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.

Don't Let Go the Coat

https://youtu.be/LvWwtfKiGUk

I'm sure I'll get the hang of hanging in there, some day.

Long Away

Years ago I read a bit written by a young woman about her experiences developing a D/s relationship with her boyfriend. When making love, she would get him close to orgasm then pause and compel him to confess his desires. He’d expressed a particular attraction to her feet, socks and shoes. She spoke of reservations that she’d had about mistreating him and how she gradually overcame her inhibitions. “I’ll never forget the first time I made him lick my feet. I came home at the end of a particularly hard day. I had been wearing the same pair of wool socks in my penny loafers for three days.” She made him strip, paddled his ass then sent him to his task. “I was afraid he’d catch the scunge or something. Nothing came of it, except the biggest erection I’d ever seen.”


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QaSB0M7iTpA

Aby somebody or other.

Aby-normal, yes that's it.

A female friend asked me the other day: "Jack, you'd know about this."

I may, yes that's true.  I don't know if she was referring to my background in psychology, or my kinks.

The question was this: "My husband likes to put his fingers in my rump and then smell them. Is that normal?" 

I laughed and said that I believe people eroticise just about anything.  That's not my thing per say, but I don't think it's particularly unusual.

I have a good friend who I have known since we were six or seven.  In our teens/twenties , when we were stag and wanton he'd see an attractive woman and ask aloud: "Wouldn't you like to have her fart on your head?"

Well, no, Steve.  The thought hadn't crossed my mind, but now that you bring it up....EW!

I've seen some mighty peculiar stuff, and when I get to start feeling a little like I'm bent, all I need do is take a look around.

Imagine a Man

Imagine a man, not a child of any revolt
But a plain man tied up in life
Imagine the sand running out as he struts
Parading and fading, ignoring his wife

Imagine a road, so long looking backwards
You can't see where it really began
Imagine a load, so large and so smooth
That against it a man is an ant

And you will see the end
You will see the end

Imagine events that occur everyday
Like a shooting or raping or a simple act of deceit
Imagine a fence around you as high as prevention
Casting shadows, you can't see your feet

Imagine a girl, you long for and have
And the body of chalky perfection and truth
Imagine a past, that you wish you had lived
Full of heroes and villains and fools

And you will see the end
You will see the end
And you will see the end
You will see the end, oh yeah

Imagine a man, not a child of any revolt
But a man of today feeling new
Imagine a soul so old, it is broken
And you will know your invention is you

And you will see the end
You will see the end
You will see the end
You will see the end, oh yeah

Pete Townsend 

Five Dollar Frank

Hey Joe! Where you going with that gun in your hand?

Awhile back I took a sightseeing tour with a WWII USAF veteran in his Bonanza four seater.  He had several airships.  This one, I think, he favored.  Flew the thing like it was an extension of his person. Feeling the craft.  He was about eighty at the time.  Scared the stuffing out of my wife, who was a passenger, too.  I'd flown with the same fellow decades before.  Putting his bird into wide banking maneuvers through the gorge of North America's oldest river.


https://youtu.be/Rw9JQC8nhhY

She said.

When I was a boy, about 16 year old, I went to Jensen Beach with my folks.  We met some family friends who lived in the vicinity and went prospecting for real estate. (They were realtors.)  One home in particular stands out in my memory.  It was the abode of a physician, his wife and children, a beautiful young family.

Mrs. Dr. Who was at home with the kids. She welcomed us in. Me, with the ever present boner of a young buck, (alas, poor woodie, I knew him well), and no less appreciative of the female form than I am now, couldn't help but gaze upon her.  She was petite, tanned and muscular with an athletic build. Loads of curly dark auburn hair down past her shoulders. She noticed that I was admiring her, and that I was looking in particular at her ankle sock clad feet.  She looked me in the eye, looked down at her feet, then looked back up with me, smiled and shucked off her socks.  Perfect size six I would guess, and crimson polish to boot.  All the while she was carrying on a conversation with the oldsters who were meandering about checking out the house. And she's making me feel like I've never been born.

https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-Lkry-SF01&hsimp=yhs-SF01&hspart=Lkry&p=she+said+beatles+youtube#id=8&vid=275e401829ec4d4bb5c320129fa9bc67&action=view

Better Class of Loser

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XuL8g2Szse0&feature=player_detailpage

Dreaming from the Waist.

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

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

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

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

Once upon a wit.

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

Son: Dad, she is the teacher.

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

https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=HviIFg9ePuY

Imaginary Lovers

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

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

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

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

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

Long Away

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

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

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

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

Written by Brian May.
Sung by Brian May.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTDWvM9BaRI

Mice and Men

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Catholic Girls

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

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

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