I’d been building a dungeon in my house for my new girlfriend, being that she was leading me down the decadent path of a little light BDSM now and again. Nothing heavy or brutal, just some fun bondage here, a little spanking there, and a lot of hot, steamy sex everywhere.
The tricky part was hiding our little den of debauchery from my eighty-five-year-old mother who was a full-time resident in my home. Fortunately, my aunt took pity on me and would take my mother every other weekend. Also, fortunately, Mom was a heavy sleeper even when she was home.
One afternoon, I came back into the house after taking out the garbage, and couldn’t find Mom in her usual hangouts, the kitchen, the living-room, and her bedroom. I searched the house and froze in my tracks when I saw her opening the door to what I had told her was a storage closet.
“Mom! What are you doing?” I asked frantically. I’m a grown man, mind you. But I didn’t want my mother to discover my proclivities and get the wrong idea about her son.
“Oh, Steve-O, I was just checking to see if you had any more Windex in your storage closet,” mom said.
I scratched my head, unable to fathom why my mother would need Windex since we had a housekeeper come to clean every Friday.
“No Windex in here, Mom,” I said, trying to usher her out back into the hallway towards the living-room where I could turn on the television and distract her while I fixed the lock on my dungeon’s door.
“Well, I need Windex to clean Armani’s nose prints from my window,” she complained. Armani is my aunt’s dog. Yeah, I know, goofy name for a dog!
Try as I might to stop her, she walked right into the dungeon.
“Steve-O, this storage closet is huge!” mom said, pushing her way further into the room, “but it’s kind of dark in here.”
I bit my tongue, hoping she wouldn’t do it, but she turned on the bright overhead light and her eyes widened.
As my elderly mother took a stroll through the dungeon, she asked a million questions. I just prayed I could be quicker than her and come up with answers that would satisfy her. Later, if she remembered being in here, I could always tell her it was a wild dream she had. Chances were, with her memory failing, I’d get lucky and she’d forget all about it. But, for now, she threw out the questions like a pitcher throwing fastballs, and I kept hoping I could bat fast enough and keep hitting balls over the fence.
“Steve-O, there’s a lot of equipment in here,” Mom quipped.
“It’s for training dogs,” I said, saying the first thing that came to my head.
“Honey, what’s this cage for? It’s pretty large for just dogs, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Great Danes, mom.” I shot back.
“Oh, son, I don’t think it’s acceptable in 2020 to have whips like these for the animals,” she chided.
“Tough shit!” I responded, having no good comeback for that one.
“Language, Steve-O!” Mom huffed.
I sighed.
“Where’s the hole in this red rubber ball? How do you wear it as a clown’s nose?”
“Mom, let’s just…”
“Ooh, what are these tiny little clamps for?” she asked, picking up the new nipple clamps I’d bought for my gal.
“Those are nail clippers, Ma!” Hey, her sight is failing too, she might believe that!
Then she saw the Hitachi wand. “Oh, what a nice powerful back massager!” she exclaimed.
“That’s to massage the St. Bernards, they have thick hair,” I said, shaking my head as she continued farther into the dungeon.
“Honey is that a dentist’s chair? Are you studying to be a dentist?” she asked.
Huh?
“Yes, sure Mom, do-it-yourself dentistry is the latest rage!” I lied.
“Jesus is missing from that cross, Steve-O,” she chastised.
“He’s out preaching, Mom!” I said, exasperated.
“There’s my sleep mask!” she chirped. “Why didn’t you tell me you had it?”
“I told you all of this yesterday, Mom, but you forgot!” I said, trying to direct her back toward the exit.
“Oh look, Steve-O, that nice policeman left his handcuffs here the other day!”
Nice policeman? What the hell was she talking about?
“Nope, those are mine. They’re for my new job,” I said as I had her almost to the door.
“Why does that Ping Pong paddle say SLUT on it?” she asked.
“It’s the dog’s name, come on Mom, let’s get you back in the living-room!” I said, my patience worn thin.
“That’s not a very nice name for a dog, Steve-O!” she admonished, making a disapproving tsk noise with her mouth.
“It beats the shit out of Armani!” I blurt out.
“Language, Steve-O!” she chided.
I finally got her back in her chair in the living-room, and I turned on the Game Show Network, so she’d have something to do besides contemplate what just happened here.
“Steve-O, does that new gal of yours help you train the dogs?” Mom asked as I handed her a blanket to put over her lap.
I frowned, puzzled, “Why do you ask, Mom?”
“Oh, well, I just thought I heard her screaming at Jesus the other night and thought maybe one of the dogs must have bitten her,” she explained.
I nearly swallowed my tongue.
“Mom, I will get the Windex and clean those nose prints for you. Which window were they on?” I asked trying desperately to change the subject.
“What nose prints, dear?” she asked, confused.
I sighed.
Mom may have forgotten her stroll through the dungeon quickly, but it would be an experience I would remember for a very long time!
