Crevette (crevette) wrote,
Crevette
crevette

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Another day, another dollar.

What should I really be doing? I could be out watching Eastern Promises with Thom. Brilliant movie, that. Brutal but brilliant. Excellent cameo by Viggo Mortensen's scrotum. I could be reading and doing the last chapter of part one of Eternity of Blood (yes, part one. All will be revealed soon). I can't believe I actually feel guilty about not working on that pile of feces. Or I could be working on Mathieu's rewrites or query letter.

But no. I'm cruising the internet, reading Orlando Bloom/Pirates porn and obsessively playing The Same Game. (much like that stupid jump-over-the-golf-tee game at Cracker Barrell, and much like the Florida Lottery, I'm obessively convinced if I just play it long enough, I'll win. Yes, I am that stupid and gullible. Stop laughing.)

So I figured I'd come on here and tell you a story.

My mother, bless her, has an admirer.

She refers to him as "red strap" and there is a reason.

Technically, this is my mother's story to tell, since I've only heard about it second hand. (Rational sister called me and told me while I was at work. There was much squealing and laughter and OMGing. And then the random text message from my sister with just the words "red strap" and "Man Beast" for weeks afterwards.)

So, with much love to my mother, I simply have to share this one. I may have a few details off, but my understanding of the major points is pretty firm.

Mom knows this guy. He's a really nice guy. Not bad looking, interesting to talk to, fun guy. She's got a friendship--and nothing but--with him that has lasted for a while. She suspects this will go no further becauses he's an Atheist and she's a Christian (tho not as hardcore as she used to be) and that really doesn't work for longterm romantical attachments.

Soooooo.

Mom was out of work for a while due to a layoff. This guy gave her a part time job doing housework for him. She'd come in and clean and such for him for some $$$. Which was very nice of him, I must say. He's really a nice guy.

So one day she was vacuuming his bedroom and she sees this red strap on the floor protruding from under his bed. She kicks it back under without thinking about it and continues on.

He says to her later, "So, I see you saw my red strap."

"Yeah," she answers. "I kicked it back under the bed. I didn't want it to burn out the vacuum cleaner."

He nods and then says, "That's what keeps the manbeast contained."

Now it was at this point in the story that I knew EXACTLY where this is going. But that is because I have extensive internet experience. There is very little that will make me flinch, except for things like "His wife? A horse." or Split Peni or some such. But I still know what webbed nylon straps stored in the bedroom mean.

I blame all the mental callusses I've built up on Harry Potter fandom, frankly. But I digress.

So I've got some experience on what to expect when you have straps under your bed. Hell, I've got my own restraints and handcuffs, for Christ's sake.

This is not to say my mother is naive. No, my mother has been around the block in her years. She's got some milage. But her mileage is more of a gentle kind of mileage. More of a "57 Chevy driven by 80 year old little old lady from Pasadena to church and back for the past 40 years" mileage as compared to "4x4 driven through every mudhole, wheatfield and clay road known to man at 95 MPH by naked, beer-swilling, pot smoking, heroin injecting inbred rednecks" kind of mileage.

But again, I digress.

So my mother goes on with her job hunt, puts the red strap from her mind and basically goes on with life.

She and this gentleman go out for drinks and dinner and such quite often. So one night they do so. She goes home--alone. He goes home--alone.

About an hour later she gets a call from him. "I have an emergency. I need you to come over and help me with something right away!"

Yes, Harry Potter has prepared me for what is to come. Damn J. K. Rowling to Hell for my lost innocence!

So she says, "Of course! Whatever you need! I'll be right over!"

So she goes over.

The house is dark. She opens the front door, which is unlocked and all the lights in the house are off.

She then calls out his name. He answers from the back bedroom, where the only light is on in the house.

He tells her to come back because he needs her help URGENTLY.

So she goes back and walks into the doorway of his bedroom. And freezes.

He has somehow managed to tie himself, hands and feet, to the bed frame. He's stark raving naked and on his erect male organ there is the red strap.

He's tied up and he's writhing and he's got this red strap on and he's alternating between moaning and yelling, "YES! YES! COME HELP ME TAME THE MANBEAST! THE MANBEAST NEEDS YOU!!!"

She stares at him, aghast.

"THE MANBEAST NEEDS YOU!! COME TAME THE MANBEAST!!!"

More staring.

::writhe writhe writhe:: "THE. MANBEAST. TAME. IT."

She finally answers, "::name::, I don't know what to do. Do you want me to jump on that thing?"

::writhe writhe writhe:: ::pause::

Then he sighs in disgust, stops writhing, somehow manages to untie himself and says, "Never mind. Forget about it."

And then takes himself off for a shower.

Mother quietly goes home and I suspect had a few shots while alternating between giggles and shudders. I know I would after that.

And now on her blog she's continuing the "Red Strap Chronicles".

Because after he told her a few weeks later that she was unattractive with her weight, he's been macking on her.

And now I don't think I'll ever be able to look this man in the eye. Seriously.
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