And now for something completely different.

She shoots, she scores.

Now, I ask you, what could possibly be sexier than athletic and passionate Canadian women's hockey players, shamelessly celebrating victory with cigars and beers?

To hell with you, stunted and stuffy IOC officials. These women are everything that empowerment, joy, and fun should be. Seriously.

Oh, those wacky Malaysians.

I'm so torn.

So it seems that, for the first time, Malaysian correctional officials have caned three Muslim women for having extramarital affairs. Perhaps as a response to public outcries over recent charges against another woman who was "caught" drinking beer, Home Minister Hishamuddin Hussein said he wanted to publicize the case of these three women because of “too much hype” over the earlier case.

"People are saying that no woman has been caned before," he was quoted in a recent Christian Science Monitor report, "(but)today I am announcing that we have already done it," adding that the women 'didn’t suffer any cuts or bruises' from the caning.

Yeah, sure.

With the exception of a thin apron tied around the waist, the subjects are nude. Under the supervision of a medical officer, their wrists are then bound to the upper peak of a A-frame while charges against them are read aloud by officials, who then require the recipient to verbally repeat and confirm the punishment they are about to receive. Up to twenty-four full-force strokes to the buttocks are then administered with a rotan jenayah, the larger of two varieties of rattan canes used in Malaysian corporal punishment. Those supervising make certain that the ends of the canes make contact with the body, allowing for maximum effect. The trained caners are paid RM10 Malaysian ringgit (about $3 Canadian) for each blow they deliver.

Then, is this where I stand on the soapbox with a pro-feminist T-shirt and defend the socio-sexual rights of women (well, anyone, really) to explore their bliss without fear of physical reprisal by the proponents of organized religion? Again?

Or is this where I stand next to a St. Andrew's cross with my jackboots and tell those Malaysian coppers that a good caning should be part of a decent extramarital affair, and not a punishment for one?

Decisions, decisions.
sigh

Sunday comics.

...continued from the previous installment...







from Slutgirl

A little horseplay.

Kara: *slurp on your shaft*

Me: Mmmm. Exactly what I need.

Kara: Might need to do a double slurp tonight ... Me on top of you, you thrusting into my mouth ... Me dripping down your chin ...

Me: Nice... I love coaxing your clit until you cum.

Kara: Coax?? A second cum might need to be coaxed, like some shy filly... But the first one's in the gate waiting for the starter pistol ... :P

Me: Keep that up and I just might show up with my riding crop. ;)

Kara: Hmmm ... *whinny* *snort* ;)

Me: Ha! ...Tell me why you enjoy head from me so much.

Kara: I love your tongue swirling on my clit ... I especially love you sucking on me ... It sends me right over the crest and tumbling into blissful oblivion ...

Me: *lik*

Kara: But what's JUST as important is that YOU love giving head ... It means I can just relax and enjoy and not wonder how YOU are doing ... And because you are so pro-fantasy, pro-kink, I've also come to a place where I just relax into delicious fantasy ... guilt-free ... And enjoy. So, my love, why I enjoy YOU is partly what you do, but also partly who you are and how you express your sexuality ... And how you encourage me to do so as well.

Me: Meow. I totally encourage you. Safe to say you're looking forward to seeing me tonight then? ;)

Kara Um ... Yep!

Decadence and pleasure.

As you read this, my pet and me are enjoying Madagascar vanilla lobster bisque and applewood smoked chicken supreme with orange and cranberry gastrique at Biagio. We're enjoying an excellent wine. Soon, we'll decide between the chocolate creme brulee or the citrus cheesecake, and then we'll casually make our way back to my home, to my bed.

I've always enjoyed Valentine's Day, and often have used it as an excuse (as if I needed one) to spoil both my lover and myself senseless. Even in leaner times, I've learned the wonders that can be created with basic homecooked meals, a few candles, and warmed massage oil.

And Kara's definitely getting a little spoiled lately. Recently, I took her to her second playparty, for which she donned an excellent lingerie ensemble that the birthday faeries found for her. She started our evening's fun with giving me some excellent and serendipituous head, and the playparty went even better than her first. She later confessed that she had wanted to suck me again at the venue, but alas, the poor thing was just too exhausted after the submissions she had been subjected to during the evening's fun.

Later this week, she'll attend her third, and for that evening's pleasure we recently acquired a delicious corset and rubber skirt set along with some very adventurous shoes for her. "Momma Anna," our Northbound saleswoman with a rich and glowing attitude, has since become an interesting figure in our kink headspace, as her exquisite skills have left a pleasant and lasting impression on us both.



Hey, baby. I love you. It's such a pleasure to have you in my world; to spoil you rotten, and then to spank you for it. I adore your articulate senses, your vibrant spirit, your calm and open being. You're cool. Introducing you to new saucy depths and shameless living has become a joy for me, and I'm so pleased that you're embracing and celebrating with me, beside me, my hands at your waist.

I still think of the first kisses we shared in the lifeguard chair that night as we listened to the lake and the kids strumming guitar in the sand below us. I still think of the limitless laughter we shared as we cheered the bats on, watching them amid the moonlit trees around the cottage.

Being with you gives me such pleasure, and I enjoy sharing my strength and adventures with you. I enjoy you. I look forward to the necklaces we can fashion from the pearls, both white and black, that we'll take from the oysters of our future world.

This Valentine's Day, I fully intend to take complete and shameless advantage of you.

But first... enjoy your creme brulee.

Even ex-callgirls get the blues.

The scene: A trendy coffeehouse in the University of Toronto campus area.

She's a young, robust, longhaired light brunette dressed in black skiing wear. Her hair is tight on her head in a topknot, and she's slightly distraught as she chats on her cell to a supportive friend.

Coed: "... So, right, he just wasn't where he said he would be when he said he would be... so, you know, he's just so not boyfriend material, I guess. ...Yeah, it's a shame, cuz, you know..." sniffle

There's a pause when her supportive friend must remind her of something amusing, because suddenly she giggles.

Coed: "Yeah! I know! It's a shame I wasn't still seventeen, cuz I coulda charged him for it!"

Adam's fall from paradise.

It never fails to blow my mind when certain (jealous? self-righteous? pompous?) voices in the public point fingers at sexually active people with careers in public service. Somehow,some of these voices even attempt to argue that getting laid immediately means that someone is incapable, or "unfit," to push a pencil on a legal document or debate an important point or attempt to influence social change. How dare someone in the public eye be a sexual being in their personal life? Honestly, I don't get it.

Toronto councillor Adam Giambrone is having a very bad week. The 32-year old wunderkind, already the chairman for the city's transit system, recently threw his hat into the ring in a bid to become this city's new mayor. Yet, in less than two weeks, his campaign had completely crashed and burned.

First, and maybe it's because Giambrone has long been a supporter of Toronto Pride events or that he supposedly has a transgendered sibling, the progressive NOW Magazine (probably innocently) outed him as being gay.

Not so, Adam apparently responded, soon afterward making an appearance with his bookishly attractive "live-in partner" Sarah McQuarrie when he announced his mayoral candidacy. Then the Toronto Star goofed in a later article, incorrectly identifying McQuarrie as Giambrone's "wife."

Then dusky Asian university student Kristen Lucas, in an exclusive interview with the Star, asserted that she had been having a year-long affair with the councillor, including trysts on the couch of his City Hall office and randy textmessages. "You look good naked." Further, she stated that Giambrone's relationship with McQuarrie was entirely for political appearances, and that she was the "real" girlfriend. Giambrone responded that no sex had taken place between himself and Lucas, although admitted to randy sexting.

Lucas apparently had come forward a month after Giambrone had ended the affair, spurred on by the erroneous Star caption that cited McQuarrie as Giambrone's wife and therefore feeling very deceived and embarassed before her friends.

Around the same time, conservative CFRB radio pundit and general shitdisturber Bill Carroll (who had already been vocally opposing a Giambrone mayoral candidacy) audaciously, and in the same breath as stating that "anyone's sexual preferences don't matter," outed Giambrone as being bisexual, interviewing a man who claimed the politician had once asked him out to dinner.

The following day, Giambrone then revealed to the local media that he had, in fact, been enjoying several affairs outside of his partnership with McQuarrie. So much for being gay. Almost immediately after, he withdrew from his mayoral bid with a clearly crestfallen statement where he lamented his actions and bared his soul before the people of the city. At least one other Toronto politician described his statement as the most thorough and heartbreaking acceptance of personal responsibility he had ever witnessed.

"There are weeks that change your life and this one has certainly changed mine. This searing experience has taught me , permanently I hope, that a public career cannot survive deceit in your private life."

And yet...

The brilliant foundation of the 2001 Rod Lurie film The Contender is its argument that one's sexual choices is not a topic for public ridicule by so-called "moral" elements in society. Here, actor Joan Allen passionately illustrates, even at the risk of her character's political career, how important it is to stand firm on that principle.

Giambrone is unmarried. Does an unmarried person commit adultery? Having experienced the wrath of the woman scorned, he now finds himself facing the wrath of self-righteous elements in the Toronto public who not only assert that because of his sexual choices that he is an unfit canadidate for mayor, but that he should step down from his role as transit chairman and even perhaps as a city councillor altogether.

Since when does a person's sexuality have any influence on their capacity to perform a duty? He's deceptive, some reply, he didn't disclose these things about himself to us. Why would he be obligated to? Because we expect our leaders to be upstanding citizens. So, a sexual person isn't an "upstanding" person? But he's a public figure, they reply. Since when is there a relationship between one's ability to debate with union leaders, or make social policy, or submit legal bills for Parliamentary review and what physically stimulates a person to orgasm?

Meanwhile, and as I wrote in a previous post, in Sweden, politician Goeran Eurenius starred in at least fourteen adult films prior to and during his term as Haerryda city councillor.

In Italy, prime minister Silvio Berlusconi's romping parties have already become the stuff of legend. Also, socialist politician Milly D'Abbraccio featured her ass prominently on all campaign posters during her 2008 bid for Rome city council, and as "Cicciolina," veteran porn star Ilona Staller successfuly served one term in the Italian Parliament between 1987 and 1991, and remains politically active today.

The late, great Canadian prime minister Pierre Trudeau famously remarked that "the state has no place in the bedrooms of the nation." I will argue that the opposite is equally true: that the nation has no place in the bedrooms of its statesmen.

I can only imagine what I would say if I ran for mayor for the city of Toronto.

"Good afternoon. Let me be perfectly clear. I write a sexblog. In that blog, you'll read many accounts of my sexual experiences, which do not always include activities exclusive to the partner I may be primarily with at that time. It's extremely rare, but yes, those experiences will also include experimentations with men. I also clearly state therein that I support gay and lesbian rights, question the assumptions of those practicing some organized religions, and defend some other people in the public eye who have been ridiculed for their choices in life. I am pro-choice. As a former phonesex worker and bondage club stage performer and bouncer, I support the rights of sex workers of every category everywhere. On occasion, I use marijuana, and yes, I inhale. Thank you."

I met Adam Giambrone once. He struck me as an energetic, open-minded, positive man brimming with ideas and the courage to take a stand and get something accomplished. As you read this, he is taking some time off in Paris. He deserves to. But, while I was still unsure of my vote for the Toronto mayoral election later this year, it disappoints me that he's dropped out of the running. But (despite how he tried to handle some of all this) I can also appreciate how blindsided, and possibly even betrayed, he likely feels.

Just once, someday, I'd love to see the Sarah McQuarries, the Elin Nordegrens, the Hilary Clintons of the world strut up to the so-phallic microphone and hear them tell the press something like:

"Good afternoon. Let me be perfectly clear. You believe that you've caught my partner in an imbroglio, but there's an important point here that seems to require clarification. Understand that while we love and support one another very much, my partner and I are not exclusive. We are not monogamous. While we are aware that this may sound unusual to many members of the public, we assure you that we enjoy a happy, healthy, and stable relationship, full of love, communication, and mutual respect. I am, and have been, aware of my partner's experiences outside of our own partnership, which we mutually share with informed consent. Having said that, we regard any further questions concerning our personal intimacy to be outside of the public spectrum and irrelevant to further inquiries concerning our respective careers. Thank you."

I would break out the champagne. And then I would fuck my partner on the couch of my office during business hours. Just out of spite.

And solidarity.

Her initiation in fire.

"Are you ready?"

She blinked as she adjusted her weight uncomfortably in those geeky clodhopper shoes. The pillory that her wrists were restained in left her arms at an oblique angle and forced her to bend over just slightly, making balance a hard thing to maintain. I smirked, stealing a fast glance to growing crowd around us and behind her. The poor thing.

Standing beside her, dressed in a long black coat and wearing a glistening black leather cap, I gently patted her tartan-covered derriere as she wobbled slightly on the tiny podium that held the pillory in place. The room was packed with minglers and dancers and voyeurs as the industrial music thumped against the walls, and as precious little had been happening in the scene until now, we had collected a small and growing crowd. It was in this setting that Kara, my sweet, found herself clad in a schoolgirl uniform, subjected to this public scrutiny, and felt the coarse material against her smooth, round behind give way to open air as I raised her hemline. For the first time in her life, her lovely ass was being exposed for complete strangers to see.

Kara was at her first playparty.



It was schoolgirl night during this particular event, and Kara had impressed me by collecting the pieces for her attire all by her sexy self. Uncomfortably half-bent over, her crisp white shirt and smart little tie made an interesting contrast to the medieval device to which she was affixed. I raised the skirt higher.

The first few cracks of my hand were playful, love taps to warm her up and alert her senses to this new experience she was submitting herself to. As my palm warmed as well, I smiled to myself when I remembered that this was the same woman who sometimes had to make the effort to say the word "fuck" in a sentence, and here she was being publicly exposed for a spanking.

I cocked my wrist and began smacking her delightfully pert ass in quick succession, thoroughly enjoying the feel of the space between her blushing cheeks against my palm and flattened fingers. She squeaked and wriggled, her wrists pulling at the secured wooden holes that held them in place. I alternated cheek to cheek, and paused from time to time to caress her bum and enjoy the growing heat that I was responsible for. And then, in the spirit of the evening, I reach into my toybag and withdrew the foot-long wooden ruler.

The edge of the ruler was sharp and unyielding in my hand, and as I brought it down from on high, I enjoyed how the lightness of it betrayed any false sense of leniency that its size might suggest. This fucker stung, and Kara's squirming body responded as might be expected. She jumped slightly, the podium clacking as her shoes came back down upon it, and as my strokes continued with each just slightly harder than the last, she was practically leaping into the air and begging me to shift my target to another spot on her precious behind. I didn't.

But I did show her some mercy. I paused. I caressed her angrily red ass with a tuft of soft rabbit fur. I caressed her shamefully exposed flesh. I removed my coat and hid her face from public view by using her bent head as a coathook to hang it upon while I sipped my drink for a moment or two.

I noticed then that others had started to play elsewhere in the club, and I was reminded from playparties past how sometimes all it took was one couple to have the cojones to get the energy started, and everything else would fall into place.

Beside us, a giggling teen trio set a svelte little blonde on a spanking platform, and as she crouched upon it on all fours, her male partner raised her skirt as well and began delivering some staccato strikes of his own. A female partner laughed (in that way a newbie might be expected to) as she held her friend's head in place. It was cute. Me, I enjoyed the sight as I relieved my coat from its hook, raised Kara's head, and allowed her a sip of something cold to soften her lips.

We took a break, and I removed her from the pillory. The crowd parted to me as I led us to the bar, where I held her close as we watched others dance. We might have joined them on another night, but we had come with a specific purpose in mind, and call me oldschool, but I'm not usually one to Top and dance in the same night if the energy doesn't have just right vibe for it.

Maybe it was because of the venue, but this evening's party seemed to be overrun with poseurs and wannabes and urban whitebread kids looking to see a thrill rather than be part of one. Definitely not my preferred scene, and definitely a far cry from the cauldrons of sociosexual decadence that I've grown accustomed to.

But that didn't stop me from giving it the ol' college try at least once more before I was ready to call it a night. A few drinks and some schmoozing with old friends later, and I was leading Kara to a spanking bench not far from a second, and larger, bar. Nicely situated in a corner, the drag queen and her entourage who hung out nearby showed Me deference as I led Kara there and moved aside. Few others were playing seriously at this point, and I nodded to the drag queen as she showed her respects to this club veteran and His pet.

The drag queen took my coat as I collected some ice from the bartender. A small group of drinking fratboys there, very out of place and visibly uncertain of themselves in this environment, would have been a problem had it not been for the steel glance they received from me and the small wave of leatherclad fetishists that followed me back to the corner.

Kara received a long, lingering kiss. Not only had she been courageous enough to attend this her first playparty, but she had been carrying herself with complete decorum, respectful deference to my friends, and submitted hrself to desired public spanking without a whimper of complaint. Her safeword remained secure. Within herself, she observed and experienced with open mind and trust, and for that I swelled with pleasure and pride to have escorted her into this place and Top her. She was due for some reward, and for that reason more than any other, I would keep my eye and ear on the alert in this not-entirely-ideal venue while also bringing her another step closer to her desired ruination at my lustful hands.

I set her into position on the spanking bench, her head near the black wall, her skirt-covered rear toward the bar and the crowd surrounding it. A useful semicircle of space cleared itself between us and them. The scene was set.

I caressed Kara's shoulders as she relaxed. I blindfolded her. I whispered my evil plans into her lovely ear, and she nodded with a gasping, open mouth. I set my cup of ice on the floor nearby and raised her skirt over her pantied and still slightly-red bottom. Bringing my palms to her ass, I pet her flesh gently before beginning a new wave of cracking, audible smacks.

The fratboys stopped their nervous giggling and shut up. Their smirks faded where mine began. Their young men's eyes began to glaze over and their jaws dropped slowly as they took in the sight of my lithe girlfriend's ass receiving attention. Soon, they were gently eased aside from the scene entirely as fellow fetishist folk moved to get closer looks. I didn't miss them. A new wall of black, respectful and appreciating, surrounded us now and gave me the headspace to open up more and relax in my delicious use of my lover.

It wasn't long before Kara's ass was again a radiant shade of red, contrasting to the lilly-white schoolgirl panties that she wore under her raised tartan. Scarlet lines ran down the length of her thighs where my fingernails had raked. I tugged her head up from the cushion she rested her chest upon until she knelt upright on the bench platform below, and gave her a sip of water before undoing the buttons on her crisp white shirt.

I removed it, set her back in position, and undid the snaps of her bra. Setting its straps at either side of her, her back was now fully bared. Kara was completely dissheveled now, virtually topless, her skirt rolled around her waist, her panties tugged upward to fully reveal her ass, her bobbysocks and shoes the only articles of clothing completely untouched. She panted as she rested her weight.

I reached into my toybag. Her skin glowed seductively in the flickering light as I lit the handful of small red candles that I had withdrawn from there, placing one between each finger of my right hand and raising them high above her bare back. Kara flinched as blood-red droplets rained down upon her, and I could faintly hear her hiss and moan under the constant, thundering music. From the corner of my eye, I could see wide toothy smiles from the audience that surrounded us, and most especially from a pair of zoftig PVC- and rubber-clad women who squirmed with yearning interest.

I filled my other fist with ice from the cup below me, and Kara alternatively winced and shuddered as she felt a tapestry of sensation. Her back and bottom were flecked with crimson dots and fiery streams, and the moving light made the small rivulets of icewater on her skin shimmer like crystal. Kara's face was contorting in confused ecstacy, her mouth open wide in a silent groan.

I paused to look directly at our audience. Many of them looked back, their faces full of enjoyment, while the gaze of others remained riveted to Kara's writhing, seminude body. The gothettes, the PVC-clad women to my left, looked particularly happy.

"She would love for you to do that to her," said the taller one, a vampiric brunette in a black corset, motioning with a smile to the blonde BBW beside her. A wonderful invitation. But I was with Kara, we hadn't discussed any such possibility beforehand, it was her first night out, and we were mid-scene.

"Maybe next time," I replied with a smile, enjoying the sight of the blonde go crestfallen.

Yet they inspired me to show a little Top largesse, Paddles-style, and I crooked my icy finger and summoned them closer with a smirk.

"Do you trust me?" I whispered into Kara's ear. She swallowed and nodded, her blindfold still secure over her eyes. "I love you." She got an icecube to chew on and suck in reward.

The Gothettes stood around the spanking bench with me as they received a crash course in safe waxplay before I armed them with more red candles from my bag of tricks. So it was that Kara, my sexy schoolteacher clad in her sexy schoolgirl uniform, received hotwax attention from this dastardly trio of kinksters in a thumping Toronto nightclub, her reddened and virtually bare ass exposed to a crowd of slack-jawed onlookers, her back and shoulders scattered with scarlet droplets as we three consensual conspirators smiled and laughed and tortured her for our own amusement and pleasure. Our hands held the candles high over our heads, their glow radiating against our black leather and PVC clothes as we stood in that unholy circle, the red drops drizzling down from our perverse trinity. How Kara squirmed and wiggled as she felt fire and ice in a blurry, constant wave upon her submitting and tender skin.

When it was over, the Gothettes were breathless in appreciation, and Kara was breathless in sacrificial bliss. The crowd of onlookers had grown thick and impenetrable, but soon even they slowly melted back onto the dance floor or around the bars as I cleaned my worthy pet up and restored her shirt upon her.

The drag queen returned my coat. The door crew shook my hand as we left. I brought Kara home, where she fell into a long, deep sleep.

Sunday comics.

to be continued...

She gave me some beaver.

Knowing that I'm a history buff (you didn't think sex was my only interest, did you?), Kara gave me a subscription to a national history magazine for the winter holidays. Pretty cool, eh?

But just as my subscription started, I couldn't keep my head from hitting the desk is ironic amusement when I learned The Beaver would be changing its name to Canada History. Why? Because all the search engines and porn filters were going haywire in the quest for, right, beaver, and the poor, tweed-jacketed historians just couldn't take it any more.

The times we live in, man.

The mice will play.

Serene, one of the happy dykes who lives below me, is away on holiday in Cuba with her partner. Lacey gets to have their pad all to herself.

I'm coming home during a break in my workday. The door to Serene and Lacey's place is directly next to mine and at the top of a flight of stairs. I'm sliding my key into the lock when I hear a feminine voice, saucy in tone.

I hadn't realized that Serene and Lacey's bathroom was so close to their front door, because the sound of a running shower is loud and clear. The bathroom door must be open, just on the other side. Lacey is showering and her lover is speaking to her, taunting her, completely unaware that she's being heard. Oh, the grin on my face.

Airline Attendant: Well! Look at you, all tramped up in the shower!

Lacey: (over the noise of cascading water) Mmmm mmmm!

Airline Attendant: ...I'm gonna stick my finger up you. Stick my finger up you and lick you and suck you and buzz you...

Lacey: Ooo...

I picture Lacey's girlfriend leaning against the doorjamb, pulling a shower curtain aside to get an eyefull of Lacey's strong, blonde form. I picture Lacey's lover as a saucy brunette, her head tilted naughtily, biting her lower lip or keeping the tip of her tongue aainst her teeth as she audibly teases Lacey with her plans.

Airline Attendant: ...I'm gonna buzz you, baby, buzz you like you've never been buzzed before...

Lacey: (laughs) Oh, yeah!

She trails off with a laugh, singing a song to herself. The shower continues to run as I turn my key and go inside my place. I'm left smiling, wondering what vibes lay awaiting Lacey in the side table next to her bed.

Upstairs, downstairs.

Recently, I shared how I moved to a new pad, exchanging my digs from the more bohemian, club zone part of the city for something more upscale, refined, and within flirting distance of a most excellent park. As much as I was so overdue for the change of living space, the voyeuristic naughtyboy in me was still chagrined to be going away from the Women Upstairs.

Sometimes, in the quiet, through the air vents or from an open window, I might have caught the sound of one them masturbating, lost in their own bliss. Was it the lesbian blonde costume designer or the straight brunette mall rat? The brunette, whose bedroom was directly above my own, certainly received a nice hard fucking from time to time, usually after a latenight boozefest which didn't always let me sleep.

I wasn't a peeper. I didn't set out to listen for them. But when it happened, when my space was quiet enough at the right time, I wouldn't restrain my smile and stop for a moment to enjoy the music. And it's not like I didn't know they listened in on me from time to time as well.

So I didn't know what to expect when I moved to my new digs, where the cardinals and black squirrels enjoy the treats I leave out for them on my high deck, where my cats look at me pleadingly as I keep them from playing with live prey. On moving day, I sensed that I was a small disappointment for at least some of the existing residents when, while hauling a fifty-pound box of books upstairs and past a closed door, I could overhear a woman's crestfallen sigh that "it's a guy" who was coming in. It didn't take long before I understood why.

I am the only man in a house full of lesbians.

It was Lacey who was disappointed at the time. Aw. Lacey is a strikingly attractive Nordic blue-eyed and shorthaired blonde, a tall and broadshouldered valkyrie from Australia. She has the looks and healthy vibe of a crosscountry skiier or mountain climber, and many are the dykes whom I know would melt into a puddle of goo were they to see someone like her stroll in a leatherbar wearing Lee-covered chaps and leather vest. Her lover is an airline attendant who visits from time to time (I have yet to actually see her), and their bedroom is just below my parlour.

Lacey had sighed to her roommate and former partner, Serene. To my shock, not long after I started unpacking, Serene and I discovered that we've known of one another for years through mutual friends in other circles in our lives. Serene knew of me through associates in a spiritual community of people, plus she's been acquainted with my ex-wife. I similarly knew of her by name and she had actually someone I've been interested in meeting in person. In a strange way, our first meeting at the threshold of the house was almost like a reunion of old friends who had never met before, and this was and remains very cool.

Serene is an auburn shorthaired earth mother with a ribald laugh and a quick wit. Her black, dreadlocked partner matches her in BBW bodytype and artistic temperment, and the pair of them share an easygoing vibe. The first time she was in my place, we talked about the general energy and landlord politics of the house, but she was quick to add how I shouldn't worry about it should I hear them fucking downstairs, their bedroom being just below mine. I suspect that we'll become good friends.

And, yes, it's happened at least once thus far when, lying in bed, I could easily define Serene's voice as she cried out in ecstacy below me. I'm also certain that Kara and I inspired her at least once, as another time I could hear her again within an hour or so after I had Kara panting for more while her face was inches above the hardwood floor as I took her from behind.

And then there's Sam who resides beneath Serene and Lacey's place. Sam is still an enigma to me, but I have to admit that my eyes are smitten. Her lesbian credentials are only suspected by Serene and Lacey, and so far she seems private enough to heighten the gossipy suspicion. Me, I've only seen her twice and in passing.

Sam seems to be the consumate young urban and successfully professional woman. A shorthaired dark brunette, she has the fancy car and the furnishings from Pottery Barn. She lives alone, at least when her apparently demanding work schedule allows her to be home (how I relate). She's spending the winter away, presumably somewhere warm and out of the country. We spoke briefly the two times we've met, and at once I was floored with her intelligent, articulate tongue.

So these are the Women Downstairs. And I am looking forward to the summer, when I intend to fire up the barbecue on my deck, make a few pitchers of something inebriating, and see what saucy fun can be had.

Happy birthday, baby.