Housecleaning

I’ve barely had time to read, much less write these last couple of weeks. If you’ve been waiting for a reply to a previously sent email, please resend it with a little nudge.

So just what have I been doing? Well, here was my view on Christmas Day.
So that was nice.

I came back in time for New Year’s Eve. Randomly enough, it turned out one of my Mistress friends had the same dinner reservation as I. We had a nice chuckle over that. I couldn’t help but wonder if her date was wearing a chastity cage. Not that mine was. But in the same way I’ve been thinking about ass play (and, yeah, that’s still on my mind), I’ve also been fantasizing about going out to some proper event but with a mess of kink underneath the evening clothes.

I DO, however, know where this thought came from. Just before Christmas, I went stag to an evening performance of Handel’s Messiah by the NYPhilharmonic at Lincoln Center. There was a couple sitting next to me: cuddly like the recently wed, brilliant, stunning ring on her finger (and I’m not a ring watcher typically). She watched the performance with her hand resting lightly on his upper thigh. They whispered. Giggled conspiratorially. Watching them roused a desire in me. I had such a strong craving to be at the opera or the ballet with a lover, though instead of my hand brushing lightly across his crotch, he’d be wearing my cage. I’d have him plugged as well. If there was room, I’d add some electrics. Or maybe a remote controlled egg instead of a plug. During intermission, I’d sneak him a glass of “champagne.” We’d buy the CD of the performance afterwards and go back to Salon d’Orleans and use it as our soundtrack for a beautiful whipping.

Does this mean I’m kinky?