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.