A response to Him

It seems that someone... not mentioning a name... was aggrieved by yesterdays post. It was something about the selection criterion being too open or some such complaint. Apparently under that list He is an abuser and he doesn't' think that is fair as he goes to great lengths to preserve the delicate anal tissue.

So rather than get involved in some long winded argument discussion one thought it was more sensible to put the responses here...

For starters a pattern can be one in ten, one in one hundred or one in one thousand. Infrequency doesn't make it less of a pattern, just less pronounced.

Secondly soap does not count as a lube. It doesn't matter if the aforementioned soap says moisturising on its label nor does it matter if the soap makes things more slippery. Any probative value of the soap is outweighed by the sting and burn factor. Oh and cumming in the arse is not an act of mercy... before you go canting off down that street. And while we are on the topic of soap, offering to not use it next time puts you right back in the abuser camp.

Smirks this lube thing is a winner... there is no way around it that doesn't make them more of an abuser. It's not quite up there with the radical feminist theory that all men are rapists, but it's close J

The definitive list

All over the net there are handy little check lists so that you can work out if you are being abused. Of course most of them are subjective. Even here one has contemplated one of those lists and realised that although He failed so many categories one couldn't really use the word abuser... well not with any sincerity. The other day though ancilla_ksst left a reply here and one realised that she had hit the nail on the head.

See really it could come down to does he use lube for anal sex? The answer to that question may be what defines if you are in an abusive relationship or not. How simple is that? So much easier than a long check list of subjective things. Go for the question that is at the heart of the matter J

Oh and the answer round here is...

Abuser!

Names and other atrocities

There are a couple of abbreviations of one's real name. One has been used without complaint for years. The other? To be honest one had no idea that it existed. It was a happy existence to be honest. A state that we will return to shortly...

In truth there isn't much attachment to the given name. Honestly one will answer to hey you! In a family that has a surfeit of truly awful names one got off rather lightly. It didn't make the name better, just better by contrast. So when it was mercifully shortened in high school and it stuck... well one was as happy as a clam.

To be honest one reads about people having slave names and having their names changed by their master (and the angst that it creates) generally going yeah? So? But then one does realise that some people have their identity tied up to their names in ways one will never understand. Mainly due to that complete lack of attachment to one's own. Mutters see you can achieve understanding through ignorance J

In that vein one has often been called piece and things of that ilk by people from the net without bother. Even He has been known to pause when introducing one to someone in real life. The sharp ear can hear Him stumble over other permutations in his mind before getting the real name out. In fact that name is rarely used except at work and even then it is the abridged version.

So when He came dancing into the bedroom radiating malice and informed one of the other alternative form of one's name it was no big deal. Until He started to use it... out loud. Then the world tilted on its axis slightly. See the name (which by some quirk of fate is strangely appropriate) is one of those awful English pet diminutives that just make the skin crawl. It's up there with Mopsy in its horrid quotient.

Of course that wasn't what was giving Him so much pleasure. Well the pleasure that He was deriving was seeing one cringe of course. No what was making Him so happy was...

"And the best thing about this is that you can't whine about this on your blog 'cos otherwise it will reveal your real name."

He completely underestimates his slave sometimes...

We will not be silenced!

His countless cruelties will go on record. 

Rejection sip

There are few small treats that one loves more than a caramel latte. It's that luscious mix of caramel sauce and frothy milk, both whispering the sweet promise of two of the most addictive substances known to woman, namely sugar and caffeine. At least it was a great love until the body sent very strong suggestions that one check the ingredients list online.

Sobs quietly who thought to put gluten in caramel sauce?

This is like losing a lover...

Actually its worse, you can replace one of those.

Being spurned by your coffee is far more traumatic...

Whatever He may say L

Fear and punishment

There was a lot of talk coming over the feed on Fet in the last week regarding punishment dynamics and those that say oh we don't do that, we are adults. It's one of those discussions that you just know are going to go down in a blaze of flames. In part because some people just can't or are incapable of stating their opinion without being vaguely insulting. What usually takes it up a notch is the drift towards fearing your Master.

Round here we are adults and we do have a punishment dynamic. Oh it's not as pronounced as some and one probably gets (a lot) more lee way than some, but it is there. The knowledge that if one steps over the line He will retaliate is always there. It might not be physical, He has this inventive quirk that lends itself to the punishment fitting the crime, though it has been in the past, but it is in no way to be misinterpreted as funishment.

That knowledge does make one pause for that split second that is required for the other part of the brain to go "oh do you think that is a good idea". See without that split second one will go for it... soft tissue, the chink in the armour... whatever it takes to win. Those high aggression levels, that float just under the veneer of unflappable calm, will come out when put in a physical threat situation.

We tend to regard fear as a bad thing, but fear is what makes us not shove our fingers in electrical sockets or on hot plates. Fear in itself isn't a bad thing at all, it keeps us from harm. So does one fear Him? Oh hells yeah. It's a healthy respectful kinda fear, but it is fear. And you know what? As a person one has no issues living with that fear J

Cruel perpetrator

Dragging Him reluctantly off to the bedroom... well it was to help put on a doona cover, so that reluctance was understandable... we finished off one of those myriad of chores that get interspersed throughout a day. Bending over the snap closes, intent on trying to line the damn things up, one didn't hear Him sneak around the bed. Damn those silent feet... how can someone that tall be so freakishly quiet?

Thrusting one face down onto the bed, He stood holding one's legs apart with his thighs while his hand pinned one down by the nape of the neck

Get off! A statement that might, to the untrained ear, sound almost exactly like hmmphff! muffled as it was by the damn doona.

Unperturbed He carried on pinning one down as his knee spread one's legs further apart. Leaning His body weight on one small slave's struggling... and for all the good it was doing still protesting... form, he slid his finger first into the cunt and then into the arse.... probing it none too gently.

Then as suddenly as He had pounced, he let one go...

Bastard!

The death of a quiet moment

Lying on the bed stretched out on the tummy one contemplated idle thoughts. He came in and snuggled up. We lay there for a few seconds as one became aware of the growing hard on that was pressing into one's thigh...

Contemplating doing bad things to a girl?

Oh you know, putting my cock in your arse... maybe a fist He replied as he nuzzled one's neck

The arse in question, which had been quite relaxed at that point desperately tried to clang shut at that last suggestion.

You are a bad, bad man. People have no idea about the constant threats one lives with.

You write a blog about it every day He replied. I think they have a very good idea.

Yeah, but they think you are funny...

He laughed quietly

... And they are wrong!

Doc Johnson: Mood naughty

This anal toy is a great size and shape for any level of experience. The velvet smooth surface slips in easily and the graduated shape allows it to stay put. The main body, while soft to touch, is quite ridged which aids insertion. The gently curved base and where the toy attaches to it are flexible, so once in the toy is very comfortable to wear for extended periods of time. All in all it makes for one of the most comfortable butt plugs we have tried.

The implement:

• Measuring about 12 cm (5") long the butt plug has a circumference of approx 10 cm (4") at its widest
• The curved base is 9.5 cm (3 3/4") long
• Made of silicone

The pros:

• Phthalate free
• Latex free
• Hypo-allergenic
• Can be cleaned with soap and water, boiled or put in the dishwasher
• Non porous
• Shape makes for easy insertion 

The cons:

• None that one can find...

In fact the anal sex that followed was pretty awesome too as the plug left the arse lovely and relaxed. It must have been the massaging done on the g-spot that the plug is supposed to do J

Cultural immersion

He has taken up a new hobby and for once it doesn't involve games. In His declining years he has decided to take up another language. So there He is leaning French 'cos many of the authors he loves are French and he'd like to be able to read the original versions

Sighs He really is quite bright... scarily bright might one add.

To Him learning French in its written form is relatively easy. In many ways it is a series of patterns and just as He only needs to be shown something on a computer once to learn it, so it seems to be similar for a new language.

That's not to say that He is quite ready to read Sartre, but he suspects Camus will be within his grasp. For now though His reading projects include a few comics and then he thought he would venture to the Story of "O". It seems He is starting with simple reading rather than abstract philosophical concepts. Even He has to start with the equivalency of "see spot run".

Of course one small slave is getting immersed too 'cos He also learns by sharing. Unfortunately one does not have His aptitude, so most of it goes sailing right past that part of the brain that saves useful information. Actually one deeply suspects that one hears about as much some men do when confronted by conversations about abstract, nebulous concepts like feelings and things of that ilk. However, one did click in for the end of last night's lecture discussion...

...  We should go to a French restaurant. Ordering food is a good basic skill, though I'm going to need to learn the phrase for "gluten and soy free?"...

Food? Food famed for its excess of lovely, rich fats and carbohydrates?

Perks with a sudden interest hitherto unknown when confronted by His latest obsession.

How about it?

Sitting on the couch, clean and sore... a state not caused by Him for a change... one suggested he might like to hit the shower. It was getting late and frankly one really wanted to put on a load of washing and go to bed. Round here the water pressure is low; to the point that things have to be queued otherwise you stand under the shower head and very little actually comes out.

Want your back washed He offered, leering suggestively in one's direction

Umm... no. Frankly while one gets that you have no desire to be mah bitch, your prices are way above the market average. Far more than one is willing to pay on this evening.

He smirked in his whiskers and sauntered off... not dragging one along for a change.

Wonders quietly if this is the fabled slave training one hears of... 'cos if it is, it isn't half as hot as one was lead to believe.

Two things worth noting

If someone of the female persuasion asks you to wash her back that aforementioned back does not terminate at the midline between her breasts. For that matter it does not extend to her back door. At least not the internal parts of it. And it does not need to be soaped, repeatedly, until it starts to sting.

Actually, while we are on that topic...

Cum is not the best way to flush out the soap.

Oh and the feeble excuse of I'm just being thorough doesn't cut it at all

Sighs OK that might have been a bit more than two things, but honestly the cost of a back wash around here is unbelievably high L

Love is...

I love you He said, while groping some little extremity

Umm... that feeling that you are experiencing; it's not love

No it's better than love. Its love with action He replied

Yeah starts with "l"...

Same amount of letters...

Not love J

Consent... what consent?

We were wandering the supermarket aisles chatting as we tried to remember what the hell it was that we actually needed.

Small note to self; shopping without a list when there is the second half of a cluster migraine trying to brew is foolish and doomed to failure... or at least a certain absence of key items.

You know one said, in response to some veiled threat...

 Actually it wasn't veiled at all. He was trying to lift up the edges of the stupidly short skirt one was wearing and expose naked flesh to all and sundry.

... consent could be withdrawn. According to some on Fet that is the correct thing to do.

Yes you can He said, without turning a whisker.

The tone made one look up from the soap that was being given a cursory glance at the time. Um... does that mean you would actually acknowledge that fact that consent had been withdrawn or that you would just ignore it?

What? Oh of course not He replied. You're mine He said, casually kissing the nape of the neck.

A gesture that would have been a lot more loving if He hadn't put his hand through the damn collar, thereby cutting off some of the air supply, as he did it.

Sighs you know sometimes one suspects that the information one brings home is like putting pearls before swine...

Sitting here...

Noticing how damn sore the arse is after you had your way with it...

Ever wondered how to have more sex? It's very simple; hook your hand around your slave's collar and frog march her to bed. Those collars are just like handles... only attached to a person rather than a pot

The mind turns with a certain fondness to the incredible orgasm. That is why one is sitting here smiling, rather than lamenting the loss of dignity that being frog marched out of the room in that manner caused.

All is forgiven J

All dressed up...

It was dinner time and waking from a short nap the perfect solution to the meal dilemma presented itself. Isn't it strange how the mind can have these perfect moments of clarity when waking from a short doze... really should spend more quality time on the couch. We can go to the tavern (where they helpfully label their food as gluten free), you can have some oysters while one indulges in a meal that won't cause hours of pain and then we can nip across the car park and pick up that pizza you are hankering for.  The simplicity of the plan was brilliant... which should have been a warning.

So we scampered around getting ready. This is to say that parts of the floor look like we have been burglarised, strewn with shoes and stockings as it is. It is a strange thing, but what works in the mind doesn't always look so good in reality. So several rejected shoe/ stocking combinations later we made it out the door looking casually hot.

Pulling into the car park we noticed that it was remarkably full for a Monday night. Not that there are a lot of dining options on a Monday night around here and it is the only one that actually marks its menu for those with food allergies. Wandering in we were greeted by someone's child in a uniform... gods wait staff are getting younger with every passing year... and informed that there was a special menu due to the kitchen being closed. It was more than closed, it was wrapped in plastic. They were doing a BBQ night instead. And there was us who had steak for lunch. Carnivore though one is two steaks in one day is a bit much.

Disgruntled we returned to the car to come home and confront the mess. Hungry, grumpy and faced with cupboards that were not a source of rich, fat ridden fare... well not for one small slave. He got his pizza. Even the consolation martini didn't help ease the mood. In fact it tasted meh... so much so that it was left unfinished.  

Sulks quietly while planning a more organised attack for next week... one that involves having a pantry that would rival Ratty's. 
Now all one has to do is find a way to keep Him out of it... what could go wrong?

Sexy

Defining sexy is a bit like trying to define art. You know it when you see it and it is purely subjective. The thing is though that sexy can perk you right up. So feeling slightly shitty and with the dregs of the migraine hanging around one set off to find sexy in shoe form.

For some reason there is little in the way of sexy in the shoe collection. There is hot, but that is not the same thing. Besides the shopping centre offered good air-conditioning and food that one didn't have to cook, both very attractive features with the tail end of a migraine. So with a lighter step one set off on the quest...

Now the shoe gods must have been smiling 'cos one found sexy in the first go. Thinking about it maybe they were laughing. Finding the object of your lust first pop, when you had plans of spending a day, is kinda anticlimactic.

Anyway there was sexy first shop... well second... there might have been a dress shop first.

It is a strange and idiosyncratic thing, but in the shoe world sexy also seems to be synonymous with death defying height and a side of slightly crippling...

But one small slave found a way around that...
Meet version 2.0 found as one was leaving the centre...

See the cunning plan is turn up in hot, sexy and high and change out when people are too immersed in their lives to notice the shift in height. Probably the third drink? That may need some fine tuning, but there is the plan.

Mutters it is a plan, not symptomatic of a shoe problem as one cruel person suggested.

Now all one needs is a bag big enough to hide the ringers in and everything should be sweet

Eyes off the bag collection despairingly...  this plan might need a bit more shopping work.

Domestic servitude

Stumbling through the door after taking an early mark from work due to that continued bloody migraine...

Continued might one add because the migraine meds that one takes are loaded in gluten. Everything from the contents to the coating, that makes it dissolve on the tongue to deliver faster into the system, is gluten and taking it has side effects that are almost, but not quite, on par with the migraine. So here one is riding it out sans meds. And back to the doctor's one goes to get a script for the old medication that doesn't work nearly as fast, or as well, but at least doesn't render one sick on two fronts. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

... one found that He had done the dishes again. The level of gratitude that little act generated was almost pathetic to be honest. He doesn't normally do random acts of house work. In fact it is rather the opposite.

It took a very long time to realise that He simply doesn't see mess the way one does. It's not that our views on mess are different, which they are, but that He literally doesn't see it at all. And oddly enough it doesn't occur to Him to do something about something that he can't see. Sighs it's a shame really...  intuitive domestic aptitude should be mandatory, rather like that other essential relationship skill, mind reading.

Don't get one small slave wrong He would love it if one spent more quality time in the uniform dancing around doing housework. He could watch it for hours... actually one suspects most men could. However, even He realises that one can't do it all and work and keep an active exercise life and, and, and... without some help. Besides that little disc, the one that is so apt to "slip" at the slightest provocation precludes certain tasks like vacuum cleaning. So He does pitch in when asked...

Now some readers here will understand when one says that asking causes some issues in its self, but that is not what this is about.

No this is about gratitude and about saying thank you so...

Thank you for all the help. It is appreciated.

And maybe to take a moment to share the fact that watching your naked little arse, as it pushes a vacuum cleaner around, is a sight that could also be watched for hours. If it weren't for the god awful noise the machine produces...

Yes that's right folks... the other cleaner here works naked

Sighs don't hate J

Too horrid

Staggering home with another migraine one found Him at the kitchen sink... actually doing something helpful rather than making a mess. It was a strange and at the time very welcome sight.  OK the sight of Him doing dishes was disconcerting, but it was finding him awake that really threw one small and very sick slave. It was only 5.30 pm and He should have been tucked up in bed sound asleep.

Of course our life being what it is He had hopes of one putting him back to sleep by some little sexual act. Unfortunately at that point in time the only sexual act one would have been capable of was a Roman Shower, to which He calmly replied that was what doggy style was for...

Er... bags not one small slave's side of the bed 'cos that would be the worst wet patch ever!

For those of you...

Who get embroiled in the words can mean whatever you think they do debates...

"A word without meaning is an abomination, for when the word passes beyond understanding the very thing the word stands for passes out of the world and cannot be recalled."

Now there are extra cookies for the person who knows which (now) slightly obscure book of Arthurian tales that quote came from J

Reciprocity

Some people get bruises and some get impressive marks from their BDSM practices. What did one small slave get from last night? Oh nothing that you can see or point to. Not that it usually does much good. He denies being the cause of what are obviously finger prints in places that one just wouldn't leave them... at least not on oneself.

No, one small slave got the right elbow flaring up. A fact that one noticed when picking up a weight at the gym and realising that the tendonitis was bad. Mr Sympathy's response was to suggest that one shouldn't struggle as much.

Not struggle? The man was hitting attacking with slappy, owie things. What was one supposed to do; lie there? There is a reason that bondage was invented. It's to protect the abuser from people just like oneself.

The really annoying thing is that was the arm that one managed to get free from Satan's clutch.

You'd think that it would be more grateful than this.

You know we have a rule that the gym isn't allowed to interfere with our sex life. Really one is thinking that rule should work both ways...

That's reasonable...

Right?

One quiet night

There had been plans for the weekend. Of course that was how one found oneself rostered on at work for most of the day. So we thought we will make the most of what time we have. Let's go to a movie and pretend that we actually managed to spend some time together. Of course there wasn't a bloody thing on that we wanted to see.

We'll do something fun He said as he dropped one off at the coal face. In fact He said it twice. Out loud. You know, just in case the gods of malice didn't hear it the first time. So twice curse one scampered into work.

First the headache started, it was as hot as hell in there and then the shift got extended to the close of day. Of course He didn't get the messages and turned up at the appointed hour... the first one... and had to hang around at the music store... never a cheap proposition. What with one thing and another it was 9.30 before we crawled into bed. Well one of us did, the other one was still messing around on His computer.

Thinking it safe one turned to other girly rituals. He came in and there was some rummaging around and then before you could say, let alone spell, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious one small slave was shoved in that bloody bondage bar. May one just say that Velcro is still Satan's tool. Like so many great inventions it was perverted by some malign person into a tool of terror L

He then proceeded to apply the flogger, followed by one of those nasty quirt things (second picture down, third from the left) that hurt like hell. Particularly when aimed at upturned genitals...

You know strangely enough one realised that the flogger had been missed. Not the quirt, that toy needs to be lost quietly.

We really need to find more time for this stuff

Oh not the bondage bar, that needs to be lost in the same place as the quirt.

But the rest of the night was fun J

No takers

Can't believe you haven't had more takers on the offer yesterday

No, He said and it was an entry level position. No experience required or anything.

Really would have thought that your inbox would have been full.

I don't think that you are a very good wingman at all He said mournfully. Sometimes you don't present me in the best light

Sighs we never see ourselves as others do... 

Training and obedience

We were lying in bed, as we are wont to do, when one small slave turned around and said oh well the next one might be more obedient.

I just should have started with the shock collar He replied with a note of regret in his voice. I realise now my mistake in not starting out as I intended

There was silence from one's corner...

You do realise that one is only disobedient 'cos it makes you a better person. Without adversity in our life we cease to grow. It's all for you my love. You, and your personal development.

And you do realise that with that shock collar you would be like Pavlov's dog by now He countered. You would be delightfully obedient.  In fact you would be almost used to it.

Given one's feelings about all things zappy one has doubts about that last statement. But one is willing to watch how it unfolds with the next one...

Any takers?

Anyone at all? 

Redefining interesting

Did you look at the links I left up He enquired...

To be honest one hadn't looked at anything except the inside of the cupboard since coming home. There was a shocking migraine you see and one small slave was peering in it in the desperate hope that there might be some rich source of carbohydrates that were safe to eat. When the tummy is roiling all it wants is toast. It is something that one can no longer oblige it with due to that little gluten issue.

Makes small note to self; brown rice is repellent to both the nose and the stomach when having a migraine L

I thought the immobilisers were interesting He carried on, rolling over one's disinterest.

So after making Him breakfast and lunch one snuck a peek on the way to bed. Umm... what sort of depraved mind would come up with these?And why does He always manage to find this stuff?

Prays quietly to any saint that looks after small slaves that they do not find their way to our tiny domicile...

No good is going to come of those L

Well we know what assume does

Bending over the kitchen bench... can't remember why exactly, but in hindsight it does seem a foolish choice of positions... one small slave was pinned down by an arm, as He pounced from nowhere. His free hand rained fiery blows upon the upturned arse until there were squeaks and squeals and rather a lot of squirming.

What was that for one enquired in an aggrieved tone

Well you assumed the position, He replied with a smirk

Only in your mind and your mind is a sick, fucked up place... said as there was some furious rubbing going on

My mind, He retorted with total equanimity, is the only mind that matters

Sighs hate it when He might have a point L

Opportunistic bastard! 

Small mercies

Did you like the picture of the paddle I left up He enquired, as one pottered around the kitchen.

Um... that wasn't a paddle. That was a nasty looking boar bristle brush. It was a hair brush that came with its own cleaning system. Something that did make one wonder quietly if it would clean off epithelial cells... not that one said that thought out loud.

It's a paddle He asserted. They have probably been used like that for centuries...

There was a little mime of someone bent over His knee and being walloped. The whole thing was a bit too graphic for one small slave who had gravitated from the kitchen to the study. In fact one backed out quite smartly... before the pantomime became a live demo.

It's a hair brush

It's a paddle He argued. It would be perfect

Frankly at nearly two hundred dollars... it was on sale from its normal price of over three hundred dollars... one can't help but think that it should come with someone to do the job as well. Besides one small slave's arse doesn't deserve such riches...

Honest... beams quietly

From the experimental kitchen

For the record there is a reason why all recipes for quinoa porridge have added things like fruit, spices, nuts and anything else that can be added to food. Quinoa might be a super food that is rich in protein and contain all nine amino acids, but it tastes like mown grass. In fact without a little vanilla bean extracts it tastes vile... even raisins alone couldn't save it.

On the other hand rice pudding made with brown rice and no extra sugar is as yummy as predicted. Of course it is hardly a fast breakfast and in fact has to be made before hand; otherwise one would never get out the door to work. Not that the idea causes as much emotional distress as you would think...

Wonders idly if breakfast took too long to cook is a valid reason for not showing up.

Conduct unbecoming

We were driving to dinner and His finger slowly inched up the leg. Under the dress and along the inner thigh it slid. Inch by inch it crept until it finally reached its destination. There was a gasp of disbelief.

You're not wearing any underpants He exclaimed in mock surprise.

There isn't enough room in this dress for oneself and underpants.

Mutters it is very form fitting and clingy and who wants a VPL?

Oh and while we are on the topic of that dress. When a girl, who is 162.5 cm (barely 5.3 and a bit), is peering up into her shoe cupboard going there is a pair of royal blue pumps in here somewhere, while uttering plaintive cries of help, sitting in your chair laughing, while watching her feeble attempts to reach them, is not very gentlemanly either. 

The downside of warmer weather

As one has mentioned before, the weather here is cranking up to bypass spring altogether. A flow on effect of all this warmth is the dispensing of clothes... not that it really takes much encouragement. Honestly for a girl so invested in her wardrobe one has a hearty loathing of actually wearing things. Call it the duality of Gemini if you must, but honestly it is more that this climate does not encourage clothes wearing.

Anyway there is one small slave and Him on a couch catching up on Lost Girl... just in time for the fourth season. Honestly we need to have a better system for watching things, but our trouble is that we both hate getting to the end of an episode and having to wait until next week to find out what happens. Subsequently we wait until there is a season and sit down and watch it. Of course by then there are hours of a show to watch and limited time... Sighs as one said we need a better system.

Back to sitting on the couch... one of us naked, one of us still snuggled in His dressing gown. The man is a frog... plain and simple. Of course He takes cruel advantage of the nakedness by being a sadistic pain. Just when the show is getting interesting He turns around and says pinch a nipple for me. It's bad enough that He is distracting and causes pain, but he is too lazy to do the job himself. Pain by proxy is lazy isn't it?

Mind you it probably hurts less when one does it than Him...

Hmm...

Maybe the alternatives are worse...

Happy to do the work Master...

Honest J

Duly noted

What do you think is the most attractive outfit for a woman to wear to bed He asked out of the blue, while casually sipping a drink

Umm... an oven mitt one hazarded wildly. 

No, He said, sounding slightly exasperated that one wasn't playing the game properly.

Naked?

Nope

Oooh, oooh, it's one of those nighties you see with the cute animals and saccharine slogans on them.

Er... no. The only people who like them are women He said, sounding slightly repulsed.

Tiring of the guessing game one conceded to having no idea.

It's two piece pyjamas He replied. 

The look of disbelief must have been evident in the furrowed brow one turned in His direction. Why?

Men consider them cute He said, sounding more than a little bemused as well. They don't want sexy or frills or even naked.

In what fucking universe are PJ's sexy?

I don't know He said sounding mournful. And I don't know what was wrong with the men who answered the survey that came up with those results either.

Well one is prepared to buy some. We can experiment...

Well don't spend too much on them He said. I'd hate for you to waste money on something that is probably going to end up on the floor destroyed.

You know one could be wrong here, but one deeply suspects that the destruction is not going to be brought about by the throes of passion.
Mutters at least not positive sexual kind...