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Don't I look thrilled? Of course, that's what happens when taking quick clicks on the way out the door in the morning. We meant to take pictures the night before but one thing led to another and we got distracted. You know how it goes.

Man, it's one of those things. I sleep like an old lady, four or five hours a night, seven, tops. I woke up PING at 2:30 this morning, looked at the clock, grumbled in disbelief and hit the head before crawling back into bed for some restless snoozing before I woke up for good at 5:30. I guess that's what happens when I pass out cold at 10:30 or so. Oh well, it gave me an excuse to spend two precious uninterrupted hours in the hot tub writing imaginary blogs while I looked at the stars and watched the sun rise before the squirrels started their morning games of tag.

Last night, after another long and exhausting day's work being strapped to a massage table getting massaged, beaten and generally tortured; I was picked up at 6:00 for our regular date. I wasn't really feeling it and was in fact, pretty darn cranky. My sensation twitches were going off, as the texture of everything I handled seemed horribly offensive and designed to make me jump right out of my skin. This did not bode well for a romantic evening together but hell, I had to give it a shot. The last time I fell asleep the minute we got back from dinner. For that reason, this time we met for an early dinner but decided not to have dinner first. We never did make it to the restaurant.

I don't know how he originally planned on getting me in the mood but after seeing the dead and irritated look on my face he seemed to finally, suddenly remember he had a belated "birthday" present for me. Frankly, I think he has a stash of them and he just saves them for occasions just such as these when he thinks he isn't going to get any.

Gosh, was that cynical of me? I guess that's what happens when I hold myself back from the real truth, the deep ugly honesty that I have been and was at the moment seriously considering dumping his ass for being such a cheap bastard. I mean really, he's been to Mexico twice since we've been together and has never brought me back even the cheapest of chotchkes as souvenirs. I've been to Mexico. I know how easy it is to get cheap presents. Inexcusable. Let's not even mention the scratchy single ply gas station toilet paper in his bathroom; I have a longstanding contempt for both people and companies that use cheap toilet paper!

Not only that, he's the lousiest tipper I've ever seen, to the tune of 8%. No kidding. I mean, I hate to seem shallow, but if I'm going to be dating a guy old enough to be my father, shouldn't he act a bit more like a sugar daddy? Oh but see, I needed to gently practice restraint, gratitude, and patience, and just generally remind myself that these are petty, ugly considerations and that really, I'm not just in it for his hot tub as we were joking about last week. I'm also in it for the finger fucking. Shit, did I just say that? What a horribly personal thing to admit to. Oh well. There, now you know.

So yeah, I'm sitting there pondering the deepness of life, the universe, and probing fingers when out comes the velcro restraint system from hell.

"This is mine, right? I can take it with me?"

"Of course, it's yours. It's a present for you."

"Well, can I try it on?"

"Do you want to?"

"Duh. Is the Pope Catholic?" I obligingly stick out my arms and feet for him to strap in. All this weekend's pointed remarks about how long rope bondage takes flooded into my head as he clasped the velcro. "Tighter. It needs to be tighter."

"Better?"

"Tighter. Much tighter. That's better. Now the other one. Ah. Okay. Now the feet. Good. No, you have to do it tighter. Look, see? I can slip right out of that! Almost. Okay, that's better. Yup, same thing to the other one. Ah. Thank you. See? There. Now I can't move. Whooooaaaaaah!!!! Hey!!!!!"