“Mom and Dad, meet Thumper”

As a further glimpse into my weird, kinky, life, I thought I would share with you this morning’s visit to see my parents, which resulted in a discussion about my sex life, in vague details that were clear enough to scare me.

However, first, let me lay a few things out on the table about my Mom and Dad. They are wonderful human beings and have aged into the most accepting, loving people one would hope to ever meet. As they approach their 80’s, they have continued to evolve having discovered  “the Netflix” and other items.  Trust me, walking in to find them watching a lesbian sex scene from Orange is the New Black is something forever scarred into my memory. But, to go back, I think I have mentioned that I was raised by two WASPy types who made me dress for dinners and sent me to etiquette classes when I was in primary school. However, as I approached high school, something changed with them and by the time I was in university my mother was regularly using the word fuck, although usually in wrong, random places. But she tried.

As an adult, and especially now after really getting to know “things” from all of “the straights” who I have gotten to know through this blog, I really do have to wonder about what actually precipitated that change, although, they are still “Mom and ___” (I have always, always called my Dad by his first name so it’s hard to type otherwise), so I just can’t let my mind go there. One day I will share my coming out story to you because it’s sitcom worthy and resulted in my Mother’s entire address book knowing within 12 hours and my mother asking me if I were “top of bottom?” (which is, by the way, not a question a scared 23 year old should ever be asked by their parents. EVER. Take note parents of potentially gay children) but something they said to me that night gave me a clue I have never forgotten. Said clue was the result of my trying to temper the mood with humor and I said something about being glad I was now able to call off the troop of friends I had lined up to “rid my house of the gay” should something happen to me. At that moment, my Mom, who was in her early 50’s at the time, said “Drew, you need to realize that your father and I are sexual creatures and when we die, you will find things here too”. “NO, NO, NO, NO” along with a chorus of The Farmer in the Dell was was what was immediately going through my mind because I could not hear that then and really don’t like to now. Although, as a side note, as soon as I got to my car, I pulled my brick cell phone out to call my sister to share that with her too, because, well, why not? I didn’t even care that it cut into my 20 minute a month cell package from Cingular Wireless.

Okay, let’s now flash forward to today, so twenty something years later. Mom and ___ are celebrating 60+ years together and still light up when the other walks in the room. My mother is in the early stages of dementia that, luckily, has not progressed in years. But, as any of you who have dealt with this know, with that there are some days when things are really clear and other days when they simply are not. We send Stella there a lot because we have found that having a dog around extremely helps her focus and, as evidenced by today, it works.

So, ALL of that to say that this morning I had been at their house for an hour or so just doing what I do when there (adjusting the TV, paying a bill or two, and cleaning porn off of my Dad’s Macbook because he somehow always saves to the desktop) and, as I was getting ready to leave, my Mother said “Drew, your Dad and I are wondering about your marriage and how things are”. This did not immediately worry me because I actually get that question at least 10 times a week from virtual strangers just based simply on my travel and how many nights I am away. However, her question was then followed by, “Because we are so happy and proud for both of you”.

Now that puzzled me and before I could say anything she quickly excused herself to the bathroom leaving me and my Dad standing there looking at each other like “What the fuck is about to come out of this woman’s mouth?” He didn’t say anything at all and I decided to text both Axel and Thumper to let them know what hell I was about to have to deal with, you know, because I am a sharer.

But, when she came back she sat down, which I had also done, and just said “You know we watch you both and we love you each so much and we do worry, but in the last three or four months, you both just seem so happy and content and we are proud of you for so many years together and still looking like that”. WHEW. That was sweet and I could have left there at that point just smiling, however, this is when the suddenly very clear sexually liberated pre-Alzheimer’s seventy something part of her said “Is it because you are having great sex when you are at home. Or, I guess elsewhere when you are out, I mean, who am I to judge, great sex is great sex?”

I did not know what to say. I am not even sure I had a facial expression at the moment. My father looked like he was about to cry, vomit, or go find his porn filled Macbook but we just stood there and looked at each other while Mom smiled like Thumper does after he gets fucked.

Drew. Did. Not. Know. What. To. Say.

After that and at least one more text to Axel, I just said, “Yes, Mom, my sex life is amazing”. In my head, I was thinking of all the second sentences that would pair with that like “when Axel let’s me climax” or “when I go see the boyfriend” or “when Thumper growls because he likes it when I hurt him”, so, I just decided to leave right then.

Actually, this was really nothing but just funny. I am thrilled I still have these problems to deal with and this just made me be very happy that in a world of Amy’s, I am extremely glad to often be reminded that I was not raised by two of them.

The other take away is that they recognized an external happiness that, evidently, both Axel and I are displaying. The opening of our life was amazing and is showing and I am shocked how fast it’s just becoming normal. As another example, Axel has started talking about Belle more. Not in the “is she okay with this” kind of way it started, but now in the “by the way, how is she feeling” way, because he now sees her as the wife of my friend and it doesn’t matter that they have not met nor does it matter what I do to her husband. That’s probably very minor to all of you, but to me it’s HUGE and, well, just makes me, I guess, even happier.

D

P.S. – as a follow up, the second chastity looking lamp was purchased. Axel comment, “Love this. You will coordinate nicely with them if you are being used as furniture”. Lampshade pic below.

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I like the way he hurts…

I like the sounds he makes, when I hurt him.

I like the look in his eyes, when I hurt him.

I like the tension of his muscles, when I hurt him.

I like the way his ass grabs my dick like it’s never been as satisfied, when I hurt him.

I like the fact that, for a few seconds, he leaves me alone in the room when he goes wherever he goes in his mind, when I hurt him.

In fact, I am counting down the days until I can hurt him again.

Hurting him is fun. Hurting him gives me pleasure. Hurting him makes him “hard”.

This all started last week when Thumper tweeted the phrase “he likes the way I sound when he hurts me” and as mentioned, fuck, yes I do. In fact, while reading that phrase, my mind got turned on something fierce (my mind, of course, since, at that point my penis was still bleeding like a skewered goat and couldn’t react accordingly. He has since resumed his excitement over it; however).

Of course, me being me, I could not just accept the fact that his non-comfort, when naked and under me, makes me happy, so I have also been trying to figure out what it is that makes me want to hurt him and why when he begins this weird purr like guttural growl it makes me harder than I have been in years. See, he already has the sexiest voice in Minnesota, but, when it goes into that growly sound, it’s like I have just opened a Costco sized box of Cracker Jacks and the giant prize inside is just pure, dirty, sticky, wonderful sex.

Is that alone the reason? I dunno.

Today, Thumper wrote some advice back to one of his readers about how she should embrace her kinks and feelings because that is not going away and, through this post, I decided to do the same as I am now further embracing mine and have vowed not to even worry about why I feel that way, but to just let those feelings take over when that collared bunny presents me his fine tail and run with it, when possible.

In fact, let’s consider this my coming out as, at least, a part time sadist. Part time, meaning that the absolute only time I don’t want him comfortable is when we are on that path to his internal fireworks. Of course, this may not be a direct path and I have plenty of plans to make this take some time, but those will be between he and I until he shares them, (and you know he will).  I want to get him there faster next time, but in the days leading up to my next visit, we will be taking some steps to insure that as well and those may not be pleasant for him, but he will do them because he knows he has to in order to make his eyes roll back later in the week.  It’s the simple carrot and stick approach, really.

Anyway, let’s go back one week from tomorrow when he reached that place he described, shall we?

What he forgot to mention is that I had also linked the ring of his Steelheart to his locked ankles, so every time I would push him nipple wise, he’d pull himself ball wise and had linked nipple clamps through his collar so when he pulled his balls, he’d also “tug” his nipples. (I am a twisted fuck at times, btw). Actually, in hindsight, he may not have even realized that these elements were there as the scene escalated, but I did take some notes for next time and plan an updated configuration to make sure he won’t make that mistake again. In fact, next time we will get him there faster, keep him there longer, and we will spread out the pain so he may not even realize exactly where it’s coming from. I’ve been reading, my friends, and have all these notes neatly diagramed in my mind for the bunny to try to hop right off the bed, or floor, or windowsill, etc.

But he won’t.

Now, all of this is very relevant to his post last week about “That Place Where You Can Only Take Trust” because, like the twin towers he mentioned at the end, NONE of this can or will happen until I make sure we are both at the right place, the right time, and that our minds are thinking the same way.  It’s only been a few months, but I suspect that if we were at a cocktail party right now we could read each other’s expressions from across the room – his would be one of fascination because he had just seen something sparkly and mine would be some sort of intense look because I’d be pissed we were still there – but we would know, sorta, where the other stood. This party game skill transfers to sex too, because, I like nothing more than to make his downward looking submissive eyes look me in the eye while I control him and one learns a lot during those moments. Trust me.

To answer some more of those questions from earlier responses, yes, we did have a safe word, which was something so unique that I have forgotten it. However, I knew he’d never use it at that point because if I was doing my job right, deep down he’d know that I would never really hurt him and I never ever would. But, at that moment, I know that he was no longer processing such trivial things as bruises, marks, or ER trips, so I had to, and will continue to do so, because, that’s my job. During those times when he is my submissive, my masochist, my hole, and my object, he’s also my responsibility and I do not and will not ever take that lightly.

Besides, the bottom line is something my grandmother always told me as a child:

“Drew, when you grow up, make sure you never send your locked DILF boyfriend home to his wife broken or there will be trouble, young man”.

Words. To. Live. By.