As you can see from this photo, Mistress is all tech-ed up here at the Minneapolis airport, where we must change planes before heading to our mountain hideaway. Lap Top for blog reading and commenting. I-phone for text messaging with the WC, and , of course, her Kindle, with it's 36 books downloaded for a full spread of vacation reading.
As we sat here, Mistress checked in by phone with the WC. Rest assured, he had already "taken care of himself" this morning. But alas, Mick and Molly are still O-less today, having gotten up at 4:45 am for our early flight.
Not that Mistress didn't do OK yesterday.
There was some worship at my office, facilitated by her need to stop by and sign some documents needed to apply for the sullen teen's study abroad visa.
Then there was worship at home before our bike ride.
Finally, the WC and Mistress arranged for a little "date" at around 8 pm our time. Just the two and them, on the phone, with Mistress deploying her trusty Hitachi.
"How many, Mistress?", I asked when she finally wandered downstairs, her bottoms missing, to where I was reading the Times, the blogs and watching the raging Maddow on MSNBC, all at the same time.
"Just three, Slave."
Tough day.
But by the time we settle into our little mountain cabin this afternoon, I'm hoping she will be ready for a little more action.
As you read this, Molly and Mick are jetting west, into the land of forest fires. Thankfully, Donna contributed this very entertaining post. You'll hear from us Sunday morning. Have a great weekend.
I had a situation come up the other day that I had some difficulty handling. No, silly people, it wasn’t Bill, I love handling Bill when he’s up, this was something totally different.
This was a case where an acquaintance from long ago and far away, an old friend of my mother-in-law, tracked us down through the internet. There is really no nice way of saying this so I’ll just blurt it out, one of the many joys of leaving that state where we lived was that I didn’t think I would have to deal with this person again. And then, one afternoon this week, there she was on the phone. I had been expecting a call from someone else and grabbed the phone without checking caller ID: I’ve learned my lesson.
This person said she was visiting some of her relatives who live several hours from us and out of the goodness of her heart *cough-choke-gag* wanted to check on us for my mother-in-law, who isn’t able to travel.
I could see right through that but, in an attempt to keep things on an even keel with my MIL, I ended up agreeing to meet this woman at a restaurant about two hours from our home for a late breakfast. Surely, I thought, how bad can it be to spend an hour or two visiting with this woman: I’ve learned my lesson.
The woman, who I shall refer to as Mrs. Nosy from here on out, seems to derive some perverted pleasure in seeing all of life with a negative spin and takes enjoyment in sharing that negativity with anyone standing still long enough to be assaulted by her tongue, and I don’t mean that in a good way, at all. The only change in her demeanor is when she happily slips into her self-appointed role as inquisitor, attempting to snag a juicy tidbit of information to which she might apply her negative spin and then share her kicked-up version with the rest of the world. In fact, she seems to be quite zealous in that pursuit.
So there I sat in a Shoney’s Restaurant just off the interstate. Bill had dropped me off like a hot potato and headed for parts unknown, promising to return in no more than 75 minutes. We had synchronized our watches. Across from me sat Mrs. Nosy, slurping coffee and shoveling in eggs, bacon, grits and biscuits with sausage gravy. I was staring into my coffee cup, trying to avoid eye contact or any motion at all that might be construed as encouragement for her to continue speaking, especially with her mouth full.
As I attempted to hold perfectly still, neither nodding, nor blinking, my mind returned to several comments Molly has made lately about vanilla friends seeming quite boring and focused on less interesting issues than her ever-expanding circle of BDSM friends.
With that thought, my mind suddenly shifted into survival mode and I realized that Molly had planted the seeds to handle this very situation. I would answer the questions from the inquisitor clearly and succinctly with a vanilla response but would keep from dying of boredom, or outright lying, by answering them with a more honest BDSM reply in my head.
(Mrs. Nosy) How’s Bill?
(My response) He’s fine.
(BDSM answer) He’s great, in fact he’s downright amazing as he makes me scream and cum at his command, thank you.
(Mrs. Nosy) What have you been doing lately to keep busy?
(My response) Not much really, some reading.
(BDSM answer) Well, we recently came up with a lovely bedroom wall display for our whips, floggers and paddles that we’re quite pleased with.
(Mrs. Nosy) What about the fashions this year? What happened to well fitting garments?
(My response) I don’t know.
(BDSM answer) I haven’t noticed a problem. Just last month I bought a new leather bustier that fits quite well, lifting my naked breasts and giving me a shape that makes my man howl!
(Mrs. Nosy) I heard from your mother-in-law that you live way out in the woods. What in the world were you thinking, do you have any neighbors at all?
(My response) We have lovely neighbors.
(BDSM answer) We do have neighbors although we don’t see them as often since they arrived unannounced and found us both nude sharing a chair on the deck with my lips wrapped around Bill’s cock.
(Mrs. Nosy) Isn’t it difficult to get to a store to pick up household this and that’s when you live out so far away from town?
(My response) No.
(BDSM answer) We haven’t noticed a problem. We order our whips and floggers out of NY from some friends who have a dungeon and we get all of our lubes, anal plugs, dildos and other supplies from EdenFantasies.com or Amazon.com.
(Mrs. Nosy) This just seems like such a backward area, is there even anywhere decent to get anything good to eat around here?
(My response) I don’t really know.
(BDSM answer) Well, I always enjoy eating Bill.
Fortunately, it was right about then that Bill arrived to pick me. He saw the look on my face through the window and dashed back to the car. I quickly said good-bye, tossed some money onto the table, pressed a few extra dollars into the hand of the poor waitress and got out of that Shoney’s just as fast as I could. Bill was standing with both front and back passenger doors open. He quickly helped me into the front seat, tossed the crutches into the back, slammed both doors shut and ran around to the driver’s side at a pace that would put any Indy driver to shame. We peeled out of the parking lot, hopped onto the interstate and got the hell out of Dodge.
We got some amused and confused comments about Mistress’s encounter with #42 (aka Bubba), back in the summer of 1988.
And while I know Sin and many others out there would have happily succumbed to his importuning, well, you had to be there.
First, keep in mind that this was the Bubba with out all the rough edges smoothed off. He’s the guy who had bored the crowd at the Democratic National Convention in Atlanta that summer with an endless homily to his own achievements, while supposedly nominating the Governor of Massachusetts for President. When he finally got to that last paragraph and proclaimed, “in conclusion”, the delegates erupted in spontaneous cheers.
He tried to redeem himself later that summer by appearing with Leno, and deploying his high school band saxophone skills for a national TV audience.
The man was no Clarence Clemons, god rest his soul.
So when Mistress, I and a good friend who was River City Mayor at the time encountered him here in River City at a reception for a group of other Democratic Governors, he was not exactly a celebrity in our eyes. More of a buffoon.
He was about 42 at the time. Molly was 25. I was 38.
His southern accent was far more pronounced than it was during his Presidential years, oozing unctuous ambition untempered with even a smidgen of humility.
As he deployed his folksy “charm”, a friend and I figured a way to sidle away from this boor, leaving poor Molly to appear interested as he droned on.
Later I got an earful at abandoning her to this redneck lothario.
.She described his assurance that while it was “Albert’s turn” (Gore) to be the “southern candidate” in 1988, he already was gearing up for 1992. Wouldn’t she like to be part of his vanguard of supporters here in the heartland?
That’s when he handed her that “Governor of Arkansas” card, scrawling his room number on the back with that little wink and broad smile we know so well all these years later.
AS Suzanne commented, I suspect Bubba went through quite a few business cards in his day. In fact, if Mistress had taken up the invitation that night, you have to wonder if there would have been a crowd control problem in the hotel hallway.
Of course, I realized then, and know all the more now, that I was the lucky one who got the girl that night.
Here in River City we are in the last few days before hitting the road early Saturday morning. to our mountain hideaway for about a week of R & R. No kids. No work. Just some time to ourselves, with the prairie dogs to keep us company. So this may be my last full entry before you hear from us Sunday morning from the Southwest. Let’s hope the wind and smoke settles down, and we won’t be treated to a Plutonium sunrise, from the fires at Los Alamos, which are not all that far from where we will be hiding out.
Of course, there are a few friends, and could be friends we will see out there.
The other night, at one of those “events” where you end up sitting with folks you barely know, we were talking to a couple with similar political interests. They were closer to my age than Molly’s , and somehow (not from us – we are pretty discrete about such things) the subject of spousal “free passes” came up. You know, “my wife has a ‘free pass’ if he gets a chance to do….W personality or politico….”
The husband explained that he has a free pass to do former News Queen soon to be talk show host Katie Couric if ever given the opportunity. I decline to question his good judgment. She seems far more perky and snotty than sexy to me. But there is no accounting for our unique tastes.
His wife explained that her free pass is with the former leader of the free world, and occasional dabbler in trailer park bootie, Bill Clinton. I was kind enough not to suggest that Molly not describe that night in the summer of 1988 when she passed on the chance to visit the all too full of himself Governor of Arkansas in his hotel suite. Though I sure wish she still had the business card he wrote the room number on. It just seemed rather pretentious back in the summer of Dukakis when Bill was famous only for boring the crowd at the Democratic Convention and playing his sax on the Tonight Show.
In the spirit of this conversation, Mistress then explained that her “free pass” was with a certain famous mountain climber who lives near our hideaway. (She did not explain that we have a contract that gives her a rather expansive free pass). The Climber finally accepted her Facebook friend request a few weeks ago, and she’s been trolling through all the photos he’s posted from Everest, Kilimanjaro, etc.
All this adventure stuff has Mistress all the more interested in meeting the Climber first hand. Plus all that technical climbing means he’s got to be good with the ropes and knots too, doesn’t it?
While there’s always the chance that Molly will finally encounter her climber first hand next week, .she is concerned that this is high climbing season, and his recent updates suggest he may be headed for Dinali, up in Palin Land, rather than hunkering down at home for the 4th. But she will definitely keep her eyes pealed for him, now that she has that rigged face and body down in more detail.
If she lands him, we will definitely post a “UCTMW Breaking News Update”.
Of course, I will do my best to sooth her disappointment if there are no Climber sightings. Our first Sunday there, July 3rd, has already been designated “Naked Sunday”, when Mistress will be required to shed all cloths other than on our morning bike ride. Hopefully, the smoke will clear and she will be able to work on eliminating those tan lines.
Changing subjects…
Our Senior Correspondent Donna has another media sideline: reviewing erotic novels on another website, Black Raven Reviews. She even has this very charming avatar that goes with it. She’s given me permission to post some recent reviews, which follow below:
