Blog Blogger: XXX PROPOSAL could hardly walk, but I made it to the shower, dressed, got my papers in order. Then I headed for the elevator, and as I closed my door, who should step out of the next room but my dear little kinkette and her parents. They were carrying a few small traveling bags. Her dad looked nothing like me, thank God; a solid chunk of midwestern propriety, he was talking angrily into a cell phone about a missing delivery. The mother was 45 going on 20, or so her clothes and make-up indicated. She was listening to an iPod, tunelessly singing along to Alicia Keys, I think. The girl, my girl, was dressed plainly, jeans and nice purple silk blouse, and her eyes were locked on mine. All the laughter and sex of the night before was in her stare.