SINful friends. The support and outpouring of love has been heartwarming, touching, and deeply appreciated.
Mrs. AP and I are still struggling to come to grips with everything. The fact that we’ve built a community that comes to our side when we struggle is simply stunning. You are all lovely people. Thank you.
Stay SINful, friends.
SINful friends, I borrow the title of today’s post from the 1994 film The Crow, the last starring role for Brandon Lee, the son of Bruce Lee. Brandon suffered a fatal accident during the filming of The Crow, which made many of his lines in the film all the more poignant. For me the one that always stuck out was when Brandon Lee’s character Eric Draven, while speaking of his dead fiancee Shelly, says “Little things used to mean so much to Shelly. I used to think they were kind of… trivial. Believe me, nothing is trivial.”
With all the talk of the RNC in town and Tampa going absolutely nuts over having every hotel in the Metropolitan Statistical Area booked to capacity for a week to hold the upwards of 50,000 people in town, it seems the Republicans have stepped up their crazy talk to the point where I can’t see straight anymore. Fair warning, rant ahead.
The ever adroit Kinky DeSoto took it upon herself to nominate our little corner of the internet for yet another blogging award. In her own post she explains her reasoning by saying that “Mr. and Mrs. AP are the real deal. They love and lust in all the right ways.” Her reasoning deeply and truly humbles me. I try very hard to hold nothing back in this blog, and I know in doing so I don’t always cast myself in the best light. I err, sometimes badly. I make mistakes, and do my best to learn from them. I try always to let my love, appreciation, respect, and deeply ingrained need for Mrs. AP to show through every time I mention her. I don’t present some idealized version of the woman I love. The picture I paint of her — of US — here is as true as I see it. If my vision or judgment is clouded she would call me on it (and she has, but seldom) and let me know what I am doing wrong. That’s one of the many great things about her; she correct me when I’m wrong but loves me enough to allow me to make my own mistakes as I grow. She is, hands down, the best partner and sexiest lover I have ever had.
Wait, where was I? Oh yes, award time. Yes, Kinky DeSoto has declared this space to be home to a Versatile Blogger!
Today is Monday. August 27. The scheduled start of the Republican National Convention (now delayed), being held here in the Tampa Bay area. It is also the day forecasters expect the strongest winds and most amount of rain from Tropical Storm (possibly Hurricane) Isaac. To them both I say this:
When it comes to playing in The Lifestyle — and I don’t care if that’s Poly, Swinger, BDSM, Kink, or whatever other non-mainstream lifestyle you think is The Lifestyle at the moment — there are always rules of etiquette that need to be followed for everybody to have a good time. These rules often also serve to help keep people safe and, in general, insure that a return visit will be allowed, perhaps even requested, by others at the event. Some of these are standard issue rules of etiquette that apply to any public behavior — be mindful of surroundings, be polite, follow the rules of the establishment or host, etc. — but some other rules come into play when dealing with those of us on the kinky fringe of society.
I walked into the room and stopped in my tracks. It couldn’t be helped. Moving wasn’t an option. Neither was speech. All I could do in that moment was stand. Call me hypnotized, call me bewitched, call my paralyzed, but whatever I was it prevented any conscious thought or action. It couldn’t be helped. In that moment I was reduced to my primal self, stunned, struck, and nothing more than a reactionary creature. My eyes were intent, unwavering. My cock was stirring, lifting. Wanting. It couldn’t be helped. There, on the bed, holding my attention was the most wonderful sight I’d ever seen. The sight that never fails to cause thing to tighten down low, my breath to catch in my throat, words to die soundlessly upon my lips, and my very brain to forget how to function. It couldn’t be helped. Mrs. AP was on the bed, naked from the waist down. Laying there on her stomach. Swaying her hips. It couldn’t be helped.