Bedtime Secrets

My bedtime secrets used to be a multi layered experience. It might be a regimental tie used to restrain my lover’s wrist or ankle, centuries of military tradition woven into the bright coloured stripes, now holding fast a naked supplicant, waiting to be explored. Or the secret might be a polka dot kerchief fashioned into a blindfold to deny the visual indications of what is to happen and release the wearer from such lies, allowing her to luxuriate in the freedom of her more reliable senses.

Sometimes the secret might be a hand against naked flesh, the air resounding to the sharpest caress. Even the riding crop’s sting on the smooth skin of an upturned buttock might entice secret excitement, ironically, more often felt on the flank of a girl than that of a horse. And sometimes I shared the secret with a friend; extra hands to caress and worship and explore, open up to adoration the adventuress spirit; an extra man to fill the void.

Such secrets were rarely constrained to bedtime, preferring instead to conspire with my lovers amongst the sand dunes adjacent to a beach, or the forest cloaking a hillside. Secrets can be shared even amongst a crowd, on an aeroplane or train, amidst the forced silence of a library or department store changing room. Surely, a secret is yet more secret when it is kept from those close around us, their proximity making them unwittingly complicit in the secret adventure.

I shared secrets with many girls as I looked to find one that could hold and enjoy my secrets with the same enthusiasm; they didn’t know it was a test. Eventually, I thought I had found a girl who could share my secrets forever but she let them slip and left me alone. I’m now a solitary man and my priorities have changed. Now, my bedtime secret is that I wear cotton flannel pyjamas.

They are not sexy. But they are warm as toast and I sleep with the sonorous depth of a grizzly bear in midwinter.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Trouble-W...