“Ladies and gents, lovers and haters, sinners and saints,” I croon into the microphone, “it’s that time of the week again. Thursday, just twenty-four hours away from Friday night, when you can switch out those ties and pantsuits for t-shirts and shorts, or leather and latex depending on which party you got invited to. You’ve got Mr. XO here and tonight’s theme is Getting the Kinks Out. Tell me all your kinks, your proclivities, your fetishes, your secret desires, your weird turn-ons, and your things you have a thing for. A word of warning, you might just find your mind totally fucked. Which may be a good thing if that’s your particular kink. In which case, hit me up and tell me all about it!”

I smile at Donna, who laughs and gives me a thumbs up from the booth.

“Let’s start off with what makes a kink a kink? Does anything other than straight missionary sex with the lights off for the purposes of procreation count? Actually, some might consider that so out of their sphere of normalcy that it would be considered a kink.”

I wink at her, then focus back on the microphone. “While my lovely producer, Donna, is taking your calls, I want to focus on how we develop our particular turn-ons. Where does that need for whips and chains come from? What makes someone an ass-man versus a tit-man versus a nose-man? Why do we prefer doing it in the dark missionary style…or in Times Square under the neon lights?”

As I pontificate into the microphone, poor Donna is put to the test with this one. I can see her face morph into a hundred different expressions of disgust from eye-rolling to actual gagging as the calls come in. Apparently, the spectrum runs even wider than I thought. What ends up going live is good enough to create a top-tier show. It’s like a purge, everyone exorcizing their demons, only to find out that those demons may not even need to be purged. It’s one of my favorite kinds of shows where the callers and listeners find out they aren’t as “weird” as they thought they were.

“…. It was Disneyland, I’m sure of it. I worked in Fantasyland and these girls, all in high school and college like me at the time, they made them wear these outfits that practically screamed ‘fuck me’, with these puffy white shirts and those blue shorts that look like skirts. It was the knee socks that really got me off; perfect, white knee socks. Not that they need to be white for me these days. I actually have a thing for stripes. But what does it say, a thirty-five-year-old guy asking the woman he’s dating, who by the way may also be in her thirties, to wear knee socks while we fuck?”

“…. The thing is, my Dad used to drench himself in the stuff. I can’t help thinking about that. How fucked up is it that all I have to do is smell a man’s aftershave and my panties get wet?”

“…it’s the power shift I enjoy. I spend all day supervising a team full of—well, let’s just say they basically write their own how to screw in a goddamn lightbulb joke. When I get home, all I want is someone to take over. Just tell me what to do. Even to the point of when I’m allowed to come, if at all, which is such a fucking turn on, let me tell you.”

“…. I think it’s because when I was home sick from school I’d always hear my mom vacuuming, which is something I’d obviously rather not think about. I mean really, getting a hard-on just from the sound of a vacuum? When I get married and have kids, I won’t even be able to live in a house that has carpet!”

“…. I mean, it’s just so clichéd, right? Much older men. I even call them Daddy, granted some of them like it when I do. I was a sugar baby for a while and always picked guys around the same age as him. It wasn’t even the gifts or the money, it was the attention. God, I’m so fucking basic!”

“…. We eventually figured out that it works best with one of those kiddie pools. We tried the tub at first but—let’s just say it wasn’t easy explaining to the landlord how the drain got plugged with a shit ton of spaghetti and tomato sauce. It was weird at first, still is, frankly. But I love her so what am I gonna do?”

What the fuck?

Donna, having already screened the call is silently laughing from behind the booth. Stories like this are one of the many reasons I love this show.

“Okay, anonymous caller, first of all let me just say, I’ve been at this for years now and I have to congratulate you for officially introducing me to something new under the sun.” I throw in a good-humored chuckle then pause to segue into a more serious vibe.

“But that brings up a good point about communication. Sex is an important part of a relationship and a discussion about likes and dislikes is important. In a perfect world, we find someone who is into the same things we are.”

Naturally, this has me thinking about Prynne and how easily she took to exhibitionism. I can personally attest to how easy it is to spiral further and further down the path of risk. Sometimes I long for the simple thrill of streaking at Princeton. The Nude Olympics that the school was known for had been banned ten years before. As if rules ever stopped a reckless student such as myself.

Now, I have someone to share my own kink with.

“For others,” I continue, “it’s a matter of trust and open-mindedness, most importantly giving as much as you get. So, I congratulate you, anonymous caller, for being that type of partner.

“As for what causes us to like what we like, I think after tonight we can safely assume that, like most of what makes us, us, part of it certainly harkens back to our youth, most likely Ma and Pa. Calling on Freud. Oedipus and Electra, anyone? If you have mommy and daddy issues, I think tonight proves that perhaps you aren’t alone. Rest assured even your own dear host has his own, ah, shall we say minor points of contention when it comes to Mummsy and Daddums.”

I chuckle into the microphone. “Now that I and all my lovely callers have completely fucked with your heads, I’m going to bid you adieu, dear listeners. Until next week, that’s Mr. XO signing off. Hugs and Kisses.”

“So, what’s going on this week that I don’t know about?” Donna says, coming out of the booth to sit on the edge of the desk next to me. “I saw that look on your face when you were talking about relationships. Don’t tell me the girl next door is now your main squeeze?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Main squeeze? Which episode of Leave it to Beaver did you pick that one up from?”

“Don’t change the subject,” she says, poking me in the arm. “Does she know about your particular kink?”

“I never flash and tell, Donna,” I scold in a teasing voice as I stand up and stretch.

“At the very least, I’d like an idea of what themes I should be expecting in the upcoming weeks. I think I need my ears washed after tonight. Have you ever heard of plating?”

I give her concerned look. “Do I want to know?”

“No you don’t,” she says then laughs. “Seriously, I think some hazard pay is in order after this one.”

“How about a drink instead?” I offer.

“I would, but the missus awaits. We’re planning this thing for her grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary. Fifty years, can you believe it? We should be so lucky.”

“I should be so lucky,” I mutter without thinking.

Donna stares at me with a skeptical smile. “Wow, I never thought I’d hear that from Mr. Pump-and-dump.”

“Hey, I’ve never used that term,” I growl, then wrinkle my brow. “Have I?”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Sorry, my own crude mouth at work. Not that you aren’t the epitome of it,” she adds with a smirk.

“Well, maybe it is all about communication,” I muse. “I communicate my interest for no strings attached, and they pick up my signal. It makes things less…complicated.”

The kind of complicated that gets one kicked out of Princeton. The kind of complicated that gets one excommunicated from his family. The kind of complicated that gets one shunned by people he thought were his friends.

“Speaking of communication, or lack thereof, I’m going to leave next week’s theme a surprise for you.”

She glares at me then pushes away, saying her goodbyes. I watch her go as I ponder what next week’s theme will actually be. Once again, it all hinges on Prynne.

I wonder how she’ll react this Saturday, which may be even more revealing than what happened last weekend.