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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.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Dreaming from the Waist.

Take a look at this photo. Interesting, is this a real photo?  Sure looks like it is. Looks like it was done in s studio, and who goes to have their picture made and only takes one?  So. There are more.

Her: Eyes open, but looking down and back to her pet. Her expression is one of confidence. She's in command. He will obey. That whip looks like it'll bite you. Appears to have been out of the box for some time, well used. Is that a hole just behind the whip on the back side of her left stocking? I imagine he helped her dress. Cinched up her corset, put her stockings on her, laced up her boots.

Him: Eyes closed. He's waiting, anticipating perhaps, her next directive. Those cuffs look as if they've been around the barn a time or two. He can be immobile and helpless with the click of a hook. Too bad we can't really see his tat's clearly. Perhaps she commissioned them at various junctures, commemorating that time in their relationship?

To paraphrase an old friend: 'There's a definite difference between erotic images and porn.'  I classify this as the first one.  Would that it is real.

Once upon a wit.

Saller Kellerman reads Molly Bloom from Joyce's "Ulysses" much to the delight of Rodney Dangerfield in "Back to School" 1986.

Son: Dad, she is the teacher.

Rodney: I like teachers. Do something wrong and they make you do it over again.

Monday, October 30, 2017

Imaginary Lovers

'There were spaces between Donald and whatever he said. Strangers had forced him to live in his head.' John Prine

Got to thinking the last couple of days about peoples imaginations.  Mine, and those of friends and acquaintances.  Some folks have them, others not so much.

I live most of my sexual fantasies just in my mind.   I have a vivid imagination, so I'm told. Oh the places I've been, me and Dr. Suess. That said, I don't have an imaginary friend.

A coworker of mine, by all appearances (or lack thereof), had an imaginary lover.  She shared details of this relationship with those of us in the office. The whole thing was a secret from his family.  She was a goy.  His mother would not approve, so they had to keep things on the down low. He lived in another state and would fly in some weekends to be with her. No one alive known to me ever saw this guy.  She was/is a special kind of crazy.

Had a bud in college. He lied so much and so often that, behind his back and to distinguish him from several others we knew with the same first name, we added 'Bogus' to his moniker.  He told us all once that the GF was coming to town for a big holiday.  We all saw him several times that weekend. She was always somewhere else, visiting so and so and so on.  Then she left town.  

Sunday, June 4, 2017

Long Away

You might believe in Heaven
I would not care to say
For every star in Heaven
There's a sad soul here today
Wake up in the morning with a good face
Stare at the moon all day
Lonely as a whisper on a star chase
Does anyone care anyway
For all the prayers in Heaven
So much of life's this way

Did we leave our way behind us
Such a long long way behind us
Who knows when, now who knows where
Where the light of day will find us ?
Look for the day

Take heart, my friend, we love you
Though it seems like you're alone
A million lights above you
Smile down upon your home
Oh, Hurry put your troubles in a suitcase
Come let the new child play
Lonely as a whisper on a star chase
I'm leaving here, I'm long away
For all the stars in Heaven
I would not live
I could not live this way

Did we leave our way behind us
Such a long long way behind us
Leave it for some hopeless lane
Such a long long way
Such a long long way
Such a long long away
I'm looking for
Looking for that day

Written by Brian May.
Sung by Brian May.

Wednesday, January 11, 2017

Mice and Men

The year was 1986. August I think. I was twenty four years old.  A friend of mine was celebrating her 40th birthday. She'd just left her place of employment, where we'd met, and was about to embark on a new adventure on the West coast, San Fransisco.

The party was well attended. It was in a large A-frame home nestled in the woods at the edge of a nature preserve.  The owner was an artist and professor. I was late in arriving as I'd had some other business to attend to.  The birthday girl's sister had the compass upside down on the crude, hand drawn map that came with the invitation.  I'd spent some time driving about in the wrong part of the county in the dark.

She was pretty well lit up by the time I arrived.  It's amusing, sometimes, to be the only sober one in the room.

I drank a few of the beers I'd brought with me and conversed with other folks from the place where we had worked. Met some new folks. It was a good time, all in all.

The day had taken it's toll on me and the beers rendered me unconscious.  I woke up in a dark room feeling the urge to pee and hearing some noises.  Blinking and looking around I found myself on a bed with the birthday girl and her sister there with me, sleeping. I was a bit upset with myself in that I'd missed the party. As I gained consciousness and focus, I listened to the noises I was hearing, trying to discern what was making them.  Best I could tell, someone was administering a whipping in the next room.

Still, I had to pee.  I made my way to the hall and across it to where I remembered a bathroom.  Soft candlelight revealed a woman spread eagle on the vanity and a fella with his drawers down going at her.  (Hey! What the fuck!!? My toothbrush!!!) I thought briefly that they might not notice me on the can but....  I made my way down the stairs and ran into the Prof in a hallway.  He seemed not at all surprised at my presence, asked what he could do for me and directed me to the bathroom on that floor.

I went back upstairs to bid farewell to my friend.  (It's rude to leave and not say goodbye, eh.)  She was sober by now.  We talked, whispering in the darkness with her sister snoring right there next to us.

That was the last time I saw most of any of those people in person.  Last I heard of the A-frame was that it had become vacant and neglected. Birthday girl was contacted in recent years through social media.  I had to remind her who I was.  (!) She looked like a nun in the photo she put up.  Not the person I remembered telling me about conjugal visits at the prison, a boyfriend who like to pretend he was selling Girl Scout cookies,  and who made some awesome preserves from homegrown produce.  When she did remember me she said, 'Oh yes. That person is gone now. That was another lifetime.'

The plan I had in those days was to continue my studies, earn a Doctorate, teach and conduct research.  Psychology with an emphasis on behavioral genetics, intrauterine effects on neurological development and psychopharmacology.  I never quite got there. Perhaps I gave up too easily. It got to a point though, that I really didn't find the idea of spending hours in the lab too appealing anymore.  I wanted to go sit on my boat. I still think that's about the best pass time.

Along the path I delivered packages, (What can brown do for you? Heh.) Cleaned poop off of various surfaces in many capacities. (There really is shit everywhere.) Managed tens of millions of dollars and personnel. Built things, tore things down. Married a grand little Irish woman. Had some troublesome girls who I love deeply, but wish were boys just every once in awhile, like when they wreck my truck or call me to ask for tech support from 1000 miles away.  

The best laid plans. I had it all there figuring what I was going to do next.  Didn't work out quite like I planned. It's been just grand all the same.