I love my family. It's just that they have lovingly constructed a system of denial around whatever the hell it is their little girl is doing out there on the West Coast. (My mother actually said, "If it isn't PG-13, I don't want to hear about it." This omits discussion of about 80 percent of my adult life--but okay, I can respect clear boundaries.)
I decided that before I went to play the dutiful daughter at the family Christmas gathering, I should do a kinky holiday scene as a little gift to myself. But what to do? I wasn't having an inspiration, so I put the question to a gathering of friends during--of course!--a Christmas party.
There were some simple but charming suggestions, like doing a bondage scene entirely with tree garlands, and fucking someone with a dildo made from one of those big peppermint sticks. We debated whether using birch rods on someone would constitute holiday kink because of the warning about naughty children getting switches in their stockings. The idea was rejected as being insufficiently traditional.
Some suggestions were more complex. I liked the notion of attaching a wireless electro-stimulation unit to someone's bits and making them go sing carols at people's front doors, while I sat in the car and zapped them. That isn't just sadism, it's inspiration--I mean, there is no way you can hit the high notes on "Oh Holy Night" without some kind of external motivation. "Fall on your knees" is right, baby.
At this point, we got distracted from the main topic and began making up dirty alternate rhymes for "The Night Before Christmas": "With a little old master, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment he must have a big dick...."
After drinking a certain amount of wine, I became somewhat sentimental, and announced that having friends with whom I could share intimate holiday moments like these was actually the best Christmas gift I could ask for. Everyone hugged me, and then they took my wine glass away from me and drove me home.
Happy holidays!
