toy

I have been in contact with toy, who sent me a long and very eloquent (as always) email. When I asked her about sharing it with another blogger, and she agreed to that, with the caveat that I would "know" my audience.
And so, if you'd like to see the email, please email me directly at swordfish155@aol.com, and I'll forward her beautiful and wonderful response.

Which Way Did They Go??

Within the last week or so, I lost three blogs that I used to check in on regularly. I usually prefer to communicate with bloggers directly, and only sometimes leave things in the comments area.

The first was a blog I called Gidget, a youngish woman in the SF Bay area, who, with her boyfriend, were determined to be a D/s couple, and were just starting out. They went at it studiously, and stayed together through several setbacks. She stopped posting in early November, and when I emailed her directly, she wrote back to say that her muse had left her, and she wasn't going to post anymore.

The second blog was something called Lies and Guys, run by a sub named Bailey, who had astonishing insights from time to time, and shared some very personal parts of her soul in unique ways. She took her blog private, as when I try to access it, I get the message that I'm not part of the invited guests.

The third blog to go MIA is Toy's exquisite blog, MarriedMansFuckToy, one that was so wonderfully personal and intimate, and incredibly well written, that I went way back to the beginning of her tale and read all of it. She was able to share her entire journey as a sub, and the depth and involvement of her submissiveness was truly personal and revealing. I also emailed her, but have yet to hear back.

I miss all of them, all for different reasons. And I know that bloggers are under no obligation to tell their readers anything other that what they want them to know and read, but I'm always wishing that when bloggers decide to retire they would tell us when they do.

One Night In Bangkok-The Finale-E.R.I.T.

It would be nice to say that I went back the next night and finished what I had started, but in truth I didn't.
The sex had been brilliant, and looms ever larger in the legend of my own life in my own mind. All of you English majors out there will recognize (or should anyway) the initials in the title of this post---William Wordsworth nailed it on the head when he spoke of Emotion Recollected In Tranquility, and the acronym has stuck with me since my undergraduate days. I got to engage in lots of different kinds of sex that She doesn't see as part of her world, especially with Her ever decreasing libido.
But there's a baggage charge involved in paying for sex, even when it's a commonly accepted practice in the part of the world you're visiting. There were experiences that I wanted to have, acts and feelings that would never been available to me, and so I had taken a very deep breath and plunged in, knowing that I couldn't unring the bell once it had sounded.

And I'm still trying to figure out if it was worth it, not monetarily of course, but emotionally. I still get rock hard thinking about what I did, and how easy and simple it was. And then the moralistic part of me rises up, and I start dealing with guilt feelings about paying for sex.

And I'm still trying to strike that balance, where I can reconcile what I did with how I feel about doing it.

The Same Old Question

I leave for the gym early in the morning when I go, a habit left over from the days when I ran a lap of Central Park every morning in the dark. Today it was about 35 degrees, winds calm, sky dark but getting brighter. As I ran on the treadmill, and it's a good sized gym, a woman came in, wearing a short winter jacket, furlined hood, midriff bare and tan, low lying lime green paints, hanging low enough on her hips so that I could see the dimples above her backside.

And so I'm asking again, am I supposed to look? Is my eyesight, and head, supposed to follow her from left to right as she walks past? There was obviously some thought put into her clothing for the morning...it's well before 7 AM, and it's not something that she just threw on to come to the gym and work out...I know that I have to lay my clothes out the night before to make a speedy exit, and I can see the women that put on the first Tshirt or top on the top of the pile.

The question remains unanswered for me.

One Night In Bangkok-Part Ic

We sat still at opposite ends of the bed, both of us hidden in our own thoughts for a moment, her skin shining ever so slightly with a tiny sheen of perspiration, I with an erection that seemed a mile long and that begged for attention. I struggled mightily to hold my hands at my sides and not in my crotch, as we both caught our breaths. The bed was soaked, and would be uncomfortable for either of us.
She stood up after a moment or two, smiled again, and gestured towards the straightbacked chair in the corner of the room and the small towel lying across the back of the chair. Spreading the towel across the seat, she motioned to me to sit down, and I made my way across the room, my cock waving in the air in front of me. She reached into her bag yet again, and brought out a condom wrapped in gold foil. Fearful that I would cum right in her hands, I took it from her and smoothed it on, unrolling it as cautiously as I could.
I had wanted to have sex with her in ways that I didn't with Her, and doggy style sex from behind was what I wanted...not anal sex, just sex from behind, held tight by her butt and legs, and so I sat down, with my legs spread slightly, and she backed up to me, reaching down between her legs and grasping my cock at the base, guiding it up to her opening, her legs wide outside of mine, standing on tiptoes. Ever so slowly, she put the tip of my cock into her lubed opening, using her other hand to spread herself wider, and then she started to sink down on me, pushing her butt back and down, until she engulfed me fully, suspended on my lap, her feet dangling just a bit in the air, making movement difficult for either of us until she hesitantly brought first one leg and then the other inside of mine, grabbing my penis in what felt like a vise like grip, finally putting both of her feet on the floor, pinning me to the chair. I reached around her and grasped her breasts, cupping each on in a hand, unconsciously rolling the nipples between my fingers, feeling them harden in spite of themselves.
And then she started to contract her muscles deep within herself, gently at first. It felt like I was being pulled inside her by some unknown force, somehow massaging the top half of my cock, now deeply imbedded inside her. She hunched forward slightly, putting her hands on her knees, breathing slightly deeper, as she continued. It felt like she was pulling me deeper and deeper inside her, but I was unable to move. Then the contractions became stronger, and stronger, until I could wait no longer, and I came, finally remembering that I hadn't really been breathing, exhaling forcefully. She continued to flex for a moment or two, draining me of whatever cum might be left within me.
Finally, we detached, she reaching down to remove the condom, now full, using the towel to wipe me dry and then to wipe her own thighs and groin down as well, and we were done, at least for the moment. The money had long ago been taken care of, and I added generously to it.
I mentioned to her that I had to fly out the next evening, that I still had more things on my mind, inquiring what time she started work, for after all it was work for her, certainly not a date or anything like that.
And we agreed on where and when I could meet her the next afternoon.

Reading, Not Writing

Yesterday, my Boy called to tell me that my daughter-in-law had miscarried for a second time in two years.
This has taken the wind out of my sails in a major way.
I'll be reading blogs and comments for a while, but perhaps not writing.

Random Thoughts #2

Am I Supposed To Look?
I do indeed understand that I grew up in a time when less flesh was on view, and the only way to see women's body parts was either in Playboy or in an anatomy textbook. Times have changed and I know that. But I'm unclear about whether I'm supposed to look at cleavage, at boobs escaping out of a blouse, at navels winking at me above waistlines of jeans that seem to have 1" zippers. Case in point---on my recent trip overseas, while flying from Bangkok to London, I moved to the very front of the plane so that I could make a quick (as quick as possible) connection in London. A fellow traveler with a similar need also moved, and sat down next to me, with most of her breasts exposed over the top of a scoopnecked shirt, enough exposed and open to view so that I could see most of her bra (white, shelf, wide separation, front closure), and I was having a hard time not conversing with her breasts, which were great looking. This past Thanksgiving, my nephew and his wife and new baby came to dinner, among others, she nursing and with a similar amount of exposure as my traveling friend. And she's family, well sort of. Am I supposed to stare, or am I supposed to ignore what I'm seeing? Ladies, ya have to help me out with this one.

Cell Phone Use
I spent 15 minutes this afternoon on a bus, caught between (among??) three cell phone talkers, all in different languages, all talking at much less than sotto voce. And being in New York, I tolerated the intrusion into the time that I wanted to spend reading. In Berlin, almost nobody is using cellphones for the amount of time used here in NYC. Nobody is walking down the street having conversations out loud, as if they need to be committed. I can't know if it was just Berlin, or whether New Yorkers are just out of control with wireless communication, and much more out of control than Europeans. But someone's blackberry went off on the subway last week, and that person had a conversation while riding on the subway underground.

Random Thoughts #1-The Posts That Didn't Get Written

Starting Out Poor
Financially, we're comfortable now, but there was a time years ago, when my son was first married and She wasn't working, that we were quite poor. I had no professional credentials and wasn't really making enough money to support a family. We were robbing from Peter to pay Paul on a constant basis, and I was toying with the idea of a substance abuse problem to boot, and every dollar we spent was one that left home grudgingly. When I think back to that time, it almost breaks my heart.
As a child, I had a very high IQ, but languished in mediocre public schools, constantly bored, not learning anything (including not learning how to learn), reading books under my desk to pass the time. And I vowed that this would never happen to my son, so we spent money we didn't have and couldn't afford to send him to private school, where he was always the poorest kid in the class. Poor but also the smartest,although he hid his capabilities under a bushel basket, away from everyone except the teachers, who all knew.

Watching
I think I've probably been looking at too many wicked postings on youporn.com lately, because I've started to see random women in the street, and imagine what they might look like in the throes of orgasm. Everyone in ecstasy has a far away look about them, eyes closed, mouth perhaps slightly ajar, flushed, limbs perhaps splayed, hips and groin bucking. I see these women only from the neck up, each with eyes closed, far away in their own pleasure.

Words
There are certains words that just sound sexy, certain nouns and verbs that make you think of one thing and one thing only. My favorite is FONDLE---you can only fondle one or two things: breasts, balls, perhaps that's it. Another word is JUTTING---only breasts or perhaps a cock seems to jut (I just saw Beowulf, and Angelina's breasts are jutting...take my word for it). And I can't hear the word rut without converting it to RUTTING.
Can you think of others? Let me know.

Earworms
I've written about earworms before, the music that gets stuck in your head and you can't get rid of...yesterday I had the strangest earworm, the St. Crispins Day speech from the film of Henry V with Kenneth Branagh and Emma Thompson. I don't know the speech that well, but had watched the movie coming back on a long trip from Bangkok to Berlin, and it was one of the few things I hadn't seen in the last three weeks. And yesterday, I couldn't get it out of my head. See the movie and you'll know what I mean

It Comes and It Goes

Reading other people's blogs makes me think that everybody thinks about nothing but sex, and I know it's not true. Readers only get the good parts, the horny parts, the reaching between your legs to touch yourself parts. You miss the "other" parts, like doing the laundry, making the bed, grocery shopping, etc., etc.
So when I couldn't write what I wanted to the way I wanted to write it, I started to wonder where my urge for sex had gone, and why it had deserted me. Intellectually I understood what had happened, but emotionally it was wreaking havoc. Engrailed posted about this last week, and Scott from Mrs. Kellys Playground touched on it also recently. And he was the one who put me back on track---I've been selectively watching YouPorn.com, and it's made me horny as hell.
Now, how can I explain it to Her, for whom sex is a weekend activity only at best?

And I need to write something about all the random thoughts and ideas that started as posts but didn't quite make it. Perhaps tomorrow.

One Night In Bangkok-Part Ib

And so we disentangled from the positions we were in, she sitting crosslegged at the head of the bed, and I at the very foot. She reached down to her bag, and brought out a large and very lifelike dark brown dildo, which she placed on the bed in front of her. I have always been a watcher, really getting aroused by watching other people experience sex, either by themselves or while participating with someone else, whether it involved watching them do themselves, or seeing them engaged in sex with another person. And so we proceeded to the second part of the night---I wanted to see her squirt while masturbating, something She never goes (either the masturbating or the squirting).
And I knew this was the hardest thing that I was asking this woman to do, because it meant showing me something personal of herself. She reached down with her left hand, and separated her lower lips, allowing me to see her pinkish vulva in greater exposure. Her right index finger reached down between the lips and started to slowly move back and forth up and down her slit, pausing occaisionally at the top to give her clit a slight twirl. She closed her eyes and seemed to settle down further into the position she was sitting in. I could hear the tiny scratch-scratch of her fingers as they grazed her pubic hairs, even cut short as they were.
She stopped for a moment, reached down for the tube of lube, and applied it to her opening, leaning back against the wall, and then she slowly put the dildo in, wriggling back and forth until the whole thing disappeared up her canal. I could see the flat base between her legs, and her tight brown anus was on display as well.
Her left hand now pushed down on her pubic bone just above the hairline, splaying her slit wide open and forcing her clit to stand up in greater exposure, almost holding the slit open. Her right hand returned to its work, concentrating more now on the clit, moving up and down with a come hither motion, faster and faster, her jaw dropping as she became more aroused. She started to move the dildo in and out as she fingered her clit, and I could see that she might be close to cumming. She continued, increasing her speed with both of her hands, until suddenly she jerked the dildo out of her vagina, grunted once or twice, and started to spray out a clear, what seemed like slightly viscous fluid. She had squirted two or perhaps three times, making with bed wet with her fluids, and I reached down to touch the slightly tacky wetness, finding out that it was not unlike the precum that might, and in fact was dripping from my from my cock.
She sat up and opened her eyes, giving me a slight smile, somewhat shy, perhaps acknowledging that she had shown me something private, something of herself.

Reasons, No Excuses

I'm thinking that everybody who posts regularly to a blog encounters the week from hell, when work, family, whatever so overloads your synapses that it's difficult to save enough energy to write, and to write well.

That was this past week for me, catching up on a month's work from when I was travelling, preparing for an IRS situation (don't ask), fighting a wicked proxy battle in my co-op building (something only New Yorkers can truly understand) where I'm the president, battling with Her about family matters for the upcoming holiday (great subject for a massive post in the future), and fighting jet lag that caused me to nod off like the proverbial junkie at the strangest times.

I'm trying to get back to posting more regularly, and to finish the ever so wicked tale of my time in Bangkok, because it turned out to be a turning point for me.

Please be patient. Work in process.

One Night In Bangkok-Part Ia

She had stopped at the bar exit and picked up her tote bag, and slung it over her shoulder, along with the tiny change purse evening bag, which only had enough capacity for money, condoms, lipstick, and anything else tiny. She took my arm and led me down the street to an unmarked and unremarkable looking door, which opened onto a tiny lobby and staircase, which we climbed together.

At this point I started to feel anxious, performance anxiety settling in at a rampant pace...it had truly been a long time since I had been with a woman other than Her. One gets used to conveniences and accomodations, the way you touch and get touched, and I was hoping that I hadn't forgotten what to do and how to do it. My breath became shorter, and my throat started to constrict, which is the feeling that I always get in new sexual situations. As we walked down a hallway, I took deep breaths, knowing that there was no turning back. But this was my arrangement, this was for me, this was for my pleasure, so why was I so nervous? We entered a room, and she immediately crossed to turn on the tiny air conditioner, cooling the room almost instantly. She turned to face me, standing alongside the bed, and said, "Money first," and so I paid her the agreed upon price in the local currency (bahts) and she tucked the bills into her purse and hung it on the back of the door.

She turned her back to me and calmly shrugged out of her dress, and I could see only fine smooth skin, a bubble shaped rear, and the tiny string of her thong climbing up between her cheeks. She turned to face me, with her arms crossed in front of her breasts, and her pubic area just covered by the thinnest and tiniest triangle of black fabric. As she let her arms fall to her sides, I could see that I'd made a right choice. She had standup boobs, and nipples that were large, dark, round, almost like half dollars, and so I stood there, dumbstruck, poleaxed, like a deer in the headlights. She took off her triangle and showed me the smallest landing strip pubic hair I'd ever seen. Then she took a small towel and wet just one corner of it, wiping around her miniature patch, pulling it up between her legs.

Crossing to me, she skinned my shirt over my head, and then reached down to open my pants, which puddled around my feet. My cock stood out against my shorts painfully, until she pushed down my black underwear. She wiped my down with another corner of the towel. She walked to the head of the bed and sat down across it, motioning to me to lie down across her lap.

And so we came to the first part, her dangling her breasts in my mouth and my sucking on them, while she manipulated me with her hand until I came. She bent over a bit, allowing one breast to just reach my mouth, while putting her hand down deep between my legs, reaching with her pinkie to the very edge of my perineum, where it meet my ass, slowly dragging the nail up to my scrotom, back down again, then up and across my balls to the base of my penis. My hands remained at my sides, and I sucked gently and persistently first at one nipple and then at the other, feeling her nipples swell and harden as I sucked. She had applied some lube to my cock, and started to gently, oh so gently, stroke up and down, doing some sort of butterfly thing with her fingertips at the very top. I was far gone, going to some other place of pleasure, just becoming two sensation points, one at my mouth and tongue, the other between my legs.

Every time I started to get ready to cum, she would slow down and concentrate just on the head, sensing when my hips might start to move back and forth, stopping stroking and just playing with the head, her nails and fingertips playing their little game. Sounds started to come out of me, moans combining the feeling of pleasure and the pain of not quite cumming, and I continued to suck and suck and suck. Finally I could wait no longer, and she held my cock in place as I came on my own stomach, the cum pulsing out in warm globs. She bent further forward over my stomach and licked up the cum, bringing up face up so that I could see it dripping from her mouth. It's what I'd paid her for.

One Night In Bangkok-Prologue

I've been travelling in countries where I wasn't quite sure what I could and couldn't put into email or bring up on the screen, and the diffiiculty of reading the home page in Thai or Bhutanese, or German for that matter, made posting difficult. But I'm back, with truly lots to say.

I had thought about it long and hard, the prostitute concept, the idea of paying someone for sex, and rationalizing it in terms of Her. Our sex fits what might be called GGG---good, giving, and game, although the last part has waned over time. The fact that She takes behavior modification drugs, and has hit the menopause wall, renders Her libido pretty much a thing of the past. Even the CR variety of the drug pretty much leaves Her with an intellectual interest, but without any real horniness, and certainly not for any seriously new activities, which seem to be all that are on my mind lately. And so I've worked out in my mind what works for me...that what I'd be doing is paying for activities or things that aren't part of the sexual vocabulary at home, things that She just won't even think about. It isn't just for normal sex, but rather for what I would experience with Her.

As it turned out, my hotel in Bangkok was just about a 15 minute walk from Soi Cowboy, one of the two major open sex areas in the city, and I had been passing it the first two nights, when I went out for street food for dinner. I didn't even realize this until I was walking past a bar on the second night in the city, and I was accosted by a multitude of girls asking me if I wanted to have a good time, and would I come in for a beer, all beers 75 bahts in the local currency. I'm dense sometimes, but even I understood where I was, and so with a mental throw of the switch, I went into the airconditioned bar and elbowed my way up to the bar. It was sort of like the Beach Boys song, "Two girls for every boy", except there were a lot more than two for every guy, and it took me a minute before I realized that direct eye contact constituted an invitation. But I was judicious in gazing around, and found someone I thought kind of sexy. All the women wore similar outfits, spaghetti strapped camis over tight black pants, or similar dresses, ending way about the knee. The girl that I chose, because she looked about 16 (and maybe that's part of the allure) had long dark hair to the middle of her back, peekaboo bangs and a slightly sulky cast to her lips. There was not much light in the bar, and less light in her eyes. She was short and had average sized breasts, which swung freely under her top. But she quickly joined me at the bar (I'm not a sit down at the table sort of guy), asking me if I would buy her a girldrink (I should hasten to add here that I had discussed all of this with my friend Chuckie the Gym Rat, who spends a third of the year in Thailand, but now only goes upcountry), who let me know what protocol might be, and what questions I should be asking, before I would up paying for a champagne cocktail of fruit juice and some exhorbitant rate.

The drinks came quickly, and she turned sideways, smearing her cleavage across my arm, putting her mouth close to my ear to overcome the thumping disco music, asking me if I would like to go somewhere. I had thought about this for such a long time, think about how I would tell her what I wanted, my hearbeat going way up and my throat constricting the way it always does when I'm around illicit sex or some new sexual experience. And so I told her, the three things that I wanted her to do, telling her one thing at a time what was on my list. She seemed to balk at the second activity, and I was able to explain to her that it was an all or nothing experience. She wanted to say that one thing was too personal, and waBargirl English is remarkable in that there must be nothing that they haven't been asked to do, and so we bargained, mouth to ear and ear to mouth, until we agreed on a price and a time limit. And then I added a few additional ideas, the price going up like a cash register as I added things. It was a remarkable feeling, being able to get someone to do something sexual by baldly adding bahts to the amount. I always say that I'm a slut for the beach, meaning that I'll do almost anything to get there, but now I truly understood the slut concept, as she would do anything I asked, for money.

And so I paid a small bar fine, and we exited the bar into Soi Cowboy, moving towards an unmarked door further up the street, next to one of the ubiquitous sidewalk noodle stands.

Mating Rites in Bhutan

Rather than get into the whole Bangkok story sitting in a public internet cafe, I thought that a brief primer on mating rites in Bhutan might be interesting.
The country itself is situated in the eastern Himalayas, between India and Tibet, just to the east of Everest. It is 100% Buddhist and is primarily interested in the Gross National Happiness Index, to measure how well the country is doing. Most of the economy is agrarian based, either farming rice, fruit in the south, yak herding, etc.
Most marriages are arranged, and somewhat informal. There is a practice called "Night Hunting" when guys go out and knock on a girls door or window. If she answers, it means she's interested in hooking up with him that night, and they repair to a shepherd's hut to spend the evening and see how things work out. Out of wedlock babies aren't frowned upon or shunned, and either a man or a woman can have multiple spouses. The king has four wives, all sisters, and they live separately from him. But a woman could have multiple men as well, as long as everyone is copacetic with the arrangement.
There is little AIDS, only 120 recognized cases, mostly brought in by travelling businessmen, and almost no prostitution, except in the border towns, because the sexual practices are so relaxed.
It's amazing how well everyone can get along when they're all on the same page.
Next week, One Night in Bangkok, when I return tyo the city.

Hidden Identity

Tomorrow I leave Bangkok before the sun comes up, to start the serious part of the trip, trekking in Bhutan at altitude. One interesting aspect for me the first time I did this sort of trip two years ago was that I was way out of my league, physically just about capable of keeping up, but with no camping or outdoor skills, and so, as Blanche duBois so effectively put it, I had to depend of the kindness of others. I shared a tent with a guy from Alaska, a city dweller, who just about saved me from death and destruction at every turn, and he did it with kindness and courtesy. Others in the group also pitched in, helping me with all the skills that I never had learned before.

Part of this process was that I was forced to become the non New Yorker. We lived in a very limited world in Gotham City, and frankly I'm very good at it. We know what we need to know, and don't mind telling others that we're good at it, at living in the city. But out on the trail and in the wilderness, I have to become much more humble and ask people for help. Last time I had a daypack right out of Gilmore Girls. Now I have a real daypack, I just don't know how to use it correctly, how to get strapped in. I have new gaiters that I'm not sure if I can get on, and then there's just about everything else that I've forgotten since I did it in 2005. I want desperately to think that this is just like riding a bike, you remember as you do it, but my greatest fears are that once again I'll be the know nothing guy.

I'm always the one approaching the knot of tourists huddled over the map, asking if they need help. And I'm hoping that what goes around comes around, that the good karma that I try to share when I help those poor souls from Europe and Asia will come back to me when I look to others. Think positive thoughts just like you did for Tinkerbelle years ago when you first saw Peter Pan. I'll need all the help I can get.

This is Tuesday afternoon, and I go to Bhutan at 5AM tomorrow, and am out on the trail Friday morning, at which point I'll truly be out of contact until the following week.

Earworm-Who Are You by the Who, Only Living Boy in New York by Simon and Garfinkle

So Much For That

What I hate about the internet is that it can always be there. As I checked into my hotel, after being in transit for almost 22 hours, the one thing that rang out in my head was the statement that the entire hotel is a hot zone, and there are laptops to borrow gratis...it's a Relais and Chateaux hotel, a boutique in Bangkok, probably much more than I needed. But then there's this email thing.
I sat down with my friend Chuckie the gym rat before I left, he who comes here several months a year, and he regaled me with tales of the bar girls, all beautiful, all inexpensive, all gracious. And then the cab driver gave me the same spiel. Which starts to look more and more interesting.
I never wrote about my penchant for watching, for looking, for being the observer. I've known about it for ages, the rush of getting close to the action but not touching, being there but not being in it. When I went to Amsterdam two years ago, I went throught the red light district several times, but couldn't quite get through the door.

Part II_Leavin' On A Jet Plane

Tomorrow morning, well before the crack of dawn, I leave on what we're euphemistically (sp?) calling the B Tour---Bangkok, Bhutan, Berlin. It's a trip that's been in the planning for almost two years, ever since I summitted Kilimanjaro. It started as just Bhutan, then I added a long weekend in Bangkok, and then She decided She didn't like being left behind, and so together we added Berlin. I've been a nervous wreck putting together clothing and equipment for three radically different climates---humid and 90, crisp and 50s, damp and 40s respectively. And I've beefed up training so that I don't crash as badly as I did on day before summitting Kili. But that's another story.

It should be stated here that I'm about the only solitary (not single) male going to Bangkok who isn't going as a sex tourist, although my friend Chuckie the gym rat tells me that everybody does it, and what happens in Bangkok stays in Bangkok. I keep telling him no, but....

There are internet cafes in Bangkok and many in Bhutan, and I'll try to post if time and experiences permit. I will return on November 12th, so please check in periodically. Climbing to altitude is optional, but returning is mandatory.

If you believe in a Supreme Being, say a prayer for me, and if you're an agnostic, have a good thought for me. Everyone can always use whatever help they can get.

Earworms-One Night in Bangkok by Murray, Leavin On A Jet Plane

Part I-A Question of Terms

I grew up in the big city, She grew up in a very small village, where everybody knew everybody else's business. Or so it seemed. Her best friend had a child while still in high school, after the requisite shotgun marriage (do I have to explain what that means?), and She became the little girl's godmother. As time progressed, She and her friend drifted apart, as life changed. We still see the daughter from time to time in the village; she's grown into a lovely, capable, and accomplished woman.

This summer, She and I met her friend, whom She hadn't spent any sort of time with in a very long time. The friend was in town from Florida with her husband (ten years younger), and so we invited them over for drinks in the late afternoon. He is the beverage manager at a large restaurant where they live, and so he wound up managing the drinks. During the course of the two hours together, each of them remarked more than once on how much they liked their lifestyle (not in caps) and how much they liked to party.

The time ended and we all vowed to remain in better contact, leaving the ball in their court for when they came north. To me, when somebody tells you they love to party, and they're married or in a relationship, it's code word for open relationship, and that's what I took it to mean, while She just thinks that they like to have a good time.

Is this the usual male/female dichotomy, or am I hearing something that just isn't part of her vocabulary in any fashion?

The Words

I often put an "Earworm" song at the end of my posts---it's the song that's gotten stuck in my head, keeps going round and round, it's what whistle ad nauseum while driving. One of the worst was the bridge from an Oliver Nelson song called "Stolen Moments". I whistled the solo trumpet part while I was hearing the chords in my head. Even my friend Buddy, who knows the piece as well as I do, wanted to murder me.

But sometimes it's the words that get stuck in the rinse cycle. I've had a line from "Diamonds In The Soles Of Her Shoes", from Paul Simon's Graceland album going on and on---"EMPTY AS A POCKET WITH NOTHING TO LOSE." It's during the time when he really started to experiment with words as well as with music, and the result was breathtaking. The other line that runs round and round this week is from "Lady Madonna", the Beatles song. FRIDAY NIGHT ARRIVES WITHOUT A SUITCASE. What does that mean, and does it make any difference? The line is so expressive that it stands on its own, much as what Dylan (Bob, not Thomas), wrote in the 60s when he first went electric and recorded Highway 61 and Blonde on Blonde.

And there are tons of other lines. Anybody got any, lines that just reverberate and stay with you, echoing in you mind over and over again?

Listen To The Music

In a way I'm like a teenager, in that I have a soundtrack to my life, music is always going inside my head, and it's not the simpler popular music that most people listen to, but complicated classical stuff as well as serious jazz (not that smooooth jazz that masquerades these days).

My musical capabilities aren't genetic, as far as I can figure out, but they do come naturally to me, and I'm always amazed that what I hear and take for granted is far from what most people hear. You hear the melody, for sure, and you probably hear the bass line, if it's pronounced enough. I hear that as well, but I also hear the inner voices, the chord structure, the secondary rhythms, and it's easy for me to isolate each element and understand what its function is in making the music sound as it does. And it's sooo easy for me to do this, it's the way I hear music. It's automatic.

And I've been fortunate to work in both rock n roll as well as classical arenas, touring with rock bands and singing at Carnegie Hall and Avery Fisher Hall, as well as singing backup for Andrea Bocelli. I've seen the music world from all sides, having cut my jazz teeth on Miles, Mingus and the MJQ. I've got chops, as they say in the industry.

I often wonder what lights me up about a piece of music, music of any sort. It's the voice of the music, the tonal structure, the vamp, the rhythm, it's everything and nothing all at once. I can't figure out why I like Genesis, why certain Bach cantatas speak to me, why Gerry Mulligan's Big Band recordings reach my soul, and why I just shut down listening to other stuff that's standardly (a word?) great, like the Brahms Requiem, which bores me to tears.

Yesterday I listened to a piece on NPR about the marketing of the new Radiohead(?) CD---almost said album---as a download only, pay as you wish, and the bits of music that I heard reached right in and grabbed me. Can anyone explain to me why? I, the luddite, now have to download (as soon as the DSL returns next week) the CD.

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Endgame

And so i heard the hotel door click shut, and i waited in the darkness, trying hard to remain calm, to not let fear run away with me, waiting for Her to return. And waited. And waited some more, trying hard to not allow myself to strain against the ties, as that would only bind me tighter. Finally i heard the keycard swipe through the door, and with a short gust of warm air from the hallway, She returned.
"Oh, isn't that nice, you've decided to stay and chill," She said, as She climbed back up on the bed and pushed my knees back up and out. "This is going to be so much fun...for me, anyway, and who knows, perhaps even for you," She whispered into my ear, as She reached down between my asscheeks and squirted out an enormous amount of lube. "I know, sweetheart, it seems like a lot, but you'll need every bit of it." And with that She put my feet up in the air, and then against what seemed like Her chest, and then right above the soft flesh of her breasts. I could feel the straps of her bra, and the swell of her boobs above the shelf of it. She plunged two fingers into my hole, then three, then stood up so that i almost vertical, standing on my shoulders with just the littlest bit of support from Her.
Her fingers came out, and something else went in. It felt smooth and round and made of plastic, filling my whole anus, as She stuffed me with it, pushing it in just once until it couldn't go any further up. "Here comes the really good part." And something rattled down the tube, then another, then another...She was pouring ice cubes down the tube and up my ass. Another, and then another, as I began to feel the chill of the ice, and feel the ice cubes melting as they met with the inner heat of my body. I was beginning to be chilled, and my balls retreated deep inside my body. Another ice cube, and then another, and then She began to stroke my cock with her lubed hand, pushing hard in only one direction. The water from the melted ice began to overflow and leak down my back and chest, and She put in more cubes with one hand, while She continued to stroke me in the direction of my face.
"I'm going stroke you just a little bit more, and then I want you to cum, sweetheart. Just three more times, and then you're going to cum. Are you ready? One. Two. Three. Cum now." And I did, shooting spurts onto my face and chest. Oh god, oh god, oh god..
And i was Hers, whatever She wanted, and seemingly whenever She wanted it.

"Heart Sick"

Two days ago I started reading a book called "Heart Sick" by Chelsea Cain, which was reviewed somewhere a month or so ago, and is now lurking at the bottom of the NYT bestsellers fiction.

It's a mystery, something I usually don't read, the story of a police detective kidnapped by a female serial killer and tortured almost to death (this part is told in flashback). The tec and the narrator, a newspaper writer who narrates the current part, are tracking another and different serial killer.

The description of the detective's submission to the torture by the serial killer and their subsequent relationship is breathtaking, and is one of the best d/s relationship descriptions that I've ever read. A must read.

The Times They Are A Changin'

It's come as something of a surprise to me to find out that after all these years, I really want somebody to take charge, someone to take the lead, to initiate the activity and set the pace. I want to be done to, rather than be to doer, and I want the feeling of surrendering to somebody else's desires. I've always like the bottom in intercourse, and now I'm finding out that I want to be that bottom.

But She's never comfortable with that direction, never one to be the doer rather than the done to, and so I'm still forced to turn the key and start things up. I've discussed it with Her over the years, and the conversations always seem to stick for a little bit, She becomes aggressive and the aggressor, but then it all lapses back.

We've been together longer than not, and it's hard to think about how to change this thing without changing everything, because the whole picture is fine.
Except this.



Earworm-Stealers Wheel-Stuck in the Middle With You

Where's The Music?

One of the clearest indicators for me that I'm either entering or in a black hole is that I stop listening to music, I stop hearing music inside my head. I'm not like the Mozart character in Amadeus, but I have a soundtrack going inside my head most of the time. It's either classical or jazz or rock n roll, but it's something. And when it goes away, it means I'm down for the count in a big way.

My late friend Paul had a stroke several years ago, at a relatively early age for that sort of thing, and one of the things he couldn't do was listen to music. This is a guy that owned hundreds of jazz recordings in all formats from vinyl to mp3, he couldn't decode what he was hearing until his brain and thinking power had time to settle back into a reasoning format.

And so it's been lately for me, the DSL and phone difficulties certainly didn't help, but for the last few weeks, it's been very dark. And with the darkness went any urge for any sort of sex activity, and this means a real drought here, because She takes behavior mod drugs that just about do in Her libido, and She has to be led to it all the time, albeit willingly.

But I'm back, sitting here with an erection the size of a barber pole, after having read Mrs Kelly's Playhouse and one or two other blogs that I check periodically. I'm back to who I am, and boy does it feel good.


Earworms: ELO-Mr. Blue Skies, Phil Collins-Take Me Home (extended)

And dejected...

Well, so much for that. The phone/DSL left earlier this morning, and tells me that I'm still hooked into the bad guys service. So I have to wait until next week to cancel what I have, and replace an order for new phone/dsl service. And then wait 7-10 days to hook up to what I used to have.
Makes me want to cry, but the upside is that I've found out that the local Y has wifi service in the library, and so I'm back in business and will be seriously posting over the next day or two.

I'm So Excited

The tech world is descending on my apartment tomorrow, the A/V people in the morning and the computer guy in the afternoon, and if all's right in the world, I should be back to serious posting by the end of the day.
If anybody's still reading....

Earworm-Pointer Sisters, I'm So Excited (what else?)

M.I.A.

I have been done in by technology, and by the poorest of cable modem installations, and my home access is limited, to say the least.
By the very nature of what's read and written here, using either public computers or computers at clients offices will not work.
So my postings and visits to various blogs will be limited for the next week, until Tuesday afternoon, when I can get my DSL connection back.
For those that check in, please don't be angry, and continue to check in, just in case I get connected sooner rather than later.

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Part IV

"Watch this," she hissed into my ear yet again, as she bent over. "Think about what's happening to you. And remember who's doing it."

And as she started to push down on the top of the brushhead, the plastic stick began to enter my slit and slide down...SHE WAS FUCKING MY PENIS!! Slowly, ever so slowly, she pushed down on the head to the brush as the smooth plastic made its way into me. Between the lube and the precum, i could feel my shaft being widened and filled by the stick, and i watched as it disappeared, two or three inches of it, deeper and deeper. i felt a fullness, an expansion, an inability or a lack of desire to move at all. As i lay there, She raked my thighs with her fingernails, and in reflex i opened my legs even wider than before. They waved back and forth, almost like butterfly wings, as i tried to expand the sensation She was making me have, of opening wider and wider.

She grabbed my cock at the base, holding it against my stomach, and slowly pulled the stick out, my hips recoiling against the mattress.

"We're almost finished here," she said, smiling maliciously, "but now that you've seen yourself get fucked, you're going back into the darkness," and she retied the blindfold. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."

Soooo Pissed

It's a well known fact among people that know me that I'm one of the last of the luddites. Today I spent the better part of three hours having the local cable company install their DSL, switch over the phone service and install a DVR box.

The internet connection works only intermitently (sp?), I have to have my audio guy come back to hook up the DVD & VHS & Tuner/Amp/CD equipment, I got no work done after noontime, and I have nobody to get angry with except myself...the 3 way package was $100 per month for the first year, and was about 50% less than what I was paying before.

And I don't even want to get started on the Ipod problems I'm having with the new Ipod I got.

What is it so hard to get new technology installed and working properly?

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Part III

It wasn't the mascara, it was a small palette of eyeshadow, with a tiny brush with an ovoid head and a very thin handle, almost a miniature lollipop, and She put the head of it in Her mouth to moisten it. She squeezed out a dollop of the toothpaste, and leaned forward to whisper in my ear yet again. "Think about how this is feeling," she said. "Don't make a fucking sound," she finished, and started to paint my scrotum with the toothpaste, pausing each time she refilled the brush surface to admire her handiwork.

At first the sensation was just a coolness, a damp in the air type thing, but it slowly changed as the paste remained on my skin, turning warmer and warmer, then suddenly starting to burn, as the soft skin became more and more irritated. I twisted my pelvis from one side to another, trying to escape what was quickly becoming excruciating pain, when She grabbed my cock just below the head and murmured "Hold still for this part, and watch. If you move, it might hurt even more. But maybe you'd like that."

And she reached back to the carryall and took out some lube in a single pinch packet, ripping it open to massage a small amount onto my dickhead, dribbling the rest down below my now aching scrotum, until it dripped into my anus.

She poised the brush head up right on top of my cock. "Didn't really need much lube here, did you?"

Listen To What You're Saying

I've never made a secret of the fact that I'm a slut for the beach, and will do anything to spend time on the sand under the sun, which I do a lot of during the summer and early fall. One consequence of this is that I spend a fair amount of time sitting with other people, the same group of people, every weekend, people that She's known all Her life, and that I've known since before the Boy was born.
And sometimes their masks fall down.
Last Saturday, I listened to a long story about how a friend of theirs had opened a store in a predominantly Jewish village, and found himself blackballed by the locals because he was an outsider. Yes, it is a predominantly Jewish village, and yes, he probably was the only Christian shopkeeper on the main drag, and yes, the local citizens probably continued to shop where they always had, and yes he probably did go out of business because the circumstances were wrong and he didn't do enough market research into where he was opening his store. But the woman who told this story needed to remember that the "they" in this tale of woe included me, and she should have been more sensitive to the fact that I was the main audience.
Later on in the day, She was talking about my penchant for buying multiple suntan creams, soaps and shampoos...it's something that I've always enjoyed, and so does She. The same person asked "Are you gay or something?" Normally, I suffer from New York Quickmouth, and would've chewed her up, but I just made a polite rejoinder and let it go...I should've said "Yes, I'm gay, and I've always been gay. Didn't you know?" The one time my mouth moved slower than my brain...
You can't self edit all the time, but ya do need to think about what you're saying....

Earworm-Average White Band, Got The Love

Broadcasting

I've always been a firm believer in the idea that you indicate your state of mind and being in numerous ways, speech sometime being the least of them.

Within the last two days, I've gotten come ons from two disparate women. The odd thing is that I'm not looking. I've been in a long term relationship with Her, one which has its ups and downs just like everything else, being subject to the ebb and flow of human emotions over time.
I went into a local bead store to buy a replacement tie for a Q Link that I started wearing two years ago when I went high altitude trekking. The woman in the store made physical contact in enough ways for me to feel that it was something else beyond just being friendly, touching when there didn't seem to be any reason.

Yesterday I went into the local library and had an overly long conversation with one of the librarians that I've talked to several times before, always about library business. Earlier this summer, she was talking with one of the other librarians about their vast manga collection, and I suggested to her that she look up "hentai" comics, which my friend Elizabeth tells me are Japanese porno comics. Since then, although she's never mentioned it, she's been overly solicitous and friendly, always engaging in whatever conversation she can.

I know I'm not actively putting myself out there, not actively looking, but is there something that I'm doing subconsciously, some way I'm carrying myself, some difference in my stance or gait that's telling people I'm available?

Balance

Most of us take our physical well being for granted...we get up every morning, go about our business, the day ends.

Last night, we came home from dinner out and a play, and I felt somewhat lightheaded and dizzy...not the room is spinning dizzy, but sort of too much lateral movement, a unsureness of balance. It hampered reading in bed, and so I went to sleep. When I awoke this morning, and turned over in bed, the feeling was still there, and so I waited for about 1/2 hour before getting out of bed.

For the most part, the feeling has dissappated (sp?), but it was very scary.

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Part II

She continued to twist and pull for several minutes, rubbing Her groin up and down my stomach as She manuevered the clamps, and I could feel Her moisture start to flow, through the thong and onto my skin. I could feel Her getting wetter and wetter, and wondered which one of us would cum first. But She stopped, stopped the twisting, the pulling, the rubbing up and down, as She told me "I'm going to take these off now, and it's going to hurt." She bent down and put Her mouth to my ear, using Her tongue to lick the inside, biting hard on the lobe, and then She hissed "a lot."

She took the first one off, and my nipple started to throb and ache as the blood flowed back into it. She put Her mouth just over it, and breathed warm air onto it, pausing occasionally to use the flat of Her palm to massage it, and then She did the same for the other nipple, pulling on the first one when She thought I was getting too comfortable with it all.

Suddenly She took off the blindfold and smiled at me. "I want you to watch and see the next part," She said, and turned back to the carryall to rummage around once again. She pulled out Her mascara, and a tube of Close Up toothpaste, the kind that was colored red and tasted of cinnamon. She wiped my cock clean with Her palm, and then brought Her hand to Her mouth and licked, making a moaning sound deep in Her throat. She forced my legs toward my butt, until my knees were in the air, keeping my feet on the mattress.

"We're starting in a different direction," She said, "a new beginning."

God Was Looking Out For Me

It was ten years ago this weekend that I found my house in the country. It wasn't a big house, but as soon as we walked in I knew it was the right place. I'm not, or perhaps am no longer, a religious person, but I always felt that God knew that this was important.

I grew to love the beach later in life...it was always a drag as a city kid driving to the beach in an unairconditioned car, getting way burned, then driving back home sticky and sandy. But She grew up in a beachfront community, and after a long period of time I figured it all out, and now I say I'm a slut for the beach, and will do almost anything to get here.

My view of a supreme being is much like the Janitor in Steambath...he pops in occaisionally to do things on a random basis and then leaves, not full time hands on. My sense is that I got lucky here, and will always think about it in terms of divine intervention.

Earworm-Stephane Grappeli, Always (the Stevie Wonder song)

Dreams: Whatever You Want-Part I

And so I agreed to do whatever She wanted to do. I mean how far could She go, how strong could She be. We don't have many toys to play with, and usually She's so conventional and vanilla in sex, not quite submissive, but never taking the lead, always the follower, the done unto person.

We met in a hotel room, neutral territory, but of Her choosing, and She was already in the room when I arrived. After a quick negotiation about a safety word, which is what She called it, Sheasked me to pull back the sheets, take off all my clothes, and lie on the bed face up. She took off her shirt and skirt, and was wearing underwear that I'd never seen her in, that She'd bought specially for this, a black shelf bra that thrust her breasts way out, Her pink nipples erect, a sheer thong also in black, and thigh hi stockings. Perhaps I'd misjudged the situation....

I lay down in the middle of the bed, and She took three silk ties out of the carryall on the dresser, tying one end of each around each wrist and then securing the other end somewhere off the end of the bed, out of sight. She used the last tie to blindfold me loosely. I was in total darkness, and worried more with each passing moment. I could hear Her fumbling in the bag again, and then felt Her fastening some device around my scrotum,tightening it until the balls felt like they were bulging obscenely, like grapes being squeezed. Another part of the device fastened around my cock, which was now fully erect, and it positioned my cock to almost vertical, forcing it to stand up almost against my stomach.

I heard Her go back to the carryall, and then felt Her climb up onto the bed and straddle my chest at the waist. She pulled hard on one nipple, and then fastened something onto it as She pulled it up...I could recognize the feel of a miniature bulldog clamp, shooting a jolt of pain as it closed. My cock leapt and pulsed, although trapped. "Don't you dare cum yet," She whispered in my ear. "We're just getting started here." She attached the other clamp, and pulled them apart and together several times, up and down several times, around in circles again and again. My nipples felt inches long as She pulled on them, and my cock began to drool precum.

Watching Porn

Guys watch porn, that's a given. Whether it's glossy and high production level, amateur where they can't quite hold the camera straight and steady, whether it's the things you like to do or the things you don't get to do. Guys watch porn. Maybe it's part of the hard wiring process.

For the most part, women don't watch porn. Yet when they do, they seem to be enormously turned on by it. Whether it's the same reaction as men is hard to know, but porn does reach women when they watch it.

Whenever we watch movies or tv with sexual encounters in it, She's always turned on by it, and She always gets into bed fully ready to open Her legs wide and grab my cock. Why doesn't She make the connection and admit to what turns Her on? Would She be admitting to liking something She thinks of, or used to think of, as immoral or amoral? Doesn't She understand or track what's happening in Her mind when She watches sex?

Or is this part of the approach/denial syndrome?



Earworm-Cat Mother and the All Night Newsboys-Track in A

Carrots (What It's Like)

We go to the Farmer's Market in the village every weekend, and She's become enamoured of the produce of one of the farmers who's trying to go organic (a long and difficult process to certification). And when we went last Saturday, I saw them--a big bunch of multi-colored carrots, not the wimpy ones you usually get at the greenmarket, but hefty, almost tuber looking carrots in purple, orange, white, red. Large and fat, turgid, they looked like a bunch of erect penises.

I've always felt that I should experience whatever She experiences sexually---it's why I started playing around with a butt plug, although that's gotten way further than just mutual experience (my collection is now up to three, and I'm still struggling with the Tristan), but that's another story for another time.

And so I knew what I had to do. I bought the carrots and took them home to play with. I picked out the one that looked most like an erect penis and put it in my mouth, then put it further in my mouth, then lay down on the bed with my head hanging over the edge and put it more into my mouth. I have a terrible gag reflex, and it was all I could do to stay with it, trying to focus on relaxing, yet moving it in and out of my mouth as far as it would go, and I have a large mouth.

In something I read recently, either a blog or in the Village Voice, the writer (a woman) had put on a strap on and was pegging her partner, and she reflected on the co-ordination difficulties she was having. Honey, I sure can understand how giving a blow job, a good blow job, can be hard work, and I can sure appreciate the good ones that I've gotten. And I was essentially doing myself here, at least as far as the oral activity was concerned.

Earworm-Beethoven, Symphony #5-Finale

"In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye...."

And so summer was over, not this past week, and not this weekend, but about two weeks ago, or so. Jack at the beach told me about this a couple of years ago, and I was able to see it clearly for the first time this year.

The quality of the light changes at a certain point at the beginning of August, and it's all downhill from there. It's not a temperature thing, and sometimes it easier to see it at the beach, where the sun glints off the waves. It can still be hot, vicious hot, and it can feel like the warm time of year, but summer is definitely on the downhill slide. Makes me sad....

Most of the world still views the calendar as a September to August situation, meaning that we all still live on the academic year, not the January to December calendar. Kids know this and those of us that refuse to grow up have known this for a long time.

Singers and readers of the readers of the Old Testament know where the title comes from.

Earworm-None, too late at night, and everyone is asleep

Broads

I've always referred to some actresses as broads, although She never liked the term. It was referring to a certain type of actress that could appear tough and yet vulnerable at the same time, who was quick with a smirk or a leer, who picked or chose her moments with men, and who chose when to lose control and surrender.

Ellen Barkin was always like that, long before she got married and divorced. She's that way in the movie Siesta, a film probably best forgotten except for her and for the soundtrack by Miles. Without going back to see it, what I remember is a young girl, tough as nails, making her own way and making her own choices. Holly Hunter is like that now in Saving Grace on TNT. She decides, pure and simple, no matter what the choice is. She decides. Helen Shaver is another.

None of them is a knockout, all attractive and well proportioned (and all blondes, now that I think about it), but all have that certain toughness, that certain edge, that makes you want to do their bidding, no matter what it might be.

Earworm-Allman Brothers-Dreams

Surrender #2

During the summer, we wind up watching movies and TV shows that we order from Netflix, things we either didn't feel like spending $22 dollars on in the theaters, or stuff on premium channels that we don't subscribe to (we don't get any of them, no HBO, no Showtime, no nothin').

One of the shows we're catching up on this summer is Weeds, second season. The plot gets too convoluted to try to explain, but there's a sequence where the Mary Louise Parker's brother-in-law is trying to seduce the principal of his yeshiva/rabbinical school, only to have her reject him as not being manly enough (not a macho guy, the brother-in-law). But she does like his smooth skin and smooth ways....And in the next scene, she's stripped down to sexy underwear and thigh high stockings, and he's wearing less. She has on a strap on with a black cock that's way bigger than most guy's equipment, he's kneeling on the bed, and waiting on the penetration, as she tells him it's not as big as he thinks it is, and yes he can handle it.

We watched this together, and interestingly enough, She didn't comment on the scene at all, hot as it was. Maybe She's getting the idea, now that she's gotten together with the concept of sticking more than one finger up my butt....

Random Thoughts #1

How long do you stay with an unposting blog? I had been reading Three World Collide until the beginning of July, when they suddenly stopped posting, and one of my alltime favorties, Myths and Metawhores, a truly literate blog dealing with all sorts of sexy issues, now posts photos (of the blogger??) and poetry (not by the blogger, but great stuff, nonetheless) on a more or less monthly basis.

Why do I have more patience with the antics and foibles of Lindsay Lohan than with Britney Spears? Is it because she's done some wonderful movie work and has legitimate talent, as opposed to doing videos for MTV which usually generate leers in the gym when they run on the very large screens there? These are both two sad confused little girls with no serious adult guidance in sight, yet for me one seems more pitiable and sad, whereas the other is just laughable (and sad as well).

And why can I never clean up my desk, no matter how hard I try?

Earworm-Robert Randolph Band, Ain't Nothing Wrong With That

Test Driving

I've been laid low since last Friday with a wicked stomach virus, and am just now surfacing, and I'll try to post more frequently.

I hate like hell buying new things. It's almost always true that I can never get what I really want, but rather only what's on the market. A year ago, I had to go car shopping, and wound up with a compromise that I'll have for the next ten years (I live in NYC, use a car sparingly, i.e. ten thousand miles a year, and am gentle). It wasn't what I really wanted, but I couldn't test drive the car for a month or two to really find out---bad turning radius, no trunk passthrough, city gas mileage overstated. It's not unpleasant to drive, just so vanilla, and it does have those problems.

Last week I went to my local branch of Babeland to buy toys, and came away just as disappointed. I had gone in to buy something called an Aneros, something to please and pleasure myself with, but was struck by an item on the counter, colored bright blue, called Pandora, which had multi vibrating speeds. Looked very jazzy, went in really easy (made of silicone I think) but didn't quite hit the right spots for me I'm not cumming all over the place...and this always leads to mild paranoia. Are my parts in the wrong places? Am I doing it wrong? I understand that you can't take the toys home, try them out, and then bring them back...it's not Bloomingdales, but I wish there were some other vetting possibilities, other than consumer comments on the Babeland website. Not Babeland's fault, but I wish there were some other way to find out what worked and what didn't.

Earworm-Gerald Wilson Orchestra-In My Time

Summertime

I'm trying hard to understand how women and clothing works, but for the life of me I sometimes just don't get it.

In New York City during the spring and summer months, there's more and more skin showing, more cleavage, more boobs coming out of the tops of low cut tanks and camis, more nipples outlined as women of all ages slip from hot subway platforms to iced subway cars, skimpy sweaters come on and off. I long ago stopped understanding how bras worked, but even I understand that the basic function now is no longer just support, it's push up and display, or it seems to be, it's showoff time now.

I've always been a watcher, sometimes choosing to look rather than participate (more about that another time), but I can't figure out if I'm supposed to stare or not. Is the whole exposure thing an "I'm proud ofwhat I've got here, celebrate me" sort of thing, or is it a "Look at me, I've got great boobs" thing? Am I supposed to look or not?

Very confusing....

Earworm-Mahler, Symphony #10

Surrender

We all are looking for some form of surrender. Eminem puts it right in his song Lose Yourself, if that's the correct title. It's all about giving in to the feeling, the losing control of everything in the quest for surrender, about doing things to and for yourself or having them done to you that go far outside whatever boundaries might exist in everyday life, of loosing the bonds so that they fall by the wayside and disintegrate. I think that hardcore substance abusers understand this best, at least at the very start of their abuse, that initial burst of feeling that nothing else matters except what they're feeling right then.

I've been struggling with writing this for almost a week, ever since reading a post by Toy in her blog. The post was about being a slut, totally surrendering to feelings, and doing this to and by herself. (This sometimes leads to a discussion of how "nobody does you like you do you", but that's for another day and another time.) The post put down in words what I had thought about for a long time, and I salute her for that organizational capability.

Two things continually come to mind here that have appeared elsewhere in print. The first was a scene in that discredited autobiography A Hundred Million Pieces, in which the author describes a female friend of his, so smitten with her dealer crackhead boyfriend, that she allows him to whore her out for all comers, and then throws her out on the street totally naked, dressed only in a cardboard box. The total debasement and embarrassment practically make me stop breathing.

The second was an article in Tristan Taormino's Pucker Up column that appeared about two years ago. She wrote it from a convention, although which one I'm not sure. It was about a woman who totally surrendered to being dominated by anyone in the audience. Again, the concept and ability to give in so fully to whatever puts you over edge makes my throat close in the course of being aroused.

This has taken me almost a week to write, because it forces me organize things best left unorganized, and to say things best left unsaid. Once you put structure to something diaphanous, it establishes a form and structure that diminish the thing you're dealing with.

Earworm: Eminem-Lose Yourself

Dreams: 2 + 1

We're on an island somewhere in the Caribbean, on our annual vacation. It's always a smaller island with relatively few resorts or hotels, and usually relatively little night life except some dancing to a local band. But for some reason, tonight it seems a whole lot more lively, much more dancehall than usual, and everybody is out on the floor dancing. We all have arms up in the air, and She's dancing next to a beautiful woman, seemingly unattached, their movements mimicing one another side by side. The woman has dark hair and high cheekbones, her eyes flashing with the promise of good times, and she introduces herself to us as Lylah. We all continue dancing together, and then She whispers something into Lylah's ear, which elicits a sly smile and nod. She's invited her to come back to our room and join us.

We're suddenly back in the room, all of us damp and sweaty, in a great hurry to shed clothing. Lylah is kissing Her deeply, and I can see their tongues wrapping around one another, Her pale skin and auburn hair a sharp contrast to Lylah's suntan, Her pinkish nipples pointed forward and mashed against the darker points of the other woman. Lylah pushes her down on the bed, the king size bed, and licks a straight line down the middle of her body to her clit, twirling it around and around. Her legs are spread wide, and Lylah motions for me to join in. She's totally taken control, and we're just following her orders.

My cock is as hard as an iron bar, and I get between Her legs to put it into Her. She puts Her legs up on my shoulders, and in one motion, I'm deep into Her and pistoning away. I can tell that I'm hitting Her good spot, because Her mouth is open and She's drooling slightly, Her face flopped slightly to one side. Suddenly, I feel a cold wetness between my buttcheeks, and I know what's coming. Lylah inserts one finger, then two, and she's hitting my good spot. It feels like I'm coming continuously, as she pushes her fingers in and out, suddenly withdrawing them and leaving my anus gaping for a moment. Then I feel the sudden pressure return to my opening, and I know she's come back at me with a strap on, and in a moment she's deep inside me. I'm still pumping, now in rhythm to her lunges. She reaches up and starts to pull on my nipples, gently first, and then harder and harder, twisting them each in opposite directions, and suddenly I can't wait any longer, coming deep and long inside Her, as I watch Lylah's head hit the pillow next to Her, and She sucks her tongue deep into her bruised looking mouth, tears flowing from Her eyes.

***Seeing Stars***

There are some actors and actresses that just seem to speak to me directly, people that light it up for me instantly, that can do no wrong on either stage or screen. It's not a sexual thing, and it doesn't have to me a woman to get that reaction, but rather some sort of instant communication.

And in the converse, some actors just leave me absolutely cold. I could never make sense of Burt Lancaster, even though I knew he was a really good actor. He just didn't speak to me. I never understood Elizabeth Taylor either, notwithstanding that she was drop dead beautiful.

And now I'm finding the same thing with Leonardo di Caprio (sp??). I know he's doing great work in Blood Diamond, but it's like watching a stick figure for me. I wish I understood why.


Earworm: Paul Simon-Graceland

Only Living Boy in New York

I live in New York City. I was born here, and with the exception of a summer in San Francisco (living in the basement of a Chinese laundry in the Polk Street Gulch and not really understanding why all the guys on the street were checking me out), I've never lived anywhere else. And I've come to realize that I probably don't know how to live anywhere else. I'm trying to learn the skills necessary by spending more and more time in a small town on the East End of Long Island (not the glamorous Hamptons).


I check up on about two dozen blogs on a more or less daily basis, most of them based in the bdsm or adult sexual world, and as soon as I have sufficient patience to figure out the software, I'll list them out on a blogroll. Some of them I know are written far far away (subgidget is north of San Francisco, Elodie somewhere in Scandanavia I think, the dirty couple in Virginia, Mrs. Kelly in Tokyo, others elsewhere), and I know that some of them originate in NYC or the greater metropolitan area ). Engrailed shows the city as her address, tess of urban gypsy is also from here, as is plum, I think, and designing intimacy, which I no longer read, is a college student here.)

Living here brings people up close and personal on a constant and consistent basis. We are close to one another walking on the street, in buses and subways, grocery stores and bodegas. I'm always wondering, have I seen local bloggers face to face? And how would I ever know? We are cloaked in a veil of electronic anonymity, revealing ourselves layer by layer as we write our periodic postings, and can only put a face to a name when everyone agrees to do so.

Sometimes I love the anonymity of it, as it allows me to reveal things about myself that are kept sooo private, and at other times I desperately want to know what everybody looks like. I know that tess started worked hard this spring in the gym with a trainer, and thinks she has a long, hard road to get to how she wants to look physically, and shibari, if the photos she posts are of herself, is drop dead gorgeous from the neck down, but the rest of it is a mystery.


Earworn: Rickie Lee Jones, Easy Money

Read All About It

When I first met her, long long ago in a galaxy far away, I immediately understood certain things about her...she came from a background far different from mine in oh so many ways, and seemed to enjoy sex on a take it or leave it basis. She had a small narrow mouth (more about this another time), and missionary sex was about the limit of her experience.

But she took my breath away, stole my heart and I never wanted it back. And so I embarked on what would be a journey of trying to expand her horizons. She learned about not being on the bottom all the time, what made her come, sex while menstruating, oral sex, how hot it was to have me masturbate her in the kitchen while guests were ringing the doorbell. We never got to anal penetration (of her), and assplay for the most part wasn't part of the picture (again, for her). Sex was almost always my idea, although She was usually an enthusiastic participant. Porn of almost any sort was out of the question. And over the years have pretty much downshifted to weekend sex, which is fine. The sex I mean, not the downshifting. And because She's a girl, it was usually at the end of a nonconfrontational, nonargumentative day. It wasn't an itch that had to be scratched for her, yet she was always happy to join in.

Tuesday, the NY Times featured an article in the Science section about why people have sex, and included discussion of the 237 reasons given by a large group of people (I'm remembering 2000). I know that She read the article, just as I know that she reads the Get Naked column in Time Out NY. It was an interesting article, although certainly not groundbreaking, not for me anyway. Yet when we got into bed, She was all over me, not interested in her own pleasure in the least, but working hard to do all the special things that exist between long time partners in bed that She would know put me over the top.

Yet I don't think She makes any connection between reading the article about sex and wanting to do it. I'll never understand this basic difference between men and most women. I can sure recognize it all the time, but maybe it's just the hardwiring...guys read about sex, get hard as a rock, and want to do it (OK, not necessarily from that article, but lots of other things). Women read about sex and seem to file it away.

I can't figure out what pushed Her buttons, but I'm not complaining.



In the background: Andrea and Giovanni Gabrieli

Now is the time

The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy red dog.