I had dinner with my wife Friday night instead of dancing with a domme.
What's with that?
Truth be told, I have the dregs of a nasty cold and didn't feel much like playing Fred to my dommy dance partner's Ginger. My wife is leaving town for ten days or so and I just wanted to be close to over two decades of intimacy. The value in shared history, however marred by conflict, is truly comforting.
How do you figure?
I had a date last night with my new love interest. I re-texted our restaurant rendez-vous and added a "be there or be square". She replied she was too hip to be square. I added that her hips were most definitely not square. Truth be told I was too nasal nasty to be make-out material. But we had a wonderful talk about our unexpected connection. After dinner we walked arm in arm through Times Square to Eighth Avenue. She kissed me goodnight on my mouth through her soft leather glove as I wriggled excitedly telling her how hot that made me. "We'll try it with a veil next time", she whispered. She shoved me toward the subway commanding me to go away and walked abruptly off, leering over her shoulder at me as she disappeared into the holiday crowd of an early winter's eve.
Where does she fit?
As I write this my older dog is pacing my snappy new Far West Village loft apartment, unable to relax, occassionally stopping, tilting his head into the air and plaintively, softly, howling. He's trying to tell me something. He's old, he's tired, he hurts. I just don't know what he wants. He's so boney and small from the effects of his Cushing's disease we've been battling. He's a such a good boy.
How long will he remain with me?
Fleeting questions. The answers just out of reach.
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