New Perspectives

Last weekend I hosted She-Who-Visits and her friend who I'll call Swinger Girl in my Magic City condo. They were up from their idyllic island paradise for an intensive, off-island shop-a-thon. They arrived last Friday but alas, work kept me from preparing a proper welcome and I did not arrive until early Saturday morning. When I entered, I knew my place was not my own. Greeting me in the foyer was a pair of summer, strappy wedges. Hmmm...it's a sign. No shoes inside for the weekend. The visiting She is totally OCD about cleanliness. They had left early for one of the massive malls and a marathon of buying things that can't be found in Caribbean paradise.

Throughout the afternoon I re-organized so that I had servant's quarters in my little study nook as they had commandeered the bedroom. I laid out a nice little cheese and crackers spread for their return so we could nosh a bit before our dinner reservation in South Beach. Time passed. Shopping prevailed and they arrived back, glassy eyed and exhausted from their enforced version of super-mall sweep.

This was the very first time in the over five years I've known She that we'd had a guest. Swinger Girl was so incredibly nice and sweet. It was almost painful. I set out the hors d'oeuvres and was invited to sit at their feet by the sofa.

"Why don't you give her a foot massage", She ordered. "And tell him if he's doing it wrong because he's just not very good."

Swinger Girl was immediately appreciative and grateful for my sincere and hearfelt efforts.

"No, no, no!!", She laughed. "I've invested far too much time training him for you to be so nice and ruin it all!"

And so the weekend went. I waited on the them hand and foot. On Sunday I drove them to what seemed like nineteen different malls and a Walmart. I carried their packages to the car. I ferried them from J.C. Penny to Kohl's. I had a great time in the first real social interaction She and I have had together.

I used to be She's client. Now I am her dear friend and submissive on the side. I left them to go to work on Monday morning. Saying goodbye to her is much less painful as I know our relationship is a deep, long-lasting, lifetime current. When I got down to the car there was a $20 bill in the cup holder. Gas money? From She? Certainly one of the sweetest things she's ever done. Financial times are hard and I have upcoming medical expenses for the care of my dying wife. She really shouldn't have.

As luck would have it, Swinger Girl had one more internet shopping package that arrived that morning at my office. I jumped in the car and drove it home to the condo as they were not leaving until later that evening. When I got upstairs the two women were deep into packing their booty just so to look to island customs as though it was just their clothing from a seventeen week stay stateside.

"Was that gas money you left me?" I asked. "I should report you to the authorities that oversee your team. So sweet, but you are slipping, aren't you?"

She got a dark look and immediately grabbed my wallet out of my back suit pocket and took all my cash. I was horrified. I truly am a nitwit sometimes. My silly attempt at humor had deeply offended her. I should have thanked her profusely for her sweetness and yet my pride and shame at not being the earner that I once was, even though I know it's the economy, had gotten the best of me.

She made me beg and plead for my money back which I did with serious conviction. Eventually she relented. She took two five dollar bills and ripped the corners from them. She said we'd each keep one to remember this moment. I pecked her on the cheek. She grabbed me and hugged me and I was gone.

Later that night when I got home there was a note. She left me two more ten dollar bills and the torn five with the corner taped onto the note.

"Here's some more for something nice and a little more for an emergency."

And she signed it with a heart.

New perspectives and a future with a complex and dear friend to share it with in fleeting, borrowed, weekend bursts. Mean girls...they are so deliciously good.

Priceless

She-Who-Visits and a friend are planning an excursion off their idyllic island paradise. Plan was they'd come up on a Friday and stay until Monday as it was some obscure holiday, the remnant of an ancient colonial incursion or some global banking conglomerate. Plan was I'd play chauffeur-gofer and they'd let me sleep under the bed at the condo. Trouble is I can't get down until the Saturday. She and I spoke last night.

"So you're coming down alone, but you can't get here until Saturday, do I have that right?", she inquired sharply.

"Yes, that's correct", I answered on her crisp examination query.

"Well, we aren't sure we're going to use you, but would you like to be in the running?"

Priceless! You just can't teach that, it's hardwired. She probably didn't even realize how many of my erotic triggers she pulled with that one phrase. If she decides she has no use for me there will be no tears from me as what I need exists in all that infused that one little off handed phrase.

Hope Springs Eternal

I don't know what it was about yesterday but some of my terror and anxiety melted away. I mistakenly thought, "Good feeling for the first day of spring." Only a month behind the vernal equinox am I. Last week I'd had a nice conversation with She-Who-Visits as we both commuted to our jobs - she on her idyllic blue water isle and me, drop topped in the Magic City. I talked to her about actually looking forward to moving back in with my wife because each morning and meal with her has become precious. "I'm so glad you are getting to do this," she said with sympathy and real enthusiasm. Me too I said, me too.

And then yesterday morning I had this giddy optimism that I'll figure this all out. Things will be okay. I have great friends who I'll stay in touch with and have been talking to, hanging out with, or connecting with on-line. I'm a dramatically changed person in the past two years. Though I'll miss my black and white poster of Julie Newmar when I leave the man-cave in June I realize I don't need to announce my kink with home decor anymore. I just am. And I'm much more open about most everything with my wife. Though I won't date for the time being, it doesn't mean I have to stop having dinner, lunch, coffee, or drinks with my domme friends and subbie guy buddies. And who knows what outlet I'll figure for my kink. It's a work in progress and I'm creating it as I go.

I'd been talking to kinky friends about kink relationships and the problems we all face in forging them. Yesterday I just had this overwhelming feeling of hope and optimism that we're all in this together. Is it one big campfire sing along? I think not. But we're all out there working it and we have each other to help us along the way. And for that I am just eternally grateful.

Anyway, for musical diversion I've hung on to this Pat Benatar clip as it's kind of like a ruined orgasm - the most deliciously wicked of tease and denial "punishment".

True Heart Service

If you'd seen us you'd think we were on vacation; a happy family reunion in a hot springs mountain retreat. But death cloaked the blue skies and sunshine like an indecorous winding sheet. Her parents in their 90's; her brother a cancer survivor; a manical bike touring, hard pedeling uncle wheeling headlong through a defiant bucket list; and my wife with her terminal diagnosis. And me...

I help her onto the toilet in the unisex handicapped bathrooms that dot an airport like havens for the afflicted. I adjust her underwear and pull up her jeans. I grovel on the floor to make sure she slides into her shoes comfortably. I latch her seat belt. I always allow an hour more to get ready as we have to move slowly.

I think about sexualizing all this but I can't. The whole process makes me horny though. I crave humiliation, orgasm control, cuckolding, and being lovingly laughed at as her rejected loser while She-Who-Visits fucks another younger more virile man before my lust filled eyes.

It's all in my mind as I cut up her steak at dinner and dice her salad so as she raises the fork with her shaking hand less romaine falls to the plate as a frustrating reminder that this is only going to get worse. Some say she is lucky to have me.

But it is I who am lucky to have her. Ironically blessed to render true heart service in pure and unerring love.

Except for the fantasy dream sequence part where she denies me orgasm until I learn to comb her hair properly.