photo shoot as Diva.  I am not introducing her to my lifestyle or anything of the sort, instead it is a chance to have pictures capture who she sees herself to be at this moment in time. Not as she expects to be seen, not in an environment that is better suited for a gardening magazine and most importantly not with a photographer who’s own hang ups will make her uncomfortable.   What it did was give me a chance to for the first time articulate why I go to some of the places I do, explain to her that no matter what she comes to be in life there are places off the beaten path that accept people for who they are.  All she ever needs to do is know how to look for them.

My main point in the conversation was to reinforce the idea of beauty is how you perceive it and not a generic image.   As a man with daughters this is a topic I struggle with, not because of my beliefs but because of societies view of women as a whole.  As a man who lives his life in the company of women it is a point I’m completely confounded by.  Just this past Saturday I watched a stunning fresh faced 25 year old mother of 2 and a 49 year old with a body most people would die for talk about why they couldn’t wear certain types of athletic clothing because of some self perceived flaw.  Both women are ravishing.  Then again I think most women are beautiful in so many different ways if you know how to look for it.

It is a terrible burden that I can only think that generations of sexual repression is somehow responsible for.  I think it might just be the Achilles heel of mainstream society today.  Even after the sexual revolution traditional faith and societal roles for women still nag in the back of so many people’s heads.

So we talked about the types of people we might encounter on our journey tonight anything from short butchy lesbians, impossibly tall drag queens, to grandmother types.  Perhaps tatted up rock a billies, a rouge business man, or boot black.  The fatherly message was you won’t see classic beauty but you might just get to see some of the freest and most beautiful people imaginable if you just sit back and look. I explained I find places like sex positive coffee shops, book stores (yes even B&N), dive bars with live bands, and just about every other off the beaten path outing you can imagine is where I’m happiest.  In the shadows, just enjoying my surroundings, and doing nothing but hanging out with no demands for me to be anything but what I feel like at the moment.

Diva is comfortable with people in general which is one of her greatest assets.  Still she asked what to do if we run into someone I know (beyond the photographer) or feel the need to introduce myself to (highly unlikely but possible).  The answer was simple. Just be Diva, be who you are and if the rest of the world doesn’t get it tell them to go fuck themselves as long as you’re happy.

Try as I might I just couldn’t make it toward the door.  I’m not sure if it was a long lost sense of adventure resurfacing, a morbid curiosity, or the fact that the women with the electric purple hair took my hand and cast a spell on me in some way by speaking in a coquettish tone and beckoning me to follow her.

What every the reason my head felt light, my breath rapid and shallow as our fingers interlaced each other and Fuchsia began to lead me past that very memorable set of cartoon icon who were now in an exhausted yet seemingly satisfied state.  I can only imagine what it takes out of a man who must first act like a duck and then pretend to be acting like a duck who must now act like a dog.  Stamps don’t place those kinds of demands on those they interact with.  Then again stamps also don’t come with women let alone purple haired nymphs.  Her fur boots in their neon shades dusted with glitter shimmered and flowed with each bouncy step.  So much so that I almost spilled my nearly depleted latte.  A man must do what a man must do and I had every intention of following those athletic legs and full chest of my new guide any where she wanted to take me.  Or just about anywhere she wanted to take me.  We wondered past a series of superhero’s sodomizing one and other.  I think it was Picca Chew who gave me a vigorous Dorchester hand shake that soon had me moaning in miserable delight.

All the while Fuchsia just stared at me like I was the strangest of all creatures.  She smiled at me and her eyes suggested that following her could certainly lead me to untold adventures.  As we neared a large set of burgundy curtains strung from floor to ceiling a cacophony of sounds escaped from behind them.  The hall way narrowed until we were met by two dykes dressed as lumber jacks holding penis handled axes.  One of which was masticating a pathetic looking cross dressed wonder woman with her spiffy new red wing boots.  I called out “be careful of the lipstick.  It could stain your leather” Almost immediately I regretted opening my mouth and could feel Fuchsias’ body tense.  The Lumber Dyke glared at me, smiled and then kicked the cross dresser right in his tucked junk.  Laughing like an old trucker as the tortured super hero writhed on the filthy carpet.

“You must be here to see the Vortex.”  the pair sang out in baritone a acapella style. Then reaching for the Golden Tassels to permit us entry.

Now my standard disclaimer applies, do not try this at home, do not take me at all seriously, my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek so take the fucking hint. I’m not making fun of your lifestyle I am making fun of mine; unless of course that is not actually the case.  Under which circumstance previous statements not withstanding I may as a point of fact might be acting like a giant dick .  Am I making fun of  50 Shades of Grey? Yes and I’m also making fun of the people that think it is revolutionizing or regressing sex.  It’s a fucking book and belongs in the fiction section with  Bible.  Nothing more, nothing less.   Stereo Types are dangerous and while often generally true are not always entirely accurate.  After all Disco does suck but no one can deny the catchiness of We Are Family and I Will Survive.  I have never seen or heard of a Unicorn horn dildo harness.  Just like unicorns one may not actually exist so don’t ask me where you can procure it.  Given that the world is pretty fucked up and folks like to do all kinds of different and interesting things while fucking I’d suggest looking on the internet or taking a really crafty friend to the local Michaels and have them convert the strap on harness  you already own but are afraid to tell your partner about.  Odds are you can easily find a shimmering white dildo to use in your penis horn.  What there wasn’t a unicorn with a Penis for a horn fucking woodland nyphs like it’s the end of the world?  Guess you need to read the next chapter then don’t you?    

Ohh the disclaimer changes, I’m a tricky fuck hope you read it.

 Mal

1)      Argyle Socks – I believe the basis of this fetish is old J Crew catalogs.  I’m not certain they ever actually sold the socks but they did make up the basis of so many of my young preppie and early yuppie outfits that I can’t be sure.  Just remember next time you see a guy in leather pants, big black boots, and swinging a flogger he might just be wearing a purple and lavender pair of psycho bunny socks underneath it all.  If so come say Hi because it’s probably me.

2)      Black Wing Tips – I just bought another pair. Literally I think I now have nearly 20 pairs of black dress shoes.   Considering almost everyone I’ve ever played with I’ve at one point or another had Black Wing Tips on it would be the one nearly constant thing in my adventures.

3)      German Cars – If you’ve been reading me for a while; Enough Said.  If not which would I notice first a Benz or a Naked woman.  Odds are I could tell you the make model and specs on the car. On the woman…you might have to point her out to me if there is a Kraut mobile near by. (VW’s don’t count)

4)      Linen Paper – The Blonde joked about it a few weeks back but I have a through dislike for cheap paper.  I know it serves a purpose but I won’t write on it and special order my journals. If you went into my desk you’d find I have Crane cards with different images on them just for special people.

5)      Tights – Not women’s tights but running tights.  Trust me it’s harder than you think to find a decent pair that fits right, doesn’t chafe, and works with my fat ass.

6)      Running Shoes – I own 4 pairs that are still in use for running, 2 more that I’ve kept for some inexplicable reason, and two brand new pairs for whenever the others finally wear out. Houston We have a problem

7)      Coffee – Let’s face it if you count corporate coffee, grocery store aisles, restaurants and independent shops there is no bigger collection of fetish shops in the world than the ones that cater to this addiction. NOW BREW BITCH AND MAKE SURE IT’S NOT FOAMY!

8)      Vodka – I used to drink it but now I just collect unique labels, put them in the freezer, and show them to my friends.   Kind of like a serial killer but with hooch!

9)      Rechargeable Batteries in Vibrators – You know the best part about going green?  You can have rechargeable batteries in 4 rooms of your house, always plugged in and in plain site and no one thinks “where the fuck is he hiding the oscillating butt plug and giant pink vibe” unless of course you know me

10)   Inane Lists.  Is 2012 the year of the list?

Now on another note this caused me to update my list of actual fetishes which now include Rubber, Wartenberg Pin Wheels, French Maids, and Business Suits.   Boots (Although it was listed as boot) seems to be very under appreciated considering how many kinksters wear them.  Now where’s the pocket square to match my argyles?  One must accessorize their vest properly to project the right image.

I figured with 50 Shades of Grey spinning into a multi book series fit for reading clubs filled with pseudo intellectual church going women that are secret chronic masturbators who won’t cop to owning a sex toy.   I’d have a bit of my own fun.  If Kink is now main stream, so are Colors and Numbers by my estimation hence my choice of title.  Welcome to 412 Shades of Fuchsia.

Part 1 – Kink Goes Fairy tale

The other day I was in this magical world where I saw Ms. Mouse in polka dot thigh highs topping a F/fmm scene with Daisy, Goof, and a character to be named later from a different genre.  Here’s a hint red hair and name rhymes with queasly.   She had the duck barking like a dog in a puppy play scene, the dog quacking and shaking his tail feather like a duck and the queasy one was blithering on about doing nude scenes with the all male cast that is doing a revival of the classic bear porno Donnie does Des Moines.  This one had more chaps in it than bike week in Daytona and every Gay pride parade combined.  Good for him! It’s nice to see artists exploring new roles.   After a while I began to feel a bit like Alice after ingesting all those damn pills but still found it hard to explain my growing sense of arousal at the scene that was playing out before me.

That’s when it happened, she walked up to me and said her name.  Since I thought I was baked and that someone had spiked by half caf vegan organic soy latte I made no effort to remember her name figuring she was little more than a hallucination.   So I decided to call her Fuchsia.   In this world I decided she would be my Cheshire Cat riddling me with snarky cryptic messages.  Later I learned I wasn’t stoned, the house of the mouse hadn’t gone anime porno, and that I really did see a scene with a mouse topping a duck and a dog and a wanna be wizard side kick type. Apparently it was at a “cos play” event which I had inadvertently wonder into instead of the stamp collectors convention at the hotel.  Cos Play is something I’m way to damn old to get.  Next thing you know someone will expect me to understand what Dub Step is.

Fuck that noise I’m going back to the next fetish club, leather bar, or post office I can find where things are actually fucking normal. If it all works out I might even take that little nymph Fuchsia with me.

Disclaimer:

Now my standard disclaimer applies, do not try this at home, do not take me at all seriously, my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek so take the fucking hint. I’m not making fun of your lifestyle I am making fun of mine; unless of course I’m not. This is not a lame come one to try to fuck someone you “own” so stop getting all toppy and protective before you even start, odds are we’ve never met. If we have met I can assure I was not the one dressed as a duck and sadly I missed the big furry convention and subsequent orgy but I’m sorry to hear 6 chipmunks spooged on your sexy big bad wolf outfit.  Must have been a great money shot though; right? My mother however did send me pictures from the parade that got covered in the local paper because if weird sex involved I must be interested in it.    If you like the book I’m talking about great! I haven’t read it and have no plan to but can recommend a series of actually kinky people who’s writing you can explore as well as a few non kinky books to explain to you with big pictures why you’re an uptight stain and we’ll never party together.

All My Love

 Mal

Happy Perving,

Mal

Bear with the opening it will make sense a little way in.

According to Dictionary.com  a Pixie is a

1. a fairy or sprite, especially a mischievous one.

2. a small, pert, or mischievous person.

Likewise they define Daddy as

1. a diminutive of dad.

2. Slang – Sugar Daddy

In this case I’ll add a 3^rd option which equates to yet one more Kinky Role Play Title I don’t normally go by.  Including variations such as Leather Daddy, Daddy Dom, obviously since I have a biological and not manmade penis Dyke Daddy plus every other Daddy permeation you can think up.

So about 2 years ago a Twenty Something Brunette entered my life in the most innocuous of ways.   I’d like to pretend that I was out and about looking studly and irresistible when she fell under my spell.  However she happened to be at her job, met the Chesty Blonde and Diva, a friendship developed and eventually I was invited to dinner with all of them.  Upon meeting her for the first time I remarked on the way home “she was a wild girl”.  The Blonde accused me of over estimating how many wild women existed in the world yet again.  Point of fact, I am rarely wrong on such matters and if finding wild women, gays, and kinky people was a profession I’d be the headline prognosticator of the pick your sexual partner version of Sports Center

Granted at the time it was just a hunch.  After hanging out a few more times she started calling me Dad.  It was playful and since my own biological daughter alternates between calling me Mal and Dad at first I thought nothing of it (Only People who don’t really know me and my parents use my first name).  Later she would start referring to me as Daddy.  After a few times I commented that in some cases that word carried a different meaning and young ladies should be careful throwing it around at men they barely know.   Undaunted she sipped her whiskey, looked me in the eye and stated plainly “Oh I know what it can mean, I was just wondering if you did.”  Before she steered the conversation back to some harmless topic as others approached again.  It seems that the Pixie was a few steps ahead of me.  If I had to bet she already damn well knew I was kinky. Life is like poker, I suppose we all have tells & she read mine.

Some basic rules I tend to follow are. Stay away from young brunettes (TCB instantly gets jealous of them), no one under 26 (too young, too many issues, I already have a wife and kids), no married or seriously involved nillas (my goal is to not get shot by a pissed off husband or boyfriend), don’t dip the pen in the company ink (or actually don’t even let the company ink even know I have a pen.)   Rules of course are meant to be broken with the exception of the last one.

Friday Afternoon was a bit odd. I was working from home and the Blonde came into my office 5-6 times which in and of itself is a rarity.  She kept going into the storage room behind the office “looking for stuff”. Sure you could find holiday decorations, painting supplies, out of season clothing and a myriad of other things besides office supplies in there.   When I went in to turn out the lights at the end of the day and the one thing I didn’t expect to find was that the large plastic tub I keep a variety of my more vicious impact toys in was out with the lid dislodged.

At the time I thought nothing of it, she was looking for something, knows damn well what’s in that bin and its unlikely she’d want me see any of it with her ass around. To say she’s not at all a fan of large wood paddles is a massive understatement.  From when I was selling lingerie there is some of the left over stock in there as well.  I figured someone needed stockings, a strapless bra, or whatever.   I closed the lid, put it back on the shelf and went about my Friday night.

Saturday morning came and went. It was near 2 before I even looked at twitter, it turns out two sexy women had @ replied me that morning. The afternoon flew by with violent contact sports, Diva’s prom arrangements and before I knew it I was laying on the giant orange orgy couch (or in actuality the couch that is large enough to let 5 adults sleep on it in relative comfort if need be.  Hosting an orgy on it would be more useful however) in the family room watching (insert something cool and edgy if you like but it was actually hockey) while the Blonde fucked around on FB.

TCB “The Twenty Something is asking where you are”

Me: “yeah, tell here I’m right here playing with myself”

TCB “You’re not playing with yourself, besides if I tell her that she’ll want all the details and pictures.”

Me “ Sorry I don’t do cock shots, Everyone has limits!”

TCB “ You mean to tell me you’re claiming there has never been a picture of your dick taken”

Me “I didn’t say that. I said I don’t do cock shots which would just be a picture of my dick or my dick as the central theme of the picture.  A picture of me fucking is a completely different issue”

TCB “You and your fucked up rules.” Long pause the Blonde Laughs  “Twenty Something is possibly the most perverted person I know”

Me “ I love that she can’t have a conversation without saying, doing, or suggesting something really dirty”

TCB “ You liking that.  What a fucking shock!”  She pauses again “she’s dressed slutty and is killing time before heading out for the night.  Are you going out?”

My intentions were clear, hang out, accomplish nothing, and after 10 more minutes of IM’s asking the Blonde random things and hinting about my plans or lack thereof I was asked “She wants to know what DADDY’S doing tonight”

Me “Tell her this Daddy type has no plans and no plans to change that”

This apparently led to a rapid fire series of questions about my proclivities.   I could tell by the way my lovely wife was squirming as she typed that the questions were hitting home.  Probably in part because she is far more reserved in discussing sexual things than I am, in part because she doesn’t like to think she’s kinky ( I don’t get it but hey whatever works for others is fine), and in part because she didn’t want me getting any ideas before she headed out.

I admit once again that I have no plans of leaving.  There were two things going on that I would have like to go out to as part of boys night but bowed out this month.  The Blonde I knew was heading out shortly. Eventually I kissed her good night and continued to accomplish absolutely nothing but staring mindlessly at a TV in an empty house.  Until…

A knock at the door, a very naughty girl dressed provocatively in club style clothing standing there, holding a hand written note.  She offered it to me. It was in TCB’s hand writing and simply said “I know she’s here, do whatever but don’t fuck her. Have fun.”  I invited her in still a little in the dark and offered her a drink.  “ No thank you Daddy.” she answered nervously.  She was not the nervous type, then again she was also not the type who had ever been truly alone with me in private.   It was always playful banter, typically quick not so quiet quips in public with her friends or my wife nearby.   I sat down, she pranced around almost nervously for a few minutes.

It was interesting but I was still a little lost.  It just goes to show you men, even those of us who think we are slick are often clueless morons.  Finally I asked her “What’s up?”

“Mommy said I was a very bad girl and to come see you to have my bummy beat for it.”

If you look at my list of kinks age play is not one of them.   Sure I like a woman dressed as a school girl, yes spanking the proverbial “Naughty Girl”, hell spanking any woman who is into it is right up my alley but this was a different flavor.  As these thoughts danced through my head the TV lit the otherwise dark room.  A second note this time scribbled in a hand writing I didn’t know was boldly set on my lap.  Twenty Something spun around, turned on the lights, and a twinkle of her usual mischief peeked past her nervousness in the form of a grin as she handed me my glasses.   The note was a confession of sorts. A short declaration of what she wanted, a list of her not at all innocent transgressions, most of which wouldn’t earn a spanking but would be well suited for a straight to video release with a three letter rating.  The letter ended with my personal safe word of choice.

Again playing the perfectly nervous woman she stood in front of me “Should I get ready for my spanking Daddy?”

I went from expecting her to chat me up, make all kinds of graphic comments, and bounce from conversation to conversation up while drinking my beer and liquor until heading out with her friends to something much different.   Sometimes topping is like flipping a switch and I go from peacenik bohemian (or think I do) to sadist in 2 seconds flat.  Still I wrestled with the whole daddy thing, finally deciding that if it ended with the scene I could roll with it and kept my big mouth shut.

I agreed and she trotted off a few rooms away.   When I entered I found the blinds closed, he waiting and a series of things laid out. Two of which had come from my nasty collection stored behind the office.  It explained why someone kept “looking for things” the day before.  15 minutes later all was said and done.  I had played my part fairly well, but in truth she ran the scene, position, posture etc all played without so much as a cue from me. I kept the action strictly business; me as stern disciplinary not wise cracking sadist is stretch but it worked.  It certainly wasn’t her first rodeo.   Shortly after we both resumed our plans for the evening as she kissed me on the cheek, and finally called me by my name again.

In the middle of the night the blonde arrived home, woke me, and somewhere between the barely lucid sleep filled conversations and me nibbling on her she denied setting up the scene to check something off my bucket list which she insists she’ll never read. “I just like the way you fuck me when we’ve been playing rough.  I figured I could have the part of that I like best without the piece I’ve not been in the mood ”  What a thoughtful girl she is even if it  broke my no Brunettes, no one under 26 rule.

The  next day I got a text that read “My ass still HURTS.  I showed my boyfriend and he didn’t even ask”  Maybe I broke rule number 3 without knowing it.

The place was all but empty with just two people in front of us.  At first my mind was lost on other things. Just hours before these moments I had been sitting in a swanky hotel discussing an opportunity that could grow my net worth considerably if I dared go play in the valley for a Private Equity company. I was weighing did I want to live in Northern California? Was it really enough money? Would my family like it there? All of those things ate at me quietly inside.  I looked at the couple in front of us, at first glance it was a typical you’re out in public non event. I thought it odd that the man was wearing a T Shirt with a depiction of American Gothic on the back.   When I looked again that’s when it grabbed me.  It was not the traditional depiction but a Tatted up version of the familiar characters and the woman was wearing a collar.  I became transfixed.   Polite Manners of our youth would tell us not to stare but I stepped closer trying to catch a glimpse of the text.  I wanted to know who made the shirt, I had become what I am at my core a consumer of things I like and damn it I wanted that shirt.

The Man spun around and in a direct but not overly threatening way said “isn’t it funny how you can just feel eyeballs on your back?” I looked him in the eye.  “Sorry man but I fucking love your shirt.  It’s so cool.”  He looked at me trying to decide if I was just saving face for being a dick but gave me the benefit of the doubt for the moment.  “My First Wife gave it to me, my current wife says it’s trashed and I should throw it away.”   I blurt out “No way, it’s too cool I’d wear it until it falls apart” At this point I’m noticing his tats which are an eclectic combination of exquisite artwork and dreadful experiments gone awry.   He smiles a tattered and mostly toothless smile. “What do you like about it?” his tone now not as suspicious but not genuine as mine probably was.  “The guy is cool but the Chest piece on the chick and the shading on the ring of her collar is what caught my eye.”

Diva orders, the other couples food comes and eventually we find ourselves in the dining area when he catches my eye after a few minutes.  “I’ve been wearing this shirt for years, It’s my second favorite shirt I’ve ever owned.”  I nod and agree I whip out my droid like the giant fucking nerd that I am and show him that I found them online.  He smiles, thrilled and perhaps finally convinced that there wasn’t an angle, a hustle, or that I was simply just trying to pacify a scary looking dude so he wouldn’t kick my ass. “Nobody’s ever said something about my shirt before, no one has even said that they like it.  Why did you?” a slight tone of suspicion returns to his voice.   In a lot of ways it wasn’t two grown men talking, it was a rare moment when in retrospect our conversation was more youthful, like two teenagers both trying to figure out if the other one was cool or a poser.  “I get jacked with and stared from all kinds of people for my T shirts at the local QT.” I tell him without a pause.

“What kind of shirts? Like band shirts?” Suddenly I was OK in his eyes.  I told him about My LoA shirts, and few of my more mainstream lifestyle ones that can be worn in public.   He asked if the Lords were Christian Metal?   Not expecting the question I almost giggled and explained their music thrilled to be talking about them with a potential convert.

At this point time was lost.   He asked if I liked Ozzy? Turns out he’s not only an Ozzy fan but a huge Zack Wylde and Black Label Society guy.  I admitted I like both of them but preferred Rhodes.  Looking at him and his assortment of body art, a frame that had seen a hard life, and face that showed the signs of not so run of the mill addiction issues and me in comparison.  It suddenly dawned on me I wasn’t in my boots and tattered Levi’s rocking some battered T like the aging rocker I see myself as at all times.  I was in the latest flat front thin cut Kahki’s, brown sandals with 3 shades of pink plaid running through them and a very high end logoed shirt.  I’d come from a causal business setting not my work at home or wonder around town purposely threads.  No wonder the dude wasn’t sure how to take me at first, I looked like the poster boy for middle age yuppie fuckers everywhere.  No visible ink, no overt piercings, not a hint of counter culture to me other than inside my head.

We debated whether or not Jake E Lee was under rated, I told him I think Ozzy learned from having to let Jake go for his Badlands project not to stifle talent like that again and it was why Zack had done both BLS and stayed with OZ.  From there we went on to discuss Priest, Maiden, He named his youngest daughter Tesla after the band and had her name and birthday tattooed on his left wrist.  I took the opportunity to introduce Diva Paige to him and explained I was huge Zappa freak and how her name came to be.  I have no idea how long we talked.  The Blonde called Diva and asked if we were OK and then if ever going to bring her food.

I don’t talk to people in public beyond polite courtesies and social graces. I rarely fall into real conversations with total strangers but here I was having what was one of the best conversations for my soul in years.  A man that I would learn was 40, had a 25 year old son, and 8 kids between his own from two marriages and step kids.  He spent every extra penny he had taking his wife, kids, and step kids to concerts that ranged from the local point fest extravaganzas to Nickelback (Both his step daughter and Diva perked up and joined in since we were off the topic of old Brits for a few minutes) Ozzy, Crue.  This was a man who like me just loved music, and much of the same music.  His step daughter had to miss Five Finger Death Punch because she didn’t have a guy to go with her even though she had the money for two tickets saved up.  Her step father confided he was in the hoosegow for some minor issues at the time still feels bad and couldn’t take her.  He gently admonished her that even if she doesn’t know what she has the young men do and that she needs to be careful or “really bad shit can happen.” Smart man and good advice I agreed.  He remembered seeing Candlebox, I talked about the time before Metallica became a giant bunch of pussies who belong at the Lilith Faire.

He asked what new stuff I was listening to.  I talked about how the only new group since my Darkest Days I’ve gotten into is Titans.  He wrote the name down on his napkin with a well chewed pen. The conversation continued with no break and eventually Diva showed up with the Blondes food and patiently waited for us to wrap up.

We shook hands and I headed out apologizing to Diva on the way for not spending more time talking to her, after all that’s what I really wanted a few moments with my kid while she’s still a kid and still around. Soon enough life will take her in all kinds of directions and to places she probably never imagined.

“Dad you don’t make friends very often, I figured I’d just let you go” This is where cool dad became predictable old man and used it as a teaching moment as we meandered through the tree lined streets.  We did the math on my new friends life, we talked about how suffering for your art is one thing but limiting your future with bad choices just to party and live fast is another.   I pondered why it was such a good conversation for me.  He had his original copy of Stained Class as his prized art work in his bedroom.  I collect limited edition photos, rare original water colors, and first edition books.   He was just happy to go to shows with his family when he could afford it.  Three hours earlier while sitting in an airline club waiting top place my fat ass in a first class seat I weighed my options, considered yet another opportunity and mused that if there was a deferred compensation plan that I was allowed to apply all bonuses what would be the long term wealth and tax implications should I die an untimely death with a financial planner on the other end of the phone.   My new acquaintance talked about his current marriage falling apart, his ability to maintain a relationship with their shared kids and his step kids.  Yet despite all that he seemed happy, content and comfortable with where he was in life.  On the surface we couldn’t have seemed more different but it was the topic of music that made the connections.

Ironically it was Metal that I sought out as a kid as a way to connect outside of the in crowd, the jocks, the cool kids.  I always saw myself as a freak and an outsider despite all other appearances.   I got straight A’s, was a Star Athlete, Cheerleaders where something you put your dick in but was always happiest at the table in the school lunch room with the stoners and other metal heads talking about the latest Queensryche tape or which incarnation of Sabbath was better.  25 years later I was lucky enough to in an instant find a few moments again when all that mattered was the bands I dig and the shows I’ve been to.     It was nice to be able to share a passion and just live in the moment with no cares for the past or the future.

The first thing I did this morning was replay the conversation, the second thing is order the T shirt and the Barbwire Girl next to it..