MERRY CHRISTMAS, Y'ALL!!!

I was honey-doing at my mother-in-law's house last week when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a miniature Dachshund and ten beautiful toes!  The caption that Talbots chose is 'AS YOU WISH'.  I'm thinking that maybe 'LUCKY DOG' might be at least as appropriate a title.

Whose wish is it?  Several years back I was talking with a dog lover friend of mine. She's very pretty. Wholesome girl next door good looks like Saundra Bullock.  A good mother and a great person.  She's on the list of people I admire.

We were watching her dogs play and the conversation drifted to what a dog's life might be like.  We both thought that it could be a good thing to be a dog, but, I added, it would depend on to whom you belonged. She replied, 'Yeah, I think it would be good to be my dog.  Wouldn't you like to be my dog?'  I said, 'Oh, honey...you have NO idea!'

That comment went pretty much right past her.  Folks who aren't kinky don't have kinky thoughts.  Like this picture, most folks probably think it's just a cute ad, and it is, but I see a little more to it.

I asked my wife what message she thought the photo conveys.  Her response? "Lick my feet, doggie!"

A crowd of people turned away....

.......but I just had to look, having read the book.

I found a reference to this book and film some time ago on Mistress 160's Abode.  She's an Auzie. The subject of her prolific blog is her life and times with Sol, her sub.  She wrote a poignant piece about this film and it's premise.

I've not seen the film, but I did buy the book.  It's well written, and touches on a theme that has been part of my fantasy life for years, even before I had any inkling that sex or sadomasochism or any such thing existed.

When I was a lad, I oftentimes escaped into my head where I was taken captive by a group of girls.  Always bigger, stronger and many, I was at their mercy.  One thing missing from this story that was always present in my imagination was caring.  Yes, I was beaten and tormented, but there was always one who protected me, loved me and cared for me.

Revelation is about rape.  Despicable thing that it is.

The women in this story abduct and abuse the main character, then discard him.  He was a professional dancer. After the incident he finds himself unable to pursue his craft.  He's left to deal with the aftermath on his own.

In the end, I believe he does heal, though the book is a bit of a cliff hanger in that it ends at the beginning of his coming to grips with the reality of what happened to him.  Following a lengthy, years long and fruitless search, his life is approaching some semblance of normalcy when he happens upon one of his captors quite by accident.  The reader can't be certain that she's one of the culprits, but I'd bet money she's guilty based upon her behavior when when he confronts her.  He's subsequently arrested for accosting her.  It is at that is the point  he begins to reveal what happened to him.

I once had a girl....

....or should I say, she once had me? I had a girlfriend when I was in college who seemed to be a great fit.

A grad student, she was three years older than me. She had a younger brother whom she had dressed in skirts when they were kids. Her description of their relationship sounded much as mine with my older sister. She was the boss.

We dated for awhile, I was as attentive as I could be. Did her nails, massaged every bit of her that she wanted rubbing. 

One night while I was giving her a back rub I put forth the idea that I would like to belong to her, to be her slave. I'd been dropping little hints for awhile.  She said nothing at first, I prompted her, asking:"What do you think?". She rolled over onto her back, clasped her hands behind her head, smiled at me and said: "What do I think? I think you should get down on your knees and kiss my feet, that's what I think." 

So it began. She used to spank me with a wooden spoon, sometimes a belt. She seemed to relish telling our friends that she was the dominant one, ordering me around while they were there, remarking that I was becoming 'well trained'. She'd teasingly threaten to expose me, sometimes asking out loud in the presence of others if she was going to have to get her spoon. Once wrestling with me, trying to pull off my socks to show that my toenails were polished to match hers.

So it was for almost four years. We lived together for a short while. As time went on she was increasingly critical of me. I could do nothing right. I was damned no matter what. Got in trouble once for pulling a kleenex out of the box wrong. The box had moved a little so it was no longer paralell with the wall. She loved cunnilingus but thought I was disgusting for doing it. Crazy shit like that. In the end it was a very bitter breakup. She said terrible, hateful things. I suppose it was because she was in anguish as well. I was absolutely devastated. Lost 20lbs. I couldn't bear to see a couple holding hands because I felt that intimacy was something I'd never have. Time went by. I went to grad school. I dated a little, kept my sectrets, got burned a couple of times. Once was stood up for a date. (Why bother, just say no if you don't want to go out with me.) In grad school I met two wonderful women. They were both employed in the department. Both married with kids. They befreinded me, took me under their wing, gave me love and respect. Put me in my place when they thought it necessary. Really renewed my faith in mankind and showed me that not all women were stark raving lunatics as experience had previously taught.

MASH

The first mainstream kink I recall was that of Major Margaret Hoolihan on MASH.  I was just a boy, and I had no idea really that anyone but me was interested in such stuff.

Two episodes that come to mind:

1. Margaret recieves a package from her betrothed, Donald Penobscott, who we never see on the show by the way.  She's excited to open it and is thrilled when she does exclaiming: "Oh, Donald knows how much I enjoy fine leather." This as she pulls out and cracks a bull whip.

2. Frank Burns, ever Margaret's wimp, has committed some transgression. The entire MASH crew is in the surgical unit as Frank pleads forgivness accross a patient.  Margaret is steadfast in her refusal to grant clemency despite Frank's desperate pleas.  "Please Margaret, I'll do anything!"  "I'll kiss your feet.!"  To this Mararet's reply is a stern look and a time to meet in her tent.

I clearly recall being stunned.  What? What was that she said?  Can I hear that again?

Oh, and isn't she lovely?

A picture is worth a thousand words......

Women's Health

There is an interesting article in this month's edition of Women's Health magazine exploring the changing roles of men and women in society. I got my wife a subscription., mostly because I want her to take care of herself and I'd like to keep her around for the duration. Perhaps she'll even outlive me, who knows.
She bought Men's Health for me a few years back. The editor is a bit misguided. The mag is overall a good thing.

My comment on the article is that the Alpha male is not dead. Just because I'm submissive to a woman doesn't mean that I'll let just anybody have their way. We're still here. Ready, willing and able.

Loss

I always feel for folks who didn't have a good relationship with their father. I have several friends and acquaintances whose fathers died young, or were bastards, or were just not in the picture. I cannot imagine.

I lost my dad a year ago March. We were very close. My sister pointed out to me that he would stand up for me and with me no matter what. She said" "You were the light of his life from the day you were born until he took his last breath." And that's how it was.

We didn't plan that, nor contrive to make it happen. It just was.

It's particularly difficult, for me anyhow, to lose a person like my father, who loved me so dearly. How do you go on? I have been, but life has been throwing up additional obstacles for me, making the going tough. A selfish older brother who really does nothing but for himself, a nearly untenable job change. ( I really have to get something going on here!) Mother is mentally sharp, but physically infirm and hoping to die so she can be with dad. So, this does not beg a comment. Just my thought for the day.

For those who read this, I hope you had loving parents who thought that the best thing in the world was to spend time with you. I did. I make a point to tell my girls that there is nothing that brings me greater happiness than to be with them.

Nosce te ipsum

The Ancient Greek aphorism "Know yourself", Greek: γνῶθι σεαυτόν gnōthi seauton (also ... σαυτόν ... sauton with the ε contracted), was inscribed in the pronaos (forecourt) of the Temple of Apollo at Delphi - according to the Greek periegetic (travelogue) writer Pausanias (10.24.1).
The aphorism has been attributed to at least six ancient Greek sages:
Chilon of Sparta (Chilon I 63, 25)
Heraclitus
Pythagoras
Socrates
Solon of Athens
Thales of Miletus
Other sources attribute it to Phemonoe, a mythical Greek poetess. In a discussion of moderation and self-awareness, the Roman poet Juvenal quotes the phrase in Greek and states that the precept descended de caelo (from heaven) (Satire 11.27).
The saying "Know thyself" may refer by extension to the ideal of understanding human behavior, morals, and thought, because ultimately to understand oneself is to understand other humans as well. However, the ancient Greek philosophers thought that no man can ever comprehend the human spirit and thought thoroughly, so it would have been almost inconceivable to know oneself fully. Therefore, the saying may refer to a less ambitious ideal, such as knowing one's own habits, morals, temperament, ability to control anger, and other aspects of human behavior that we struggle with on a daily basis.
It may also have a mystical interpretation. 'Thyself', is not meant in reference to the egotist, but the ego within self, the I AM consciousness.
In Latin, the aphorism is generally given as nosce te ipsum. The Latin version of the aphorism is written on a plaque above the Oracle's door in the Matrix film series, where it is rendered in a non-traditional Latin; that is to say temet nosce ("thine own self thou must know") translated in the Matrix as know thyself.
In the true theological sense, "Know Thyself" is a fundamental tenet of the question of life's meaning. To truly 'know oneself' in this sense involves a deeply personal, spiritual transformation whereby a person would seek to orient themselves towards understanding their own phenomenological perceptions of reality, so as to gain earnest insight into aspects of one's own existence. Thus the theological sense of "Know Thyself" entails an experiential revolution of spirit in the sense of the Socratic periagoge

I post this as it never ceases to amaze me the number of people I encounter who really seem to have no idea who they are. Not that I'm the prince of knowing myself, but I do try.

Most telling are the perceptions of others. What do other people, those who know you, say about you?

I am a social animal. I like to have lots of folks around all the time. We connect, talk to one another and see just what's what.

So, anyone who reads my posts. Please share a thought won't you?

Good Girls Don't

...but I do! Really the heading for this post should be "The things some guys won't do, but I will." I like the heading I posted better so....

I was sitting on my neighbor's porch one evening last summer, talking about the usual things. The kids, the yard, vacations etc. She complained that she'd hurt her back and was a little miffed because she couldn't bend down to polish her toenails. Now, there was a little boy inside me who was jumping up and down in his chair waving his hand in the air saying "Oh, oh! Pick me!" BUT of course I couldn't do that so I said: "Ask Jeff (her husband) to do it for you." Her response? "Oh, he'd never do that for me."

Really? I get to touch you and be sweet to you and make you happy? Hmmm, can't see the down side to anything there.

Another day: sitting in the living room watching TV with one of my adorable sister's in law and her husband. She complained that her feet were really sore and gee, she wished she could have some foot rubs. The little boy was practically falling out of his seat this time...OH PICK ME!!!

Instead I suggested to her husband that perhaps he might oblige her. His response with a laugh "I'm not touching those stinky things."

Go figure.

An Epihany

When I was twelve years of age or thereabouts, my folks and I traveled to Kentucky for spring break. We stayed at Shakertown and did some sightseeing in the beautiful areas around there. We stopped in Bardstown. In the center of that town is a traffic roundabout. On one side of that is a large limestone slab. Next to that slab is a plaque noting the significance of the slab that it was used as an auction block for slaves.

I posed atop the stone for a photo. As dad was taking the pic, an attractive young woman in her twenties happened by. She was wearing a plaid skirt and penny loafers as I recall. She asked my father how much would he take for me and some of the things I might be trained to do for her.

I just about swallowed my tongue. Then and there I wanted nothing more than to be her slave. I pictured myself ironing her clothes, being her house boy. If I displeased her, she'd punish me. If I was obedient I might be permitted to kiss her feet as a reward.

Of course, I was terribly ashamed of myself for having such feelings. It was less than manly after all.

Rosemary

Also when I was but a wee lad: I had a girl friend in the neighborhood. I'll never forget the first time I saw her. Were were probably 6 years old. I was enamored completely. She had long golden brown hair and olive skin. She had a long pretty nose with a little bump right at the middle. (One of my faves as far as noses go.)She was all around a very pretty girl.

We became good friends, played together nearly every day in the summer for a number of years up to about the age of 12 or so. We rode bikes, swam, fished climbed trees and shared sweets.

Sometimes we'd wrestle. I'd let her win. She'd pin me down and make me smell her feet. She always seemed to have the same pair of canvas Keds. A summer day in those left her toes quite ripe. Something like sweet malt vinegar on french fries at the county fair. Of course, I relished every opportunity and maneuvered myself to be defeated by her whenever I could.

In the beginning

I suppose the best place to start: I am 47. I have over the past many years struggled to some to grips with myself. Why am I the way that I am? In my late teens, I was intrigued with psychology. Among other interests that is. Physiology, anatomy, neurology, endocrinology, and just a whole lot of other words ending in Y. So...........

When I was a boy, I was often left in the charge, and to the devices, of my sister.  She was eight years old when I came into the world. Through the years we spent together, she was many things to me. One of my first experiences of the opposite sex. She took me everywhere with her, even on dates. Sometimes she was sweet and loving, sometimes not so much.

When she was primping, I would sit and watch. She'd polish her nails and do mine too. She would fix my hair, add a little lipstick and we'd go show mom what a pretty girl I was. The praise was heaped on.

My mother always took me to the beauty shop with her to get a hair cut while she was having her hair done. The women there would fawn over me. The stylist would run her fingers through my hair, proclaiming jealousy: "Oh I wish I had hair like this, he's so beautiful! He should have been a girl!" There was always a chorus of agreement.  A Salon, a full gallery of adult women, a place somewhat resembling a doctor's office where all artifice of the feminine may be applied. Peculiar experience for a little fella.

I enjoyed the attention my sister gave me when she was being sweet. To this day, I envy women the intimacies they share with one another.  Brushing each others hair, sharing cosmetics. Primping and preening together.

At some point, my mother decided that I should be 'cured' of any feminine interests.  (Up to this point remember that I had been encouraged and praised in this activity.) To this end, she compelled me to appear before one of my compadres barefoot. Sister had polished my toes. Pink frost. The memory is indelible.

Of course, there was no cure, but a twist.

Sister took some delight in tormenting me. Tortures that were, for lack of a better term, sensual. She'd pin me down, tickle me unmercifully, kiss me, rub her hair on me, lick my nose (ew!). "Do you want to smell my feet?" she'd ask. Laughing as she pressed them to my nose. Eventually, I began to crave this treatment. I recall once asking to smell her feet. She let me.

It was summer. August probably because I remember it being too hot to sleep.  We lived in the north, and in those days there were only a few August days one might call the 'dog days'. (ooh, a pun, sort of.)  We had cottage on a lake.  It only had two bedrooms and we were thus compelled to share one as my parents were in the other. 

It was beastly hot.  No air conditioning in those days, just open windows.  Lots of tossing and turning and restlessness listening to the breathing in the house and the crickets outside.  If I was eight or nine she would have been sixteen or seventeen. We had bunk beds, I was on the bottom.  I got out of bed and stood at the foot, looking at her silhouette in the darkness.  I whispered her name and asked if she was awake?  She was about half asleep, but said yes.  "Can I smell your feet?".  She said nothing, but lifted her body and moved her legs so that her feet were at the edge of the bed.  I buried my nose in them until my legs wouldn't hold me up any more. That place I'd been sent to, put, in defeat, against my will, fought my all not to go,  more times than I can count. Now here was I. Begging leave to go there. May I? Please? Summertime: Leather sandals, Prell shampoo, Coppertone, salt......... sweat.

I sometimes thought it was a dream.  Neither of us has spoken about it to one another. There was not a thing sexual about it. at least for me.  To this day, when I am feeling distressed there is but one place I want to be. At the feet of a strong woman.

There were times when she beat the stuffing out of me. I never gave up, she never relented.  She asked me once several years ago why I was so stubborn that way.  "Why didn't you just give up?" It was because I just couldn't.

Perhaps I came to know that at last it was finished?