A Letter to My Son

My Dear Child,

I have a confession to make to you.

Your father and I have been lying to you.

I know it's hard to hear that; we've always done our best to be honest and forthright with you. But the fact is, we've been feeding you little white lies for years, and it's time to come clean.

1. That sword we keep in the bedroom, next to the mirror? It's not in case of zombie apocalypse. The truth is, it makes an awesome sex prop during a play scene. You do have to be careful with it; it's a bit unwieldy. But it's also totally fun.

2. That container in our bathroom cabinet, the one you're not allowed to touch? It's not full of poisonous and dangerous cleaning supplies. It holds all of mom's sex toys--the insertable ones, anyway. Taking a look inside that container may just burn your eyes as much as an accidental spray of bleach to your face, though.

3. That big black bag in our closet? It's not full of mom's "thin" clothes she hopes to fit into again someday. Believe me, your mom is more clever than that; she knows that's never going to happen. No, that bag is filled with whips, floggers, spreader bars, cuffs, collars, straps and hooks, everything your mom and dad need to have a good fucking time, literally. Sorry, that might have been TMI.

4. That rocking sound you hear in the middle of the night sometimes? It's not mom sitting in the rocking chair at odd hours. Please understand, we try our best to muffle the sounds we make, sometimes with mixed results. We've tried padding pillows between the wall and the headboard and trying to keep our wild gyrations down to a minimum, but sometimes, all efforts fail, and well...what can I say. Rhythm is gonna getcha.

5. Those screams you hear from me on a regular basis? It's not your father "tickling" me. Well, sometimes it is, when he's applying tickle torture. But most of the time, it's just good old fashion pain. And believe me, it is good. Oops, TMI again.

6. That bottle of KY jelly you found in the glove compartment of my car? Yeah, I got nothin'.

The truth is, son, I have a feeling you already know what's going on, and what the score is between your father and me. Your father and I have a unique kind of relationship--well, not that unique, plenty of other people have it, too, but you'll have to wait until you're older to find out about that, and only if you want to--and we love it. It's one of the main reasons why we found each other, why we've been together for as long as we have, and why we have every plan on growing old together and dying together. The dynamic we have wouldn't work for everyone, but it works for us, and I hope someday, you can accept that.

But for now, we can all just play along and keep saying that your mom likes to rock in the rocking chair at one o'clock in the morning, that she has every intention of fitting into those skirts again someday, that she is only trying to keep your precious eyes safe by keeping you away from those nasty cleaning supplies, and the sword in the bedroom really is just in case of zombie apocalypse.

We won't mention the KY Jelly in the car. Ever. Please and thank you.