Gulliver's Travels

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....

....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...

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

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. In some of this artists other renderings, the slave has polished toenails and fingernails.  Sadly not this time.

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!

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...

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.

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.

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.