One of the joys of being self-employed in a seasonal profession is that I can take the time to seek out the movie titles that are lurking in the back of my mind. And so it is that this afternoon I'm watching One Night Stand, directed by Mike Figgis. I saw this movie when it came out over ten years ago, so so maybe it's me and the frame of mind that I find myself in, but the amount of sexual tension in the movie is staggering...it's all that I can do to watch the movie in pieces, which is perhaps the downside of re-watching movies after a long time.
Or maybe it's how Figgis deals with sexuality. He's also the director of Leaving Las Vegas, which lent legitimacy to Nicholas Cage (at least for a while) and should have launched Elizabeth Shue (but didn't, really). Other well known films he's directed include Stormy Monday and Internal Affairs.
Check the rest of his oeuvre on imdb.com.
And now, back to our film.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
St. Crispin's Day
Yesterday was St. Crispin's Day, a/k/a The Feast of Saint Crispian. Like everything in my life, there's a backstory.
The Battle of Agincourt was fought on that date, when the British, greatly outnumbered and without much cavalry, defeated the French in a decisive battle of whatever was was then being fought. The battle is made immortal in Shakespeare's Henry V, in a speech by Henry on the battlefield, a speech that includes the words "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers." In the most recent cinematic version, the words are spoken by Kenneth Branagh, in a stirring call to arms.
The music, by Patrick Doyle, is exquisite, and it never fails to perk me up when I'm down, or life me higher when I'm up, one of several pieces that always grabs at my heart, like the Mendelssohn Octet. It's so good that it's been hijacked and serves on numerous movie trailers.
The speech can be seen on youtube in any number of different versions, all featuring Branagh, with the music playing behind the famous speech.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAvmLDkAgAM
The Battle of Agincourt was fought on that date, when the British, greatly outnumbered and without much cavalry, defeated the French in a decisive battle of whatever was was then being fought. The battle is made immortal in Shakespeare's Henry V, in a speech by Henry on the battlefield, a speech that includes the words "we few, we happy few, we band of brothers." In the most recent cinematic version, the words are spoken by Kenneth Branagh, in a stirring call to arms.
The music, by Patrick Doyle, is exquisite, and it never fails to perk me up when I'm down, or life me higher when I'm up, one of several pieces that always grabs at my heart, like the Mendelssohn Octet. It's so good that it's been hijacked and serves on numerous movie trailers.
The speech can be seen on youtube in any number of different versions, all featuring Branagh, with the music playing behind the famous speech.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAvmLDkAgAM
Monday, October 25, 2010
Not Enough 16
If you need to catch up, or to remind yourself where I left off in the story of the ebb and flow of my life with Her, click on http://swordfishsuite.blogspot.com/2010/01/not-enough-15.html and perhaps read back in the sequential posts before it.
The taxi pulled up at the back of a nondescript warehouse, with an abandoned loading dock and a wooden door that stretched ten feet high and perhaps fifteen feed wide, with a black wrought iron circular door handle in the middle of the door, waist high. Debra picked up the door handle and dropped it just once, as someone inside opened up a much smaller Judas-gate that allowed us to enter the building. I understood then that she had been here before, and wondered what we were getting into, as we stepped over the door stile and walked into a dimly lit foyer, a bit crowded with about 50-60 people, the men outnumbering the women by almost three to one. I could see that most of the people there wore black, as Debra did, many of the women dressed in ultra-tight clothing, necklines plunging to reveal breasts either encumbered or unencumbered, some skirts slit on the side to reveal thigh highs or full stockings and garter belts. The men were mostly just dressed in black shirts and pants.
We drifted together towards one of the couches arrayed near the walls, acting for the first time in a long time as a couple, each of us hesitant and a bit scared by the new environment. As my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I could make out the people on the couches, some couples sitting side by side, others with the woman sitting on the man's lap. One couch had two men sandwiching a woman, her DVF-style wrap dress opened just a bit between her breasts, each of the men reaching across the fondle a breast, one man having pulled the tit out of the bra, rolling the nipple between his first three fingers. My heart raced and my pulse accelerated, gaping at them and yet not wanting to stare. Debra's breath quickened also, her mouth open slightly, her eyes starting to glaze over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Amalia approaching, wearing black pants and a silk tunic buttoned to the next, her hair short and combed close to her skull. Debra saw her at the same time, and reflexively assumed the position that she had been taught, her arms behind her back, each hand holding the opposite elbow, her head inclined down as she averted her gaze. I could see that she was further surrendering herself to the moment and to the surrounding before her.
"Ah, you've finally gotten here," she said. "Let me explain how this works. Alice has been here several times before, but always as someone who watched others. Isn't that right, dear?", and Debra was quick to nod her head several times, never once daring to look up. "And tonight that's just what you're going to do---watch. It's what you're really good at, isn't it, what you really like to do, right?
"Alice, on the other hand, has decided to join in and play with us."
And my heart sank, because I knew and I didn't know what that meant.
The taxi pulled up at the back of a nondescript warehouse, with an abandoned loading dock and a wooden door that stretched ten feet high and perhaps fifteen feed wide, with a black wrought iron circular door handle in the middle of the door, waist high. Debra picked up the door handle and dropped it just once, as someone inside opened up a much smaller Judas-gate that allowed us to enter the building. I understood then that she had been here before, and wondered what we were getting into, as we stepped over the door stile and walked into a dimly lit foyer, a bit crowded with about 50-60 people, the men outnumbering the women by almost three to one. I could see that most of the people there wore black, as Debra did, many of the women dressed in ultra-tight clothing, necklines plunging to reveal breasts either encumbered or unencumbered, some skirts slit on the side to reveal thigh highs or full stockings and garter belts. The men were mostly just dressed in black shirts and pants.
We drifted together towards one of the couches arrayed near the walls, acting for the first time in a long time as a couple, each of us hesitant and a bit scared by the new environment. As my eyes became accustomed to the semi-darkness, I could make out the people on the couches, some couples sitting side by side, others with the woman sitting on the man's lap. One couch had two men sandwiching a woman, her DVF-style wrap dress opened just a bit between her breasts, each of the men reaching across the fondle a breast, one man having pulled the tit out of the bra, rolling the nipple between his first three fingers. My heart raced and my pulse accelerated, gaping at them and yet not wanting to stare. Debra's breath quickened also, her mouth open slightly, her eyes starting to glaze over.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Amalia approaching, wearing black pants and a silk tunic buttoned to the next, her hair short and combed close to her skull. Debra saw her at the same time, and reflexively assumed the position that she had been taught, her arms behind her back, each hand holding the opposite elbow, her head inclined down as she averted her gaze. I could see that she was further surrendering herself to the moment and to the surrounding before her.
"Ah, you've finally gotten here," she said. "Let me explain how this works. Alice has been here several times before, but always as someone who watched others. Isn't that right, dear?", and Debra was quick to nod her head several times, never once daring to look up. "And tonight that's just what you're going to do---watch. It's what you're really good at, isn't it, what you really like to do, right?
"Alice, on the other hand, has decided to join in and play with us."
And my heart sank, because I knew and I didn't know what that meant.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Almost Cut My Hair
This past week, my good friend Viviane asked me out to the Pleasure Salon, as she always does. The Salon is a convocation of likeminded sex positive people that meets the first Wednesday of every month at a bar in NYC called The Happy Ending. Over the last few years, I've gone once or twice, usually with the specific intent of meeting up with sex bloggers that I've been in contact with. Large group social gatherings are usually not my forte, and this one was, I'm sad to say, no exception.
Viviane, who is a heavy hitter in this milieu, introduced me to tons of people who she thought I should know or meet, and my terminal shyness took over once again, as I became a wallflower and watcher, the latter being what I really like to do the most. There was birthday cake for a woman hitting a major milestone, and forty spanks for her from anyone that wanted to participate. And I just watched, content for the most part to be the voyeur once again.
Everyone wears a name tag of sorts with their screen name or blog name or something like that, and Mistress Lynx started to chat me up about my name, a pretty woman with a kind and winning smile. I wound up gassing on ad infinitum about where the name came from (a closely held secret with obscure origins) and realized that most of my references were way past her age group, as I tried to explain to her who Jackie Gleason and Art Carney were, and so I faded back into the wall once again. I did listen to a guy next to me ask a girl if it was the first time there for her, one of the oldest opening lines in the book, but strangely, in that environment perhaps, worked wonderfully well for both of them.
But the whole evening made me realize once again that when I talk to people I have to be more interested in them and what they have to say, and not to talk about what my friend The Lawyer labels his favorite topic, himself, and that it wasn't necessary for me to play match that anecdote with everyone that I spoke with.
Oh, and the title of this post? Comes from a song writen by David Crosby and recorded long long ago by Crosby, Stills and Nash---I almost ended this blog last week, wrote a final post and saved it, planning to edit and post over this weekend. But events have conspired against that, and I'll continue along, perhaps (and hopefully) posting more frequently. I want to go back to telling the story of Not Enough, I want to say things here that can't be said anywhere else, I want to write about my fascinations and obsessions.
Viviane, who is a heavy hitter in this milieu, introduced me to tons of people who she thought I should know or meet, and my terminal shyness took over once again, as I became a wallflower and watcher, the latter being what I really like to do the most. There was birthday cake for a woman hitting a major milestone, and forty spanks for her from anyone that wanted to participate. And I just watched, content for the most part to be the voyeur once again.
Everyone wears a name tag of sorts with their screen name or blog name or something like that, and Mistress Lynx started to chat me up about my name, a pretty woman with a kind and winning smile. I wound up gassing on ad infinitum about where the name came from (a closely held secret with obscure origins) and realized that most of my references were way past her age group, as I tried to explain to her who Jackie Gleason and Art Carney were, and so I faded back into the wall once again. I did listen to a guy next to me ask a girl if it was the first time there for her, one of the oldest opening lines in the book, but strangely, in that environment perhaps, worked wonderfully well for both of them.
But the whole evening made me realize once again that when I talk to people I have to be more interested in them and what they have to say, and not to talk about what my friend The Lawyer labels his favorite topic, himself, and that it wasn't necessary for me to play match that anecdote with everyone that I spoke with.
Oh, and the title of this post? Comes from a song writen by David Crosby and recorded long long ago by Crosby, Stills and Nash---I almost ended this blog last week, wrote a final post and saved it, planning to edit and post over this weekend. But events have conspired against that, and I'll continue along, perhaps (and hopefully) posting more frequently. I want to go back to telling the story of Not Enough, I want to say things here that can't be said anywhere else, I want to write about my fascinations and obsessions.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
The End of The Season-Part Three
We managed to support each other in our effort to reach the street and find a cab, each of us leaning against the other, my right arm around her waist and her left arm over my shoulder, both of us feeling the body warmth that an evening of alcohol had produced. By luck we found a cab in just a few minutes, and I opened the back door and fell into the seat closest to the curb, as she walked around to the driver's side and spoke through his window, telling him where to go. My head rested back against the seat, and I paid no attention at all to where we were headed, content to be led and taken to whatever location she had in mind. She slumped against me, her head lolling over against my shoulder, her breath hot against my chest. She rested a hand high up on my thigh, her fingers making little wave-like movements, and I started to get hard, despite the night of booze.
We stopped in front of a non-descript six floor walkup building, and we continued to walk side by side, as she unlocked the front door. She must have paid the driver at some point, but I was drifting in and out, assuming little responsibility and less control as things progressed. We walked down the hallway, through a door, and down a short flight of stairs. At this point my antenna went up and I started to be a bit concerned. As a born and bred New Yorker, I knew that the only thing you might find in the basement of a walkup building was the boiler, and I felt that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the "I'm not in control and I don't know where this is going" feeling.
She unlocked the door and pushed me into a tiny dark space, a subterranean studio apartment barely large enough to hold the mattress on the floor. There was a waist high bookcase next to the mattress, and a pullman kitchen against one wall. There was one doorway that I could see, probably for the bathroom, and if there was a closet it wasn't obvious to me.
But the surprise, in this tiny space, was the wall facing the door.
We stopped in front of a non-descript six floor walkup building, and we continued to walk side by side, as she unlocked the front door. She must have paid the driver at some point, but I was drifting in and out, assuming little responsibility and less control as things progressed. We walked down the hallway, through a door, and down a short flight of stairs. At this point my antenna went up and I started to be a bit concerned. As a born and bred New Yorker, I knew that the only thing you might find in the basement of a walkup building was the boiler, and I felt that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, the "I'm not in control and I don't know where this is going" feeling.
She unlocked the door and pushed me into a tiny dark space, a subterranean studio apartment barely large enough to hold the mattress on the floor. There was a waist high bookcase next to the mattress, and a pullman kitchen against one wall. There was one doorway that I could see, probably for the bathroom, and if there was a closet it wasn't obvious to me.
But the surprise, in this tiny space, was the wall facing the door.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
The Summer So Far
I have spent more time in doctors offices in the last two months than I have in the last several years, more time prone with diagnosed and undiagnosed illnesses and syndromes and symptoms than I ever thought possible. I've had aches, pains, lethargy, inability to concentrate on anything meaningful. As a self-employed professional, it's all meant precious little services being performed in May and June, which has led to relative poverty in June and July. I've missed payments to be made for the first time in my adult life, through a combination of inattentiveness and a lack of cash.
I've had serious chest congestion brought on by adult onset allergies, which put me on powerful steroids (no, not that kind) and an inhaler, which I'm still using periodically. I spent the beginning of July with temps up to 103.5 (inside my body, not outside on the street lol), with such violent shivering and quaking that She thought it was The Exorcist demon inhabiting my body. In the process, I've ruined a pillow and wound up sleeping by myself for over a week, until I began to heal---the ultimate diagnosis was bacterial, cured by Cipro, which I had kept in the medicine cabinet left over from my most recent climbing trip to Ecuador.
My ultimate diagnosis, as the germs stopped moving around my body, was prostatitis, and in the process of visiting the urologist (and yes, I was among the youngest patients there) I was diagnosed with Peyronie's Disease, which is really a syndrome/symptom and not a Disease. And I'll leave it up to all you good souls to look it up on WebMd.
There has been little thinking about sex, even less sex, and almost no good sex...but that's all changing this week, as She and I are on vacation and will spend the time almost exclusively with each other. And I'm finally back to thinking about lust in a meaningful way.
Speaking of lust, try to catch a movie with Tilda Swinton called "I Am Love," if it comes to your local movie theatre. I thought it was about a middle aged woman caught in a stultifying marriage who meets and falls for a man half her age, the friend of her adult son. I saw it with Her, and She didn't understand why the younger man would fall for the older woman. But see it for yourself and think about what you think.
I'M BACK, yet again
I've had serious chest congestion brought on by adult onset allergies, which put me on powerful steroids (no, not that kind) and an inhaler, which I'm still using periodically. I spent the beginning of July with temps up to 103.5 (inside my body, not outside on the street lol), with such violent shivering and quaking that She thought it was The Exorcist demon inhabiting my body. In the process, I've ruined a pillow and wound up sleeping by myself for over a week, until I began to heal---the ultimate diagnosis was bacterial, cured by Cipro, which I had kept in the medicine cabinet left over from my most recent climbing trip to Ecuador.
My ultimate diagnosis, as the germs stopped moving around my body, was prostatitis, and in the process of visiting the urologist (and yes, I was among the youngest patients there) I was diagnosed with Peyronie's Disease, which is really a syndrome/symptom and not a Disease. And I'll leave it up to all you good souls to look it up on WebMd.
There has been little thinking about sex, even less sex, and almost no good sex...but that's all changing this week, as She and I are on vacation and will spend the time almost exclusively with each other. And I'm finally back to thinking about lust in a meaningful way.
Speaking of lust, try to catch a movie with Tilda Swinton called "I Am Love," if it comes to your local movie theatre. I thought it was about a middle aged woman caught in a stultifying marriage who meets and falls for a man half her age, the friend of her adult son. I saw it with Her, and She didn't understand why the younger man would fall for the older woman. But see it for yourself and think about what you think.
I'M BACK, yet again
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)