New Strategy?

Mistress and slave are on the road this weekend. A family memorial service has us heading to the Jersey shore, with a stop last night in Gettysburg, PA.  Mistress is still snoozing in our cozy bedroom upstairs in a reputedly haunted house. I'm down in the parlor, early rising as always, catching up on the news.

The best news is that the hurricane no longer seems to be heading further up the coast to where we will be this weekend. Though we feel for our old neighbors in Central Florida. We know what it's like from our years down there -- including the hassle of long power outages and missing roofs in the summer of 2004.

When I last posted I was touting the likelihood of a cuckold sleepover Tuesday evening. Sadly, things did not work out. Another last minute cancellation by Jay due to child care issues left Mistress with only the solace of Slave's work-a-day cock.

On the drive East yesterday she talked about her frustration.

"It's getting annoying, slave....It's nice having a lover, but it seems he's rarely available when I am...."


It seems it's been more than 6 weeks now since the two of them were able to get together. He watched the Clinton / Trump debate with us, but no sex.  Then he went to a Thursday night football game with me. But Mistress was out of town.  Is Jay turning into my buddy rather than Mistress's sidedish?

Over dinner last night we discussed options. How to "acquire" a new or alternative lover for a sexually adventurous wife?  It's not easy in our town, and Mistress's job does not get her exposed to potential partners on a regular basis.

"Maybe test the waters at AM again?", I speculated.

"We'd have to start with a different identity and profile, slave...."

We even talked about new names....

"Bathsheba"?

"That's a little weird, slave..."

"Rachel"?

"What's with the biblical names?"

"Veronica?"

Mistress raised her eyebrow.

"Yeah.... that works..... I always liked Veronica...."

This might give us a worthy distraction from the family drama of a weekend memorial service.

Ashley Madison Meltdown

Mistress and Slave exploited one of the last Friday evenings of our River City summer last night - we both skipped away from work early to meet at the swim club. Slave slid a couple of bottles of wine into my back pack. Sitting at a corner of the pool deck, we sipped wine and read as the warm sun slowly sank into a beautiful sunset.

It was a nice way to end the week.

But of course some folks' week was not as enjoyable.  I'm thinking of all those celebrities, politicians and government employees outed this week when the Ashley Madison hackers did their big data dump.  No wonder the stock market crashed! There were probably more than a few horny hedge fund managers liquidating their accounts and packing their bags to stay one step ahead of an angry spouse or a reporter from Buzz Feed.  This headline from AM's home town paper in Toronto captures the panic:
 

EXCLUSIVE: Hollywood actor, NFL star and a top politician are among celebrities 'frantically calling up expensive damage limitation experts over the Ashley Madison hack'

• Celebrities are 'desperately' calling up experts to help them manage their reputations following Ashley Madison leak, Daily Mail Online can reveal
• These include actor from a recent Hollywood action film, top NFL player, reality TV star, well-known Southern politician and a Coca Cola executive
• Stars worry being publicly outed as cheats will destroy their reputations
• One company, Reputation Management Consultants, has received record number of calls from celebrities panicking about the hack and data leak
• One 'was so scared of his marriage falling apart he cried for five minutes'
• Another feared family would actually kill him if they found out, it is said
• Firm charges clients between $10,000 and $100,000 a month for service
• But CEO said some celebrities used unknown emails to set up accounts - and did not use their names/credit cards - so may never been found out
• Data shared online by hackers lists the name, home address, IP address, credit card details, and email address of paying Ashley Madison users  
•  
  At least all those “reputation management” experts will have a little extra income in the next few months as they cook up narratives to explain why all those actors, jocks and politicians had trouble finding babes the old fashioned way.
  
  
   It got Mistress and slave chuckling about the local museum director who popped up on her AM account a few years back: The guy who comes off like the combination of a Presbyterian Minister and Funeral Director in public, but apparently has a wilder side. Or wants to have a wilder side.
  
  
  I liked the story about the State GOP Chair from Louisiana, who admitted he had an AM account, but said it was purely to conduct “opposition research”. Was he trying to set a honey trap for Mary Landrieu?
  
  
  Then there was the Reality TV holier than thou Christian conservative megastar, Josh Duggars, who had to admit he had his own AM account.  I'm shocked. Shocked. Will the Duck Dynasty guys show up next?
  
  
  As a prophylactic measure, Slave did check our own email accounts on one of the web sites that popped up this week to let the curious (or worried spouses) check to see who was using AM.  I did find that no name gmail account we have used there. But not our individual accounts.  Hopefully that means we’ve dodged any embarrassing bullets.  But Mistress, who is a bit of a “reputation manager” in her own right, has already worked up a plan:
  
  
  “If anyone says I’ve been on AM, we can just say that you and I did it jointly, as a prank to see who was on there and using it …. it was just marital fun!”
  
  
  “And for the most part, that’s true, Mistress…. We were getting laughs out of all those horny suburban guys in boring marriages, trolling for a little side-dish nookie.”
  
  
  The sad part is that the age of AM, or any other internet “hook-up” sites,  is now clearly over. I suppose Cuckold match-making will have to go back to the agrarian age – maybe Mistress can start meeting buff farmers at barn raisings!
  
  
  
  
  
  
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On Campus Kink

Things are pretty lonely here at the UCTMW World HQ with Mistress on her long journey. Slave keeps waking up, reaching unconsciously for her delicious body, and coming up with one of those too many pillows she has used to cover our bed. (It's a babe thing?)

Pathetic, I know.

I've followed her protocol.

A daily "milking" to keep me "out of trouble". And a cock shot sent via snapchat to keep down on all those cock pics replicating themselves on our Apple photo apps.  We still have images of the WC's special occasion cock popping up from time to time!

When she called yesterday, Mistress seemed pleased with waking up to an image of my "angry" cock longing for the real thing.

"It made me horny, Slave."

I forgot to ask if any of the guys she has encountered have been flirting.  Contemplating Mistress finding a quiet spot below deck from some late night mischief is something to fuel those morning milkings, I suppose.

In her absence I've decided to sort through and post some flash back photos to stimulate all of our imaginations. This is a pic from one of our "Switch Sundays". 

But today's blog focuses on  the recent controversy at Northwestern University,  fueled by an article by NW Prof Laura Kipnis, " Sexual Paranoia Strikes Academe, in which the lady professor takes on the notion that every relationship between a faculty member and a female student necessarily amounts to ab abuse of power, or even rape. 

When I was in college, hooking up with professors was more or less part of the curriculum. Admittedly, I went to an art school, and mine was the lucky generation that came of age in that too-brief interregnum after the sexual revolution and before AIDS turned sex into a crime scene replete with perpetrators and victims—back when sex, even when not so great or when people got their feelings hurt, fell under the category of life experience. It’s not that I didn’t make my share of mistakes, or act stupidly and inchoately, but it was embarrassing, not traumatizing.

As Jane Gallop recalls in Feminist Accused of Sexual Harassment (1997), her own generational cri de coeur, sleeping with professors made her feel cocky, not taken advantage of. She admits to seducing more than one of them as a grad student—she wanted to see them naked, she says, as like other men. Lots of smart, ambitious women were doing the same thing, according to her, because it was a way to experience your own power.

But somehow power seemed a lot less powerful back then. The gulf between students and faculty wasn’t a shark-filled moat; a misstep wasn’t fatal. We partied together, drank and got high together, slept together. The teachers may have been older and more accomplished, but you didn’t feel they could take advantage of you because of it. How would they?

Obviously, times have changed. Professor Kipnis even found herself in her own Title IX Inquisition when female anti-harassment student activists  accused her of "retaliating" against them simply by publishing an article that disagreed with their point of view.

This got Mistress and Slave talking the other night about a story she had shared a long time ago.

"Didn't you have sex with one of your profs in college, Mistress."

"I did Slave...."

We reviewed the details. She was about 19 or 20. It was Sophomore year on her small liberal arts college in the heartland. He was about 33 or so - the same age difference between me and Mistress - married with kids at home.

Their fling was sparked - or accommodated - by late nights in the offices of the student newspaper that Mistress edited. 

"I suppose it began with him looking over my shoulder at one of those old lay-out screens. Rubbing my shoulders...."

Hmmm..... not unlike the scenario of the young Mistress and the older political activist in the campaign headquarters of that short Greek guy running for President in 1988.

"So where did you do it with him, Mistress...."

"Ohh..... the newspaper office. Or his faculty office. It was a small town, and a small campus.  We had to be very careful."

"So did you feel exploited, Mistress?"

She snickered. 

"No Slave.... it was hot. But a little strange when I had classes with him, and I had a few."

"Did you get good grades?"

"I suppose I did.  But no better than the grades I got in other classes."

Sounds Like Mistress would be on the same page as Professor Kipnis. Maybe I'd feel different about my own daughters doing it with their professors, but I suppose Mistress's Mom would not have been amused had she known the messy details. But then who wants to know all the details about our kids personal lives once they pass 18?

As for Slave, I can't say I would have complained if a lady prof had hit on me. Sadly, the only "flirty" behavior I can recall from my academic career involved a Math teaching nun in high school. But it was all smiles and solicitous small talk.  Sister Roberta never offered to show me what was hidden beneath that black habit.

 

Bay Left Behind

Slave is waiting here at the SFO airport, having wolfed down a breakfast burrito before boarding a plane headed west. I must say I am horny and looking forward to my reunion with the lovely Mistress Molly.

After my work was done yesterday morning, I had time to rent a bicycle and rode the system of bike trails across the Golden Gate and to Tiburon. Unfortunately, I did not have the time or address that would have allowed me to look up my favorite kinky writer, Ann Rice, who I believe has relocated there from NOLA.

All of the overtly sexy sights and sounds of the City did not ease my longing for Mistress.  There was this fetchingly attired  mannequin in the window of Agent Provacateur on Geary St.

And who could not think of kneeling before Mistress and massaging (or kissing) her well manicured feet when I saw this sign off of Polk St. on my way toward the waterfront by bike yesterday.

One of the more frustrating aspects of being Mistress's corresponding secretary, monitoring the ins and outs of her AM profile is that when we go on the road, the system must create the impression that Mistress is now a denizen of not only the town she is visiting, but all sorts of other places. And in this case, while she remained at home, her Slave made the mistake of monitoring from the left coast. Suddenly she was innundated with more than 100 private showcase requests, and quite a few articulate entreaties from the Bay area. All that makes clear that the pool of applicants in River City is much less diverse and appealing than what a woman with an itch to cuckold her husband can access on the coast.

There was a guy staying at a nearby hotel who sent his text number in case Mistress wanted to get together for a drink.

And there was this guy from Sausilito who sent a long message that I am sure Mistress might have found intriguing, if only to check out his view:


Hello Molly. Yes, I am highly selective. I have wasted a fair amount if time lately seeking women who "get it" - who are appreciative of what I bring to the table as a lover and friend. 

Any time I am with a woman I like, whether in bed or anywhere else, she will be the absolute center of my attention. She will feel absolutely adored and desired. She will know that by the way I look at her, the way I touch her, and the words I use to express my appreciation for her. No matter how handsome and successful a man is, it is imperative that he understand that the pleasure he gains from his woman is proportional to the pleasure he provides her. He must be skilled at reading her cues and navigating the paths to her centers of desire. He must understand and accept the fact that women are wonderfully complex, mysterious creatures and be able to understand that what stimulates her today may be a total turn off tomorrow - unless he realizes that she may want him to make the effort - and have the talent - to seduce her, to gently but firmly take lead her to a place of arousal. E must know when to cede control, and when to take it, when to follow her cues, and when to bend her to his will. 

I am that man.


I wonder who he uses to ghost write his material?

Sadly, Mistress did not score while I was away. She will have to make do with her work-a-day cock this evening, if all goes well and thunderstorms at O'Hare don't intrude.