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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.

Thursday, November 3, 2016

Catholic Girls

I recall an incident. Back in the day.  Must have been about when I was in the third grade or so.  We were assembled in the church for Mass.  Gordon L., being himself, was causing mischief.  I don't remember exactly what is was he was at, but one of the Sisters came and snatched his ass out of his seat. What happened to him after that I don't remember.

I thought I was minding my own business, admiring the attributes of the high school girls who had filled the adjacent pews. Perhaps I was being a bit too obvious as, much to my surprise, I was hoisted from my seat by a habit wearer and plopped down in the midst of a sea of plaid skirts and white blouses.  It was something else. Sister probably thought she was punishing me. Ha!  Though I was uncomfortable and embarrassed at having been singled out, I had quite a rush.  Knee socks and penny loafers, all that hair, all those smells that are peculiar to females. Bonus!!

Don't know what became of old Gordon. Years later he had a 'Big Mac Attack' and bolted out of our algebra class.  Funny kid. I heard that he had some run in's with the law as an adult.   Never could live by the rules.

Friday, October 28, 2016

Psychopathia Sexualis

Richard von Krafft-Ebbing, the author of this encyclopedia of unusual sexual preferences first published in 1886.

I read sections of it during my studies in psychology.  I found one edition that was in english, but with all of the explicit descriptions in Latin.  Therefore, only the most erudite of pervs may partake and understand.  

One case study that hit close to home for me, (there were several), was that of a young man and a servant girl in his family estate.  At the end of the days would recline in a window case I think.  There she would read and relax. Taking off her boots and stockings, the family dog came to lick her toes.  The young man was fascinated with this and begged permission to observe.  This went on for some time with the boy eventually taking the role of the dog, consuming the liquor of her daily toil.