Dance With Me Through This Rain

These days I call my wife every morning despite our separation. She's been diagnosed with ALS. I've talked about it a little in prior posts. She's dying an excruciatingly horrible death very slowly. She's terrified. This morning she was sobbing about the depth of her tragedy and then all of a sudden stopped. She blurted, "I probably shouldn't tell you this." Oh come on, I said, what?

She told me about the college senior daughter of friends of ours who had been an intern in my office three years ago. College Senior is a very smart, ambitious, lovely young woman who I had just the other week had lunch with and talked with about getting a job in the legal field so she could get practical experience before going to law school.

During her internship College Senior had become BFFs with a former employee of mine. Former Employee, a seemingly cool woman, and I had also become extraordinarily good friends. I told Former Employee almost all my secrets. Suffice it to say, Former Employee knew all about my kink.

Former Employee moved back home last year and College Senior interned with Former Employee's new office and lived with Former Employee last summer. "She was like my big sister", College Senior told me over lunch.

Anyway, enough backstory. Wife says this morning that Former Employee (let's just call her Asshole) apparently told College Senior about my bdsm proclivities. My wife knew this because College Senior was so freaked out that before meeting me for lunch to get my take on the job market, she had confided in an adult friend of ours, one of my wife's BFFs, and mother of one of College Senior's best friends, that College Senior was weirded out to be having lunch with a pervert.

Suffice it to say I was enraged at Asshole Former Employee and sent her a text to that effect. I probably shouldn't have. Asshole Former Employee denied telling College Senior I'm a perv and then blamed College Senior and I for creating drama in her already stressed out life.

Is that just breathtaking or what?

Asshole Former Employee tells 20 year old College Senior a secret and confidence I trusted Asshole Former Employee with, lies point blank about it, and then blames College Senior and I for complicating her life. I suppose I have one less so-called friend to worry about.

I often wonder what I might do if my blog was discovered by my wife. Or discovered by the New York Post. Or I somehow got publicly outted. I like to think I'd just own it and say it's something I love, am proud of and is private. I hope I'd say get a life and move on. But telling a 20 year old kid who didn't ask to be burdened with the private confidence and doesn't have the life experience to process it just seemed the height of deeply flawed judgement.

People who aren't us don't understand us. Liberal, consenting, sophisticated adults don't understand us. Why would you out a friend to a kid? I suppose it's a reminder that so much of the world views our thing as such a dirty little secret that we truly do have to be constantly vigilant about who we confide in.

"Cause we all have a darker side
A place we keep where no one else will find"

First Date of the New Year

So tonight I'm seeing my new crush girl for the first time in almost a month. Our last date was a quiet, what-are-you-looking-for Advo kind of affair full of promises to see each other before she left NYC to go home for the holidays. Yet despite all the potential we failed to share even a quick cup of coffee and this was not for lack of trying on my part, or for that matter, on her part. But I can't help searching between the lines for a message though.

So last week I got an announcement that RopeShare returns and I asked Crush Girl if she wanted to go. I was very careful to tell her to say no if she had the slightest apprehension. Gotta say though, RopeShare is about as vanilla a true kinky experience as one can have.

First, I think rope bondage is the Scout's Honor merit badge activity of kink. Safety, knots, combination ties, plotting physical predicaments. Almost algebraic...

Second, it takes place on a Sunday afternoon in a brightly lighted space with everyone dressed in loosely fitting schmatta clothes.

Finally, it's a class about the rope. It's only sexy if you take it home to the bedroom or out to the dungeon. Otherwise it's like a Learning Annex class on home plumbing. Very cool home plumbing with nice, fun, interesting, attractive plumbers. But a session it ain't.

So I was perplexed that Crush Girl chose not to respond at all to my invitation. Not yes and not no. Just nothing. Then she asked me out for tonight, Tuesday night. Not exactly date night.

So I'm thinking she's gonna tell me she likes me but just wants to be friends. The dread "F" word.

We'll see. If I'm right, I'm saying no. Me no friend you after you bite my cheek. But maybe I'm thinking too much. Check the comments for the skinny. Jeez, I don't need even need a good one. I'll take a bad romance.

Death Of A Dog - Birth Of A Future

His name started as a joke. My wife kidded she wanted to introduce us, "This is my husband Advo and my dog Advotey." The name stuck. Many people thought it was the height of self-centered, narcissistic vanity that I'd named my dog after myself. Advotey's name was also my father's nickname.

I inherited the legasy of an absent, alcoholic father who terrified me as a child with guns and untrained hunting dogs. My uncharacteristic mid-life outdoorsman odyssey was an expiation of these sins. My dog was my guide.

My once strong and noble hunter had been dying for over a year. Wracked with the effects of Cushing's disease his powerful back legs were wasting away, his handsome head was boney, and his once thick lusterous coat was thin and marred with bald spots and warts. Though he was recovering remarkably well from the Cushing's, two weeks ago he had his second violent seizure in a month and I knew it was time to help him die.

For fifteen years he'd guarded my soul, retrieved my spirit, and happily licked clean my wounds of day-to-day human life. It's the deal we make with a dog. They love us - period. They trust us to do right. In that bond we are rescued from mediocrity and become heros to a wagging tail.

Dogs are pure D/s creatures. They dominate or they submit. He would dive into a tangled thicket of sharp thorns, completely oblivious to vicious bloody stabbings, to recover a small quail and then obediently deliver it to my hand. I spent years training him. He was a soft dog. You could not be too harsh with him. He served and he lived to please.

He is my model of the noble, strong, courageous submissive. I miss him horribly, but am comforted that for all he gave me, I held up my end of the bargain.



Aarkey and I had spent the day in my new office grunting and groaning together what turned out to be a massive desk that threatened to eat the space whole. He claimed I was overcompensating for something. Wise ass.

Anyway, I'm a tenant in the beautiful downtown suite and my new landlords were throwing a holiday party that night - my reason to come down and work the room.
We cleaned up as we could but tiny white bits of styrofoam packing littered the plush deep green hallway carpeting outside the office. I was told there was no vacuum cleaner.

My next door neighbor is a partner in one of the firms and she serves as the office manager. She came to the door dressed for the party in a short red mini-dress, black hose, black heels and a clingy black sweater.

She bluntly chided, "Advo, this has to be cleaned up," as she pointed to the minute white particles. She glared at me and walked off.

Aarkey and I looked at each other. "Dude, she shoulda put her hand on her hip," he suggested. "Yeah", I giggled, "and pointed at me and then at the floor."

I went out into the hallway and picked up every last little nib of white. Apparently, Aarkey's wife got quite the chuckle from our first day at the new office story.

My spirit dog romps loyally with me as the future tugs me forward with heartache, hope and maybe a few laughs along the way.

Fleeting Questions

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.