Just released a new version of TinyChat, a freeware point-to-point chat program.

Why use TinyChat instead of AOL Instant Messenger or MSN Messenger or something like that? Because it’s point-to-point. You don’t need to be a registered user of any service; you can use it in a local area network; and since you don’t go through a server, you don’t have to worry about someone recording your chat.

I think it’s cool.

kellyv, Shelly, myself, and possibly M will be heading into Ft. Myers on Saturday for a big BDSM party…that should be a LOT of fun!

It costs about six cents to print a greeting card. Greeting cards sell for about three dollars and fifty cents. That’s a profit margin of roughly five thousand, eight hundred and thirty-three percent…a margin that’s enviable even in the sex toy industry, much less any other retail industry.

It doesn’t take long for a greeting card company to recoup its investment in printing a greeting card design. So you’d think that Hallmark would’ve figured out by now that not everybody lives the same way.

I mean, c’mon, goddamnit, do they really have to make every card say “To the one I love” or “To the one important person in my life”? Shopping for Valentine’s is getting downright frustrating, I swear. I mean, if they’re really afraid of upsetting the conservatives, they could always foist the job off on Shoebox Greetings or one of their other subsidiaries…

One lousy friggin’ card that acknowledges non-monogamous relationships. There’s money in them. Let’s get with the program here…

kellyv makes the best damn made-from-scratch homemade chicken soup in the entire world. So there. 🙂

Last Friday marked the moment when kellyv and I have officially been together for seventeen years. Hooray, us! 🙂

One of M’s favorite pasttimes is being present at what she calles “de-virginizing”–introducing people to the Castle, one of Tampa’s local goth clubs.

So she was quite delighted when it came to pass that Shelly and I decided to take smoocherie and fritzcat66 to the Castle for the first time on Saturday evening, and more delighted still to learn that sunyata__, in the company of many of her friends, would be there for her first time as well.

Shelly is a very, very bad girl. She has a number of twisted, kinky fetishes–one of which is seeing me in a collar.

Or better still, on a leash.

Or better still, on a leash in a public place. Like, for example, a Goth club.

Still, I can hardly fault her–after all, I’ve been known to leash her… So in the spirit of turnabout and fair play and all that silly stuff, we headed out with me appropriately leashed and collared.

It was good–we were Dobermans in a crowd of other Dobermans, rather than Dobermans in a cage of rabbits.

Which is not to say we didn’t get attention anyway…

One of the nicest features about the Castle is the group of couches along the far edge of the dance floor, where one can sit and chill and watch what’s going on when one gets tired of dancing.

Or, where three–say, Shelly, M, and I–can cuddle up together and be a bit naughty. Which we did.

Didn’t take long to attract an audience. Some of the people in that audience didn’t even put up a pretence of subtlety, either–just sat and stared.

Kind of cool, really. Even if I didn’t get to spend enough time with sunyata__

kellyv woke me up much too early Sunday morning, by taking advantage of me while I was sound asleep.

And as if that wasn’t enough, she then invited Shelly and M to do likewise, while she sat on the futon at the foot of the bed and watched.

And provided floggers.

And ice.

Shelly is bigger than I am, and can physically restrain me without too much effort. It wasn’t too difficult for her and M to put on a show for kellyv, rather like a live internet sex show only free and with your spouse.

Afterward, M fed all three of us grapes and apple slices dipped in caramel.

This “kinky things in front of an audience” bit is becoming a recurring theme in my life. Probably Shelly’s fault.

smoocherie and fritzcat66 spent the night on Saturday, and headed out Sunday afternoon. M left shortly thereafter. Shelly got trapped in a time warp of some sort and stayed, theory being I’d take her home Monday morning.

I think kellyv knew better. At about lunchtime, she called us from her office and invited us to have lunch with her, as if she knew all along that we wouldn’t make it out before then.

It wasn’t until early evening that Shelly finally made it home. Time has a way of doing funny things like that sometimes.

Rick Husband, Willie McCool, Kalpana Chawla, Laurel Clark, Mike Anderson, David Brown, Ilan Ramon, RIP, February 1, 2003.

I’m back from Miami Beach, where I attended a trade show with one of my clients. Shelly accompanied me; kellyv sent her along with me on the theory that I would be less likely to be lost if I had some companionship for the drive.

Wrong.

I am legendary for my poor sense of direction. Shelly has a sense of direction every bit the equal of mine. We very nearly ended up in the Florida Keys, many hours south of Miami, before we realized we’d missed our exit.

We arrived wicked late–well after 2 AM–which was both a blessing and a curse: a blessing, because it helped ensure Shelly would not accidentally run into my client (who is unaware of my non-traditional relationship model), and a curse because i was bound to look and feel my best the next morning when the convention opened.

Being on “affair protocol” for the weekend didn’t really seem to get in the way of what is becoming a tradition between Shelly and I–frightening the hotel staff.

We don’t try to do it. Really, we don’t.

The cleaning lady arrived earlier than expected Saturday, catching Shelly unawares–and with insufficient time to hide the toys.

Ah, well.

The thing I remember most about the trade show is being cold. Florida has been unseasonably cold all winter this winter, but that did not discourage the convention center staff from cranking the air conditioner. Many hours of misery later–“Hi, would you like to see a demonstration of imposition and workflow software?”–I was more than ready to recreate; preferably somewhere warm.

Shelly put the time to good use, however, shopping in Miami Beach.

For black leather pants.

For me.

Not something I had ever, or could ever, imagine myself wearing.

Shelly had met a poly couple from Miami online, so she arranged to meet up with them while we were in Miami Beach. They had discussed going out to a club; since I was on business, I hadn’t brought any suitable club wear with me.

An oversight Shelly was quick to remedy.

A new Nine Inch Nails T-shirt, a pair of black leather pants, and my trusty black leather jacket later, we were ready to meet her friends and head out.

To a techno club.

With ravers.

And glowsticks.

Shelly and I were head-to-foot black leather. Her friends, Josh and Dargee, were…um, not. We had pizza, made small talk, and throughout the evening, generally gave our hosts the impression, I suspect, that they had rather ended up with more than they’d bargained for.

Still, they treated us nicely and with good humor, and took us to their favorite techno club to do some dancing.

Shelly and I blended in with the careless ease of a couple of Dobermans in a cage of rabbits.

Techno clubs are interesting places, if not entirely for the right reasons. With apologies in advance to anyone who appreciates the techno scene, the club struck me as nothing so much as a place where pretty people can meet to network and pair up more or less at random for more or less meaningless sex. It’s quite a contrast to what I’m used to.

In any dance club, the early evening always starts with nobody dancing. Nobody ever seems to want to be the first one out on the dance floor, so until someone breaks the ice, little happens. After someone finally goes out, then some tacit social barrier is broken, and soon everyone is dancing.

Apparently, techno clubs are like any other in this regard.

Shelly was in a mood to dance. I was in a mood to dance. Neither of us really does the techno scene.

We were the first ones out on the dance floor. We are both more accustomed to the goth and industrial scene. We frightened people. It was fun.

Some dancing and a nine-dollar vodka cranberry later, we elected to depart, which seemed to fill our hosts with relief. We got lost only once on the walk back to the hotel, and only for about twenty minutes, so the remainder of the evening was relatively uneventful.

Next day, same as the last–convention and cold. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Did I mention that we both have a poor sense of direction?

The trip back, we somehow ended up on the interstate heading south instead of north, an error we realized only when we started heading into–you guessed it–the Florida Keys.

Clearly, the gods wanted us to visit the Keys. Those silly, silly gods.

Nevertheless, fates and gods notwithstanding, we did eventually make it back to Tampa, where i was absolutely delighted to be back with kellyv and sleeping in my own bed again.

So I’m done with the trade-show circuit for a while, which makes me sorry not one little bit.

This week, I plan to concentrate on finishing my new plane, which I still have not seen in the air. Saturday, i hope to get out to the field and fly it for the first time.

Saturday night, Shelly, M, and I will be meeting sunyata__ at the Castle, a local goth club where we’ll have the opportunity to be surrounded by other Dobermans.

And people on leashes. 🙂

Sunday, I’ve scheduled a photo shoot with a lovely young woman I met when kellyv, our friend Kathy, and I ate at Macaroni Grill a few weeks back.

Somewhere in between, there’s doubtless some work that needs to get done as well, but work is overrated anyway.