But just like in the real world of big boy journalism, events some times get in the way. No, there were not regime change riots here in this cute little town on the edge of the Sangre de Christo mountains. But we did have a fun evening and met a philosopher / construction worker / grandfather called Phillipe ( we can call him Phil) who we need to share with you.
But before we get to him, how about a brief summary of our day.
Still adjusting to the time shift, I was up very early, working on my homework, and Mistress was up surprisingly early too. So as the sun was just beginning to peak over the mountains I found myself under the sheets, sliding Mistress’s lovely black undies aside to lavish her with attention as she read the blog.
But when she put the computer aside, she was no longer interested in my work-a-day mouth.
“I need the power tool this morning, Slave….”
“You mean you don’t just want me to fuck you?”
I was standing up as I said this, and it quickly became apparent that I was more than ready to provide that service too.
“Oh my, Slave…. I see you are prepared to deliver, but my cock will just have to wait.”
And wait it did, as I pulled our power tool out for her, untangled the extension cord as she waited impatiently, and then put it to good use.
She seemed very pleased with my efforts in guiding it home, having one of those moaning and writhing cums it induces so efficiently.
Only then was I allowed to deploy my less powerful but very needy personal tool. The wait was definitely worth it.
Soon we were up, I fixed Mistress some scrambled eggs to go with one of those chocolate muffins, and we headed up the mountain.
The snow was firm and fun, and I had a chance to loosen (or is it tighten?) up those mogul muscles by the end of the day. And of course there was some time for sitting by a fire to warm the toes and fingers, providing yet another boot shot.
Back home by mid-afternoon there was what we now think of as the best time of a ski day – Mistress took a warm bath, I joined her in the shower, then we both slid into bed for a nap with plans for the evening but no schedule set.
We snoozed a while, woke around 5:30, and then Mistress got a text from our WC. He had some time to talk on his drive home, and Mistress was eager to catch up with him.
Since his trip to the hospital last week, they’ve not been in their normal communications groove. I know she misses that voice, so I excused myself to the other room and watched the evening news as they chatted a while.
But about 20 minutes later, I got my page.
“Why don’t you get in here and fuck me now, Slave.”
I was happy to follow her orders.
Now, let’s flash forward to our evening. We did dinner at a local pizza joint. I shared Mistress’s spelt crust pie with goat cheese and mushrooms. (Yeah, I know, not very macho, but we all know who wears the pants in this family).
Then we headed just down the road to the local radio station, that has now tricked out it’s studio with a full bar, restaurant, and performance space.
Very clever. Very cool, with a crowd that was diverse in any which way you can think, setting aside former defense secretaries. Oldsters, kids, same sex couples, etc.
We found a small table in the back, with a half empty bud light sitting on it. It seemed abandoned, so Mistress sat as I sauntered over to the bar for drinks. White wine for Mistress. Bushmill’s on the rocks for her devoted Slave.
When I got back to “our” table, I found Mistress chatting animatedly with a guy who turned out to be Phillipe.
(Later Mistress said that when he came back from the dance floor for his beer, she said “I hope you don’t mind if we sat here, he responded ‘We? I only see one very sexy lady here.”)
He seemed about my age (turned out to be a bit younger), full head of white hair, robust build, un-tucked turquoise shirt, opened to just navel north, brown leather “village people” vest completing the look.
Phil was here to dance with the lovely ladies who come to such places in this town. There’s a local song that goes with that too.The Girl Just Loves to Dance.
And in between his trips to the dance floor as the night progressed he shared a bit of his history and wisdom, as well as some music from his harp – oh yeah, Phil plays a mean blues harp too, has played with Loggins and Messina before they were… errr…. Loggins and Messina. But that’s another story.
Phil’s a single dad. Son is 27. Grew up in East LA. The son is in the music business. Just signed his band with a big label.
"I raised him on Brian Adams".
Now there's a name I hadn't heard in some time. But maybe it took.
The son’s mom died of a drug OD when the kid was 2. That’s when Phil took over.
And the son has returned the favor, sort of, by giving Phil 6 grandkids.
“Six…. Wow…. He’s a busy man,” I say.
“Yeah, with six different mothers. He hasn’t married any of them. I keep telling him…. Wear the helmet…. But does he listen to me?”
Apparently not. Phil is concerned that if the son does make it big, there will be a whole lot of women looking for child support.
Phil has had a busy life. Has run restaurants, sold insurance, but he’s settled here in this magical town for the last 5 years, working construction.
With his unsubtle prompting, (“get with the program white boy”), Phil soon had Molly and Mick out on the dance floor too, swaying to “Besame Mucho”. But we certainly did not have Phil’s liquid moves as he took the hand of several woman, most much younger than him, and wepet them off their feet.
Between dances, we adjourned to our table and listened to Phil’s life story.
I wish I had a court reporter to share some of Phil’s wit and wisdom. But at the core of it all had something to do with the four keys to making a woman happy, which, as they flowed out in his colorful vernacular, had the ring of truth earned through a life of experience.
I’m not sure I can remember them all, so Molly may have to add some detail:
1. Hostess with the Most-iss. When your woman says she wants to entertain, let her do it the way she wants, and only ask “how can I help”.
2. Disciplinarian- when your wife tells the kids “just wait until your father comes home”, you better back her up, and be the enforcer she needs you to be. Otherwise she will be out looking for a real man to help her.
3. Holding time – sometimes your woman just needs to be held, comforted, cozied. Don’t ask questions, just do it.
4. Lady / Whore. Your woman wants to be treated like a lady in front of others, but like a whore in the bedroom. If she gets dressed up for a night on the town, the last thing you want to do is berate her by asking “who the hell are you dressing up to impress?” It’s you, idiot.
Of course, this Slave had no problem saying, “Molly would never get that cross-examination from me”, on this last point.
Simple rules, but maybe we all make our lives way too complicated.
Phil kept saying he had to go. He was planning on playing his harp with a local rock band at another bar up the street. But he lingered longer than he had planned, clearly charmed by the lovely Molly.
I gave him my card, in case he wanted to get in touch. Told him we were in the local phone book. He’s the type of guy you don’t meet in River City.
Or in the blog-o-sphere.
And he did a nice job of taking Molly’s hand and kissing it ever so softly before he finally took his leave.
Mistress admitted she was charmed too.
"He's a very intriguing man, Slave."
And we took one more spin around the dance floor before taking our own leave, into a night filled with beautiful stars.
Can you tell we like it here?
