Blame it on Global Warming?

It was an oddly balmy day for late January in River City. Temperatures in the mid-60s?  Of course there's no such thing as global warming, right?

Maybe it was the weather that got Mistress and Slave a little randier than normal.

There was some steamy wake-up sex before we both headed to work.

Then it turned out Mistress was stopping by at a client's office in my building at mid-morning. When Mistress stops by, no matter how briefly, the first order of business is a sp,e appropriate worship. Slave slides the chair against my (unlockable) door for a little privacy. The soft and absorbent blanket is placed on its seat and Mistress settles into her throne. 

Yesterday, though they probably weren't necessary, she had on her black tights and lace up knee scraping black boots. So she had to slide off one boot and wriggle off a leg of those tights to give Slave access to her clean shaven folds.

Falling to my knees, I went to work, and soon had Mistress squirming in her seat to a nice little mid-day cum. I didn't take a picture, but this illustration from a new blog I found (and listed on the role) called Lipstick and Ligature suggests that office worship has a long and international tradition.  I just need one of those overstuffed chairs:

 But one comment on this guy's technique: not sure old Mick's aging knees could handle the "deep knee bend" approach he is using in this illustration. Ouch. Let's hope that lady cums as quickly as my Mistress.

Soon she was off for another meeting, but not before I mentioned I'd be home a little early, after a dentist's appointment. She then decided to head home early too, since she'd be at a meeting closer to home as well in the late afternoon. I mean why truck all the way back downtown?

Which meant we were both home by  4 pm.  I sorted through Mistress's AM in-box while she handed a call with a client.

I've gotten pretty cut-throat when it comes to deletions of her many potential suitors, knowing more about Mistress's particular standards as the process has unfolded. Yesterday I was happy to delete two dudes of the "passing through town, so lets hook up" genre.

"That's what escort services are for, Slave...."

"Exactly".

Any guys who, in their first contact use the words "babe", "sweetheart" or "cock" are also sent back to cyber oblivion.

Plus anyone from a little town called "Union, Ky."  We think AM must have done an intensive marketing job there, because 2 out of every 5 guys between the ages of 25 and 65 must have an account.

After Mistress was done with ehr call, we quickly shelved the idea of a pre-dusk bike ride,  stripped off the work clothes and settled in between the sheets.

There were other priorities.

On Cyber Mating

 In lieu of a real blog today, I'm sharing this interesting link, spun off the strange tale of the linebacker with the not really dead pretend girlfriend. 


Manti and the Mating Game - NYTimes.com

Good point: sure on-line hook-ups are a tad bizarre. But consider the more limited options beforehand, dear readers. 

Free at Last

At approximately 11:55 am yesterday morning, Mistress and her devoted Slave dropped our daughter off at the airport. Her college has some sort of interminable winter "intercession" that means 2nd semester does not begin until this week.

And as charming as she can be .... well, let's face it, she's not so charming to her oh so tedious and insufferable parents... we were in a celebratory mood when she stepped into the security line for her trip back to campus.

"At last, Mistress, we have our empty nest back!"

"Not a moment too soon, Slave...."

It was almost like a vacation back at the UCTMW World HQ, Sunday afternoon. The NY Times awaited. And with the first Sunday in many months with no NFL football to watch (ProBowl? Please?), Slave had no excuse to put off what Mistress had been lobbying for for several months.... finally tuning into the Downton Abbey Series that so many of her friends had been touting as "mist see".

So we lounged about, Mistress flashing those folds beneath her lounge wear, and watched several 1st Season episodes via Hulu.  Slave paged through the paper and did his duty as Mistress's designated social secretary on Ashley Madison. (Mistress hates the task of having to sort through an overly full inbox, so it's my job to make the first cut, deleting the suitors who are clearly unsuitable, and bringing the rare few who might make the cut to her attention).

After about two episodes, there was a Downton Abbey "recess", including a nice late afternoon nap, followed by our second round of sexual play of the day. Mistress was a little surprised when I deployed her favorite power tool to provide a little more fun for her clean shaven folds. She even asked permission before she came, without me having to remind her it was Switch Day. And Slave was more than happy to take his turn the old fashioned way, after she had a nice mega-cum thanks to the miracle of sexual technology.

After  two bodies in motion finally came to rest, we fixed ourselves some dinner, and watched another 2 episodes of the show that so many folks have been chattering about. About mid-way through, I had already adopted an annoying twitty English accent, securing me a severe reprimand.

"You're making fun Slave.... it's really not that bad, is it?"

Actually it wasn't that bad. I've always taken a shine to Elizabeth McGovern. But still, it's not exactly Homeland. And is it sufficiently macho to say you enjoy anything on Masterpiece Theatre? Am I going metrosexual like Tom Brady?

"It's OK Mistress... but I hope they add some Vampires by the time we get to the 2nd season...."

What's the point of a drafty English manor house without vampires? Or at least a few zombies?

From the Desk of Our (Appalled) CEO

 

Dear Readers:

Yes, we have been on and off again with you here at UCTMW. Such is our life. Like you, we are busy. Luckily we get back to the empty nest later today, after we drop our surly Co-Ed off at the airport for her 2nd semester,  and can resume  a more robust degree of debauchery. This is not to mean that we will locate others to join us in this pursuit any time soon, despite some recent and frustrating efforts.

We have almost given up thinking that we will find an ensemble cast scenario as compelling as the one over at “All Mine.” We often say WOW – how did the three of them find one another? (Not even counting the occasional cameo appearance of Suzanne’s sister Sherry). Based upon the somewhat fleeting rogue's gallery of supporting actors and actresses who have stumbled across the stage here at the UCTMW World HQ, we are not quite as fortunate.

We have not been completely dormant here in the past two months. No excitement please; there has not been any conjugal visits between suitors and me or us since before the holidays. But while I have kept the door open a crack, I am darn close to closing up shop on the “search”. The more men encountered – the more I scratch my head. Are people really this confused? Or disingenuous? Or do we just have a knack for unearthing the most peculiar whack jobs who have walked our quaint River valley?

I do have some training in psychology – but some of what I have encountered defies modern science’s understanding of the human condition. Some reasons observed or given for why yours truly has not  “scored” of late:

1)   The WC: well, this would be a model situation, if only…. And those of you who read – know the challenges here. We love you WC! And at least we now know you really exist. Get well soon!

2)   Jay: our Jay seems to like me too much actually to be involved with me. What red-blooded American male will not just provide the service without some guarantee of a “happily ever after” future involved? I seem to have met him. No Jay, it’s really not all that confusing.

3)   K: his cyber girlfriend, who lives 1000 miles away, gets jealous of what he might be doing when she is not around. He sees her every few months and gets hot and bothered in between. Ergo, he texts me. Great sex – yes, great eye candy – but not the most interesting man ever. Constantly guilt-ridden about cyber-wife, oh well. Way too much trouble.

4)   One you never learned of – Married – and I basically am anti-married guy. Lots of info shared. Bread broken. Guess what – he doesn’t cover his tracks thoroughly – wife gets suspicious   – he gets nervous. Major 911 – yea dude—told you cheating is NOT a good idea. Yes, heard from him again last week. No thanks buddy. And you want to  Collar me???

5)   Another cougar week foray; D. Yes, great sex. Fun and entertaining free spirit. But you neglected to tell me about your CRIMINAL RECORD. And not a good idea for me to be at your place next time the police come calling. I know that you love to snowboard – but you are not invited to our mountain hide-a-way.

So readers, without telling you, in the last week or so  we did a brief  nostalgia back into Ashley Madison  and Collar me – and some of what we found – and know that I have not met any of these guys face to face, is even more appalling – a few dispatches from the field:

1)   A potentially interesting Dude retired from the Marines (a flyer) and a boxer – but (after one brief conversation) says “I am already developing feelings for you and you are married”  (Well, yea. Didn't I make that clear? ) Another would be “Dom” with the sensitivity of a butterfly. 

2)   A guy from down river who chats me up via email and then  says, ”Let’s talk, but I need to first get a throw-a-way phone”.  (What? That much paranoia already?  no thanks.)

3)   Guy who’s “private showcase” of photos shows some very hot abs! Claims to be single. But then says, “I want to meet you but cannot give you my full name till I see you face-to-face”. (security reasons!). Is this guy in the CIA, or maybe the KGB? Could it be General Petraeus, a tad bored? No, this girl likes to do a little due diligence research first before meeting face to face.

4)   Another guy from down river, says he is “legally separated”. Gives me his name and facebook friends me. Hooked up by Linked In too. Intriguing, I suppose, though a bit of a name dropper. But how old is he really? On AM he says he’s 55. His facebook page says he’s 63.  Why lie about your age, compadre?

What am I doing wrong here, friends?

Any tips?

The appalled,

Molly

The Brady "Slide": A UCTMW Investigative Report

Deadspin.com has gotten some attention in the last two weeks for their hard hitting investigative reporting on whether a certain naive linebacker made up his dead girlfriend, or if someone made her up for him.

It made me realize that we've lost our edge here at UCTMW in recent months, what with our Western Correspondent continuing to malinger on a long running worker's comp leave, and our Senior Correspondent trolling for cute cat pictures on the internet.

Ah well, I suppose it's time for Mick to don his Sherlock Holmes chapeau and see what I can unearth.

But in truth, it was actually Suzanne over at All Mine that got me onto this story.

Last Sunday, as Mistress snoozed through the second half of an endless NFL play-off double header, Suzanne (who was home with Tammy watching her beloved Patriots lay a 2nd half goose egg against the Ravens) and I were trading emails about the deterioration of Tom Brady's game in recent years.

And the one thing that symbolized it was a rather bizarre "slide" late in the first half.  You can see the video here: (Brady Slide video).  My first impression was that he looked like an un-co-ordinated dork. But on further review, it may be that he was "fending off" Raven safety Ed Reed in a not too veiled effort to "eunuchize" the guy who has feasted on interceptions from Brady and other NFL QB's over the years.  Now the NFL has socked Brady with a $10,000 fine,  apparently concluding that his upraised leg was not just a "spaz attack", but more akin to Pete Rose trying to take out a catcher.

Classy.

Suzanne also tutted about Brady's failure to run for a first down in the 2nd half, when a forced throw ended yet another drive for her Pats.

So what accounts for this "slide" in Tom Brady's performance?  Suzanne speculated it was the "curse of Gisele", his super-model wife.

"They haven't won a Super Bowl since the big wedding day."

Hmmmm..... Is it just bad luck, or is Gisele doing something to Tom that has made him lose that competitive edge?

Suzanne had a theory: "Maybe she's fucking him in the ass..... ?"

Ah, the possible sissification of the guy who used to be the NFL's most potent stud-muffin.  That might explain it. Could there  be evidence?  Sure enough, as I trolled about the internet, there was plenty:

Certainly Gisele cuts an authoritative path:

And Tom has begun sporting the trappings of sub status:

Some recent images of the two of them together makes it pretty clear through their body language who is in charge, doesn't it?

And what about this shot? That's them right?

So over a few short years, with some intensive "therapy", Tom Brady has turned from the guy who would risk all to score that winning TD in a snowstorm, to this guy:

It made me wonder what Gisele picks out for him to wear under those tight football pants and jersey before a big game. Amazingly, I was able to get to the bottom of that too:

Very cute, don't you think?

But as Suzanne ultimately concluded: "Not that there's anything wrong with that."

Well I suppose I can see her point of view. 

Abstinence Day Redux?

It's been cold here in River City this week.... not "cups of boiling water freezing in your hand" cold as Sin was touting from the great north... but cold enough for Mistress to forego her black tights for her black satin pants yesterday.  And while Slave is a tights fetishist going back to my elementary school days, I must say I enjoy the texture and feel of those satin pants.

With the sullen teen home, and an early performance for me yesterday morning, Slave and Mistress also had to forego our traditional wake-up sex on Thursday morning.  So it was fortunate that Mistress was able to stop by my office after a lunch meeting. It did not take her long to wriggle out of those black satin pants and assume her proper position on her "throne", once it was pressed against my office door.  Slave was quickly on his knees, serving up a little post-lunch dessert.

Of course, my "reward" was expected later, in the privacy of the executive suite.

At the end of the day our daughter was hungry. And since she has elected to be a vegetarian, and the cupboard was running bare, we elected to walk down to a little neighborhood restaurant for dinner. By the time we were home, and some of the household chores were finished we retired to the our room, a tad later than normal.

Slave offered to perform his husbandly duties, but Mistress demurred. 

"Slave, I'm quite satisfied after today's lunchtime worship....  you'll just have to wait until morning."

Gulp.

Now we used to have a weekly abstinence day here at UCTMW, applicable only to Slave of course.

"It's good for you to exercise a little self control now and then, Slave", was the message.

And I am overly pampered, as some of you have noted regularly.

I'm wondering ... is Mistress is deciding to exercise a little more of her authority over her Slave?

Sent to Our Room

The nest is filling up again, at least through Sunday.

Our well traveled daughter is back from the land down under, looking tanned, and having fully exploited the 18 year drinking age there with her buddies, who are  on their summer holiday. (I'm still waiting for the Creationists to explain why God would ever make it summer on one hemisphere and winter on another.)

We picked her up late Tuesday night at the airport, after fully exploiting our last evening alone this week here at the UCTMW World HQ

Then last night, after I made dinner, as she sprawled across our couch and worked on the photos from her adventure, we asked if she'd like to watch a TV show with us.... maybe the latest episode of Girls, or Californication.

She looked at us with the disdain that only a 19 year old can muster.

"Why don't you just go to your room."

Well, OK. Why argue with that "sentence".  There were some clean shaven folds to worship, after all.

Catching Up for Lost Switch Days

It's been a while since Slave properly exercised his Switch privileges on a Sunday.... have I been lazy? Or was it simply the holidays and kids around that kept me in my more apropos submissive role?

In any event, with an empty nest yesterday, and no big plans other than heading to the gym early, and watching football late, there was no impediment for me giving Mistress a taste of her own medicine, was there?

So after returning from the gym, Mistress was instructed to strip off those spinning togs and lie on her tummy as I afixed those red cuffs to her wrists and then attached her properly to the bed.

Her ass was satisfactorily reddened with the palm of my hand, with a little twat tweeking interspersed to build up a little tension.

"What are you doing Slave?"

"Keeping you a little on edge Mistress.... will it be a slap from my palm, or my highly experienced digits sliding to and fro through those clean shaven folds?"

It was nice to have her going from cries of "agony", to moans of delight and back again.

But I'm really not programmed to frustrate Mistress.  So it wasn't long before I reached under the bed for her favorite power tool, that ended up thrust between those firm, well exercised thighs. Soon those ass muscles were flexing, tensing, trying to purchase just the right level of stimulation as I twisted and probed with her Hitachi.

Of course, the machine was turned off for a bit if it seemed she was getting there a little too fast. We had all morning after all....

"What are you doing, Slave?", she asked in frustration.

'What's your rush, Mistress?"

After I switched her little toy on again, pressing its churning bulb again betwixt those creamy folds,  she soon was begging to cum.....

And who was I to deny her?

She moaned into her pillow, her whole body tensing, pressing hard as she could against her power tool as she went over the edge....

"That was nice, Slave....."

"We're not done just yet, Mistress....

No, Slave had to cash in his chips too.

His Spooky Girlfriend

It's been a particularly low key weekend here in River City.

With a sullen teen returning from the land down under on Tuesday night, it's our last empty nest weekend for .... well, another week of so.

So why not just hang out, go to the gym, have some wake up sex, then more afternoon sex after a nice decadent nap.

Today's plans are pretty much the same. But maybe the AM sex will wait until after the gym today, to accommodate Mistress's early spinning class.

Then there may be some football to watch this afternoon and evening. I'll try to make sure Mistress's clean shaven folds don't get too lonely though.

I did take some time yesterday to visit my grumpy Mother, while Mistress had lunch with her Mom. I could tell that the story about my alma mater's linebacker and his non-existent not-dead girlfriend had gone viral when it was the first thing my mother asked me about after I poured myself some tepid coffee and passed on the post-dated milk in her refrigerator.

Of course, her perspective on the story was not quite as nuanced as some.

"What's this about with the Notre Dame guy who had the pretend girlfriend?"

She didn't know the back story. Hadn't realized that the story had been milked by the media for months as if he really had a girlfriend who died on the same day as his grandma. All she knew was that this guy thought he had a girlfriend who died, and it turned out that she was never real at all.

"How dumb can you be?"

"Well, Mom you need to consider the fact that he is a linebacker....."

That seemed to go over her head. So I had to explain that in this modern age, it's not all that unusual for folks to meet and build relationships of a sort on line, and maybe only communicate by email or text message. Maybe they talk on the phone too. I didn't get into the concept of phone sex... Nor did I explain that her beloved daughter in law had a similar arrangement with a certain Western Correspondent of her vast media empire that went on for a couple of years before we were able to verify his actual existence.

She might have thought all of us were a little dumb,  or crazy, like that ND kid.

I also explained my operating theory: that the kid had been suckered into this relationship by some people who were in it for sport, and that he had been let down by the spinners and coaches at ND who had let the story be exploited by the media even though it seemed a tad incredible from the very beginning.

Maybe a 20 year old Mormon linebacker from Hawaii can be naive and gullible. But the  press flacks at a major University and his Coaches -- they should have been experienced and clever enough to ask the right questions: like if your girlfriend is really dead, how come you're not even asking to go to the funeral, kid? 

Did they peddle and milk the story to pump up his chances to win the Heisman trophy, something that would surely help the University's own image and recruiting prospects? The same place that asked a QB when I was there to change the pronunciation of his name to rhyme with that big assed trophy?

Maybe.

Or were they just dumb, like the media that did no fact checking on this sad, tear jerking tale as they used it to build ratings for the BCS Championship game on January 7th?

But at least it provided something for my Mom and me to talk about other than who's sick and which mother of one of my brother's old girlfriends died last month.

Spooky Girlfriend

Say it Ain't So

Mistress was avoiding her office yesterday it seemed, so she spent some time camped out in mine between meetings. It was nice to have her about, and in such close proximity, particularly after her overnight business trip earlier this week.

And of course it gave me an opportunity to graze within her clean shaven folds as a little post lunch palate cleanser.  Mistress did not have on her special peek-a-boo tights, so she had to slide off one boot and leg of her conventional tights to accomodate a little mid-day worship.  The result was an interesting contrast of limbs after I pressed her "throne" up against my office door to provide a little privacy.

The result was a lovely break in the middle of a busy day for both Mistress and Slave.

But another matter crossed my computer screen yesterday: the bizarre tale of the linebacker from my alma mater and his pretend dead girlfriend.

It's still not clear to me what the hell happened: what Manti knew and when her knew it? And (more importantly to me) what the ND shills and handlers knew and when they knew?

But what was intriguing to me is the role the internet and a "cyber" relationship played in the dead fake girlfriend hoax.

Here in the sex blog world we have all developed rather "unique" relationships with friends and for some folks, lovers, that are not grounded in the conventional. In other words, we "talk" via emails or comments, but never hear each others voices or meet.

Well sometimes.... for several years, we had an e mail and telephone relationship of sorts with our Western Correspondent. Not unlike the purported relationship between Manti and the imaginary girl, who apparently "spoke" via phone with him sometimes.  But ultimately, we finally pried him into the light by scheduling a flight through his hometown one day.  Sure enough, the big guy is who he claimed to be (though there were moments we had out doubts, and Mistress did not get a chance to inspect the legendary SOC on that visit).

And we have met Bill and Donna.

Yesterday I was emailing with Suzanne over at All Mine about the Tale of Manti. Although we've become close with her and her sidekicks through emails and running comments, we've never met or talked.

"I suppose you might be a trucker from Montana, and I could be a stripper from Vegas,", I emailed.

Let's hope we find out someday. Trust, but verify used to be Ronald Reagan's watch cry.  It's something Manti should have picked up on. And also the spinners at the ND athletic department who exploited this half baked story and contributed to his apparent humiliation and exploitation.

But in the meantime, I will always be skeptical about the gullibility and/or credibility of linebackers.

Welcome Home Mistress

It's been dark, cold, wet and gloomy this week in River City. The only thing to do is huddle up and share bodily warmth until the misery of a drab winter passes, or at least until we can flee to our Southwestern Hideaway again.

And adding insult to injury, Mistress had to spend Tuesday night on the road, off in one of our state's dreary backwaters.

"You'll be in your cage all day, Slave."

Of course I would.

Now I know Suzanne over at All Mine will not sympathize, but when cold weather meets the hard steel of that confining cage.... well, OUCH. Those tender balls want to contract and hide as the temperature falls. But their path is blocked by that hard cold ring.

The result can get rather uncomfortable as the day goes on, and unfortunately Slave had several appointments out of the warm confines of my office.

OUCH.

So when I finally got home, late after a client meeting, I was thrilled that Mistress was in an indulgent and beneficent mood.

"You can take it off, Slave.... and I won't make you wear it tomorrow.

Ahhh...

""...But no touching, Slave...."

It was a fair price to pay.

Last night, Mistress and I both arrived home by 6 pm, giving us plenty of time for some hot re-union sex in the executive suite. And after a cold and lonely night the prior evening, it was heavenly to sidle up to her warm and sumptuous body through the night.

In a damp cold January in River City, one has to embrace life's simpler pleasures.

Wake-Up Sex Interruptus

Mistress and Slave were deep into the denouement of our wake-up sex on Saturday morning when my cell phone rang.

The cell phone on the dresser across the room.

Now normally Slave and Mistress simply ignore such aural distractions, like I try to ignore the cat crawling across my back when I am grazing betwixt Mistress's shapely thighs.

But I had a feeling that this was my adult daughter, calling about arrangements for me to collect my cute grandsons later in the AM and take them swimming at our athletic club.  And since she's one of those contrarian millenials who has no cell phone and relies on a land line, I knew I had to pick up or maybe miss her all together once she left the house.

Mistress was none too happy when I ceased my plunging into those delightful clean shaven folds to take this call, though she understood once I provided an explanation. Sure enough, it was my daughter and we established our co-ordiantes quickly, with minimal small talk.

And I was extremely fortunate that Mistress welcomed me back into her arms (and folds), my cock still amply attuned to resuming its prior activity con mucho gusto.  After all, she'd already had at least two cums. She might have deferred me to later, I suppose.

Once we had resumed, I commented on the unfortuante interruption.

"Do you think it occurs to a 34 year old woman with 2 kids that when she calls her 62 year old Dad at 9 am, be might be having sex with his wife?"

"I doubt it Slave.... we probably have more sex than they do."

She's probably right. Slave is a lucky guy after all.

Speaking of luck, well the WC's Donkeys ran out of it last night. I watched that entertaining game until shortly after halftime, when the Broncos were up against the dreaded Crows 28-21, after two kick returns for TDs.

No way PFM loses at home with that type of an assist from his special teams, right?

We go to see Zero Dark Thirty (an amazing movie BTW) and get home at around 10 pm . I check ESPN. Incredibly, they tell me that the Mile High team ends up losing in double overtime. Did they all light up some of that newly legalized ganja on the sidelines after that kick-off return to start the 2nd half? Were they all humming "Rocky Mountain High" rather than listening to PFM bark audibles? I mean,  that is a collapse that only my Pussycats could pull off!

Miguel, I'm thinking the Donkeys  might have been better off keeping Tim Tebow, who got them through at least one play-off game last year, right?

Did the Good Lord intervene and punish John Elway last night for forsaking his chosen one?

Better luck next season, WC. Maybe the good Lord will have bigger equines to fry. (or would it be send to the glue factory?)

Back to a Confining Routine

Suzanne over at All Mine will be happy to know that Mistress has me back in my cage today.

We've been back in River City for just short of  48 hours now. There has been time for a few rolls in the hay to take the edge off that long sex-less road trip across the High Plains of Colorado and Kansas, and the Prairies and rolling hills of Missouri, Illinois and Indiana.

But last night, on a drive home in the rain after our long back to work day, Mistress announced that she'd been invited over to Jay's house for a glass of wine after work today.

"I hope you don't mind, but he seems to have missed me.  Consider it a mission of mercy."

"No problem, Mistress."

"And, since you'll be driving alone tomorrow, you will be wearing your cage."

I suppressed a groan.

"Yes, Mistress.... that's your call."

"And it may seem unfair, but I want you to go straight home. No diversions....."

"Yes, Mistress....."

So this AM, after several weeks of being spoiled, Slave had to scrunch into that tight steel ring. Fortunately, Mistress did allow me to make love to her before we showered and she closed the lock on my little container for the day.

Let's hope she doesn't stay out too late tonight.

Dispatch from the Road

Sadly, the motel where we came to ground last night in Independence , MO had only the tradionatl 2 bed set up.  And while our cute Co-Ed seems to sleep soundly, I was a little sheepish about showing me devotion to Mistress's clean shaven folds when I woke early this AM.

So the draught goes on.... at least until we can in good faith claim its time for bed in the executive suite in River City this evening.

So rather than provide you with anything provoctive, I will share some clips that I had slipped to one side on my laptop screen:

Here's one about a Canadian writer who won the "coveted" bad sex writing award for 2012.
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2012/12/05/canadian-wins-uncoveted-bad-sex-in-fiction-award/

No, of course it wasn't our friend Sin, who has a much more measured approach to her use of colorful adjectives.

And there is this one about a red faced Brent Mussberger, still calling football games at age 73, who went on a little too long on Monday night about the Miss Alabama who dates the QB of the Alabama Crimson Tide:

http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/early-lead/wp/2013/01/08/espn-apologizes-for-brent-musburgers-comments-about-katherine-webb/?hpid=z4

What's great about the article is it's "tutt-tutt" tone, while treating us to a photo of the dishonored lady in her bikini.  Thank you for sharing, Washington Post.

But I must say that the saccarine tone of the ABC / ESPN coverage on Monday night made me miss Howard Cosell all the more.

Ouch

Slave is still licking the psychic wounds generated by the butt kicking suffered by my alma mater at the hands of the Crimson Tide last night. We did have an enjoyable time sharing our pain at the local radio station / bar with several like minded fans, including the notorious Mattress Mary, who considers herself one of the University's "subway alumni".

If there was a hound's tooth fedora available, I suppose I'd have to eat it!

But life goes on, and there's another season ahead.

Now Slave, Mistress and the cute Co-Ed are driving across the endless high plains of Kansas, unsure whether we'll make it to Missouri before we call it quits for the night.

It could be a sad, sexless night unless we can find a hotel with a suite like arrangement along the way. Though maybe we could persuade the Co-Ed to run an important errand for 30 mintues or so?

Unlikely.

So think of the horror of Mistress and Slave going nearly 48 hours without conjugal bliss.

That's even more discouraging than a final score of 42-14.

A UCTMW Intervention

Our days here in the Southwest are winding down. After a last day of skiing today with our cute C0-Ed,  Slave will be watching the momentous clash between my alma mater and the dreaded Crimson Tide at a local radio station / bar with a large screen and cheap beer prices. Mistress and daughter will be avoiding my angst by going out for some regional food at another restaurant. Hopefully they will agree to pick me up after the dust settles, regardless of the score.

Despite the presence of our daughter, we have tried to slip in some "maintenance" sex. Luckily she is a heavy sleeper, so our "wake up sex" routine has remained on schedule. And yesterday, we were able to slip in a  apres ski 'nap", allowing Slave to deploy Mistress's favorite power tool, much to her apparent delight.

Obviously, tonite's game has got Slave a little anxious. Yes, it's only a silly game. But the Irish have not claimed the national title since 1988, wheras the Tide has won several in recent years.  It made me recall some other great moments in Crimson Tide history over the weekend:

Like this moment, when George Wallace stood in the school house door to block integration at 'Bama:

Ultimately, with some persuasion by U.S. Marshals and the National Guard, the Crimson Tide discovered there might be some benefit in integrating their sports programs, though it took a while.

Then there was this moment in 1973, when legendary head coach Paul "Bear" Bryant lost the national championship and his trademark hounds tooth fedora to ND head coach Ara Parseghian:

Undeterred, Coach Bryant embraced his inner fashion maven and launched his own fashion line in the mid-70's at Sears Roebuck, called the "Bear Essentials". Don't you like the way the pink checks on his "sport" coat, contrast with the black and white hat?

But while I was getting a little too obsessive in my BCS "pre-gaming", our Senior Correspondent was paying attention to the questionable health care decisions of our Western Correspondent, who seems to have suffered some scary complications as a result of what should have been relatively minor out patient surgery. He seems to have confidence in his doctor, but we would all like him to get a second opinion.  Here is Donna's proposal, which calls for some help from our friends over at All Mine:

Hi Guys,
I'm thinking we may need to do an intervention on the WC.
What would be the harm in just letting another doctor look over his file and take a look at his gut to see that everything is going as it should?
But, if he doesn't want to go that route, Bill (our Director of Security International) is willing to sanitize some tubing the plumber left here after our leak downstairs, and it's not bragging to say that I am a fairly good seamstress.
Bill and I can bring the tubing, the moonshine for sanitizing and my suture kit.
Mick's job is to distract the WC with some legal yackety-yak while Suzanne sneaks up to shove a stick between his teeth to bite on. When he realizes what is happening, Molly can break out her flogger and make sure he understands he won't move. Tammy and Mick can start talking sports to the WC while Bill holds his feet down. Then Sue can read the directions to me from the medical book I have. Well, it isn't actually a medical book, but it's Bill's father's Navy Pharmacist's Mate handbook. And really, how much could have changed since 1942?
I think we're all set. Okay?

Great plan, Donna. Either that or the WC gets in his car and drives down here today for a consult with my new Medical Director, who is a "medical intuitive", "gifted clairvoyant", and can perform "neural and vascular manipulation". He should quickly be able to get to the bottom of the WC's problem.

Count Down to Kick-Off

We've had some unusually cold weather here in the Sangre de Christo Mountains these last few days, with readings of 17 degrees (and worse) below in the pre-dawn hours up on our Ski Mountain. It's generated a bit of whining from the cute Co-Ed, but, thankfully, the sun has been so bright and the skies so clear that it actually seems pretty warm on the slopes, at least until around 2:30 pm when some of the runs lose their sun.

Of course, this generates a need at the end of the ski day to adjourn for a couple of hours to our bedroom and huddle under the sheets for some shared bodily warmth, and other "activities".

"Do you think (our daughter) sees us as anti-social, Slave?"

"No.... just lazy.... she's huddled under her covers too, on the internet....."

This afternoon we may come in off the mountain a tad earlier than usual to catch the Pussycats play the Texans, a game that Slave does not have much hope for. (Though I note a Houstonian friend here has backed off a betting opportunity, poor mouthing his team's chances too.)

But my major focus (other than Mistress's clean shaven folds) over the weekend will be Monday night's historic confrontation between my alma mater and the team from Alabama.

Our daughter set the tone when she gave me the Christmas gift, shown below:

I know, if I am a true fan, I'd fire up the grill, or stick this sucker in our Kiva fire place, and brand my team's insignia on a handy apendage prior to game time!  (Maybe only if we win!)

Truth be told, my enthusiasm for this particular university has waned a bit in the last year, as they unnecessarily waded into a fight over whether religious institutions should be required to provide the same health benefits (including birth control coverage) that regular employers must provide.  As a father of girls, I sure think so!  This article in the Washington Post talks about that, and whether the affinity for those of my generation who grew up Catholic should automatically be fans of the Fighting Irish.

But while I may have a bone to pick with the current administration, my Irish blood runs deep, and I have to admire a group of players and coaches who have fought through adversity to put together a (so far) perfect season. Indeed, our family lore includes a story about my long departed grandmother fingering a rosary while listening on her old table top radio to Notre Dame games.

Plus, look at the opposition. A school most memorable for the moment in my adolescence when George Corley Wallace stood on the steps to bar the admission of an African American student!  And while the University, with the assistance of some Federal Marshalls and the National Guard came around to learn the competitive benefits of adding some "color" to their sports teams, I'm not persuaded that their color has really changed all that much.

I mean, what's with the symbol of the GOP as their team "mascot"?

And why would you name your team after a laundry detergent?  Just for product placement kick backs?

Yes, ND is clearly the underdog in this big game. But our team has played that role to some success in the past, including a bowl game in 1973 against 'Bama when a national title was on the line.  Bear Bryant nearly ate his famous fedora after that one.

Mistress and the cute Co-Ed are already making alternative plans for Monday night, knowing that being near me at moments like this can be less than relaxing.

I may even have to go find a rosary!

The Co-Ed Has Landed

We've had two great ski days here at the mountain hideaway, though its been a little cold overnight: 8 below at sunrise these last two mornings. But the southwest sun lights things up nicely, warming our days and making the slopes tolerable if you bundle up nicely.

Then last night, Mistress and Slave slogged down to the airport (a 3 hour drive) to pick up our cute Co-Ed who will join us for a few days of skiing and eating at some of her favorite local joints.

It means Mistress and Slave will have to tone things down a bit.

"Remember to close the bedroom door, Slave....."

"Yes, Mistress....."

In the meantime, we're a little worried about the WC who has a bit of a medical relapse. Maybe he's done a little too much heavy lifting (or chicken choking?) over the holidays. If he's not careful, I;m going to force hime to undergo an IME from UCTMW's new medical director / soothsayer, who touts himself as a "Physical Pain & Emotional Trauma Relief Specialist" who no doubt can get to the bottom of this new development. So you better be careful, big guy! Get some rest and make someone else do the cooking and driving until you heal properly!

Happy New Year!

Mistress and Slave had what amounted to an almost pure day of rest yesterday, as snow gently fell here on our high desert hideaway.

While Molly did catch that 9 am Yoga class, after she was done channeling all that positive energy, she adjourned to our couch in front of a glowing fireplace for some reading, napping, reading, and napping.

Slave was happy to join in.

Then, at around 6:30 pm we bundled up and trundled down through the snow to a local restaurant in the neighborhood that had a romantic fixed menu New Year's Eve dinner for all of us locals brave enough to wander out into the cold.

Bubbly was consumed, and we struck up a conversation with none other than "Mattress Mary" and her artist husband. Mary has been mentioned here before - she runs a local mattress / furnishings store that advertises on the solar radio station where she also does occasional movie reviews. We toasted the memory of her dog Molly, who famously disappeared in August from the place she was boarded while Mary was off on a buying trip to the Big Apple.

She's hoping Molly was taken for a stray by some loving passers by and now has a new home. (As opposed to being eaten by bears or flattened by a semi).

It's always fun to make new friends on New Year's Eve!

On the walk home,  snow still falling, we strolled by the local Catholic Church, where Mass was just letting out and the parishioners were wishing the Padre a happy anno nuevo.

We agreed it was one of our nicest New Year's Eves ever. We hope yours was a good one too, compadres!

Now for some wake-up sex and  deep powder skiing!