If that title made you *groan* my apologies. I have not yet been sufficiently caffeinated.
But I’m rectifying that as we speak, er, type….read! The same way I did yesterday with Leigh. I’m at a local coffee shop. Isn’t it funny how free WiFi has become defacto for these type of establishments? Answer me this – would you PAY for WiFi at the same place you stagger in for your fix of Indian Monsoon Malabar and a cinnamon roll that’s oh so light, yet not sickly sweet?
I thought so. Pull up a chair. I don’t bite….well, here at least.
A gentleman about 20+ years my senior did just that a week or so ago. I was at another local favorite haunt of mine to get my daily java, smackerel and kinky blog fix. I call it A Latte Au Pain. The seating is limited and, when seats are at a premium, patrons are expected to share their tables with strangers. I have zero issue with this, actually its nice to meet someone and exchange pleasantries this way. I am a people person, much to Leigh’s chagrin.
Oh, but if this wayward soul had any idea what I was typing about as we chit chatted. Hell, he even bought me a coffee for allowing him to sit across from me! If you have been paying attention to what I get off on (mind fucks) you will appreciate the Cheshire grin that appeared in the dark corners of my soul at this. Delicious, with traces of coffee hues on the finish.
I do some of my best work (no, not THAT) in places just like this. If you’re a writer odds are you have a haunt or haunts just like this. Perhaps you’re reading this at your coffee oasis right now? Wouldn’t that be a hoot?
If, per chance, you are do me a favor. Stop reading this. Pick up that mug of coffee that’s likely gone piss warm from neglect as you perused the smuttier blogs and sit back. Take a nice long sip, look up from your screen and survey the human landscape you are privy to. Go ahead, I’ll wait… *sip*
(imaginary elevator music playing)
Told you I’d wait. I’m very patient. Ask Leigh…
So, where’s Weirdo? Which one of the people sitting around you is kinky as fuck?
Who is the pain slut? Is it the girl fidgeting in her seat from an ass full of purple welts administered to her soft cheeks from the firm, demanding hand of her Sir or Madam? Maybe she’s into self-spanking and gives new meaning to DIY? Is she sitting with Them right now, sharing the scene debriefing and memories of screams in the recent evenings? Or perhaps that business man, the one reading the Financials or finalizing, heaven help us, a Powerpoint presentation for yet another 1:30 post-lunch meeting. Think he enjoys going home to his wife, taking the boys to practice, picking up some milk and toilet paper and at day’s end being secured tight while Suzy Homemaker pegs his ass with a strap-on that would make a Brahma bull say “DAHHHMNNNNNNNN!”
Coffee never tasted better, huh?
Prior to Leigh and I sharing some rare daylight time alone yesterday over coffee we had lunch at a local sandwich shop. Leigh & I are adamant locavores. We either eat what is grown around us, or when we do eat out we patronize the local mom and pops, never McRestaurants. The kind of places that have regulars, where first names are enough. Nothing spectacular. Every town has at least one. Italian subs, turkey wraps, pizza from fresh dough, awesome 1/2lb cheeseburgers that when you add fresh-cut fries makes it a basket. There’s brownies wrapped in plastic next to an actual cash register where some blue haired senior is lamenting that the neon blue haired high school summer help is more interested in Tweeting than writing up orders. You know the place.
I was dressed as I usually am in a T-shirt, faded jeans, white sneakers, some cheap discount store sunglasses atop my head in that we are inside. I’m not that douche bag who wears them all the time because you can never be sure when a freak solar flare might happen in JCPenneys. Not two booths behind us sat two guys eating lunch, of which one was dressed head to toe in black. A shimmery, moisture wicking blank tank top, black denim jeans, boots…black. He had a shaved head, earrings and was covered in tattoos (none colored, all…..well you know) of varying kinds. A kanji on his left shoulder. Some huge ass script in a Gothic font across his traps. What looked like an eagle on his chest. And many more. At least his dark sunglasses were off.
So, at first glance, who would you think is the practicing Dominant who just the previous night beat the backside of his submissive lady so severely for 30 minutes that she was left in a shattered pile of broken, sobbing pieces (more on that evening will be coming) as well as runs a blog on which it will be detailed in excruciating detail for his legion of perverted minions?
Well, my coffee is almost empty, but before I go a most wonderful exchange literally just happened as I typed about the thrashing Leigh’s beautiful bent over my knee ass received. A father walked up to my table carrying the most adorable child in his arms. There is a large mirror on the wall directly behind where I’m sitting. He was using its mystical powers to entertain the tot while waiting for his cappuccino to go. I’m not entirely sure if the kid was a boy or a girl. The outfit gave no clues, nor did the haircut. But was cute as button, regardless.
I love kids. I get along with them very well. I’ve coached youth sports. I interact with them on an adult level. In short I treat them as adults, but have the expectations of the age they carry. So when this child looked at me I of course smiled right back. Who wouldn’t? The wondrous grin I received in return was the second most precious thing I’ve seen this morning (You can use your imagination as far as what won the gold medal) But the two of us, this precious, innocent soul of a 18 month old and the dark, demented psyche of The Dom Next Door shared a few lovely seconds in time. And both smiled fiercely as a result of the exchange.
If only the dad knew….
Who knows, maybe he is just like me?