lovesbrightwomen

Stay clean, my friends......

2011-12-19T17:58:00.000-08:00

Nostalgia from 1985.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eUMB8FS6C8&feature=player_detailpage

What was he thinking?

2011-11-21T08:30:00.000-08:00

This artist, that is, Adolphe William Bouguereau, when he created this piece? The title is: 'Before the bath.'

I mention in a previous post that one day, while Renoir was being fitted for new eyeglasses, he threw them to the floor, crying, 'Good God, I see like Bouguereau!' I would that I had his vision.

The best one can ever do, in my humble opinion, is to hazard a guess. Speculate on what it is you believe the artist, speaker. friend or whomever was thinking, or perceiving, at the time. You may be close, maybe even spot on if you can see through their eyes.

Bouguereau's work often featured solitary images of females. He paid great attention to their form and, in particular, their legs and feet. A man after my own heart, indeed.

I've had the distinct displeasure of working with a couple of people who had the habit of saying: "I know what you were thinking. You were thinking......" They would go on to describe what my thoughts were. Products of their own twisted little imaginations. Nowhere near what I was thinking.

The subsequent pieces are: 'After the bath' and 'The lost pleiad'

I want to break free!

2011-10-07T06:50:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=f4Mc-NYPHaQJust about time for the weekend. Here's an upbeat tune to get us on the way. Blue skies, sunshine and warm weather.

A Quick One

2011-09-22T06:30:00.000-07:00

'Boris the Spider', written by John Entwistle, recorded in October of 1966 at Pye studios in London and featured on the album titled above. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvFuUaCe8eY&feature=player_detailpage

My brother turned me on to the music of 'The Who'. He'd put this vinyl recording onto the monaural turntable in our living room for me. It was an enormous thing. Four feet tall or so in a beautifully finished maple cabinet. I was told to sit x number of feet away from it, so as not to damage my hearing. Left to my own devices, I'd crank the volume up and put my head right up against the speakers to enjoy the full effect of Entwistle's bass. 'Happy Jack' was a favorite tune also.

Star bright, star bright.......

2011-08-10T15:27:00.000-07:00

Joni Mitchell wrote 'This Flight Tonite' (lyrics below) in 1970 or thereabouts. Nazareth, a Scottish band, covered the tune in the early seventies. I remember listening to it on the AM radio in those days. Dan McCafferty's gravelly voice, sounding like he had a perpetual case of strep, instructing the listener to look out to the left.

Some argue that Naz massacred Joni's composition. I think it's more comparable to Hendrix's version of Bobby Dylan's 'All Along the Watchtower'. Like fresh baked wheat bread. Delicious all by itself, but now toasted with honey whipped butter. A different experience altogether.

Look out the left the captain said

The lights down there, that’s where we’ll land

I saw a falling star burn up

Above the Las Vegas sands

It wasn’t the one that you gave to me

That night down south between the trailers

Not the early one

That you can wish upon;

Not the northern one

That guides in the sailors



Oh starbright, starbright

You’ve got the lovin’ that I like, all right

Turn this crazy bird around

I shouldn’t have got on this flight tonight



You got the touch so gentle and sweet

But you’ve got that look so critical

Now I can’t talk to you baby

I get so weak

Sometimes I think love is just mythical

Up there’s a heaven

Down there’s a town

Blackness everywhere and little lights shine

Oh, blackness, blackness dragging me down

Come on light the candle in this poor heart of

mine



Oh starbright, starbright

You’ve got the lovin’ that I like, all right

Turn this crazy bird around

I shouldn’t hove got on this flight tonight



I’m drinking sweet champagne

Got the headphones up high

Can’t numb you out

Can’t drum you out of my mind

They’re playing "goodbye baby, baby

goodbye,

Ooh, ooh, love is blind"

Up go the flaps, down go the wheels

I hope you got your heat turned on baby

I hope they finally fixed your automobile

I hope it’s better when we meet again baby



Starbright, starbright

You got the lovin’ that I like, all right

Turn this crazy bird around

I shouldn’t have got on this flight tonight

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HolbQ_XBnak&feature=player_detailpage

Thank you, Scotland for another savory bite.

Strokes

2011-08-03T06:03:00.000-07:00

It's pouring down the rain here, keeping me inside this morning.

Strokes, (not the vascular kind), things that make us feel good, wanted, interesting, valued. Sometimes they're just to take our mind off of other things. Everybody wants some, I want some too.

People get theirs in different ways. Some healthy, some not so much. Some of us use myriad sources, good ones at this time of day, bad ones at another. Some people build, others tear down. It's not hard to slip from one to the other. Some might say that's human nature. Maybe. I'm thinking there are other forces at work.

I have a nephew who gets his strokes at the gaming tables. It must feel really good to win. He'll sacrifice just about anything to play. I understand the feeling, but not the means to his end. Never been a game kind of a guy. I suppose if I were confined to a closet, and the only entertainment was a deck of cards or a monopoly board. Well, then maybe.....but there is always my sweet imagination to take me elsewhere.

I have encountered persons who have an obsessive need to control. One that added humiliation of those she was controlling to her palette. Like nurse Ratched in 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.' It was her in reality now that I think about it. Often, I don't think they can see it themselves. That kind I really cannot understand. Perhaps it's to assuage the feeling of helplessness. The world is a random and capricious place. "If I can just create some order over here, chaos will cease to exist!"

I'm gonna build today and try real hard not to be an ass.

Funk!

2011-07-19T11:48:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3hBYTkI-sE&feature=player_detailpage

Like Rock and Roll, the license to 'cool' and muscle cars, cheese burger fries and a coke. Only one place on earth you can get the real thing!!!

Hot sax!

2011-06-21T08:30:00.000-07:00

If you've not had the experience of a (I believe that's a '68) Chevelle under your fanny, well. You owe it to yourself to find one and take a drive. This is a 'muscle car'. A fairly preposterous proportion of steel and horsepower. A fire breathing dragon and you've got her by the tail!

Check out this link to one of my favorite films made shortly after the era of this car and set in the decade just prior to her birth. Love the sax. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6fJata9hFo&feature=related

Freddie!

2011-06-16T08:10:00.000-07:00

Oh to have his vocal range! Freddie Mercury, a mercurial character indeed. I read that he had some extra molars. He attributed his voice, in part, to those choppers.

One of two composers who sometimes bring tears to my eyes. Miss you Freddie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rUGRedIV4xM&feature=related

I wish I were her Nubian Girl

2011-06-14T10:59:00.000-07:00

The following is translated from hieroglyphs. Written about 1100 BC. I used to think I was the only one who had such thoughts:

I wish I were her Nubian Girl,
one to attend her (bosom comppanion).
Confidant and a child of discretion:
Close hidden at nightfall we whisper
As (modest by day) she offers
breasts like ripe berries to evening-
Her long gown settles, then bodiless
hangs from my helping hand
Oh, she'll give pleasure! In future
no grown man will deny it!
But tonight, to me, this chaste girl
bares unthinking the delicate blush
Of a most secret landscape,
her woman's body

Envy

2011-06-05T09:18:00.000-07:00

I mentioned on this post: http://femdom101.blogspot.com/2011/05/my-take-feminazation.html ,that I envy women a number of things. That's not to say that I want to be a woman, I just miss the time long ago that I was allowed to stand at the door of the clubhouse and watch. Occasionally I'd be let in.

This is actually not an oil on canvas but a doctored photo in a series called 'Dream of a maid" by Kamal Kamil.

Es tut mir leid, y'all....

2011-05-21T16:57:00.000-07:00

but I didn't get taken in the rapture. Here's a little something to carry us over: http://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video?p=she%27s+so+high+above+me

Excerpt from "The Three Musketeers"

2011-05-05T06:58:00.000-07:00

Pale, motionless, overwhelmed by this frightful revelation, dazzled by the superhuman beauty of this woman who unveiled herself before him with an immodesty which appeared to him sublime, he ended by falling on his knees before her as the early Christians did before those pure and holy martyrs whom the persecution of the emperors gave up in the circus to the sanguinary sensuality of the populace. The brand disappeared; the beauty alone remained.

"Pardon! Pardon!" cried Felton, "oh, pardon!"

Milady read in his eyes LOVE! LOVE!

"Pardon for what?" asked she.

"Pardon me for having joined with your persecutors."

Milady held out her hand to him.

"So beautiful! so young!" cried Felton, covering that hand with his kisses.

Milady let one of those looks fall upon him which make a slave of a king.

Felton was a Puritan; he abandoned the hand of this woman to kiss her feet.

He no longer loved her; he adored her.

Good Love

2011-04-28T18:40:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZTAhZKP5wCY

and whammy bars are indeed hard to find!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmoHQ2DC3zo&feature=related

Where IS that tenderness? Damn, I wish I was twenty again.

All of the above.

2011-04-16T16:42:00.000-07:00

This is a song written by one Susan Werner. Not a main stream artist. I heard the song quite by chance several years ago. Driving one of my girls to a baseball game, listening to NPR. (It does have some worth after all, public radio!)

I know this woman. Not Werner. The one who wrote this list. More than one woman actually.

It causes me great sadness to watch them sitting with the list, waiting, hoping, asking me what the problem is. Do I know any nice single men?

I know and I tell. "No, that's not it Jack. That's not the reason, I'm not like that"

Well. I'm standing on the mountain, and it's a clear day. I can see, but she don't believe.

I'm makin' my list, checkin' it twice
Looking for a lover who is naughty and nice
Looking for an innocent with schoolboy charm
Looking for a kinky little French gendarme
Looking for a felon with a tattooed arm and a leather glove
And I want all of the above
All of the above, that's right

All the above and all of this too
Want me a nature boy paddlin' a canoe
A Wall Street wizard in a pinstripe vest
A doey-eyed Bowie in a little black dress
I once settled for so much less, what was I thinking of
Now I want all of the above
All of the above

All of the above is what I need
All of the aforementioned yes indeed
Feelin' pretty lonely and I must concede
That I need some love
And I want all of the above now
All of the above

Yeah I want all of the above but none of the below
None of what's to follow now no no no
An old man gettin' by on schoolboy charm
A dirty and perverted little French gendarme
A felon with a fully loaded firearm, headin' to Mexico
I want none of the below now
No no no no no no no no

None of the below, none of these please
Nature boy kissin' all the Christmas trees
A Wall Street wizard in a junk bond mess
A doey-eyed Bowie wearin' my black dress
I'm never gonna meet with any real success in that scenario
I want none of the below now

None of the below, nothin' of the kind
None of that was really what I had in mind
True true lovin' baby's hard to find but I know I know
That I want none of the below

And hey, hey
Everybody looking for a Tom Terrific
Hey hey
North Atlantic to the South Pacific
Hey hey
I've done my study and it's scientific and the numbers showed
Take none of the below
And get all of the above
Hey hey hey

All of the above and none of the below
Line up all my candidates in one long row
Line up all my candidates if anybody comes
So far it's just me twiddlin' my thumbs
So far it's just me
Livin' off crumbs

And I want some love
And I want all of the above
All of the above
All of the and only, all of the and only
All all all all all all all of the above now

Seriously now...

2011-04-14T18:26:00.000-07:00

The ad attached here seems to have caused an outbreak of hysteria. (More on the origin of that word later.) I'm not seeing the conspiracy that's alleged to be behind this. Perhaps I too am an idiot for fueling the fire?

Does any sane, rational human really believe that putting nail polish on a tot is going to cause long term damage to his psyche? Apparently some of the folks at fox news do, and have their panties in a bunch over this. It's a J.Crew ad.

Proboscises

2011-04-07T07:53:00.000-07:00

I adore the female form. As our friend Henrich Heine said in his poem "Unvolkommenheit" from the Lazarus collection: 'Nichts ist vollkommen auf dieser Welt'. (Nothing in this world is perfect)

That said, I don't know that I've ever seen anyone with an absolutely perfect form. (Well, there was Arnold) Nor do I care to really. I think some things imperfections are what make them beautiful. "Der Rose ist der Stachel beigessellt. Ich glaube gar, die lieben holden Engel im Himmel droben sind nicht ohne Mangel."

I particularly like noses, women's noses. Prominent noses.

I have two favorites. One is like that posessed by her most beautiful self, Marilu Henner. A little bump right in the middle of the ridge.

The other favorite is a short nose that turns up slightly at the end. Like this one:

I like to run a finger over the bridge. There are a couple of women aside from my spouse who indulge me in this from time to time. Usually when I've had a bit too much to drink. It's not an erotic thing for me, I sometimes just have to touch.

One of my favorite cartoonists

2011-04-05T12:04:00.000-07:00

This image is from the collection of Kami Tora, a Japanese erotic toon artist. I believe there is a name for this style of drawing. His website and fan club have a section for requests. It's been closed for some time now. I wish he would open that aspect of his page up again as I have a particular idea that I'd like to see illustrated.

If anyone can read that symbol in the corner and tell us what it says I would be most appreciative.

It could happen.

2011-03-21T07:18:00.000-07:00

Do you remember Judy Tenuta, the comic? She seems to be out of the mainstream media these days. I remember watching her perform stand up. She'd be in the middle of some outrageous story, such as: "I was snow skiing in the alps with the Pope and.... " she'd get a laugh of incredulity from the audience. Her response would be to give the audience a look and say: "What? It could happen."

I've been told that I have a vivid imagination. That is indeed the case. I suppose it developed when I was a kid in part to stave off boredom, and as I mentioned in a previous post, I used to tell myself stories to put myself to sleep.

I reading Ms. Marie's recent post about the limits of her play, and a link she had to another post about the same, I came across some more artwork by Xrenderer. Speaking of a vivid imagination, below is some of his work:

Three piercings, interesting tattoos. I think that one on the scrotum would be next to impossible, yes?

This looks like fun. All that ornamentation and he still has body hair?

Perhaps I should have waited until next Valentine's day, given the heart theme?

Nothing's simple.

2011-03-18T06:48:00.000-07:00

I sometimes find an interesting bit on the web, and then I lose track of where I saw it. Such was the case with a post in a 'group' setting that I read, and I think about from time to time. It was written by a woman. She thought she'd found the man of her dreams. Everything was great in their marriage except that her husband had no interest in participating in the kind of sexual relationship that she had envisioned they would have. That being one wherein she would master him. He would be subject to whippings and so on as she would have it. She said that she thought it would change, or that she could change him, once they were married. At times she felt as if she would explode, (or something like that), if she didn't get to release her pent up desire.

Relationships and marriages are complicated things to achieve and keep up. Much like a house. You have to keep after it all the time, cleaning, picking up, painting the eaves, keeping water out of it.

Even when people plan carefully their path they sometimes find themselves in places they don't expect, and perhaps never wanted to be.

Irish Folk Tales

2011-03-17T07:49:00.001-07:00

Happy Saint Patrick's Day, Y'all!

This from 'The Henpecked Giant' in the book 'Irish Wonders', popular folk tales as told by the people of Ireland:

"But its me own belafe that the most sarious mishtake av Finn's was in marryin' a little woman. There's thim that says all wimmin is a mishtake be nacherbut there's a big differ bechuxt a little woman an' a big wan, the the little wans have sowls too big for their bodies, so are always lookin' out for a big man to marry, an the bigger he is, the betther they like him , as knowin' they can manage him all the aisier. So it was wid Finn an' his little wife, for be hook an' crook she rejuiced him in that obejince that if she towld him for to go an' shtand on his head in the corner he'd do it wid the risk av his life, bekase he'd wanted to die an' go to heaven as he heard the priest say there was no marryin' there, an' though he did n't dare to hint it, he belaved in his sowl that the rayzon was the wimmin did n't get that far."

When I was a boy....

2011-03-07T07:43:00.000-08:00

...we had a cottage on a lake in the country. It was a rural resort community. I spent all the summers of my youth on or about the water. I can smell the lake right now, in my minds eye. Water, blue-green algae, two stroke oil and gasoline.

There was no trash pick up there, so dad used to burn some of the things he didn't feel like hauling all the way back to the city to dispose of, like the newspapers that he used to line the cat's litter box. (Smells a little like cigarettes when it burns, but less repulsive.)

Anyhow, he used an old 55 gallon drum as a burning barrel. Those things were everywhere in those days. People used them to float their docks. They'd spring a leak and sink, becoming a nesting area for fish, or sometimes just be floating around the lake half full of water. A hazard to swimmers and boaters alike.

That barrel used to get really hot. I was five or six or so. I would wonder; 'How would it feel to touch that thing?' One day, my curiosity got the better of me. I could resist temptation no longer and I put both of my hands on it.

To date, this was not one of my better ideas. I didn't get burned too bad. Blisters on my fingers, they're all still intact. No one bothered to ask me why I'd done it.

For years thereafter, I had to resist that temptation to burn myself just to feel what it was like. I got over it, and found healthier ways to make the endorphins flow. Am I therefore a masochist? I suppose by some definitions yes, but I've never really liked labels as such.

So, what made me think of this was that I've read some posts about branding of late. I like the idea. As a symbol of ownership, love and devotion, done by someone I want to belong to.

Leopold!

2011-02-24T07:10:00.000-08:00

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch

(born, Lemberg, January 27, 1836 - died, Lindheim, March 9, 1895)

Sacher-Masoch is best known for the novel, “Venus in Furs,” about the masochistic relationship between Serverin von Kusiemski dreamer and dillatante, and Wanda von Dunajew, a beautiful, free-spirited widow, to whom he becomes a slave. The novel is based on real events from the author’s life. It is was also the novel that Dr. Richard von Krafft-Ebing singled out in the origin of the word “Masochism.”

A brief biography of Sacher-Masoch from “Studies in the Psychology of Sex” by Havelock Ellis (“Love and Pain” pp. 114-119):

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch was born in 1836 at Lemberg in Galicia. He was of Spanish, German and more especially Slavonic race. The founder of the family may be said to be a certain Don Matthias Sacher, a young Spanish nobleman, in the sixteenth century, who settled in Prague. The novelist’s father was director of police in Lemberg and married Charlotte von Masoch, a Little Russian lady of noble birth. The novelist, the eldest son of this union, was not born until after nine years of marriage, and in infancy was so delicate that he was not expected to survive. He began to improve, however, when his mother gave him to be suckled to a robust Russian peasant woman, for whom, he said later he gained not only health, but “his soul”; from her he learned all the strange and melancholy legends of her people and a love of the Little Russians which never left him. While still a child young Sacher-Masoch was in the midst of the bloody scenes of the revolution which culminated in 1848. When he was 12 the family migrated to Prague, and the boy, though precocious in his development, then first learned the German language, of which he attained so fine a mastery. At a very early age he had found the atmosphere, and even some of the most characteristic elements, of the peculiar types which mark his work as a novelist.

It is interesting to trace the germinal elements of those peculiarities which so strongly affected his imagination on the sexual side. As a child, he was greatly attracted by representations of cruelty; he loved to gaze at pictures of executions, the legends of martyrs were his favorite reading, and with the onset of puberty he regularly dreamed that he was fettered and in the power of a cruel woman who tortured him. It has been said by an anonymous author that the women of Galicia either rule their husbands entirely and make them their slaves or themselves sink to be the wretchedest of slaves. At the age of 10, according to Schlichtegroll’s narrative, the child Leopold witnessed a scene in which a woman of the former kind, a certain Countess Xenobia X., a relative of his own on the paternal side, played the chief part, and this scene left an undying impress on his imagination. The Countess was a beautiful but wanton creature, the child adored her, impressed alike by her beauty and the costly furs she wore. She accepted his devotion and little services and with sometimes allow him to assist her in dressing; on one occasion, as he was kneeling before her to put on her ermine slippers, he kissed her feet; she smiled and gave him a kick which filled him with pleasure. Not long afterward occurred the episode which so profoundly affected his imagination. He was playing with his sisters at hide-and-seek and had carefully hidden himself behind the dresses on a clothes-rail in the Countess’s bedroom. At this moment the Countess suddenly entered the house and ascended the stairs, followed by a lover, and the child, who dared not betray his presence, saw the Countess sink down on a sofa and begin to caress her lover. But a few moments later the husband, accompanied by two friends, dashed into the room. Before, however, he could decide which of the lovers to turn against the Countess had risen and struck him so powerful a blow in the face with her fist that he fell back streaming with blood. She then seized a whip, drove all three men out of the room, and in the confusion the lover slipped away. At this moment the clothes-rail fell and the child, the involuntary witness of the scene, was revealed to the Countess, who now fell on him in anger, threw him to the ground, pressed her knee on his shoulder, and struck him unmercifully. The pain was great, and yet he was conscious of a strange pleasure. While this castigation was proceeding the Count returned, no longer in a rage, but meek and humble as a slave, and kneeled down before her to beg forgiveness. As the boy escaped he saw her kick her husband. The child could not resist the temptation to return to the spot; the door was closed and he could see nothing, but he heard the sound of the whip and the groans of the Count beneath his wife’s blows.

It is unnecessary to insist that in this scene, acting on a highly sensitive and somewhat particular child, we have the key to the emotional attitude which affected so much of Sacher-Masoch’s work. As his biographer remarks, woman became to him, during a considerable part of his life, a creature at once to be loved and hated, a being whose beauty and brutality enabled her to set foot at will on the necks of men, and in the heroine of his first important novel, the Emissär, dealing with the Polish Revolution, he embodied the contradictory personality of Countess Xenobia. Even the whip and the fur garments, Sacher-Masoch’s favorite emotional symbols, find their explanation in this early episode. He was accustomed to say of an attractive woman: “I should like to see her in furs,” and, of an unattractive woman: “I could not imagine her in furs.” His writing-paper at one time was adorned with a figure in Russian Boyar costume, her cloak lined with ermine, and brandishing a scourge. On his walls he liked pictures of women in furs, of the kind of which there is so magnificent an example by Rubens in the gallery at Munich. He would even keep a woman’s fur cloak on an ottoman in his study and stroke it from time to time, finding that his brain thus received the same kind of stimulation as Schiller found in the odor of rotten apples.

At the age of 13, in the revolution of 1848, young Sacher-Masoch received his baptism of fire; carried away by the popular movement, he helped defend the barricades together with a young lady, a relative of his family, an amazon with a pistol in her girdle, such as later he loved to depict. The episode was, however, but a brief interruption of his education; he pursued his studies with brilliance, and on the higher side his education was aided by his father’s esthetic tastes. Amateur theatricals were in special favor at his home, and here even the serious plays of Goethe and Gogol were performed, thus helping to train and direct the boy’s taste. It is, perhaps, however, significant that it was a tragic event which, at the age of 16, first brought to his the full realization of life and the consciousness of his own power. This was the sudden death of his favorite sister. He became serious and quiet, and always regarded this grief as the turning-point in his life.

At the Universities of Prague and Graz he studied with such zeal that when only 19 he took his doctor’s degree in law and shortly afterward became a privatdocent for German history at Graz. Gradually, however, the charms of literature asserted themselves definitively, and he soon abandoned teaching. He took part, however, in the war of 1866 in Italy, and the battle of Solferino he was decorated on the field for bravery in action by the Austrian field-marshal. These incidents, however, had little disturbing influence on Sacher-Masoch’s literary career, and he was gradually acquiring a European reputation by his novels and stories.

A far more seriously disturbing influence had already begun to be exerted on his life by a series of love-episodes. Some of these were of slight and ephemeral character; some were a source of unalloyed happiness, all the more so if there was an element of extravagance to appeal to his Quixotic nature. He always longed to give a dramatic and romantic character to his life, his wife says, and he spent some blissful days on an occasion when he ran away to Florence with a Russian princess as her private secretary. Most often these episodes culminated in deception and misery. It was after a relationship of this kind from which he could not free himself for four years that he wrote Die Geschiedene Frau, Passionsgeschichte eines Idealisten, putting into it much of his own personal history. At one time his was engaged to a sweet and charming young girl. Then it was that he met a young woman at Graz, Laura Rümelin, 27 years of age, engaged as a glovemaker, and living with her mother. Though of poor parentage, with little or on knowledge of the world, she had great natural ability and intelligence. Schlichtegroll represents her as spontaneously engaging is a mysterious intrigue with the novelist. Her own detailed narrative renders the circumstances more intelligible. She approached Sacher-Masoch by letter, adopting for disguise the name of his heroine Wanda von Dunajew, in order to recover possession of some compromising letters which had been written to him as a joke, by a friend of hers. Sacher-Masoch insisted on seeing his correspondent before returning the letters, and with his eager thirst for romantic adventure he imagined that she was a married woman of the aristocratic world, probably a Russian countess, whose simple costume was a disguise. Not anxious to reveal the prosaic facts, she humored him in his imaginations and a web of mysticification was thus formed. A strong attraction grew up on both sides and, though for some time Laura Rümelin maintained the mystery and held herself aloof from him, a relationship formed and a child was born. Thereupon, in 1893, they married. Before long, however, there was disillusion on both sides. She began to detect the morbid, chimerical, and unpractical aspects of his character, and he realized that not only was his wife not an aristocrat, but, what was of more importance to him, she was by no means the domineering heroine of his dreams. Soon after marriage, in the course of an innocent romp in which the whole of the small household took part, he asked his wife to inflict a whipping on him. She refused, and he thereupon suggested that the servant should do it; the wife failed to take this idea seriously; but he had it carried out, with great satisfaction at the severity of the castigation he received. When, however, his wife explained to him that, after this incident, it was impossible for the servant to stay, Sacher-Masoch quite agreed and she was at once discharged. But he constantly found pleasure in placing his wife in awkward or compromising circumstances, a pleasure she was too normal to share. This necessarily led to much domestic wretchedness. He had persuaded her, against her wish, to whip him nearly every day, with whips he devised, having nails attached to them. He found this a stimulant to his literary work, and it enabled him to dispense in his novels with his stereotyped heroine who is always engaged in subjugating men, for, as he explained to his wife, when he had the reality in his life he was no longer obsessed by it in his imaginative dreams. Not content with this, however, he was constantly desirous for his wife to be unfaithful. He even put an advertisement in a newspaper to the effect that a young an beautiful woman desired to make the acquaintance of an energetic man. The wife, however, though she wished to please her husband, was not anxious to do so to this extent. She went to an hotel by appointment to meet a stranger who answered this advertisement, but when she had explained to him the state of affairs he chivalrously conducted her home. It was some time before Sacher-Masoch eventually succeeded in rendering his wife unfaithful. He attended to the minutest details of her toilette on this occasion, and as he bade her farewell at the door he exclaimed: “How I envy him!” This episode thoroughly humiliated the wife, and from that moment her love for her husband turned to hate. A final separation was only a question of time. Sacher-Masoch formed a relationship with Hulda Meister, who had come to act as secretary and translator to him, while his wife became attached to Rosenthal, a clever journalist later known to readers of the Figaro as “Jacques St.-Cère,” who realized her painful position and felt sympathy and affection for her. She went to live with him in Paris and, having refused to divorce her husband, he eventually obtained a divorce from her; she states, however, that she never at any time had physical relationships with Rosenthal, who was a man or fragile organization and health. Sacher-Masoch united himself to Hulda Meister, who is described by the first wife as a prim and faded but coquettish old maid, and by the biographer as a highly accomplished and gentle woman, who cared for him with almost maternal devotion. No doubt there is truth in both descriptions. It must be noted that, as Wanda clearly shows, apart from his abnormal sexual temperament, Sacher-Masoch was kind and sympathetic, and he was strongly attached to his eldest child. Eulenburg also quotes the statement of a distinguished Austrian woman writer with him that, “apart from his sexual eccentricities, he was an amiable, simple, and sympathetic man with a touchingly tender love for his children.” He had very few needs, did not drink nor smoke, and though he liked to put the woman he was attached to in rich furs and fantastically gorgeous raiment he dressed himself with extreme simplicity. His wife quotes the saying of another woman that he was as simple as child and as naughty as a monkey.

In 1883 Sacher-Masoch and Hulda Meister settled in Lindheim, a village in Germany near the Taunus, a spot to which the novelist seems to have been attached because in the ground of his little estate was a haunted and ruined tower associated with a tragic medieval episode. Here, after many legal delays, Sacher-Masoch was able to render his union with Hulda Meister legitimate; here two children were in due course born, and here the novelist spent the remaining years of his life in comparative peace. At first, as is usual, treated with suspicion by the peasants, Sacher-Masoch gradually acquired great influence over them; he became a kind of Tolstoy in the rural life around him, the friend and confidant of all the villagers (something of Tolsoy’s communism is also, it appears, to be seen in the books he wrote at this time), while the theatrical performances which he inaugurated, and in which his wife took an active part, spread the fame of the household in many neighboring villages. Meanwhile his health began to break up; a visit to Nauheim in 1894 was of no benefit, and he died March 9, 1895.

Just so you know....

2011-02-23T10:30:00.000-08:00

........I am still alive.

I was out of town for a week, on on the way I caught a nasty virus. Coughing, fever, sore chest. Even my hair hurts, so I haven't had the time or inclination to post. Doc says all I can do is treat the symptoms and ride it out. Yippee cayay.

I've read a couple of little things around here and there that I've been thinking about. Like bumper stickers in my mind:

"Intelligence is the most potent aphrodisiac."

"Don't worry, it's only kinky the first time."

"Duct tape: turning 'No, no, no!' into 'Mmm, mmm, mmm!"

A classic clip:

2011-02-10T07:42:00.000-08:00

A friend posted on her blog that another person told her that she had issues. What human doesn't, eh? I'm lousy with them. Like bed bugs! Anyhow, her comment regarding that made me think of this clip from the Steven Segal film "Under Siege". Funny stuff.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UCId3kjWPs8

Word to the wise: if you're trying to hi-jack a naval vessel, you might want to lock up the cook first. The cook is usually not who or what he seems to be. In this case it's Segal as a good guy. In "Hunt for Red October" the cook was a Politburo bad guy.

Yes, and I know that some of you all can't read German, sorry about that. Send me a message if you want the English version of the previous posts?

Angels and Champagne

2011-02-08T07:26:00.000-08:00

I am not yet too tired to run, so I hope to delay my departure 'till much later. I would like to visit with the angels though, and have a glass of champagne. I wish I could say that I don't believe in angels, or demons, but I've seen both. The latter more than I'd like.

In any case, this is a favorite poem by Heinrich Heine. He wrote it toward the end of his days, as he was suffering the terminal effects of syphilis. I'm not including the English version because in my opinion it doesn't translate well.

Rückschau

Ich habe gerochen alle Gerüche
In dieser holden Erdenküche;
Was man genießen kann in der Welt,
Das hab ich genossen wie je ein Held!
Hab Kaffee getrunken, hab Kuchen gegessen.
Hab manche schöne Puppe besessen;
Trug seidne Westen, den feinsten Frack,
Mir klingelten auch Dukaten im Sack.
Wie Gellert ritt ich auf hohem Roß;
Ich hatte ein Haus, ich hatte ein Schloß.
Ich lag auf der grünen Wiese des Glücks,
Die Sonne grüßte goldigsten Blicks;
Ein Lorbeerkranz umschloß die Stirn,
Er duftete Träume mir ins Gehirn,
Träume von Rosen und ewigem Mai -
Es ward mir so selig zu Sinne dabei,
So dämmersüchtig, so sterbefaul -
Mir flogen gebratne Tauben ins Maul,
Und Englein kamen, und aus den Taschen
Sie zogen hervor Champagnerflaschen -
Das waren Visionen, Seifenblasen -
Sie platzten - Jetzt lieg ich auf feuchtem Rasen,
Die Glieder sind mir rheumatisch gelähmt,
Und meine Seele ist tief beschämt.
Ach, jede Lust, ach, jeden Genuß
Hab ich erkauft durch herben Verdruß;
Ich ward getränkt mit Bitternissen
Und grausam von den Wanzen gebissen;
Ich ward bedrängt von schwarzen Sorgen,
Ich mußte lügen, ich mußte borgen
Bei reichen Buben und alten Vetteln -
Ich glaube sogar, ich mußte betteln.
Jetzt bin ich müd vom Rennen und Laufen,
Jetzt will ich mich im Grabe verschnaufen.
Lebt wohl! Dort oben, ihr christlichen Brüder,
Ja, das versteht sich, dort sehn wir uns wieder.

Pearls

2011-02-07T07:25:00.000-08:00

I found this pic here: http://dishevelleddomina.tumblr.com/ There was a comment with it that said something to the effect that he want's to be where he is. She doesn't even need to really hold the leash.

My impression is that he's well trained, on a very short leash and she has a firm grip on the business end.

It it art? I like it. I have for some time wanted to have a framed image of something like this hanging in my house. (Of course, I can't because of the kids and so on.) The woman here appears to be petite. Nice high arches and round toes. Better than fillet!

Bad Luck Streak in Dancing School

2011-02-04T06:28:00.000-08:00

I find ballerinas compelling. I love to watch them dance, particularly when they seem to be really enjoying themselves. For that matter, I like to see happy people, having fun, period. This album cover is from one of my old time favorite rock stars, may he rest in peace. The back of the record has a pair of pointe shoes and a mac 10. I suppose it portends violence. In the title song, Warren is heard begging Pauline for forgiveness.

I think maybe Warren's album cover art was inspired by Degas. Love his paintings, the dancers most.

and another......

Here's a link to a thoughtful dancer who sometimes posts about pointe shoes:
http://jills-thrills.blogspot.com/?zx=c08a811bc8de572d

What happens now?

2011-01-31T06:10:00.000-08:00

I copied this pic from one of Ms. Marie's posts. She sometimes wishes that she could miniaturize her sub. That's been a long time fantazie of mine as well. In this photo, I wondered what was next. She appears to be taking off her shoe. I'm thinking what happens now might be something like the pic below.

Artwork

2011-01-18T07:14:00.000-08:00

This theme is a favorite of mine. She's inflicted a bit of pain, a whipping perhaps. Clothespins on his penis. She's taking a brief respite, letting him smell her toes while she decides what's next in store for him. What will it be?

I must say, I'd like it just a little better if his hands were bound behind his back. The title of this one is "Keep Still"

These are a few of my favorite things!

2011-01-18T06:59:00.000-08:00

I have to say, my absolute favorite part of the female body is the calf. Nice muscular calves have always been an object of adoration for me.

It was not until I was in my mid twenties that I began to notice the posteriors of women. I mentioned in a previous post that I had a an epiphany when I was in grad school. There was a very attractive secretary in the department, my age. I never really noticed her behind until one day, I was in the office and she stood on her tip toes to reach a shelf. This caused her butt to stick out in such a way that I was, for the very first time ever, desirous to drop to my knees and bury my face in it. This photo from Ms. Marie's blog immediately sparked that memory. She recently had a post about ass kissing here:

http://msmariedmx.blogspot.com/

Nymphs and Satyr

2011-01-14T08:18:00.000-08:00

My profile pic is one by a favorite artist of mine. I have a couple of prints of his work hanging about the house. Many of his pieces have more subtle hints of eroticism than this. I've been told the Nymphs painting represents a 'typical male fantazie'. Well, I'm not so sure about that, but anyway, below is a little history of the artist. I love the bit about Renoir. No wonder.

Adolphe William Bouguereau

(1825 La Rochelle, France - 1905 La Rochelle, France)

Along with Alexandre Cabanel, William-Adolphe Bouguereau was the most influential upholder of the conservative values of French academic art in his day. His paintings stress those values: precise drawing, contour, and finish, along with strict adherence to the rules of anatomy, perspective, academic modeling, and physiognomic expression in which internal character is revealed by outward appearance. An heir of Jacques-Louis David and Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres, Bouguereau's subjects included Classical, mythological, allegorical, or Orientalist themes, as well as contemporary history. Most of his works were popularly known through engravings.

From 1843 to 1850, Bouguereau studied at the École des Beaux-Arts, winning the Prix de Rome in 1850. When he returned from Rome, Bouguereau decorated several great houses, drawing his inspiration from the frescoes at Pompeii and Herculaneum. He was awarded a medal of honor at the Paris exhibition of 1878 and in the 1885 Salon. Bouguereau's academic renderings were highly regarded by many of his contemporaries, but they were exactly what the Impressionists rebelled against. When Pierre-Auguste Renoir was being fitted with new glasses to correct his myopia, he threw the spectacles on the floor, crying: Bon Dieu, je vois comme Bouguereau! ("Good God, I see like Bouguereau!")

That's the Way That the World Goes 'Round

2011-01-03T13:39:00.000-08:00

Here's a happy enchilada to chase away the post holiday blues, y'all!

In the Dark

2010-12-04T14:56:00.000-08:00

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHeighGFZT0

I can hardly grasp the speed that time passes me by.

Life isn't easy from the singular side
Down in the hole some emotions are hard to hide
It's your decision it's a chance that you take
It's on your head it's a habit that's hard to break
Do you need a friend would you tell no lies
Would you take me in are you lonely in the dark...

You never listen to the voices inside
They fill your ears as you run to a place to hide
You're never sure if the illusion is real
You pinch yourself but the mem'ries are all you feel
Can you break away from your alibis
Can you make a play will you meet me in the dark...

Don'tcha need me...hey, hey
Don'tcha need me...oh yea

You take no int'rest no opinion's too dear
You make the rounds and you try to be so sincere
You guard your hopes and you pocket your dreams
You'd trade it all to avoid an unpleasant scene
Can you face the fire when you see me there
Can you feel the fire will you love me in the dark...

Cinderella

2010-11-23T09:33:00.000-08:00

This from the blog, "Jill's World":

Cinderella’s Prince savoring the feel and scent of a sweaty pointe shoe in situ

Cinderella a version lost to history: One of the most popular versions of Cinderella was written by Charles Perrault in 1697. However, a mid 19th century version now lost in the mists of time was apparently the first to include the evolving blocked ballet shoe that was morphing into the modern pointe as an important element in the story.

This version of the fairy tale Cinderella, now lost except for the choreographers notebook in La Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris, deviates considerably from Perrault’s story and is set in late 19th century Germany and tells of a young German Nobleman just reaching his majority as hereditary heir of a Principality in what is now southern Germany. He was too far from the twin centers of ballet shoe fetishism; Paris and St. Petersburg, to travel there frequently so he vowed to feed and cultivate his growing toe-shoe fetish by establishing a local ballet school with retired dancers from the Paris Opera Ballet whose roots go back to the Court of Louis the XIV in 1661 and the Mariinsky Ballet founded in the 1740s, as teachers for his students.

The student selection process was rigorous, but he managed to recruit a small group of established ballet students from the daughters of the local aristocracy as well as set up beginners dance classes for girls 5 y/o and older until in a few years of unrelenting training and discipline he had a small but accomplished ballet school in which the oldest girls in their mid to late teens were wearing toe-shoes of the most advanced design. And, he had a cobbler shop set up for the sole purpose of providing satin and leather ballet shoes for the students and dancers of his company.

One day on his solitary morning walk to inspect the students at his ballet school the Prince came upon a single ballet shoe lying in the dust of the road. He picked it up and inspected it closely marveling at the tiny, tight, neat rows of stitching the held the ribbons on the shoe thinking the needlework was that of a nimble orderly mind dedicated to her art. Slipping his nose into the heavily stitched block of the shoe he took a deep breath and was entranced by the bouquet of the woman’s scent. It was a mixture of estrogenic sweat, damp leather, paste and fabric and he fancied the shoe still warm with her body heat that had made the block so soft and pliable that he wondered how a woman could dance on her toes in such soft shoes. He immediately became amorously aroused and determined to find the owner and return her shoe.

He hurried on to the school and had all the students and female staff appear before him one at a time trying to find the shoe’s owner, but to no avail and so he asked the Ballet Master to call the roll to see who was missing. The only absent dancer was one of the young French ballerinas, a beloved teacher at the school and who that morning had rushed home suddenly shortly after arriving. And so it was that the Prince appeared at the door of dancer’s thatched cottage at the end of the village. He asked to see the dancer, but her maid said she was indisposed. He insisted and was admitted by her maid who again said her mistress was unwell and wasn’t receiving visitors and he again insisted that she appear before him. So after some time she appeared before him with ashes on her clothes looking pale and unwell and when he asked after her health she blushed and bowed her head and didn’t reply.

Taking her chin in his hand he gently raised her head and in his most gentle and persuasive voice asked her to sit down and please tell him what was wrong so he could make it right. She immediately smiled and blushing apologized for her appearance and said she had been about to light the fireplace in her room to warm herself when a log fell off the grate and covered her with ashes. She said there was nothing he could do since her time of the month had arrived a day early and she was bleeding. She said she expected to be fine by evening as her cramps normally lasted only a few hours at the beginning of her flow.

He understood immediately and was certain the shoe belonged to her, but it was necessary to test his certainty because he intended to make the owner of the shoe an offer she couldn’t refuse. And so he knelt before her and withdrew the shoe from a pocket of his jacket, unfolded its soft satin back and after asking her to extend her left leg and point her foot he slipped the shoe onto her foot and pulled the back over her heel. It fit perfectly! Not one to waste time, while he was kneeling he asked her to marry him and she immediately agreed since she had been in love with him for months because of his kindness to the students of the school and his skills at hunting and diplomacy which she had learned about from traveling minstrels before she arrived in the village to accept a position as a ballet teacher. She thanked him for returning her shoe as the specially blocked shoes were very expensive and took a lot of time to adapt to fit her feet and she showed him her monogram she had embroidered on the inside of the fabric quarter panel of the shoe just to establish her ownership.

The Nutcracker: Prince Freud wrote the story-lines for a series of other ballets that all had the use of toe-shoes for seduction, defense or as offensive weapons and as objects of veneration on or off the feet of the heroines in his stories. And this was at least ten years ahead of the first use of the pointe shoe as a weapon in a mainstream ballet, The Nutcracker. The Nutcracker, a ballet in two acts, music by Tchaikovsky with choreography by Lev Ivanov was first presented at the Maryinsky in December 1892 and in it the child heroine, Clara, contributes to the defeat of the Mouse King by hitting him in the head with the block of her pointe shoe which saved the life of the Nutcracker Prince and earns her his love and adoration in return.

Prince Freud had three daughters by the French ballerina he married and they were all raised and trained by their mother to use their expertise in musicality, technique and stamina in the art of ballet dancing to cloud the minds of the males pursuing them until they so besotted the men of their choice that they got almost everything they wanted and lived happily ever after. By then the process of vulcanizing rubber had been perfected and cervical caps had become effective and the favorite means of contraception in Europe. If carefully fitted and used consistently the cervical cap was extremely effective in preventing pregnancy so the Princesses could plan their families. The daughters married into the nobility of the surrounding countries and in that manner the fetish of the pointe shoe was spread and nurtured throughout the ruling class of Europe.

Male children were tutored in the ballet shoe fetish as part of their earliest education so almost all would seek out Ballerinas as mistresses, consorts and wives in order to support their pointe shoe fetish which in many cases rose to the level of addiction. Even young European nobles sent to be educated in the monastic universities of Oxford and Cambridge in England which were then infamous as hotbeds of repressed sexuality and homosexual Dons could not be swayed from their quest for ballet girls and insisted on the girls wearing their ballet shoes during sex. However, the pattern was broken during the First World War (1914-1918) as nearly an entire generation of the male European elite was slaughtered on the battlefields of Europe and the pointe shoe fetish as a driving force in the lives of the male nobility almost died out.

Cinderella: And then, at the end of the Second World War (1939-1945) a Russian composer and his choreographer produced their version of the story of Cinderella as a ballet in which the pointe shoe became an object of veneration. Cinderella is a ballet in three acts with music by Sergei Prokofiev and choreography by Rotislav Zakharov and was first performed by the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow in November 1945. This ballet was the first in the 20th century to use the pointe shoe as a public object of veneration by substituting it for the glass slipper in the fairy tale and by doing so they rekindled the flames of the pointe shoe fetish and worship in Europe.

Reawakened by the ballet the pointe shoe fetish grew in the mainstream of social life under the noses of one of the most repressive and brutal regimes seen in modern times. Ever since Cinderella was first performed the adoration and seduction of the pointe shoe has simmered and bubbled beneath the surface. Slim girls lovely in satin shoes that make their long gorgeous legs look even more beautiful when balanced on their toes. Over the years Cinderella has contributed to the mystique of all the women who have ever danced in pointe shoes. Of necessity in 1945 the fetish was cloaked in the gauzy mists of feminine beauty, skill and artistic temperament, but the rush to smell and own a dancer’s sweaty pointes was on in earnest in Europe once again.
Posted by Jill at 3:41 PM 10 comments

Attack of the 50' Woman!

2010-11-23T09:13:00.000-08:00

Ms. Marie has posted her wish to miniaturize her sissy. I have long nurtured similar thoughts. I mentioned in response to one of her posts that I once read an erotic version of a chapter of Gulliver's Travels. He's in the land of the giants, and oh, the women have fun with him.

Of the pics below, I prefer the Heidi Klum, "I love you little man" giantess to the angry, stomp your ass version.

Remember this song?

Attack Of The Fifty Foot Woman
The Tubes/Snyder

It was a normal date with my girlfriend Sue
Blond hair, blue eyes, and five-foot-two
The night was cold, the stars were bright
From over her shoulder came a strange light

We parked the car down at Three-Mile Point
The top was down, we were really going
I heard her cry, the reactor flared
She grew and grew, I freaked and stared

Attack of the fifty-foot woman
Our love was at an end
All she did to get her kicks
Was step on all the men

I had to run just to save my skin
She scooped me up, I could not win
“My God,” I screamed, to my distress
Got a fifty foot woman in a five-foot dress

Attack of the fifty-foot woman
Our love was at an end
All she did to get her kicks
Was step on all the men

Attack of the fifty-foot woman
Our love was at an end
All she did to get her kicks
Was step on all the men

Look out here she comes
the biggest pair on earth
So scared I gotta go with her

The National Guard couldn’t shoot her down
Before she left she really trashed our town
She left me there, though I tried and tried
A fifty foot woman’s never satisfied

Attack of the fifty-foot woman
Our love was at an end
All she did to get her kicks
Was step on all the men

I missed it!

2010-10-21T10:27:00.000-07:00

Apparently the 20th of October was the 5th annual 'Love Our Lurkers' day started by Bonnie on bottomsmarts.blogspot.com. The purpose, according to Florid Dom, is to encourage those of you lurking in the shadows to come out and post a comment or two and take part in the blogosphere. Given the choice, I hope you'll dance!

Crackerbox Palace

2010-10-02T19:50:00.000-07:00

That's the title of a song by the late George Harrison. What I've read about it is that George used that a a metaphor for the human experience. Some times are good some times are bad, but in the end it's all a joke, really. I've always loved the Beatles, and most of their subsequent solo efforts, (excepting of course the Plastic Ono Band, what were you thinking, John?)

I welcome you to Crackerbox Palace!

http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x4gz7r_george-harrison-crackerbox-palace_music?start=0

Oui!

2010-09-21T20:59:00.000-07:00

Posts by Lady Grey (see Weekend Ends) and Ms. Marie got me to thinking about the fist time I encountered cross-dressing, and transvestism outside of my own experiences or imagination.

That would have been some time back in the 70's courtesy of Oui magazine. I was innocently paging through a copy, looking for skin pics, when I came across an article describing a visit to an S and M club in New York City. Featured therein was a lady going by the name of Belle Du Jour. The article said she was a beautician by day and a Dominatrix at nite. (I have long suspected some cosmetologists of leading a double life.)

She presented a slave to the audience, noting that: "When I put a man into female clothing, he becomes exceptionally submissive." Her creation emerges from behind a screen, a scene out of a fin de siecle novel, a French maid. The author relates that the details are letter perfect, from the garter belt peeking out of the dress to the lurid polish on the fingers and toes.

Pretty with a smile, n'est-ce pas?

I scare myself....

2010-09-20T07:16:00.000-07:00

These are the lyrics to a Tom Hicks tune. I do indeed scare myself sometimes. I find comfort and safety sometimes in places that aren't so good for me, like alcohol. I feel most secure at the feet of a strong woman. Capishe?

I think often about abduction and forced slavery. I am working on a post recalling the first erotic story I read with this theme. In reality I think I'd want no part of any such thing, but then, it's all in good fun. Isn't it?

I scare myself
just thinking about you
I scare myself
when I'm without you
I scare myself
the moments that you're gone
I scare myself
when I let my thoughts run

and when they're runnin'
I keep thinking of you
and when they're runnin'
what can I do?

I scare myself
and I don't mean lightly
I scare myself
it can get frightenin'
I scare myself
to think what I could do
I scare myself
it's some kinda voodoo

and with that voodoo
I keep thinking of you
and with that voodoo
what can I do?

but it's oh so, so, so different
when we're together
and I'm oh so so much calmer, I feel better
for the stars have crossed our paths forever
and the sooner that you realize it, the better

then I'll be with you
and I won't scare myself
and I'll know what to do
and I won't scare myself
and then I'll think of you
and I won't scare myself
and then my thoughts'll run
and I won't scare myself

then I'll be with you
and I won't scare myself
and I'll know what to do
and I won't scare myself
and I'll think of you
and I won't scare myself
and my thoughts will run
and I won't scare myself...

Hey Babe, take a walk on the wild side.

2010-09-03T10:20:00.000-07:00

Holly came from Miami, F.L.A.

Hitch-hiked her way across the USA

Plucked her eyebrows on the way

Shaved her legs and then he was a she

She says, Hey babe

Take a walk on the wild side

Hey honey

Take a walk on the wild side

Lou Reed

I think Dr. Frankenfurter needs to shave her legs!

Some recent correspondence, and reading, got me to thinking about times past......... again. Giles had asked for some details on relationships for case study confirming his hypotheses. (See my post 'I once had a girl') See Giles English's post: http://chasteerotica.blogspot.com/2010/08/bdsm-its-all-about-intimacy.html

As I mention in that post, it was a hard end. This was a person who turned me on to the greater depth of Lou Reed's music, including a little number called 'Venus in Furs'. She took me to see the Rocky Horror Picture Show for my first time. Afterward, we went to her place.

Her idea, she wanted to make me up, so I let her. Just as she finished, she became disgusted. Acted as if I'd conceived the whole thing, that it was nasty and how dare I?

She also introduced me to the writing of author John Irving. His characters always seem to have unusual sexual preferences.

Strange days indeed.

Is this the way life's meant to be?

2010-08-31T20:14:00.001-07:00

As I gaze around at this wreck of a town
Where people never speak aloud
I wonder
Oh I wonder
yes I wonder
Is this the way life's meant to be?

Jeff Lynn of E L O

For those who may not know Electric Light Orchestra AKA ELO was a Supergroup ( before supermodels were invented) of the 1970's

I've been a bit frustrated here these last few days. It happens from time to time. I suppose I'm just whiny, but I just hate it when things don't work out like you expect.

Your friend marries the wrong person. You take off your mirror on a post in the car park. Someone you trust lies to you. Brain food gets squat, porno post gets a bizillion. You buy something online and it just doesn't fricking fit.

It's supposed to fit, it ought to fit. It's not like I'm freakishly large or anything (well, I am modest)....BUT IT DOESN'T FIT!!!!!!!

With the ground at my feet
maybe it's just the old street
I wish I was back in 1981

Panther Village

2010-08-30T10:06:00.000-07:00

I saved this some time back, when I found the other one posted on "Panther Girl". Thought you all might find it interesting. Don't forget to say hi if you stop in.

Male Slavery: Seven Reasons Why Men Should Worship Your Feet

2010-08-20T08:32:00.000-07:00

Male Slavery: Seven Reasons Why Men Should Worship Your Feet

Lonely, I'm Mr. Lonely....

2010-08-18T13:13:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm not really. Sure would be nice if somebody, anybody would post a thought as a comment. Here are some starters for the last post: Yes Jack, it IS a woman's world. Lucky for us they can't drive and/or get lids off jars (or put them back on)! Whew!!

Little Big Man

2010-08-17T09:08:00.000-07:00

This photo was posted on the blog I referenced in my previous post. Of course, we all lived in the land of giant women at one time, didn't we?

That's it then, really, isn't it? Where it starts. That place where some little boys learn to obey.

What one could help but to be enthralled. There she is, a giantess. She has the power. She can pick you up and carry you. Make you sit, stand, speak, be quiet. She can pull your pants down right now in front of everyone, spank your behind and make you cry. Then afterward, she can comfort you, pet your head and tell you it's OK. She may not have dominion over many things, but she has it all over you, her little man.

When you're a good boy, and you please her, you are in her favor. You get to touch, and smell and experience her. Her love, her compassion, her divine feminine wiles. Perhaps she'll share, let you wear pretty things, see how it feels to be a girl. She may delight in tormenting you. Holding you down, her mule falls from her stocking foot. "Do you want to smell my feet?" she laughs, smiling as she presses her toes to your face. "Of course you do, that's a good boy."

Gulliver's Travels

2010-08-15T17:25:00.000-07:00

The artwork is a bit primitive, but I like it nonetheless. There is a post here: http://msmariedmx.blogspot.com referring to having her man in miniature, the size of a doll, so she could 'do' things to him. In reality, this is about the size difference of my wife and me. (It's a bit of a stretch, but not much.)

I oftentimes wish that I was little. When I was a boy I used to fantasize about being in a land of giant women who, though they loved me, used me as a toy. What fun we would have.

Fish and whistle....

2010-07-01T10:15:00.000-07:00

....whistle and a fish, eat everything that they put on your dish. When we get through we'll make a big wish that we never have to do this again, again?, again?? Father forgive us, for what we must do. You forgive us and we'll forgive you. We'll forgive each other 'till we both turn blue then we'll whistle and go fishin' in the Heavens.

John Prine

I spoke with my sister this evening.

Two years ago last March, our father lay dying. I had to travel a bit to get to his bedside. Early the morning I arrived, my sister and I were the only people in a large and well furnished family waiting area in the hospital. We talked alot about dad, our family and bygone things. She burst into tears and said "I'm so sorry that I was so mean to you........all those things I did to you. I know that it's affected you".

I told her that I had forgiven her years ago. (She had no idea, apparently I forgot to tell her). She stopped crying. She was taken aback. 'You did?' I reminded her that about twenty years prior we were having an argument. I'd reminded her about how she had treated me. At the time she'd said to me: "I told you I was sorry, aren't you ever going to forgive me?' Right then and there, I did. I never mentioned the subject again. She was torturing herself about what she'd done. I didn't want her to be hurt, I only wanted her to be sorry, and she was. So that was that.

I had held a grudge for quite some time. Earlier in our lives I'd bring it up. Like a stick, I'd beat her over the head with it. My pain, her guilt.

On the phone this evening she brought it up again. Again I told her that I held no grudge. I told her that I was long past that, and she needed to forgive herself. I am who I am, and what I am. All in all pretty happy about it too. I have a great family, beautiful children. No complaints, no shame.

It hasn't always been that way. It used to be that I was very much ashamed of myself for my kinks. I felt unworthy and unloveable. I was damaged goods, so who would want me. Indeed, the one woman to whom I had revealed myself told me as much when we finally parted. (See my post: 'I once had a girl') I went back into hiding. That was back in the days before the internet, so I really had little idea that there were indeed good people who were just like me. Case in point: http://domme-chronicles.blogspot.com/ See Ferns post on survey results part IV. One of the respondents on that blog, a young dominant female, struggles with her desires, feeling arousal and guilt simultaneously. I feel her pain.

Hello in there...

2010-06-13T08:04:00.000-07:00

So if you're walking down the street sometime
And spot some hollow ancient eyes,
Please don't just pass 'em by and stare
As if you didn't care, say, "Hello in there, hello." John Prine

Some almost two hundred peeks in my window in the last two days and nobody's bothered to say hi?

Panther Girls of Gor

2010-06-12T07:29:00.000-07:00

I found this picture on another blog. The related blog post had little to do with the image itself. The title is, 'Captured by a Panther Girl'. Panther Girls live on Gor, a mythical place. This is what Wikipedea says:

Gor (pronounced /ˈɡɔr/), the Counter-Earth, is the alternate-world setting for John Norman's Chronicles of Gor (sometimes called the Gorean Saga), a series of twenty-eight novels that combine philosophy, erotica and science fiction.

The customs, terminology and imagery depicted in these books inspired a related subculture. On- and off-line followers of this lifestyle are called Goreans

The artist here has taken a few liberties with the character. This rendition appears to be a modern day Earth version of a Panther Girl and her slave. (note the charcoal grill and the aluminum chaise). Still, I cannot help but be aroused by the image. His nipples, ears, naval and cock have been pierced. He's been shaven, head to toe. He appears to be sporting lipstick on his lips and his johnson. His eyebrows have been waxed and it looks like he's wearing eyeliner and mascara.

The post he's cuffed to is, according to the story, a place where the enslavement ritual takes place. If he's not her slave yet, I think that threshold is one soon to be crossed. What does the picture portend? I think presently he'll be serving her fruit and wine and licking her feet while she relaxes on the chaise. (Later maybe brats on the grill;-)

Shocking!

2010-06-08T08:01:00.000-07:00

So, I awoke a bit too early Saturday morning and, as I didn't feel like getting out of bed I tried to go back to sleep. Usually I'll tell myself a story. I've been putting myself to sleep with bedtime stories as long as I can remember.

That morning I was thinking about bondage, a cropping and, for the first time, electric shock. My thoughts were no doubt influenced by a post that I can't find now but it linked to this: 0:59 Add to queueAdded to queueDown in the dungeon with Mistress Denna16,112 viewsseekermanning

I finally got out of bed and went to the kitchen to fix breakfast. Made from scratch pancakes with real maple syrup are standard Saturday fare in our house. My wife came in and started poking, tickling and pinching me. She seems to like to wait for the most inappropriate times, like when I have a hot griddle in front of me, or a big glass bowl full of batter in my hands. When she was pinching me she said: "Maybe I should have something to shock you with, like a cattle prod". Sometimes wives say the darndest things.... apparently she can read my mind.

So, I was thinking about what might work. Something that could be used in close proximity, and no actual tissue damage. I thought maybe a cattle prod. They're a bit expensive and unwieldy looking, so I googled electric play and some stuff about the violet wand came up. I did not see anything about where to get one, but one comment was that they are very expensive. Anyone have experience with such things? Perhaps a less costly alternative?

Lost in the translation...

2010-05-26T07:30:00.000-07:00

In looking for the words to a poem by my favorite 19th century poet in regard to another post I'm working on, I came across this little gem. I could not resist sharing it.

Wenn ich in deine Augen seh,
So schwindet all mein Leid und Weh;
Doch wenn ich küsse deinen Mund,
So werd ich ganz und gar gesund.
Wenn ich mich lehn an deine Brust,
Kommt's über mich wie Himmelslust;
Doch wenn du sprichst: "Ich liebe dich!"
So muß ich weinen bitterlich.

Heinrich Heine 1797-1856

I think some poetry can be translated and retain the intent of the writer's message, but then again things are oftentimes best expressed in the language that they were originally written. So it is with most of Herr Heine's work.

Too soon gone.

2010-05-18T06:09:00.000-07:00

I attended the funeral of the father of one of my friends last week. I debated going, as I wondered if my friend would want me there. As it turned out, he did.

It was emotional for both of us, a great deal more so than I imagined. As I mention in previous posts, I was very much attached to my dad. Still not a day goes by that I don't think about calling him to tell him this or that. There are many things my father told me in the course of our lives. He and I spent a great deal of time together, and yet, it was still not enough.

Folks have been slipping away from me, I guess it's always been that way. My father's cousins. One was a priest. He was a scholar and my ideal minister. Dad used to say to me. 'Stop by and visit Father Ralph', on my way to and from wherever I was going. I was young then, and life seemed eternal. Ralph had always been there. Perhaps in not being cognizant of my own mortality I did not see his either. Then one day he was gone.

Uncle Lee. We never really got to sit down and talk about some things that I'd wanted to ask him about. He was killed by a cracker. The guy was speeding, suspended license, no insurance on a borrowed truck. Blew through an intersection and then Uncle Lee was gone. I always say that there's no such thing as a worthless human being, but then some white trash asshole kills my uncle and I have to think, well, maybe there are one or two.... Lee was a kind, loving man for whom there was nothing more important than family. Taken too soon.

Dear Abby....

2010-04-20T11:40:00.000-07:00

....dear Abby, You won't believe this: My stomach makes noises whenever I kiss. John Prine

So, I was reading the news the other day and I came across the advice column. A woman had written in to complain that her marriage was sexless. She said was not attracted to her husband, never had been. She explained the reason she married him the first place was sort of because everyone else liked him and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Now she's wondering if perhaps there's something more that she's missing. Well, DUH!

Stuff like this just blows me away when I read it or hear about it.

I have a friend who dated a very attractive young lady many moons ago. He was a dashing fellow himself. Blue eyes, curly brown hair, natural athlete with a perfectly proportioned physique. Personality abundant, he's the type of person that I would be pleased to have my daughters bring home. He confided in me that this particular young lady would never let him touch her. Apparently her mother had her convinced that sex was disgusting and painful. "When your time comes, you'll have to lay there and take it. It's your duty."

Flash forward a decade, another friend, this one a female. Petite, blonde, cute as can be. She told me that her marriage had been without physical affection for almost the entire length of it's nine years. I told her that, if I were I a single man, I'd be wanting to lick her all over like a postage stamp and paste her on my forehead.

I may be peculiar, but a loveless marriage is downright perversion.

Uber den Traum

2010-03-08T13:38:00.000-08:00

The subconscious mind is a most intriguing thing to me. (See my earlier post nosce te ipsum.) My first love in education was psychology. Biology, genetics and psycho-chemistry also fascinated.

Saturday night I had a dream. In that dream appeared a girl I knew some twenty plus year ago. We lived overseas and traveled together as a group in college for a foreign language and cultural history program. I'd not thought of her consciously for some time.

In the dream we were going to have conjugal relations. It never happened in the dream nor in in the gegenwalt. In reality, I was somewhat repulsed by her as I perceived her to be not a nice person. She was sadistic, and a mean sort of a sadist. Of course sadists are mean, Jack, you say. I think one can be a tormentor and still have sympathy and love for the tormented. (See 'Rosemary'. We were buds, she just liked to whup me every now and again. Playing with one another as it were.) The girl from the dream in reality was more like a cat that played with the kill before eating it, NOT my kinda gal.

Then again, in the dream, she wasn't the intentionally evil person I knew her to be. She was sweet, like Tupelo honey, another paradox. This leaves me wondering why, of all people, my little brain would que HER up, and make her sweet?

2010-01-29T08:56:00.000-08:00

ALMOST CUT MY HAIR

David Crosby

This ditty, another penned by Jimi Hendrix "If 6 was 9" and Joe Walsh's "Life of Illusion" make me sometimes wonder what I might be like if I did not have somewhat unusual proclivities. In the past I have decided that I would be 'normal'. Cast aside certain aspects of myself. Usually end up felling depressed. I wonder though, would I be as funny? As compassionate?

MERRY CHRISTMAS, Y'ALL!!!

2009-12-14T06:35:00.000-08:00

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....

2009-11-07T10:22:00.000-08:00

.......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....

2009-10-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

....or should I say, she once had me?I had a girlfriend when I was in college who at first seemed to be a great fit.She was three years older than me. She had a younger brother whom she had dressed in skirts when they were kids. We dated for awhile, I was as attentive as I couldbe. Did her nails, gave her massages.One night while I was giving her a back rub I put forth the idea that I would liketo belong to her, to be her slave. 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 freinds that she was the dominant one, ordering me around, remarking that I was becoming 'well trained'. She'd teasingly threaten to expose me, sometimes asking outloud in the presence of others if she was going to have to get her spoon. 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 thedepartment. 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

2009-10-20T14:20:00.000-07:00

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......

2009-09-12T16:41:00.000-07:00

Women's Health

2009-09-02T16:17:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-23T18:20:00.000-07:00

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

2009-06-10T18:09:00.001-07:00

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

2009-05-30T09:29:00.000-07:00

...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

2009-05-08T07:59:00.000-07:00

When I was twelve years of age or thereabouts, my folks and I travelled 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 cernter of that town is a traffic roundabout. On one side of that is a large limestone slab. Next to that slab is a plaq 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.

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

Rosemary

2009-05-04T13:46:00.000-07:00

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

2009-04-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

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, endoccrinology, and just a whole lot of other words ending in Y. So...........

When I was a toddler, I was often left in the charge and to the devices of my sister, eight years my senior. 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.

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!" Wish I had a nickle for every time I heard that.

Back to my sister: I enjoyed the attention she gave me shen she was being sweet. To this day, I envy women the intimacies they share with one another. At some point, my mother decided that I should be 'cured' of any feminine interests. To this end, she compelled me to appear before one of my compadres barefoot. Sister had polished my toes. Pink frost. The memory is indelled upon my brain.

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

Sister took somedelight in tormenting me. 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.

There were times when she beat the stuffing out of me. I never gave up, she never relented.