A Roll Through the Past

Here is a surprise: Mistress and Slave skipped their Sunday morning Wake-Up sex yesterday - well Slave's was skipped, but I did do some early morning worship - all because we were heading out for a 32 mile urban bike tour through River City. It was one of those large group events for a good cause, that had a bunch of (mostly) white yuppies of various ages, dressed in shiny bright shirts and black tights or shorts,  annoying  Sunday morning church goers as we monopolized a lane of traffic.

We started not far from our inner ring suburban home, winding down into the City, over the River, then back across again. And in the process we passed by some landmarks of our romantic/scandalous past.

On our left, just before entering a large City park overlooking the big river was that old, otherwise nondescript office building where Mistress and Slave first started throwing off sparks. It was the 1988 primary HQ of a certain Greek Governor of a New England state, where Mistress and Slave spent some late evening hours plotting his "stunning victory" over the remaining "dwarfs" of a rather humdrum field of candidates.

Mistress was 25. Slave was 38. Now that I have daughters older than she was at the time, It (almost) embarrasses me to consider that I had trouble keeping my fingers off of her, as we got to know one another better in the pot boiler of Presidential politics. I do recall one evening, as we sat around the table with some staffers and volunteers finding myself standing behind her as she sat there, all perky  and engaged. Did I really start massaging her shoulders, to help relieve the "tension" of the moment.

And who's tension was I relieving?

Pathetic, I know.  I was lucky she didn't accuse me of sexual harassment. Or slap me and call me a dirty old man.

Later, after we crossed over the River and back again, we rolled through our downtown, streets clogged and blocked off for the big kick-off-the-summer food festival. 

"There's our old love nest, Slave....."

Ah yes, the otherwise nondescript apartment building. After a few months of renting hotel rooms, or "borrowing" my father's unoccupied condo for some private time together, we rented a little efficiency apartment downtown, a few blocks from my office.

We spent more than a few torrid lunch hours - well more than an hour certainly - on a futon purchased at one of those funky import stores. Mistress would usually pick up lunch for us. She sometimes ended up tied to the four corners of the futon as I had my way with her delicious 20 something body.

It's hard to imagine we got away with all that, since we were both married to other people at the time.

The absence of cell phones surely helped.

And don't worry, followers, Mistress did not require Slave to wear his cage on that long three hour ride. If I had, what good would I have been to her once the ride was over?