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Sunday, March 31, 2019

Off the Deep End

I don't consider myself to be particularly bright. Indeed, I am oftentimes confounded by the limits of my intellect. The things I can't recall. Where have I put them?

Then I take a drive. Pull up to an intersection and meet some others. More often than not it seems that I am the only one who knows who has the right of way.  Same issue multiplied by  favor of twelve on the water.

Where do these people come from?  How have they navigated the world to the point that they have a motor vehicle and supposedly a 'license' to operate the thing, but have no idea at it's actual operation.

Wednesday, August 1, 2018

Don't Let Go the Coat

I'm sure I'll get the hang of hanging in there, some day.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Long Away

Years ago I read a bit written by a young woman about her experiences developing a D/s relationship with her boyfriend. When making love, she would get him close to orgasm then pause and compel him to confess his desires. He’d expressed a particular attraction to her feet, sock and shoes. She spoke ofreservations that she’d had about mistreating him and how she gradually overcame her inhibitions. “I’ll never forget the first time I made him lick my feet. I came home at the end of a particularly hard day. I had been wearing the same pair of wool socks in my penny loafers for three days.” She made him strip, paddled his ass then sent him to his task. “I was afraid he’d catch the scunge or something. Nothing came of it, except the biggest boner I’d ever seen.”

Monday, July 9, 2018

Aby somebody or other.

Aby-normal, yes that's it.

A female friend asked me the other day: "Jack, you'd know about this."

I may, yes that's true.  I don't know if she was referring to my background in psychology, or my kinks.

The question was this: "My husband likes to put his fingers in my rump and then smell them. Is that normal?" 

I laughed and said that I believe people eroticise just about anything.  That's not my thing per say, but I don't think it's particularly unusual.

I have a good friend who I have known since we were six or seven.  In our teens/twenties , when we were stag and wanton he'd see an attractive woman and ask aloud: "Wouldn't you like to have her fart on your head?"

Well, no, Steve.  The thought hadn't crossed my mind, but now that you bring it up....EW!

I've seen some mighty peculiar stuff, and when I get to start feeling a little like I'm bent, all I need do is take a look around.

Saturday, June 30, 2018

Imagine a Man

Imagine a man, not a child of any revolt
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine the sand running out as he struts
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife
Imagine a road, so long looking backwards
You can't see where it really began
Imagine a load, so large and so smooth
That against it a man is an ant
And you will see the end
You will see the end
Imagine events that occur everyday
Like a shooting or raping or a simple act of deceit
Imagine a fence around you as high as prevention
Casting shadows, you can't see your feet
Imagine a girl, you long for and have
And the body of chalky perfection and truth
Imagine a past, that you wish you had lived
Full of heroes and villains and fools
And you will see the end
You will see the end
And you will see the end
You will see the end, oh yeah
Imagine a man, not a child of any revolt
But a man of today feeling new
Imagine a soul so old, it is broken
And you will know your invention is you
And you will see the end
You will see the end
You will see the end
You will see the end, oh yeah

Pete Townsend 

Wednesday, June 27, 2018

Five Dollar Frank

Hey Joe! Where you going with that gun in your hand?

Awhile back I took a sightseeing tour with a WWII USAF veteran in his Bonanza four seater.  He had several airships.  This one, I think, he favored.  Flew the thing like it was an extension of his person. Feeling the craft.  He was about eighty at the time.  Scared the stuffing out of my wife, who was a passenger, too.  I'd flown with the same fellow decades before.  Putting his bird into wide banking maneuvers through the gorge of North America's oldest river.

Wednesday, June 6, 2018

She said.

When I was a boy, about 16 year old, I went to Jensen Beach with my folks.  We met some family friends who lived in the vicinity and went prospecting for real estate. (They were realtors.)  One home in particular stands out in my memory.  It was the abode of a physician, his wife and children, a beautiful young family.

Mrs. Dr. Who was at home with the kids. She welcomed us in. Me, with the ever present boner of a young buck, (alas, poor woodie, I knew him well), and no less appreciative of the female form than I am now, couldn't help but gaze upon her.  She was petite, tanned and muscular with an athletic build. Loads of curly dark auburn hair down past her shoulders. She noticed that I was admiring her, and that I was looking in particular at her ankle sock clad feet.  She looked me in the eye, looked down at her feet, then looked back up with me, smiled and shucked off her socks.  Perfect size six I would guess, and crimson polish to boot.  All the while she was carrying on a conversation with the oldsters who were meandering about checking out the house. And she's making me feel like I've never been born.