Crazy Ex Revisited

I've gotten used to going to The Marquise's boutique to deliver new consignments of ropes. Enough so that I can now enter, hold my head up high, give her two kisses on the cheeks, subtly take in her saliva-inducing breastage and make small talk.

"Wow. Is that a new three-pronged anal speculum with locking mechanism? I've always loved chrome!".

(I DO have to rehearse in the bathroom mirror above my toilet. When the abdominal cramping subsides, I know I'm ready - though I do fast for 36 hours before each visit. Just in case).

Yesterday, I strided in confidently with my gargoyle's finest hemp and was about to go through the protocol. Just as I was ready to glance down at the Royal Boobies however, a voice I did NOT want to hear came wafting over my left shoulder - from the nose-hook and ball-gag display if I'm not mistaken.

The Crazy Ex, ever accompanied by her pleat-eliminating paramour, was doing some shopping. Apparently, she had not appreciated my flurry of drunken phone calls at 4:00 a.m. a few weeks ago when I discovered that she had an additional source of income from filmed leather-clad escapades with subhuman, testosterone-deprived, chastity-belted "men".

I was taken aback when SHE - being seemingly proud of her commission of sins too repugnant to enumerate - went on the offensive. Her Master's degree in French Literature from the Sorbonne has endowed her with a mastery of our tongue and of fine rhetoric. She started with a sardonic "Hello", which was followed by a lesson in late-night telephone etiquette.

The Marquise, not aware that my former orgasm inducer and I were acquainted, walked over and happily concluded that "ohhh... YOU'RE the Gargoyle Master's Mistress!" (apparently, the tone of our conversation mislead her). "He seems to be very obedient" she remarked with a wink.

The Ex then discharged a netherworld-shattering cackle.

I eventually exited after hearing a litany of my "vanilla" sexual self's "hang-ups". Apparently, not being interested in the slightest in women's latexwear and my own (quite fictional) "G-Spot" is abnormal in some people's eyes. I felt I was in some sort of bizarro flipped-up version of the universe, where women have urges to be serviced and where men are expected to be physically attentive.

Obviously, when faced with people this delusional about the origins of the universe, our reasons for being and the roles our Creator expects us to play, there is nothing one can say to expose the silliness to their eyes. It is frustrating, but the best way to change people's misguided views is to live a good life and to provide an example of moral rectitude.

Of course, they're both bisexual. They just don't understand what a man like me can offer. Quite sad really.