Sub

So here we are on a random Thursday and I find myself with 35 extra minutes I didn’t plan for, so I thought I would write a bit and try to get this posting thing up and moving at a steady speed again. Life is funny in many ways right now, because I don’t know if I have ever found myself at such a point where I am craving both the dom and the sub parts of me with such a vigor that I am not allowing myself to be satisfied on either side.

But first, to address the rabbit in the room, I spend Tuesday afternoon and evening with Thumper and had such a nice time. As you know, we are not talking about naked things here for awhile, though I will venture as much to say that there were none this time, but I remember at some point during dinner just smiling a bit to myself because I was very proud that he and I, a year and a half later, have been able to just be what we are with each other and, I think I speak for him, genuinely enjoy our time together. That said, it’s somewhat funny this week because I am still here. I am working, of course, but just having me around and me having him around, even if we are not seeing each other, is such an odd dynamic that it’s kinda fun in some ways but also totally makes me even more glad that we never started what we started while in the same city. I fly home tomorrow and he and I are going to have a quick dinner tonight, so it will be good to say goodbye in person (again).

Anyway, back to this whole dom/sub conundrum. I want to be submissive. I want to explore every single aspect of it and enjoy it, love it, and embrace it, but I am just not naturally that. That said, up until recently I have been fighting the idea of it based solely on that, but have decided that, in some ways, that is what training is for and if I want it bad enough, I need to let that guard down and go get it. In some ways, I see it as a challenge and one I need to take on full force and have recently been talking to a Dom who is local about stepping in and helping Axel channel his natural dominance and helping me find a submissive happy place. I think he’s likely not that interested in me because I am going to take some work in addition to the whole husband, past boyfriend, public blogging thing, but he’s nice to talk to and I hope that we keep talking as well because just being around people like that will, I know,will help me grow. And, for the record, he’s hot as fuck.  I mean, for God’s sake, just knowing Ferns has taught me 200 things just through osmosis.

But, when I tell myself that I can’t learn this, I have to think about another side of me that is intrinsically an introvert and the fact that I have trained myself to not be when I am working and, apparently, when I am blogging and meeting people who read this. I say that because I am the guy who has two liberal arts degrees because, and only because, they were the only two that did not require public speaking as part of the class. The idea terrified me and I was never going to ever have to talk to anyone as a group. Ever. Then, fast forward a few years and I get my very first job out of college that, get this, required me to go around the country and, yep, give speeches. I was poor, young, and the $18,400 a year it paid me made me feel RICH. So, with time and a few embarrassing situations, I made myself do it. I made myself get better at it and, though I will never, ever tell you I am a natural speaker, 20 years later I travel around the world speaking to people who are way smarter than me and making a good living while doing that.

So, why can’t the same logic apply? The base is that I know I am incredibly turned on by it, I know my husband would give his left arm to have it feel natural for me, and I know that there is the potential to help out there, so I would be foolish to allow my insecurities to get the best of me again, wouldn’t I?

Now, on the dom side, I think you all know that side of me better so I don’t have to explain it as much, but whatever I do on the sub end, I feel my dom side being all, well, dominant, like it’s screaming in my head “don’t forget about me, boy”. I know I can gag that side when I need to, but ultimately I think it will have to be a key element in what I wind up or as I continue to evolve, right?

The bottom line is that whatever happens, it’s going to be interesting and I continue to pat myself on the back for just being open to that idea because, the Drew of the past, would have never, ever done any of what I have done thus far and, well, I would not have met some incredible people like I now have along the way.

This is part one, but the next meeting calls, so something will follow. In the meantime, as always, your thoughts are welcome.

 

 

 

 

Mom, my bisexual, and a lack of interesting sex

Here we are on Sunday night and I have to fly again tomorrow and still have about 200 things I want to get done, though I know that there is not a chance in hell that any of them are going to be touched. It’s an odd thing when you have to live your home life in 48 hour time blocks, but, after four years of this life, I am used to every single thing except the actual leaving.

It’s been awhile since I actually sat down and wrote anything mostly because last week was another round of presentations to the same really uppity people who I pissed myself in front of and, to make it worse, it was one of those six cities in four days kinds of weeks that just wear me the fuck out. I had a goal to write more, but also discovered House of Cards Season 4 and, well, Underwood/Underwood 2016 got all of my attention.

Anyway, this week is better and it’s four days with a new client about a block from Thumper’s office. It’s the ultimate in irony because last year when he and I were showing and telling all the time, I was living like I was all fancy like Eric Estrada or something, cashing in miles and hotel points to go get naked and do “things”. It was worth every point and I enjoyed the public side of my sex because it was guaranteed and everything was a groundbreaking adventure; however now that we are more quiet in all ways, guess who got not one, but six new clients in the land of the rabbit? That would be me – the man with the Minnesota freedom because Axel’s rules clearly stated my penis was mine any time I was in and around Thumper. So, wooooo hoooo. Yes, it’s a broad interpretation, but it’s a loophole I am going to enjoy. For the record, I am not THAT bad, but the thoughts have hit me and, for that same record, I am technically going in a day early so that the rabbit and I can hang for an afternoon and evening and then maybe catch a drink at the end of the week, perhaps even with Belle. Who knows. Stranger things have happened.

Speaking of stranger things, my mother and her fixation on Thumper falls into that category. For the record, she doesn’t know anything more specific about hime other than the time I told her that he, my friend, was texting his (unidentified) boyfriend while laying in bed with his wife (and then she got all crushed on him when she saw his picture on my Facebook). She fixated on that in a sweet way one would not expect of a 70-something WASP and basically commended them on having an alternate marriage and her, Belle, for being so open minded. It’s all in the vaults here, but I am lazy tonight and will just leave it at that. After this, nary a week went by without her asking about them in some way which was always rather cute, yet weird, until it stopped last Fall.

If you remember, we are dealing with a very low stage dementia-ish thing with my Mom that comes and goes based on factors we really don’t yet understand. Every week is an adventure because you just don’t know what the clarity level will be. So, last week, during my Sunday visit, she was processing pretty well but then, out of the blue, she suddenly said, “Drew, how is your man friend?” This caught me off guard and I thought for a second she meant Axel and then I realized that she meant Thump, I think, and so I said “who?” and she responded with “you know, your friend with the really cool marriage and great wife who just lets him be him. Please tell them I said hello”. So, I texted Thump with this weirdness and then started processing before saying “Mom, we don’t say man-friend” but she one upped me and said “well, he’s not your husband so he’s your man friend”. 

Simple as that, really.

But, we all know it isn’t, and, upon further prying I realized that she had gone to the movies the day before with her “girlfriends” and she was simply applying the same logic which made me laugh just as much as the optics of her and four other old ladies rolling down the highway in a S-Class without a clue in the world where they were likely actually going. It’s just funny watching that big circle of aging we are all on in some ways and scary as fuck in other.

Fast forward a week and this morning my whole family was having brunch to celebrate my birthday as well as my Dad’s, which happen to be on the same day, two weeks ago. We were having a nice time and, in the middle of brunch, and during the middle of her incessant story about someone my sister, her husband and Axel and I know nothing about she suddenly stopped and said “_______ (my sister), has Drew told you about his friend who is A bisexual?  I just think that whole story is so nice”. My sister, who has my same thought process, suddenly said “honest and true, Mom, a real live bisexual and my little brother knows one? Wow, Drew, do tell”. 

Luckily we laughed before I did have to tell, but she asked my Mom what her obsession about him was and why she has, apparently, asked her that question about 50 times over the last year (it’s never been mentioned to me). Axel and I were on the edge of our seats, my Dad was turning green – again, and my Mother just looked at her and said “Well, apparently none of us are having an interesting enough sex life for us to talk about, so I go with what I know”.

What else can I say? Mom nailed it again.

 

 

Scars

This last weekend was my birthday. Forty six years I have on me now. Who would have thought that. Ever. It’s funny for me to think that my mother was my age now when I was in graduate school because I cannot fathom that idea because, one, I can’t even see myself with a baby much less an adult and, two, she was so old and cranky then. Damn.

Anyway, I would like to tell you it was an exciting birthday, but it wasn’t. Birthdays have always been big deals to me. I celebrate my own but enjoy really celebrating others. This year was the ultimate year of Facebook and, for the first time, those closest to me didn’t even text, they just posted on my wall much like those random friends from high school who suddenly want to appear to wish you well. I can’t fault (most) of them because it’s the easy thing to do. You login, it’s there, you say something, and you are done. Period. I hate that. In fact, I have now taken to texting or calling friends on the day before to wish them a happy Birthday eve because I want them to know I remembered on my own, to know I cared, etc. But, I digress.

The weekend was supposed to be about me and Axel celebrating the new turns I had mentioned, but I was too damn tired to do that because the week before had almost killed me professionally and I am still recovering because sleep has not been my friend. Add to that about seven kettle one and tonics on Saturday night and, well, Drew was wide awake (I don’t get drunk and sleepy, I get buzzed and then WIDE awake but I never have a hangover). So, Axel and I decided to wait until the proper mindset and attention was there which may be this weekend or may not be, but we will know when that happens and we will take off from that point.

What did happen, was an intense moment of what should have been pure, raw sex that evolved into a few hours of intense, dark, non verbal therapy in many ways. See, physically, Axel has new scars and emotionally we both have them due to various things that have happened over the last year, some you know about and some you don’t, and we vowed to move on, put those things aside and accept what we couldn’t change and just be. Now, I said that I could do that, but I didn’t actually know how until it just happened, which was me getting past my barrier of not wanting to touch, view, or see my husband “damaged”.

It’s been eight weeks since his surgery and I was still treating him like glass, not wanting to drop, bend, break, or touch him deeply. He started to want that again about two weeks ago mentally, but physically he was not quite ready. In addition, I have been scared to really look at him since, scared to accept that this beautiful man I married now is different and that his right leg, my particular favorite of his two, will never be the same. Yeah, three years ago I did this but it was so much less and was always just a little line that formed a cute dent in his ass, but now, it’s almost a tad over two feet of dent, of bruise, of change that runs from about the upper third of his outside thigh and then curves to follow to the center of his ass cheek, now dividing it into two weird beanbag looking areas (it’s still very swollen). I did not want to see this because it represented pain to me. It represented all the struggle of the fall with the pills, the Scotts, the bunny, the money lost, and, probably most importantly, a feeling of lost time and of a wasted three years for him physically. All those things that represented a dark day were now all weaved within that scar and I think I was worried that if I got too close to it, through some twisted reality, it would be like touching the actual mental wounds, or something.

What did happen was Sunday night we were going to bed a bit early because I had a 5am flight Monday and, since it was nearly hot outside, we had the windows open, the lights off, and just the glow of some blue led accent lighting built into the bedroom corners as uplights (they go off at 10) setting this very sexy tone. I was laying on top of the bedding, naked of course, and he was doing his thing and, when done, I heard that now very familiar clop of a crutch or two and knew he was coming to me. What surprised me was that he was also naked and he somehow was able to lift himself up to the side of the bed and in this weird little flip he was suddenly about to be on top of me (I think he’s hanging with the tough kids at rehab). He was there and I was happy but after about 3 minutes and the 117 times I said “are you okay, does this hurt, why don’t you lay down“, he made me shut up and awkwardly maneuvered his dick into my mouth where I was happy to oblige for about 34.5 seconds until I lifted my hands and, instinctually, put both hands on either side of his ass like I have done for 1o0 years. I immediately froze, withdrew my paws, and before I could apologize, he laid down and said “make peace” which I knew meant it was now time for me to touch it, feel it, and, really really look deeply at it.

He laid on his left side and said nothing and I gently started to touch his hip, stroke his leg a bit, and, with the side of my index finger I started tracing his new scar, our new scar, from the start to the end and back and forth (fyi, he says he didn’t feel any of that). I put both hands on it. I touched it. I even kissed it. I think laid my head off to the side of it and, without ever expecting it, I started crying right then and there. I don’t know if I was crying because I was happy, sad, or just letting all of those worries go, but it happened and I needed it. I made peace with this scar, which, for the record is now, only eight weeks out, really no more than a big red line that is indented in most places and swollen in others. I somehow silently welcomed it into our bed and was able to see it as Axel and Axel as it because for the rest of our lives it is going to be there, like it or not.

Crying is tiring and there was no sex, but we both fell asleep in a more at peace place which, I know, will be helpful when I get home this week on Thursday morning. It was an oddly beautiful moment and one I won’t forget, but also one I think that had to happen to let us each go on, having put yet another scar in our chest of scars into our marriage.

But, on a lighter note, I did have one of those crazy dinner with my Mom and she was all about my boyfriend that night (story soon) and Axel bought me a new pair of swim trunks, as seen above, which are now the gayest piece of clothing I own and the most expensive I have ever had designed to be wet, but something I will adore (in the shower or in a non public place, of course). He was very with these and, so was I, but please endure another pic of me so he will know I loved them.

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Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2015 – Number 18

A sex blogger? Me? Me, a sex blogger? I didn’t think I actually talked about sex enough to call myself that, but, Molly did and, it’s with great humility, that I tell you that I was not only included in her Top 100 Sex Bloggers of 2015, but I was number 18! That’s like in the top 20, folks.

I was figuratively blown away by this.

Before I go into all that blowing, let me give you a few links to tell you about the list and the person, Molly, who put this together. To be completely honest, I had never read her prior to this week, but that is something I am absolutely changing as, well, she’s good. As you will see within the link about the background of the list and the work she did HERE, this was an incredible amount of work and all of us listed owe she and her husband a great deal of thanks for the inclusion, but also for the names of 99 other blogs that we SHOULD be looking at as well. Speaking of those 99, the list itself is HERE. In addition, to Mrs. Fever who nominated me, consider this a big, wet, sloppy thank you kiss. You know, the kind that is best done virtually.

So, back to the list and how I discovered that I was a sex blogger.

It happened Wednesday morning about 8:58am Eastern time just as I was walking in to start a three hour presentation to some really big (as in title, not size) people. Now, I was a tad tense because, well, I AM always just a tad tense, but since I had pissed myself the day before I was particularly on edge. However, as I was walking in I received a text from Ferns, my amazing stunningly beautiful Australian girlfriend, that was addressed to both myself and Thumper telling us both that we had “made the list” but also that “we were under her, just where we belonged”. Now, even I would not argue with that logic and I assume Thumper whimpered a little bit wherever he was when he read it, but how fucking cool was that? It was cool enough, I tell you, to absolutely and completely distract me from my presentation and to apparently put my mind into a deviant spot because, within the next two hours, I would use the wrong words and/or phrases within my presentation TWICE that would leave me laughing in my head like a 13 year old and leave everyone else either “amused” or figuring out how not to renew my contract for a year’s worth of these fun sessions.

Actually the phrasing was not awful, but just enough that, well, you know. Specifically, this session was very “motivational themed” (not something I typically do) and I was trying to get this group of stoic people a bitter happier. So, out of context this doesn’t mean much, but these people all run programs, departments, or other areas within a giant system so, in an effort to try to get them excited, spin a bit of competition within the room, and to drive SOME enthusiasm, I stand up and my very first question was “hey folks, who here has the most impressive unit?”. I heard it right as it escaped my mouth and so did everyone else (also in full disclosure, I did enjoy the fact that about five people all looked at the one African American man in the room just waiting for him to either raise his hand or whip it out. It was sadly stereotypical, but kinda funny) I immediately started backtracking with words like “department” but it was too late and they all looked at me like I was an idiot. In my head I was asking myself whether or not I had become a sex talker too, since I was apparently a sex blogger. I enjoyed that until about 40 minutes later when we were talking about their staffing and how employees have “goals and dreams” and that through their behavior they were “raining on those dreams, leaving their staff with nothing but”, you know what’s coming here, “wet dreams”. Fucking hell. Fucking mother fucking hell. I had just crossed a line. In my defense that is a line in one of my favorite Modern Family episodes, but that does not give me the right to start talking like a sex talker in front of this group, especially because this group are likely the most prestigious collection of titles I had ever spoken in front of (and likely might be my last one). Bloody hell. I wanted to crawl into the corner or throw it to my boss again, who had conveniently gone to pee during all of this, but I couldn’t so, get this, I just pretended like I didn’t say it. Despite the screaming in my head of my own voice and that of Fern’s saying something like “Ba ha haaaaaaaaaaa” I just keep right on talking pretending to be as culturally unaware as those men who wear dark socks with sandals while wearing shorts. Luckily, though I saw a few eye contact inside friendship giggles, NOBODY said a word, though I know they all laughed later.

I have no idea how all of that even mattered to be, a new award winner in the Top 100 blogs of 2015, but, I am important now so I guess I can stop worrying about such trivial things.

HA.

Finally, another thank you to Molly. It is indeed an honor to be included.

The Problem with Pee

It’s almost 11pm and I am sitting in the front of a tiny jet waiting to take off at the third world of all airports, LaGuardia. In fairness, they are working hard at making the inside of the terminals better, but tonight I drew the bad card that means my plane is one of the ones that there was no room for, so we had to be packed into a really hot bus where we were stuck for almost 30 minutes “in traffic” driving to the plane. Luckily the Skyteam and their global partners took great care in selecting our driver, an elderly Indian gentlemen who sang the entire time as he was driving as if none of us were even in the bus. While that sounds like I am poking fun, and in a slight way I am because it’s just odd that one will sing while doing their job – I mean, I can’t sing while doing mine, it was actually rather beautiful as, whatever it was, had a spiritual chant like tone that had a snappy rhythm that one could dance to.

I’ve been quiet this week and mostly because I am SLAMMED with work. I know my last post was me saying Axel and I were on the verge of some giant revelation, which we are, but this week I had the privilege, said only half way mockingly, to have been invited to give six three hour presentations to some very elite people with my big big boss, the man whose last name is on my business card. Frankly, he didn’t really need me, but he did need the breaks and, most importantly, he needed someone to do the work, so there I stood being the big boy. We have four of the six completed and he is on a different plane somewhere now, but I have to say this all just made me, well, uptight. Nervous was not the right word because I know how to deal with nervousness as even after probably a thousand presentations I still get nervous, but this was just an uptightness that didn’t really allow me to breathe until I dropped him off at his hotel at night (it sounds cold, but it’s actually quite lovely that in my practice, it’s rare that someone wants to go to dinner, etc). I handled it fine until today, today at the one hour and fourteen minute mark when, basically, I pissed myself.

See, when you walk around with an extra hole in your dick and/or a device attached to it, one must always take the proper precautions and to know that urination is no longer just a thoughtless process. No, it’s not technically hard and, no, it doesn’t really require anything more than a bit of thought, but, like a newbie locked in steel, I didn’t give myself that extra shake or six and, well, it was warmly noted within seconds. You may remember this happened to me many moons ago in Hong Kong and I covered with the splash, but today, that wasn’t really going to work. So, how did I do this you ask? Basically, I had to pee and I had to pee bad.

Unfortunately, this rush to be like a racehorse happened about three minutes into a section of the report I was responsible for presenting and I knew that if I rushed it I would be close enough to the scheduled break that I would be fine. However, me being me (sarcasm), I took what I was going to rush and I spoke on this topic like it was art. I was brilliantly clever with my words, my examples, and no amount of urine in my bladder was going to make me miss the point. Professional Drew was nailing it. Those people were going to carry me out of the room and straight to the Gents because it was going so well, until the question. That one fucking question.

As I am sure you know, there is always one person in any group who just has a way of taking a statement and getting the whole room so fucking off topic in seconds, that I swear they must teach a course on that at the old lady sweater shoppe where one can find all sorts of festive frocks and flags, usually featuring a feline. In this case, this woman was short, frazzled, and had those little chains on her glasses that normally spell trouble in almost any situation outside the Hobby Lobby and, today, she proved her stereotype right as she raised her chubby little hand and said, “Drew, I believe your math on that slide is wrong”. I hated her instantly because, yes, my math was wrong, but this caused about nine other people to start talking about accuracy, not mine, just some general colleague of theirs who they apparently hate and I tried like fuck to get them back on topic because, again, Drew. Had. To. Pee.

The worst part is after about ten minutes of this, they somehow morphed the conversation into exactly where I wanted it to go and brilliance reigned yet again, but I was literally one step away from crossing my legs and jumping up and down. At this point I finally just threw caution both the wind and directly to Max, what we will now call the boss man, by saying something like “and that is really wonderfully stated point and I am going to let Max answer that” before realizing that Max was not paying any attention and had no idea what I had done. So, bad enough that it was that I essentially cold cocked my boss, I then walked straight out of the room and into the hallway where I literally sprinted to the loo knowing that I had about seventeen seconds to go, get back, and pretend like I had never left. This was going to be one of those bathroom breaks where I was going to rebel against the hand washing sign because my turnaround was tight. It felt so good to pee that I selfishly allowed myself about thirty seconds to enjoy it before putting my friend away and running back to the meeting which is why, at this point, I forgot the second shake which, in the case of the urethral barbelled, causes a wee bit of piss to stay in the tube hiding until that exact moment when you point yourself south and tuck in. Today, as I began my springy step back toward my session, I realized what I had done almost instantly and there was not a single thing I could have done aside from slip into the room like a super sluethy ninja and take my place at – and as far under the table –  as I could, which was not a place I had been before. Luckily, Max noticed this and, right before he tried to turn it back over to me, I gave him a look that apparently said “look, your name is on the door of a really expensive office suite and if I stand up here now it might be the end of all of us, so please, please old man keep talking (FYI, my face is very expressional)” and, luckily, he did.

While he talked about whatever, I prayed to both the watersports gods to dry my gray pants quickly while also asking myself WWFD (you know, what would Ferns do?) and luckily, the break was had, most people left, and I sat before taking a peek to find everything dry and happy and, unlike the Drew who would usually go far out of his way to over explain, I said nothing until Max came up to me and said, “what happened, you piss yourself?” FUCK, I’d been caught. While my mind mapped out what my resignation letters would actually say, I realized that he was just being an old man and was joking, so I fired back with some stupid male something like “no old man, I just wanted to see you work”, which resulted in a hearty laugh, a slap on my shoulder, and a “keep it up, kid” comment. Apparently, even as I possibly I sat there in a puddle, somehow, I won thus further proving to me that mixing old white men and corporate America with urine, is somehow this weird mix that wins. Who knew?

As an aside, I think this realization might also explain the current Republican presidential race?