It was just my imagination.....

......runnin' away with me, once again.

As I have mentioned, I have had abduction fantasies as long as I can remember.  Early on there was nothing sexual about it.  I would be overwhelmed by a group of girls.  They'd beat me and compel me to do their will.  

Later, as I discovered sexuality, there would be one girl, maybe she'd have an accomplice. She'd drug my drink, or inject me with a sedative then mock me and laugh as I realized there was something wrong, but it was too late to escape.  I'd wake to find myself naked, gagged, bound hand and foot and blindfolded.

Back in the 80's, I read a work of fiction.  I presume it was fiction because it was in a trashy magazine, generally poorly written, fraught with grammatical errors.  I only recently had the thought that perhaps the author was making errors purposefully to torture the grammar gremlins in the crowd.  (Diabolical witch!)

So, back to the story.  Two women living together, about the age of thirty.  The Alpha is a college professor, Doctorate in psychology. Her partner in crime is an OR nurse. (I've always had a thing for nurses.) Doctor J conjures the notion to abduct a young man, hold him captive and see what they might subject him to.  Dr. J owns the home.  It is large with a full basement. They construct a dungeon therein in anticipation of the arrival of their guest.

They covertly observe and screen a few dozen twenty something year old candidates and pick one who they adjure will not be immediately missed as he has no close living relatives.  Nurse D seduces him.  At the end of the school year as summer break begins, she invites him to come and live with her.  He does. 

Shortly thereafter and at the start of a weekend, nurse D puts some sedatives into the young man's wine.  While he's asleep, they slip him quietly into the underground portion of their home. 

Early the next morning he has an abrupt awakening at the hands of Doctor J.  He finds himself in chains, completely at her mercy.  He belongs to her now.  Property to do with as she will.  

They suspend him from the ceiling by his wrists.  Ankles attached to a spreader bar, toes barely touching the floor.  Doctor J. whips him past the point of his begging for her to stop.  
When she's finished, she lowers the hoist and asks him if he would like to kiss her feet? He tries but because of the bar and attachments isnt able to bend over sufficiently to reach them. His position gives her a different idea. "That's OK, you can kiss my ass instead." She bends forward offering him access. He balks. She administers additional lashes and offers her posterior to him again. He bends to his task. "I made him keep his tongue in my ass until my back got tired from bending over."

Delusions

When I was a boy, there were a seemingly endless number of women who saw fit to comment on my hair and eyes and what a beautiful girl I would have been and what a shame that I was not. The origins of my kinks are described here: https://lovesbrightwomen.blogspot.com/2009/04/in-beginning.html Given that, I thought that one day as an adult I would encounter a woman who, when I found the courage to tell her about myself, would be receptive. Way back when I was dating I would drop a few subtle (I thought) hints or ask leading questions. Then perhaps I'd peel back a little bit of the mask. The reactions were pretty much in two categories with the first being most frequent: 1. Revulsion: WHAT?!?! You're a ceral killer and a cannibal?! You disgusting monster! Unfit to live with the rest of us. Begone, vile creature. It may be that they had expectations of me judging my appearance and general demeanor. I'm a sizeable man with an assertive and often unpleasant (if you cross me) disposition. 2. Casual indifference: Hm, yes. I can see how some women might be threatend by that. Or: I'll be out of the house until 6 tomorrow if you want to indulge yourself. Maybe my expectations weren't realistic? I had a little bit of a meltdown, or maybe more than one, as I came to grips with the reality of it. That I'd never scratch that itch, or have someone scratch it with me. Writing that just now, and anytime I think of it, I feel bit sad. A loss, sort of. I have encountered a few folks on the web who commiserate. I may have bumped into a female or two who could have been. That door closed a long time ago. I rarely break a promise, and I have several here to keep. Strange, years ago, when I encountered assertive women I generally avoided them. Was I afraid? Some were just pain in the ass kind of people. Not my type. One who sat behind me in a university class constantly poked me in the back to get my attention. Same one would accost me in the student lounge. She was loud, brash, annoying. I definately avoided women that I was attracted to. Sure I talked with them, but I'd never think to ask one on a date because I wasn't worthy. I remember another encounter like it was just yesterday. College days. There was a girl. Kathleen. I dont remember her last name. We'd had a few classes together, sometimes ended up sitting on the college green talking. Good conversations. She was planty cute, if a bit nerdy. I'm sure that she's someone's loving wife and mother today. This was a cold winter afternoon. I had my winter semester stress cold virus. I felt like a sack of shit on the way to my apartment and decided to take the elevator in the art building rather than walking down an icy Jeff hill. There in the lift was the girl I just mentioned. We made small talk on the way down. When we got off on the ground floor the conversation continued briefly. My head was killing me and I was probably hungry. I excused myself, telling her that I wasn't feeling well and really had to go. I recall that she reached out, took hold of my arm and looked me in the eyes. She said that if ever I wanted someone to talk with, about anything at all, anything...that she would be happy to be that person. I never took her up on that. Wonder what that I had.

Exile!

Wrote this a few years ago: At some point I was kicked off or out of a blog.  Disheveled Domina or something like that.  Not her tumblr, 'she' has a wordy blog attached to that one.  I believe I was booted for having the audacity to speak outside of the accepted narrative.

Rather than engage me in conversation, to respect my viewpoint and acknowledge it as valid, I was shut out. A leftist person and her cohort, I am guessing. Ignorance AND evil. Does it get any worse? I fear that it does.

The Question

A favorite band of mine from the late 60's through today.  The Moody Blues, 'The Question'.


Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
With a thousand million questions
About hate and death and war.

Its where we stop and look around us
There is nothing that we need.
In a world of persecution
That is burning in its greed.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
Because the truth is hard to swallow
Thats what the wall of love is for.

Its not the way that you say it
When you do those things to me.
Its more the way that you mean it
When you tell me what will be.

And when you stop and think about it
You wont believe its true.
That all the love youve been giving
Has all been meant for you.

Im looking for someone to change my life.
Im looking for a miracle in my life.
And if you could see what its done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me through.

Between the silence of the mountains
And the crashing of the sea
There lies a land I once lived in
And shes waiting there for me.

But in the grey of the morning
My mind becomes confused
Between the dead and the sleeping
And the road that I must choose.

Im looking for someone to change my life.
Im looking for a miracle in my life.
And if you could see what its done to me
To lose the the love I knew
Could safely lead me to
The land that I once knew.
To learn as we grow old
The secrets of our souls.

Its not the way that you say it
When you do those things to me.
Its more the way you really mean it
When you tell me what will be.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?
With a thousand million questions
About hate and death and war.

Its where we stop and look around us
There is nothing that we need.
In a world of persecution
That is burning in its greed.

Why do we never get an answer
When were knocking at the door?

Ruckschau

It's not you, it's me.

Thinking back to opportunities missed, or just not taken.  The times when I was young and pining for female companionship.  I can see now how many there were, right under my nose.

Kathleen, 1982: We had at least one english lit class together.  Sometimes ended up having one on one conversations, lengthy and thoughtful. One winter semester. I was having my annual near death head cold experience.  Feeling particularly shitty, to shorten my cross campus trek to home I opted for a cut through the graphic arts building.  I could avoid the steep hill and warm up a bit at the same time.  I encountered Kathleen in the elevator. I wasn't in a particularly talkative mood as I was struggling to breathe.  She did most of the talking on our way down to the bottom of the building.  We exited the elevator and I tried to separate politely. Probably I was a bit brusque, nodding in agreement to whatever she was saying, one word answers, just leave me be. As we parted, she stopped me, looked me in the eyes earnestly and said; "John, if ever you need someone to talk to I live in Jeff Hall room xxx. If you ever want to talk about anything, anything at all."

I wonder what she'd have thought. If I had taken her up on that, if I told her what I was.  Mostly, in those days, I thought I was a freak, a monster, an undesirable. No woman would want me. How could they?  Experience had taught me that to deviate from expectations was to risk being shunned. I made a self imposed exile from the tenderness and acceptance that I so much wanted to experience.

There were others, some I likely didn't notice or don't recall.  One, Nancy I think her name was. Sharp as a whip, athletic, pretty. I enjoyed her company, never ran out of things to talk about.  Another, name escapes me, practically begged me to go on a canoe/camping trip with a group of friends.  Let's see: Tents, girls, wilderness.  WTF was I thinking?  "Well, I'm spending the weekend with my hand and my imagination." Shit!

Crackuh, please!

Some of these things I have written about previously and elsewhere.  This,  I wrote almost one year ago to the day:

In the persona of Ed Grimley: ‘I must say!’

When comedy was humorous. No vitriol. Funny stuff. We pointed out each other’s foibles and acknowledged that we were imperfect and had a good laugh at the insanity.

As my dear mother used to say: ‘Enough is enough, and too much is plenty!’ (These words indicated that a spanking was imminent, and a hasty retreat, if possible, was advised.).

What I’m talking about here is ‘The Big Lie’.  To be fair, there’s not just one. It’s a pack, or more apt, a web.

Who’s telling the truth these days? Damned if I know..........but I can spot a lie.

Sexual harassment? When Chris Rock was funny he had a good synopsis. 'If your boss says, you have sex with me or you lose your job. That's sexual harassment, erehthing else falls into the category of ‘jes tryna get laid.'

Thinking back in time, to my youth. (cue psychedelic music)

Old women, as in, older than my mother, hit on me. All. The. Time. I was overtly oblivious to some of these, because frankly they were preposterous. So outside of the realm of possible were they. Some I realized only because my friends pointed them out afterward.

One such, that I clearly remember, was a professor of biology at my Uni. We had a theater style classroom. I sat in the second row, as was my habit, to be able to see and hear without the distractions of what was going on in the rest of the place.  The good Ph.D would often stare at my crotch while delivering her lecture. (I do recall that I had a stiffy 24/7 in those days. Alas, poor Willie, I knew him well.)

One night while out with friends I encountered the aforementioned Dr. X.  She was drunk as a skunk. Kept 'bumping' into me. The bars were crowded, I ignored her, pretended not to notice.  She followed me from place to place that night.  Finally hooked up with some guy who was closer to her age. She raised her glass to me from across the room as if to say, 'See, if not you then this one.'  Perish the thought. I shudder now thinking about it.

I never was into that 'one night stand' thing.  I wanted to be one of any, rather than one of many.

If you don't know, maybe haven't tasted it.  Making love with your best friend, intimate partner, really only gets better with time and familiarity.  Be cautious with your bedfellows. Choose wisely.

Off the Deep End

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

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

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