Top In The Street - Bottom In The Sheets

I have spent my life chasing after strong, smart, snarky, sarcastic, funny, life of the party girls who seem to me like they just must be dominant women in the bedroom. Needless to say I have been wrong. Dominance can be nurtured and nuanced and cultivated; but you can't hook up with a take-me-I'm-yours kinda gal and turn her into a domme.

I was reminded of this the other night when I went on my third date with a woman who was just my type. Third date land is in my book getting to the point that the nasty nasty should be at least lurking around the corner - otherwise we're either friends or we go our separate ways. Not always. Sometimes I'm sure it's slower and organic, but for me third date is a landmark.

Even my date's name suggested the kinky. Let's call her Livia Lashes - and honestly her real name is way better. Anyway, I'd dropped hints here and there and she dressed up for the date in a strapless white summer dress that hugged her atheltic curves with a possessive desire. Nice white heels and some great tastefully studded bracelets perfectly accessorized her fetching look.

"So Advo, if I'm going to date you what are you into in the bedroom?"

So I gave her what I thought was the most innocent and conventional of my desires; my love of retro-lingerie. She said she thought that was practically every guy out there. And then launched into a perfectly sensible explanation as to why that didn't work for her. Some girls don't like the dress-up thing. Now I can live with that, but I can't live without the attitude of dominance. I asked her if she knew anything about kink or bdsm and she said "you mean the dominatrix thing"? And she quickly added no, she knew nothing about it.

We had a perfectly fine evening after that and I persisted in trying valiantly to get the flirt on. But the wheel had spun and there was no jackpot. I even tried to coax a real kiss as we said goodbye and received a little peck on the mouth. I instantly sexualized her witholding.

But Ms. Lashes and I are going nowhere but the dreaded friendship land. I shouldn't be so flip. Good friends are hard to find and I like her alot. And in the end, we put it on the line and we know where we stand - or at least I'm sure I do.

And so the hunt for Mistress Right continues - in a very play it as it lays kind of way. If it happens wonderful, if it doesn't I content myself with enjoying the ride.

The Next Move

So here I am, moved back in with my wife and trying to figure out how to keep up the search for a connection to the kink. I suppose it's not so much "community connection" I seek but rather to keep in touch with friends, make new ones, and have the occassional possibility of a fetish fling of some sort or another. While I don't feel that I can really search out "dating" opportunities, if something organic happened I'd be open to seeing where it led. So a "put-myself-in-harm's-way" strategy seems key. Just the hint of potential can carry me for weeks, sad as that may seem.

She-Who-Visits and I are conspiring to do our annual pilgrimage to Sanibel. She and her husband left corporate type jobs in NYC to be dive instructors in a Caribbean paradise. Now, ironically, they are both back in the hustle on their island and work worse hours than some of my big law bretheren do in NYC. So I know she's looking for a little R&R.

Axe is going to interview me for the Masocast in a couple of weeks, so I'm looking forward that chat. He's the Charlie Rose of bdsm and I'm thinking it will be big fun to talk to him. And then hear myself when it goes public!

I'm hoping to have dinner with my former dance partner and former kinky date set up. Even though there wasn't a love connection I do really miss our weekly turns around the studio floor. And I miss her. Plus, even though there's no chance of any shennanigans, she's way hot and I just like deluding myself into believing that she missed me so much that she'll grab me, drag me back to her place, and have her way with me.

I went to a Recovery In The Lifestyle AA meeting in South Florida. This October will be 30 years of sobriety for me. AA used to be a big part of my life, but I gradually drifted away from it. It was fun to reconnect and say, "Hi, I'm Advo and I'm a kinky alcoholic"!

I think getting my flirt on just a little will improve my feeling of being sucked back into a situation that I didn't want to leave in the first place, but once I did I was just fine. Time will tell.

The New Chapter

So the move is made. My bachelor pad is history and I'm back on the UWS. Still crazy as I'm running back and forth between NY and FLA. But that's good as I ease into the transition of living with my wife again. Flew in last night and arrived home to my wife and two of her friends drinking Cosmos and eating Greek take out. It was actually nice. As much as I loved the mancave the trade off for independence is lonliness.

I actually registered the little Bimmer convertible on my first go around at the Magic City DMV. Sunshine State plates baby! Spent the 4th in my condo alone watching hundreds of little fireworks displays from my panoramic terrace. Went out with my broker who helped me find the condo. She has a woman friend who wants to meet me. Broker Babe has no clue that I'm kinky so this is probably a vanilla set up. It's not like I'm serious about anything. I could meet Mistress Right and what would I do?

Still, I need to have a life. It can't be all caretaking and work. I just have to work at it. As much as I've trained myself to socialize for the business dollar, I'm awful at organizing to see friends. So the date thing hedges against the downside of independence.

My big Julie Newmar poster looks great in the FLA condo and my box of hemp rope and other kink accoutrements arrived from the West Village pad. It's a new chapter so let's turn the page.

Some Quality Trouble

I feel like I used to when I ran competitively and pretty much would sprint flat out the 3.5 mile silly corporate challenge races in Central Park. The aerobic became the anaerobic and with no real breathing capacity my muscles would just carry me by some out of body masochistic determination to finish. Such is life when moving back in with a woman who just two years ago I decided I did not want to live with anymore.

But things change and while I'm not really going back to my marriage, I am looking forward to spending time with someone I love dearly and who truly needs me. I hate giving up my mancave and unwittingly may have already spent my last night there earlier this week. But like practically everyone, financial realities don't allow me to carry four homes. Jeez, realistically, there are income cycles where I'm lucky to hold one down. So a big part of the move is confronting the money thing and shuffling slowly to some sort of semblance of a practical, prudent, and pragmatic care about the pecuniary.

Ho hum.

But life could be so much worse. We'll live in a really great place. There's a little terrace where I can smoke my cigars. I get my morning river run and there's a killer view. But I won't be dating and alone time will no longer be just a quick cab ride away. It is a loss and a sacrifice, but worth it to be able to care for my terminally ill wife.

To look at her last night at the concert we went to you'd never know she was so sick. She was happily enthralled with Mavis Staples and Bonnie Raitt. And I thought that if Bonnie can look so hot and sexy at 62 then I can too. I don't need to feel that life is over - just a new chapter to begin.

Bonnie gave good patter between songs last night. She introduced one number by telling us that there was a time in her life when she was looking for some quality trouble and that she found him. So just because I'm giving up my single life for that of a caretaker, doesn't mean that I can't keep my eye out for some quality trouble.

You just can't make your heart feel something it won't.