Anonymous Asses

Last week, Thumper posted about the training he and I have been doing together to one day expand his ass to take a fist (well, one day being next week actually). It was a great post and one that, I thought, provided a lot of insight into where he and I are friendship wise and, even more so, on what it takes to accept one’s status as an “ass whore” or another name that I affectionately call him that is not for publication.

The point, or one of the points, of the post, I thought, was about the trust factor that it’s taken between the two of us and the time and patience we have both had in the process. Yes, yes, there was some emotional mumbo jumbo mixed in there too, but overall the take away, for me, was the mind over matter part that Thumper has had to overcome in order to take giant things in his rectum while enjoying it.

I expected a few comments on it and there are a few strings between him and someone else that are, well, cute, but what I didn’t expect was the “outpouring”(well, 7) of guys who also wanted me to train their asses to take a fist or to stay plugged all the time, etc. First, I have a day job and have enough trouble flipping my phone fast enough in public when Thumper’s shiny junk pops up, but, more specifically, with the exception of one I plan to push, we don’t know each other – why would you want a complete stranger taking you on a path that is so personal? or, is it the fact that I would be a stranger something that is the driving factor?

I am not judging the guys who asked this at all,  but I am now officially saying no. The exception to this would be alco, you know, the boy whose cock I locked in the shower?, but he and I have lots of talking to do first. I realize that many many people are driven by the anonymity of the internet and the like for sexual encounters and that is a huge thing. For me, while my mind has been broadly opened the last few years, the need to know someone’s mother’s maiden name before seeing them naked is not anything I think will change for me. But, who knows.

 

Objectifying Thumper – Take Two

A few days ago Thumper posted something on this blog (yes, he can do that and is always encouraged to do so) about the evolution of our friendship and, while he didn’t say this directly, how we seem to have found a groove that, I suspect, might be something that can sustain itself as we have taken many items off of the table.

To go backwards, Thumper and I never quite fit into a preconceived relationship category. We were not just friends, but, even though we used the word, we were never boyfriends either. We were not Dom/sub or Master/slave though we, at times, had those elements because, well, he looks great in my collar. We were not fuck buddies, though we did fuck like rabbits, in part, because I have a dick and he doesn’t, but also because he has an ass that longs for training. We celebrated the fact that we were not these things, but that still left us with questions of what we were and how we should function, which, to be frank, caused some hurt feelings, confusion, and some even better sex.

However, what’s done is done and all of that mumbo jumbo served as a vehicle which we used to grow our kinky sides and to evolve where we each have now owned our kink a bit more than before. As he discussed in that post, I have worked with him steadily to help him understand his need to be dominated and, more so, his need to be penetrated. Through those things, I have come to understand my dominant side more and have found a comfort place with it where I can say that I don’t need “boyfriend moments” like I once thought I did. Though I care for him as a friend and know that if life dealt either one of us the cards where a friend is needed more than a kink we’d be there, I really do not see him on that level right now as much as I see him as the clay I am still molding (into various plug shaped items) and using as a sexual object and a way of growing my own dominant identity. My mind would have once asked me how I could see a friend as an object but now it just goes along with it because, for Thumper, that is really what he needs when with me and I am more than happy to oblige. The reality, as he said, is not much changes to the naked eye, but we know the dynamic has an edge and edges have consequences and those are what is fueling the fire as we each grow in opposite, yet very complementary directions.

As part of that, we know that we will have hot periods and cold periods which are based on life and our other halves, but from now on, when I visit, I am coming to come and in blocking his calendar he knows what will be required of him. Without the ambiguity that has plagued us we are both happier and will both grow in our respective roles and, trust me, he will be saying thank you.

On the home front, my growth in the dom aspect is also noticeable and Axel is quite happy about it. See, before, because he likes to lock me up and because I like that, we automatically put me in a sub role, but that’s not really the case at all. We are finally seeing that the chastity can and is being used as an element to fuel me (and him because it’s a turn on) so, with this new thinking, it feels pretty natural and Thump was also one to benefit from it as my unlocking occurred the morning of my last visit. Ax will still take the controlling role with the key and that’s wonderful and part of his grander plan which I will discuss soon.

 

The Drew Effect (by Thumper)

Thumper here. Drew was in town the other day (see the post immediately before this one). In the recent past, these visits have not involved sex between us but this time around we approached it in a way that works for me.

The struggle I’ve had is flipping between friend and sub. Between Drew being Mr. Confident Dom vs. Thumper’s friend. But coinciding with the last visit was a desire within me to do some serious subbing so, in order to make that work (because I also knew he was ready to top the fuck out of me), I asked for him to only interact with me during the day we had as a sub. Which, besides the actual time spent having sex, might not have seemed that different to anyone looking in from outside, but it worked for me. I was able to maintain the headspace. Partly because of little things he did (like leave his trash on the table at Shake Shack for me to clean up and not obviously seek my approval about anything) but also the fact that I had a heavy chain collar on the whole time we were out and about.

Anyway, it worked. And, if anything, we’ve more or less maintained a Dom/sub dynamic after he left. One that’s been able to intensify since Belle has been away for about a week and a half. Since he’s wherever he is and I’m here, this has manifested in me letting him have control over the my ass.

I’ve been thinking lately that Drew has been instrumental in leading me to better understand some things about myself. I’ve always known anal play was something I enjoyed, pretty much since I can remember having sexual thoughts, but Drew has helped me achieve a new level of consciousness about it. Since we’ve been “together” I’ve come to realize I am 100% a bottom. I just don’t like anal penetration, I crave it. Just as I’m a total sub, there’s no top in me. Even though I have no functioning penis when we’re going at it, I have realized I really don’t need one. I don’t want to top anyone and I never really have (I’ve never enjoyed fucking men). All I want to do and be is the bottom. Thanks to being with Drew, I have come to fully embrace this part of me in a way I never have before.

Since I’m bisexual and have primarily been with women for most of my life, I didn’t have a chance to delve into the subculture that is bottoming. It’s a really fascinating role for a man who, culturally anyway, is expected to be the penetrator in any sexual situation. To invade the partner. So to feel none of that need when having sex with another man is…interesting. All I want is the opposite. To be entered and used and taken and to do it all in the best possible way. To be the best host and provide maximum outlet for his sexual needs. I may have struggled at some points in my life with my deep need to bottom because we have no positive role models to look to, but I don’t now. It’s an identity I wear with pride. Like my need to submit, it’s something of a super power.

I can even see this how this manifests in my relationship with Belle. She has no desire to fuck me and, of course, is not naturally built that way anyway. But I have always, my whole life, felt a deference to ensuring the women I’ve been with are experiencing as much pleasure as possible. Sure, I wanted to fuck and the feeling of being inside a woman is uniquely intoxicating, but even then, I fucked with her needs and feelings in mind. I rarely, unless invited to, took my pleasure first or gave it priority over theirs. While I’m not technically bottoming in a penetrative way with Belle (or any other woman), I still very much feel the part. It’s also, I think, a part of what makes the idea of her being with another “alpha” man so attractive to me. I so badly want her to have what I am not, by nature and circumstance, able to provide.

Practically, Drew has helped me in another way. I used to have in my mind an idea of what I was physically able to take as a bottom. If you go back and read my review of the dildo modeled after Jeff Stryker’s cock, it’s almost comically presented as the biggest thing I’d ever be able to get in my ass. I spent a great deal of time describing how hard it was to take. I actually thought, seriously, I could not stretch any bigger. Now, I see that dildo as a minimum size for any real solo funtime. Even if I haven’t played with anything in my ass for a while, I can take that dildo without a great deal of effort.

In a weird way, what one’s ass can do is limited more by one’s own expectations than one’s physiology. Once I knew the Stryker dildo was no big deal, it wasn’t. Drew helped me understand that, too, by encouraging (and not for purely charitable reasons, to be sure) my experimentation with bigger toys.

The best example of that is the World’s Most Comfortable Butt Plug from Mr. S. I had the one they call size XL which has a similar circumference as Stryker and I assumed it was as big as I could use, but Drew got me to try the XXL (I can’t recall now if I already had it or he bought it for my ass). We would have FaceTime sessions where he watched me struggle with it and generally be a whiny dramatic little bitch, but it eventually got in. After a few times, it became less scary. I was able to carry it around for a day at a time. It stopped being a challenge and started being fun.

So he got me the XXXL WMCBP. That one’s a beast, but it was the same kind of deal all over again. I swore it would never fit. Was terrified that once it went in it wouldn’t come out. But Drew was insistently supportive. He had more faith in my ass than I did. And, eventually, it got it. In all its 8″ around, nearly 2 pound glory. In fact, as part of our current Dom/sub understanding, I have it in right now. My confidence with it grew so that, at first, I wouldn’t dare leave the house while it was in. But just like the XXL, I’ll go anywhere with it now. To work, shopping, whatever (it’s not as simple as just leaving in there, but I’ll spare you the details for now).

Other large toys came after. One, in the shape of a fist nearly identical in size and appearance to my own, that’s 12.5″ in circumference. My desire to take these larger toys was driven as much by my need to to do it for him as it was the incredible physical sensation of being stretched, figuratively and literally, by the experience. Now I find my desires with regard to what happens to my ass magically align with his fantasies. In much the same way my expectations with regard to sex with Belle eventually became essentially what she wanted. That’s my zero-dominant nature molding to be the mirror of my sex partners.

To this end, Drew has told me he intends to fist me at our next meeting. I can remember a time when the very idea of that would be impossible to imagine. I cringed at images of fisting because I didn’t understand the dynamic that would lead two people to be in a place where it would happen. But I get it now. And I want it now. I want it because it’s essentially the last challenge I have yet to accomplish (it’s like the ultimate TRUE BOTTOM™ achievement) but I also want it because he wants to do it to me. Just as he’s a Dom and I’m a sub, he’s a top with an intense interest in making me bottom to him. He gets off on the idea of making me accept his whims over my ass and, of course, I do too.

So that’s going to happen. His giant hand will be inside me, easily the biggest thing I’ve ever taken. And now that I know it’s going to happen, I know I will be able to do it. He’s more than an inch bigger around than the fist toy I have (1.25″, in fact) but he’s also not a molded piece of silicone and I’ll be motivated to perform for him. It’s going to happen. I’m sure I’ll still be a whiny little bitch about it, but…he kinds of likes it when I suffer.

A Trusting Blowjob

It all started with:

Do not let my dick even slip out of your mouth until I tell you it’s time” 

A simple statement from me, but a new challenge for Thumper as he was now swallowing me while enduring my right hand gripping his balls in a vice like method while my left caressed his chest lightly before finding a nipple to essentially assault mercilessly. I think I have mentioned before how good he is with his bisexual bunny tongue and a blow job from him is something one could stand in line for (fyi, next time I am there I may entertain visitors so let me know if interested), but this was the first time, I recall, that I had abused him quite so much during oral activity.

It was right after I had thumped his stretched scrotum really hard that I realized the implicit trust I had in him not to bite down or do anything in that vain to me as he had my favorite body part right there. Yes, I know there was already a huge amount of trust in the room as he was submitting to me, but I realized that the level of trust a top has to put in a bottom, especially during a BDSM scene, is almost as equal as the bottom to the top. Yes, I said almost because the chances of me hurting him were far greater than him me, but you get the idea.

See, since I have been old enough to remember, every single thing I have read about BDSM was that the bottom has to have an implicit level of trust in the top. I can remember tons of articles about never letting someone tie you up in your own home or meeting in a public place or making sure you had safely words and all that jazz (all great advice) and while some would use the phrases “mutual trust” or similar, almost all of these are geared toward the bottom of the relationship. I understand this completely, but as a top, especially a Dom, you have to also trust your partner to know that they will not do something that will cause you pain or injury. In a power control situation, I would say that this is even more important because I have to trust Thumper, but I also have to know him and his limits, his reactions, and more to make sure that terrific blow I give to his nether regions combines with the terrific blow I am receiving to my nether regions without a trip to the ER.

So, boys and girls, take this blow by blow to heart and know that the trust factor is indeed two pronged.

Fucking the Rabbit

Five nights into the 12 night trip and here I sit in a Skyclub on Sunday morning off for seven more days of work. The good news is Axel is sitting next to me as he joined me for a few nights, but in about an hour we will both board planes heading different directions. Him south to home and me north to the great white tundra.

But, that’s minor because this week started with a trip to see Thumper. And, a good trip it was. That said, it wasn’t a trip specified for sex nor was it not. We tend to play things by ear a bit more these days and have the rule that if the vibe is there and activated – nakedness will occur. If it is not – clothes stay on and lots of food is consumed.

This week, there were vibrations and nudity did occur. And, for probably the first time since we removed the “boyfriend” label, we had pretty raw, unbridled sex that, at least for me, was not complicated by emotions. Yes, Thump is, on most days, on my list of favorite people for many reasons aside from his ass and tongue abilities, but, for those six or so hours this week (yes, exaggeration in play), he really was just a hole to me and an object that was there for my amusement. This is what he has wanted far longer than me but I was never really able to not beat him without wanting to swoop in immediately after to say “was that too hard, are you okay?” This time, I honestly didn’t care because we had negotiated what it was to be and, while my collar was on him, my hirsute toy awaited.

I fucked him hard. I fucked him slow. I used multiple fingers and toys in the roughest ways I could and, like the pain slut he is, he took it. I had implements for his ass and nipples with me, but decided to just use my hands as I am pretty strong and downright wicked when I want to be. I used him – hard. I came – a lot (a benefit of being locked the two weeks prior). And then I left him hogtied on the bed while I wordlessly got up and took a shower. We talked a bit after that, but not much. I did not unlock the collar and made him wear it while we went to lunch and a few stores before I unlocked it in the airport departures area when he dropped me off. It was right and appropriate. 

We didn’t analyze the sex. We didn’t worry about what it meant. We just fucked without feeling and, for the first time ever, I finally understood how some guys could just walk out after intercourse without feeling anything. To be frank, had we not had our friendship base, I likely would have done just that, but since I would have felt really silly coming back later as he was my ride to the airport, I decided to stay (and we did have a good time later too).

During these moments I had some bigger thoughts about the overall scope of bonding and trust any of these things take, but that’s for another point.

Finally, on a side note, do you know how hot this is to write about this while sitting next to my husband? it’s pretty cool and, in fact, I think I will ask him to read this now.

So, a quick update from the naked road. More soon.

My Porn Concierge

Today is my last day working from home and, to make matters worse, I am embarking on a 12 day trip that will, most likely kill me or keep me detained in Canada since we have no idea what immigration will be like in a week when I return. That said, the time home has been really nice and I have gotten a ton done for work, for life, and for me at the gym.

One of the things I finally got done was coming face to face with the “friend” who I accidentally spilled my chastity guts to a few months ago and who I have not been able to see since. I didn’t write about this for some reason, but this friend who I would honestly call more of an acquaintance than anything else is a guy I used to see at parties and around town for certain social things. We have never been close but we had a very good mutual friend who kept us informed of each other and that way fine with both of us. Last year, that friend moved overseas so this fella started texting me every now and then and, since he is a bit of a perv, would include random shots of naked guys, you know, just cause he apparently didn’t think I got to see any in real life or didn’t know how to access the Tumblr. He’d even ask the type men I liked so they could be tailored to me. Sweet, right?

But, one night last fall, he sent me several pictures of guys locked in various chastity devices. I could tell he didn’t know anything about them because the ones he sent were the worst of devices and not really good porn worthy, but when he sent them, he included a note that said “Is one of these what Axel locks you up in when you travel??” Now, had I thought about that, I would have come back and said something witty laughing off the situation or accusing him of being turned on by them or made some sort of reference to his mother (which would have been odd and horrible since he is almost 60 and she is long dead – but the 13 year old mind never turns off).  But, I didn’t.  I didn’t even come back with, what would have been good, of “please, he only locks me in custom devices” or something snotty that would fit this guy, but, no. No, I did not.

What I did do was come back with with something akin to “OMG, who told you? Did he send pics? What the hell? I demand to know how you know?” You know, the epitome of smoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooth.

Now, did I mention that this fellow is known to be a very dramatic gossipy queen? I didn’t? Well, it’s relative here because I panicked. My utter lack of suave was going to catch up to me because somehow, I had even made words in a text have a guilty tone. It was bad until he came back with “you know, we all have our kinks and this stays between us – but I do want to go to lunch one day and hear about it and the hows and whys.” I breathed a bit after that and, while I have to admit I still did not fully trust him, I had no other choice.

The next day he texted again and sent me more pictures of naked men in and out of chastity, chains, and other sparkly accessories and that pattern has kept up since. While I can’t really explain why he does that, and apparently he does it with other friends too, I generally just say “wow” or “thanks” and go on about my day with the satisfaction of knowing that I have reached a stage in life where I have a, albeit accidental, Porn Concierge.  I have to really laugh though because on at least three occasions he has sent me pictures of me and twice he has sent me pics of Thumper! I always make sure to bold the “wow” and “super hot” comments back to him on those.

But, work got crazy, the holidays got nuts, and all was going well until last week when he said “when do you travel again?” and I told the truth which was met with a “Good, lunch on Friday, pick you up at your house at 11:30″. 

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me” was all that was going through my mind, BUT, it had been that long and he had, for what I know, kept his confidentiality agreement, so I went along and, well, it was nice. We went for Mexican (and fyi, I can sooooo be woo’ed with Mexican) and started talking about perceptions of the gay community, life, love and it was a very masculine lunch until he waved his hands all flauntidly and pointed toward my crotch and said “okay honey, let’s talk about what is going on down there”. I apparently blushed like a schoolgirl which signaled I was indeed locked and he asked questions. I answered in the most truthful, vague way I could. We talked about how it helped my sex life. We talked about how Axel felt empowered. We talked about whether it itches or hurts when you get hard. We talked about everything around what it has meant to me, how it started with Thumper, or how I write these posts rather infrequently now. I didn’t feel like he deserved to be “on the inside” and I stopped myself short of spilling the whole truth. I know in some ways that is not right, but the trust level is far too important to me to give out this information to someone who can put a real name and face with everything I write, which is funny because some of you have all of that and we have never met. But my gut told me to stop and I did as he still has some proving to do to get into the inner circle. Maybe one day he will get there, but not yet.

But, I survived lunch and had a good time and, since then, I have gotten some lovely porn tailored to me. It’s not the end of the world having a porn concierge after all.

More Mother Mystery

Your father was acting stubborn about asking you to help, but I threatened to spank him as hard as I used to and he gave in and called.” – my Mother, 75

Yes, yes, that was the closing phrase of what seemed like a 20 hour phone call with my parents last night where I played the role of the “help desk supervisor 12”. They, “somehow”,  got their GIANT TV on the wrong input and couldn’t find “the Netflix”. Now calls like this happen about once a week and I get to say things like “now look for the home button – it looks like a little house” while my father says things like, “Which remote? the black one or the black one?  Wait, okay, I see a 1, a 2, a 3, now, wait, then it goes to a 4 on the next line” and my mother, in the background says things like “oh, there’s a lawyer on the screen and the words say – ‘Have you been in a car accident?’  Does that help you?” I try so hard to stay patient in those cases and remember that, since I was the curious kid who asked for an entire set of World Book encyclopedias one year before Christmas which I used to pepper them with questions, I am sure this is just karma coming back to bite me in the ass.

I say these things because, I now have to wonder if the kink vibe, gene, occurrence or whatever else you might call it is hereditary? As you know, I have often mentioned that there are clues that my parents had an openness to their sexuality, though I have no idea if they were actually truly open in the sense of the words we use now.

What I do know is that my Mom is back on her investigations into my sex life. After officially being diagnosed with Alzheimers several months ago, she’s on a new, trial drug therapy that is really working wonders. By that I mean that she’s maybe at 60% of where she was 20 years ago, but she’s in a good spot now where she is as fully functioning as many of the red state voters. All this to say is that this week I took my parents to IKEA, which was a first for them. I have never really been around kids, but I suspect the looks on their faces were equivocal to children seeing Disneyland for the first time, because they were just amazed and had such a good time (though it seriously took like three hours to just walk through there at the snail’s pace of old people). At one of the points where we sat down for a snack of Swedish meatballs and some horrid apple cake, my Dad was drawn to a giant bin of funnels and Mom started talking. She talked about her hatred of Trump and her admiration for the women who marched, her opinions on abortion and a woman’s right to choose, and her views on anyone who would dare place me and Axel and any of my friends in a special category and say we are not worthy of everything she and my Dad have rights wise. She was just talking away, while Dad was still staring at the colorful funnels, and then an older African American woman sat near us and she decided to share her opinions with her as well – something my healthy Mom would NEVER have done unprovoked. The woman was all with us, at first, felt some of the same things on Trump, though she grimaced at equal rights for all, specifically gay marriage. To be fair, she said nothing, just made a face, BUT, she was also eating their vegetarian meatballs which, in fairness, should cause a weird look with anyone. My old Mom would have seen that, but my new Mom didn’t which was really clear at the following moment when she said:

“Oh, this is my son Drew, now you should know that he is gay and has an amazing husband who we just adore. Almost 20 years. He even has his name. Look at him, do you want to tell him that he can’t have the same rights as us? I mean, his marriage is as solid as most even though he has a special friend”

In true form, right about this time my Dad and his six, yes six, sets of funnels returned (his theory: .99 for four – “these will last me my whole life”) and, just like always when these subjects come up, he turned that weird shade of white and green that just screamed guilt at something from the past. The lady was lovely, congratulated me on almost 20 years, wished my Mom well, and then pushed that four wheeled steering basket (WTF do they have those?) through the marketplace at a speed that just screamed she was going straight to church. I looked at my Mother who was sitting there with this look of satisfaction on her face and just laughed because, as mortifying as that was, I knew there had to be more coming since we still had at least an hour before we could find the exit doors in that maze of a place.

Nothing was said until the Self Service section when she said “are you okay with what I said?” I said, “what, about me being your poster child for gay rights? of course” and she then said, “No, about your special friend”. I said, “Sure, Mom, but I really don’t know what you are talking about, you need to be clear with me on what you are thinking, because I suspect we are not on the same page with this.” She smiled and said, “Yes we are. We all have special friends in our lives that we need, so enjoy it”. This phrase, more than anything, terrified me as I had some horrible visions of her and her Bunco group in some sort of old woman orgy (and thanks to Thumper I now have real visions about the women). 

And then, as weirdly as it started, it was over. She declared that she was exhausted and dispatched my father for their car. I tried to finish the conversation, but, if you have ever been around anyone with Alzheimer’s or dementia, you know that when they are done with a subject, they are done. When I see her this weekend I will likely try again or see if it comes up because I am going to Thumperland on Tuesday next week and she usually says something when we go through where I will be the next week, but, who hell knows.

In the end, as much as the above mysteries mystify me, I am still thrilled to have them and realize how many gays never get anywhere near the level of acceptance I have, even if it does come with sexual revelations of a septuagenarian and het octogenarian and his funnels.

 

Inaugural Funk

Warning: Least sexy post ever ahead.

I am in an inaugural funk. I suspect I am not alone in this at all because so much is just up in the air right now politically, but I have this weird, embedded sense of fear that that I liken to that little cloud that flies over Pigpen (from Peanuts) constantly. I frankly don’t know if I have ever cared this much about a Presidential election because, in the past, even if my side didn’t win, I could find something to make peace with but this year has stupefied my glass half full side. I am trying hard to open my mind so don’t take this as a full rant, but just know it’s going to take time and some changes before I can do that. That said, history has its eyes on us though and what we do as individuals will make differences, so I am determined to put my big boy jock on and move on with what I can do to make change.

Aside from that, guess who is home for, get this, 12 whole nights? I had a client cancel at the last minute last week which in November would really anger me but in January I don’t really mind at all, so it’s been a good few days thus far continuing my purging of files, unneeded electronics, chargers with nothing to charge, and just the junk drawers in general. As I said earlier, for Axel and I, there is an odd correlation that we will only play our best when everything is in its place and the closets are not packed, so this week the work continues. I decided that our bedroom was not sexy or cool in the slightest – I believe “bland utilitarian” might have been the words to describe it – so this week, while he is at work (and while I am supposed to be), I am bringing sexy back with new furniture, paint, and some nice linens. It’s funny because he and I have never been the type of gays that decorate like we live in a catalog and, our bedroom, while clean and nice, was just where we slept with bright walls and deep wood trim (127 year old house – the millwork is amazing), so now I am going “gay-goth” with three gray walls, one deeply dark eggplant wall behind the bed, a saddle brown couch and cool new nightstands that hang on the wall. This week IKEA loves me! I am thinking about embedding some anchors into the wall where eye hooks can be installed and uninstalled easily, but have yet to figure out the best way to do that while concealing them for the muggles who may be in there one day. I’m crafty though, so never fear.

Okay, okay, before I start discussing craft projects I think it’s time to stop the madness. I know this may be the unsexiest post ever, but I have more for later that is back on topic.Stay tuned.

 

Ugly Candlesticks and a Collar

It’s been a bit since I have written and, frankly, that’s been on purpose as I have spent a few weeks evaluating life goals, career opportunities, and my pervy perspective. Literally, I have been getting my house in order as Axel and I have been pretending we are moving in order to clean every closet, look in every cranny (fyi, what are those?), and open every drawer while piling the front room of the house with things that we are not using to send them to a place where someone else can. While it’s not finished as I have two more closets and one “mystery corner” where I hide things behind a giant okay door to do, it’s been this amazingly cathartic exercise as he and I, it turns out, talk as we clean and take strolls down memory lane.

It started Sunday with the old picture box that contained those antiquated images from our  past lives before each other and our past lives together. There was one particular picture of us from late 1999 or early 2000 which showed me with my sweeping gingery blond hair and him with tall hair and a tan that I still remember as hot as fuck. He was shirtless, legs spread, and in short shorts reflecting what was probably the best shape of his life at that time. I was, of course fully clothed, and skinny, and we were cuddling our golden retriever puppy. It’s this brilliant picture in many ways, but we were so new, so fresh, and, at that point, so fragile as a couple, that it’s fascinating to just think what we had there that we had no idea about. You could almost see the innocence in our eyes and the fact that we were not sure what the world would bring for us as a gay couple in the South, but we had a look of determination and I think that was important. Sexually, I was there scared to admit what I craved and he sat there oblivious to what I would hit him with down the road, but, we repressed that as that’s all we knew how to do.

If we were to recreate that picture now, you would see a larger, more pale Axel who now sports some incredibly interesting scars down that one leg that was so sexy at the time and you would never see him in the same pose as, frankly, I don’t think  he was rebuilt to be able to do that. You would see me larger in muscle and height (I think I grew), larger in girth, and bald as Kojak as the sweeping hair was swept away long ago. And you wouldn’t see the puppy, as she passed almost three years ago at the age of 14. Even with those stark changes, one of the largest differences would be in our eyes as we are now not so new, really not fresh, and, aside from one grouping of a ceramic, fiberglass and plastic hip, pelvis, and thigh bone, not fragile in any way. In contrast to everything we thought impossible in the first picture, we now would sit there with one last name, one car insurance policy, and a determination that even as the world gets scarier this Friday, we will be fine. Most importantly, the cloud of sexual repression is long lifted, though we do still have an occasional fog blow in.

We laughed about that and where we have been and, what we loved the most, is that all these years later we realized that now, right now, we are having the best sex of our lives with each other, and, with others when and if that option is available. While I am sure he wants his abs back as much as I would want my hair again (and we’d both want the golden), I don’t think either of us would want to ever go back to that stage of sexual innocence and denial of who we are and what we want to do, fuck, see, and be.

This all has a point to it as that talk, that realization, and the overwhelmingly freeing feeling of letting go of ugly candlesticks and bad vases we’d been given as gifts, just made what we have now that much more. This is especially true for Axel, who is finding his voice more and more and yesterday greeted me upon my return from the gym with a collar saying he had decided that it would look good on me in the house that day and that I really didn’t have a choice. While I frankly wasn’t much in the mood at that time, that attitude made it all perfect and he was right as it did look good as I went about my day.

This morning as I went to leave, I noticed a stack of jocks and latex briefs on my bag with a note saying he wanted to see a nightly pic again while I was gone (and I suspect it will wind up here too – lol) and, even though this week I am traveling to one of the least sexy places I could go, I will do my best to sexy up the Holiday Inn Express the best I can as I want this clean mind and attitude to continue for us both.

Now, time to board the non-sexy flight to the non-sexy place…