25 November 2004


We've been together for almost 2 years and living together since summer. Daily life is a grind, the kids, the jobs, the household to run. It's not *bad*, but it IS very different from meeting up in a foreign city and working each other to near exhaustion and only stepping out for sushi or vegetarian Mexican feasts accompanied by fishbowl-sized margaritas. And Houston is a VERY kinky town, HUGE gay and lesbian population and gigantic Scene. Trust me, if you ever get to Harris county, make the trek to Leather in Exile, you will thank me later.

Here The One says, "Be careful what you say about your hometown." And it reminds me that being born just blocks off the Montrose is probably what's wrong with me... I'm really a gay man trapped inside this woman's body.

Needless to say, I was happy to have him home, but childishly angry with him for having gone and had fun without me. He was verbal about his desires, he wanted me naked, in his bed, as soon as I got home. I was prickly and touchy, non compliant and edgy and mouthy. I admitted that I wanted to say things that I knew would make him mad and goad him to hurt me. Upon reflection, I think I was needing some kind of reunion, something huge to celebrate his coming home. He urged me to say them, but I feared he would get so upset by what would come out of my mouth, that he'd stop fucking me, which is really what I wanted, no matter what kind of smack I was talking.

I don't think I've ever seen him mad, not MAD, irritated, but not angry, so even that may not be the right word. Because I didn't say what I knew would inflame him. No matter, we had amazing sex, brutal, on-his-demand-butt-sex that he accused me of wanting, and I violently denied it, he took the cues famously once I put them out there. We are truely lucky, even our missionary, vanilla, Baptist-friendly sex is awesome. This was kink-famous and not soon forgotten. I could not have mail ordered from Blowfish.com a more compatable lover.

But later, I had to throw out there, how does one let the other one know one wants to play, ROUGH? Saying, "I want it extra nasty." kind of takes away from it and makes it scripted from the very beginning, and that is NOT extra sexy. And you can't be Big Daddy Leather Bear all the time, its just not possible at our house (for God's sake, the kids are here every other week). We joked about "The Nasty Code", and how it sounded like a child with a speech impediment talking about his recent illness. But I was serious.

We didn't have any big resolution, no pacts for kink awareness training, but it's out there. This morning, I was mouthy again, with "You aren't the boss of me" being my best taunt. To which he cleverly replied, "O yes I am, I'm the boss of all the deamons inside you, my dear."

Its so very different living this way, with this man. I'm SO glad he's here, and its so good... I just don't want to lose that *thing* we had in that hotel in Asheville, the one with the wax.... the one who probably reported us to the North Carolina state police. The one where we played so hard he had to ask later, "Are you sure you aren't hurt?" and the cute chuckle he had when I shook my head and grinned, "Nope, but I'm sure you can do it harder next time."

It's Thanksgiving in America today. Holidays are something I fantasized about having with this man. Apron, pumps and pearl-wearing, picture perfect American holidays. I really don't think it's too much to want Easter Sunday to morph into Big Daddy's chamber of Hell after the dining room's empty and the kids are tucked in. We just need to figure out a way too convey what we want. And how to muffle the sound that carries through the air conditioning ducts.