Holly Came From Miami FLA

Upheaval, cataclysmic transition, adjustment as agonizing as it is thrilling. But at bottom, it is all about change.

A few months ago I sat in the Fort Lauderdale aiport, writing my blog having come up short. Today as I write, I'm a sworn member of the club (I'm told there's a secret handshake), I have an office, and I am reviewing a lease for a huge, cheap, sleek, apartment with a free parking space. For a Manhattanite - this is shangri-la!! My dream of being a bi-east-coastal big shot is upon me. Now the trick is to get work.

On the other hand, my wife has been diagnosed with a horrible neurological condition that may in fact lead to an utter dissembling of any remote quality of life and cause the most horrible of swift, but torturous deaths. We find out more just after the first of the year.

I could talk about riding waves or the best of worst times or worst of best times. But figure if I show up each day and reach for the strength to be present; I'll be here to deal.

Not much kink. Just a lot of life with its fractured and frustrating flights of fancy and fear. I just f'd the f out of that, huh?

A Dreamer Holding Sand

Yesterday my wife and I closed up our coop and handed our keys to our favorite doorman. One last time I gazed out the amazing corner bedroom window with the majestic view of the Hudson River streching south along Riverside Park. I said goodbye to an era of my life. Goodbye to my home and goodbye to my marriage.

I feel the excitement of adventure and discovery entwined with the knotted pain of loss. And though I sobbed uncontrollably all alone last night; choked, snotted echos filling my brand new apartment; tonight, I am home.

Look Over Yonder

Here's another one of my new living room pictures. Can you guess?
My first domme.
Hunkered over the TV in 1967, I felt a common tingle shared by many a subbie bretheren at the sight of her.

An homage to the past. But the sun is a'rising, most definitely.

Truth And Consequence

The truth is I'm just plain kinky. All kinds of specific kinky, but as Popeye is fond of saying, "I Yam What I Yam." Still, I sometimes wonder how I got here, perched on the precipice of a leap of faith so scary and uncertain that some days I'm either reduced to a rolled up little ball in the corner or a shuddering, sobbing mass of guilty regret. The truth is I'm kinky - but what are the consequences.

Friends and readers are excited for me. Lots of new adventure ahead. But thirty odd years ago when I had my first session with a pro domme, I never in a million years would have predicted where I am today. I suppose it's true about life in general. If we could chart a certain course it would be less nerve racking but a lot less exciting and adventuresome.

My solution for years, through three long term relationships - two marriages and a five year girlfriend - was to sneak out to pro dommes. It worked so well for such a long time. What changed? Why can't I just happily scrape together tribute and slip out for a heavenly night of tightly trussed fun?

The truth is I've changed. I've accepted my kinkiness in all it's infuriating beauty and frustrating splendor. The consequence is I just have to take this leap of faith. As painful and as scary as it is, it's all about free fall.

A Long Time Comin'

I have this routine in the morning. I'm an early riser. I'm up by 5:15am for a cock-crow run with the dogs through the park and by the river no matter the season or the weather. But before I go, I make coffee. I grind rich, dark, oily beans for a combination of a decaf and high-test drip brew along with a shot of espresso. These days I'm into Irving Farm beans. There's a couple of Irving Farm cafes in Manhattan and one in Millerton, a little Dutchess County berg with a great movie theater and the coolest sporting goods store around.

I was introduced to Irving Farm coffee by a pro-domme with whom I had a deliciously disasterous frolic. Sometimes, as I mill my perfect morning infusion, I'll absent mindedly and fondly flash on the frilly little red, yellow, and white apron we bought to accessorize my service that was hung on a hook in her kitchen and never used. Or her asking the Meatpacking waitress to top up my glass from the Voss bottle - tinged the faintest of golden. Or pleading with her to slash yet again and harder at my urgently offered upper thighs with the rough leather horse crop, as I deleriously wriggled on the polished pine strip floor of her Horatio Street studio in the throes of a two week stint of on-my-honor chastity.

I love a good cup of fine coffee in the morning.

But it's a ritual of process and transition, my morning routine. From sleep I spend fifteen minutes of labor over the literal daily grind. And this morning as I write these words I really have to remind myself that my life is in complete makeover mode. In a little over a week I learn my bar exam fate from the gods of grading. In four months I'll be in a new apartment. There's nothing like looking at real estate in Manhattan to make you feel like an inadequate slacker who has utterly failed to attain a remotely respectable level of financial firepower.

This week I was out at a work related meet and greet and met two attractive, divorced women. Despite a fun chemistry with one, my fet-detector told me she was clueless about kink. I woke up this morning festering that I'm just flat-out undatable. Who wants to deal with a workaholic, aging hipster of a submissive, who comes to a romantic little restaurant with a separation agreement, a domme in the Caribbean who he adores, and huge pile of debt. Oh come on! It'll be fun. You'll see.

But the french roast rites of an April dawn hold aromatic promise. After the grind, the exertion of the run; the stretches, crunches, pull-ups and downward dogs - I get my reward. I just have to keep the faith because ready or not - a change is gonna come.

Loss & Gain

There's just been too much of it lately. Favorite employee of all time goes home. Other employee goes home with husband. Accepted offer means selling my home. Too much loss.

But with it comes possibility. Closing and opening doors. New employees to hire, new neighborhood to learn about. The Miami adventure becomes more real. A separate but new relationship with my wife. Waves of sadness give way to excitement about a new future. Gains inside of loss. Life goes on.