there's a fire in my chimney and Santa is going to get hot

“If it was woman who put man out of Paradise, it is still woman, and woman only, who can lead him back.”
Albert E. Hubbard

Slip those questions to me like a pound of Santa-meat coming down my chimney! Ask Mz. Conduct at: guttergrl69.hotmail.com and send me gifts that only bad girls deserve!

I’d been wondering whether to get one of those bright, silver aluminum Christmas trees this year, or to go to a tree farm and hack down a real one. The aluminum tree would look fab mixed with the ecletic-artsy-fifties-sixties-feng-shui crap in my house, but a living tree would merrily mask the cigarette-animal aroma that seems omnipresent. Hmmm... what’s a holiday hoyden to do? Well, I decided to venture out in the countryside and look at some tree farms, so I called up my bodyguard, Big Bald Bouncer, to drive and assist. It was on the verge of dark, and I, in my garter belt and fishnets, Brando boots and short, red, retro dress, did not feel safe from the boogie man of the woodlands. Big Bald Bouncer drove his Harley Davidson, soft-tail over and I immediately bitched, wishing he’d brought the truck. Big Bald Bouncer reminded me that it was too soon to actually bring home a tree. This was just a perusal spin. Whatever, I climbed on the big, bad motor scooter, straddled the seat of the huge bike and grabbed hold of the sissy bar. VROOOOOM! Off we tore, into both dust and dusk. We had ridden about thirty miles or so when I signaled for him to stop: There was a beautiful, dense forest ahead. Plus, I had to pee. Sated, after returning from emptying my bladder all over a log and watching a colony of worker ants drown in the flow, I noticed Big Bald Bouncer had his leather bag out. He was eager to show me the new flogger he made. I touched it with my fingertips, dragged it across my lips and slapped it on my thigh. It was lambskin soft but a had a sweet sting that made me warm all over. Simultaneous light bulbs beamed over our heads and we smiled at one another. Walking out into the thick of the wooded hills, my huge friend who guards this miraculous body, told me to pick out a tree that I liked. We both knew this tree wouldn’t be for cutting; I would be the only lone ornament hanging off it. Still, barely light enough to see, I ran up to a fifteen-year old spruce and wrapped my arms around it. “Baby, I like this one!” I shouted, and arched my ass into the warm night air. Big Bald Bouncer tied my wrists to two sturdy limbs using homemade leather restraints, and pressed my face against the bark as sharp chunks of wood dug into my chin. I felt the slow, soft skin of the whip move across my own, sliding up the backs my ankles and around, inside, all up my calves and over the backs of my knees. I dripped with anticipation and when the length of the device moved to the inside of my thighs, I shook, I screamed, the restraints tightened. I came. “Oh, no, you don’t,” he said in his deep, throaty voice. Then I felt a sharp slap on the bare of my ass. He lifted my dress up over my hips, but I didn’t feel it, as I was renting a room in the Outer Limits of this amazing scene. ‘Crack’ went the whip on the opposite cheek, ‘Crack’ again. This went on for what seemed like eternity and we videoed the whole she-bang. Let’s just say that particular tree won’t suffer dehydration for weeks! Finally, Big Bald Bouncer and I headed back home over the bumpiest gravel roads we could find. My fanny (glowing with candy cane stripes) suffered through the ride home... but loved every minute of it! Now we’re plotting to go back and chop down that very tree; You know, a little Christmas memorabilia right there in the living room!

Finished with my workout, I walked up to the desk at the YMCA to do the usual routine: Toss your wet towel in the bin, give the person behind the desk your lock and key and they hand you your I.D. back and say, “Have a nice day!” The other day, the wickedly cute boy was behind the desk. I almost feel ashamed about flirting with him, as he may not be old enough to vote. Regardless, I do it anyway. Each time I lay eyes on him, he has a different colored, spiked hair-do and I love that. Having balls (and not the kind your throw though hoops) at the YMCA is an admirable thing in my book. Most people there are so drab. So, this time I literally toss in my towel and he races over to attend to my needs. He always remembers my name (even though I’ve never paid attention to his nametag), and always asks me how I feel. I’m usually flushed from the workout, the hot tub and/or from masturbating in the sauna. This time I blurted, “Oh baby, as long as I’m looking at you, I’m feeling just wonderful!” Great gobs of love juice, as soon as I said this I knew I was asking for trouble. Who am I kidding, I rarely have to ask! He turned several shades purple (to match his hair) and smiled from here to Tasmania. With a bit of surprise in my brain, I lingered. He quickly asked if he could walk me to my car, as it was quite dark out. I immediately felt a delightful drip, all the way down to my ankles and wanted to ask, ‘Can I have another towel?’ Of course I said ‘yes’ and of course we found ourselves climbing all over each other in the dangerous darkness of the parking garage. Damn, those garages do echo! That boy was one naughty little thang. He ate at the Y that day, and I ended up doing one more set of squats that I hadn’t planned on. Or maybe I did! Happy holidays to all! I know I like to end the year with a bang!

Dear Mz. Conduct,

My husband is a loving man and we’ve been married for a long time. I have no complaints except one. You see, he rescued me from an abusive relationship many years ago and I am forever grateful for that. I feel unsure about even asking this but don’t want to carry it around anymore. My husband is a good man and gentle with me except when it comes to sex. He forces me to have sex with him two to three times a day and urinates on me and sometimes even shits on me. I’ve tried to tell him I don’t like this sort of play, but he’s a very controlling man and doesn’t really listen to me. My question is, if this is the only thing that I have a difficult time with in our marriage, is right to complain and want it to change?

Miserable Mary

Dear MM,

Why was Tigger looking down the toilet bowl? He was looking for Pooh! Yes, you have a right to complain. Stop feeling grateful and pry your head out of the toilet bowl, or surely you’ll get shit upon. It seems that you’re repeating a pattern. You were ‘rescued’ from one abusive relationship and put smack dab into another. Go see a professional therapist if you need more support, but you said it yourself, your husband is controlling and doesn’t listen to your voice. Not an option in a healthy partnership! Make yourself heard, woman, rescue your own self, and stop your husband’s behavior when it isn’t warranted. Plenty of couples may play this way, but it should always follow a reached agreement, either verbal or otherwise. Hopefully you‘ll see that your ‘almost’ perfect hubby isn’t really what he’s cracked up to be after all. If he truly loves you, he’ll listen to you and perhaps join you in seeing a professional (not an escort Einstein, but a counselor). In any case, you need to take this seriously and not damage your self-esteem any more than it already is, honey.

Dear Mz. Conduct,

After my wife and I have sex, she seems very angry. When I ask her what’s wrong, she just tells me that there’s nothing is wrong and that’s the end of that. I guess I may be just another confused man. Can you help?

Screwed Up

Dear SU,

Well, you got that right, you’re definitely another confused man, but in this case it’s not all your fault. First of all, DUH! Your wife obviously didn’t have an orgasm after your bout o’ bumpin’. People cannot read each others mind, I don’t care if you’ve been married for sixty-nine years or not, it’s absolutely imperative to ask your partner if something feels good, if they like this or that, can we try it this way, whatever, etc. Your wife is frustrated and rightly so, however she needs to let you know these things too. At this point, it’s your job to make her feel comfortable enough to freely share her sexual desires and needs with you. Don’t bring it up when you’re in full thrust, but way before, during foreplay. Allow me a reverie here: a candlelit bath, Jeff Buckley on the player, you washing her body with sandalwood oil, shampooing her hair, rinse, repeat, condition, ahhh. This is a good time for sharing intimate fantasies and desires, and also inviting inhibitions to go down the drain with the bathwater. There may be things she isn’t even aware of about herself and body; things she may not even know how to tell you. Glub, glub, glub and off you go.)

Here are some recommended books that may help, and are good reading anyway:
“Your Sexual Secrets:
When To Keep Them, When & How To Tell” by Dr. Marty Klein

"The G Spot" by Alice Kahn Ladas, Beverly Whipple and John D. Perry

© All rights reserved Kim Alvarez