There's no excuse, really, no excuse at all---my friend says that there can be reasons, but there are no excuses.
Sloth, the inability to find one's way to complete one's tasks---and I've ignored my poor blog.
Not out of lack of something to say...I ALWAYS have something to say, but sometimes I show an inability to say things...that's what the shrink says...it's like the line in Cool Hand Luke "a failure to communicate."
But I'm back at it, and I do have a lot to say...and it will show as the New Year progresses. I want to write about the dating website I joined, continue the tale of Not Enough, hopefully have more new adventures, depart for another high altitude trek and live to tell about it (Annapurna), sing with the NY Phil in June, and experience things I don't even know about just yet.
Thank you to those precious few bloggers who've added me to the blogrolls this year...the newest ones I'm reading (and enjoying) are Bareback Girl, Slut No Bounds, Pandora's Box.
Be safe, happy and healthy in the coming year, dear reader. If we have that, we can all survive the economy, Bernie Madoff, and all the other bad things that come down the pike.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Not Enough-Part I
We had survived the holiday season, She and I, getting through Christmas at Her loudmouth sister's, survived the early morning phone call from the Wicked Witch of The West sister, who spent our precious time gushing about her wonderful Christmas Eve, and excoriating Her about everything else, knowing full well that She would be on her best behavior (as the middle child, the appeaser, the gratifier, the go-between) and would be sure to not rock the boat...they were all daughters of the same parents after all, all ACOA, each assuming the specified role long ago proscribed by years of family misadventures.
We lay at opposite ends of the long couch, our legs intertwined, each of us occasionally shifting from one hip to the other, squirming to find a more comfortable position, each of us struggling to catch up on newspapers and magazines that had fallen by the wayside during the Christmas season, the unread events and editorials of the past ten days on the floor before us, each of us with a mug of coffee close at hand. We were smug in the knowledge that we had survived another holiday season, the onslaught of retail adventures and wholesale giftgiving put behind us. We had escaped again together.
Or so I thought.
We had been together for more than ten years at the time, and had long ago stopped talking about sex during sex, both of us feeling that there was some element of traffic directing in specific instructions, and so we had taken to discussing whatever happened in bed at some time the next day, or the day after, sort of like a post game show if we had been playing some sport. The comments often came out of nowhere, no preamble, out of the clear blue, and the listener often had to take a moment to shift gears, the wheels spinning before gaining traction.
"It's not enough for me," she said, and I struggled to understand what she meant, as my heart dropped in my chest. "It's nice, but it's not enough. I'm not lost in it, I'm not abandoning myself to the sex, I'm not disappearing into it. I'm watching as though I were a third person in the room, apart from the two of us, watching the mechanics of it from another place in the bedroom."
I was dumbstruck, unable to say a word, shamed and embarrassed by the knowledge that I was doing my job but not completing her. I had no response, knowing by the way she phrased her words that there was no chance or opportunity for me to find a solution and fix the problem. She was presenting everything as a fait accompli.
"There's passion and intimacy, but there's no lust. I miss the lust. I truly ache for it. I lust for the lust," she said, flashing me an smile that conveyed both sadness and desire at the same time, her eyes narrowing with determination and blatant horniness.
"I want to take a lover."
We lay at opposite ends of the long couch, our legs intertwined, each of us occasionally shifting from one hip to the other, squirming to find a more comfortable position, each of us struggling to catch up on newspapers and magazines that had fallen by the wayside during the Christmas season, the unread events and editorials of the past ten days on the floor before us, each of us with a mug of coffee close at hand. We were smug in the knowledge that we had survived another holiday season, the onslaught of retail adventures and wholesale giftgiving put behind us. We had escaped again together.
Or so I thought.
We had been together for more than ten years at the time, and had long ago stopped talking about sex during sex, both of us feeling that there was some element of traffic directing in specific instructions, and so we had taken to discussing whatever happened in bed at some time the next day, or the day after, sort of like a post game show if we had been playing some sport. The comments often came out of nowhere, no preamble, out of the clear blue, and the listener often had to take a moment to shift gears, the wheels spinning before gaining traction.
"It's not enough for me," she said, and I struggled to understand what she meant, as my heart dropped in my chest. "It's nice, but it's not enough. I'm not lost in it, I'm not abandoning myself to the sex, I'm not disappearing into it. I'm watching as though I were a third person in the room, apart from the two of us, watching the mechanics of it from another place in the bedroom."
I was dumbstruck, unable to say a word, shamed and embarrassed by the knowledge that I was doing my job but not completing her. I had no response, knowing by the way she phrased her words that there was no chance or opportunity for me to find a solution and fix the problem. She was presenting everything as a fait accompli.
"There's passion and intimacy, but there's no lust. I miss the lust. I truly ache for it. I lust for the lust," she said, flashing me an smile that conveyed both sadness and desire at the same time, her eyes narrowing with determination and blatant horniness.
"I want to take a lover."
Monday, December 1, 2008
TMI Tuesday
1. What are your turn-ons?
a good listener, politeness and civility, good deeds done w/o recognition or the desire for same, the sound of silence in a conversation.
2. What are your turn-offs? bad breath, rudeness, being cheated by design, being ignored
3. Not counting your turn-ons, what's the best trait a person can have?
the ability to be truly interested in others
4. Not counting your turn-offs, what's the worst trait a person can have?
being self-centered to the exclusion of anything else
5. What's your biggest pet peeve?
the use of the phrase NO PROBLEM coming from a service person, like a waiter or counterstaff...of course it's not problem...IT'S YOUR JOB.
Bonus (as in optional):Describe your best and worst experience.
Much too broad...one of the best was the day I realized the Boy could read, and that he'd learned to do it intuitively and on his own...one of the worst was the day She found out that there were others...
a good listener, politeness and civility, good deeds done w/o recognition or the desire for same, the sound of silence in a conversation.
2. What are your turn-offs? bad breath, rudeness, being cheated by design, being ignored
3. Not counting your turn-ons, what's the best trait a person can have?
the ability to be truly interested in others
4. Not counting your turn-offs, what's the worst trait a person can have?
being self-centered to the exclusion of anything else
5. What's your biggest pet peeve?
the use of the phrase NO PROBLEM coming from a service person, like a waiter or counterstaff...of course it's not problem...IT'S YOUR JOB.
Bonus (as in optional):Describe your best and worst experience.
Much too broad...one of the best was the day I realized the Boy could read, and that he'd learned to do it intuitively and on his own...one of the worst was the day She found out that there were others...
"We're An American Band"
I am an accountant by profession, getting my start by being a tour accountant for various rock bands, back in the day before many of you, dear readers, were born. The thing to remember about touring with a rock band is that everything you've ever heard or imagined is true. If you think about the movie Almost Famous, you'll have some inkling as to what goes on.
This story is deadly true, and took place in the mid '70s, and I was out on the road with Alice Cooper. We were doing a spate of concerts for MidSouth Productions, and we blew through Memphis, Mobile, Jackson Miss, and then we pulled into Little Rock. I headed for the hotel to sort out my accounting and count the money, the crew went to the venue to set up, the musicians took naps and relaxed. When I get to the hall around 6PM, one of my roadie friends asks me if Connie has gotten to me yet, and I ask him Connie Who?? He says, "You know the song by Grand Funk Railroad...sweet sweet Connie's doing her act, she has the whole band and that's a natural fact," and it dawns on me...the song is about a groupie, a groupie whose aim isn't so high, the one who does the crew.
Now, all my guys know that I'm married, they've met Her, we're all good friends in spite and in addition to my being the straight guy, and yet the road manager hooks me up with Connie. I tell him it's really not my style, he tells me that I'll upset her, disappoint her, she prides herself on getting to EVERYONE. And so I wind up in Alice's dressing room, with my tongue down her throat, to start with, her hands all over me, and then she drops to her knees as if poleaxed, opens my zipper with her clenched teeth, pulls out my cocks and starts to go to work...and after a few minutes, I realize that her breath is tickling my stomach, and it's because she's swallowed me whole, and is breathing heavily through her flared nostrils...she's facing me and deepthroating me ever so efficiently...now She can do this, but usually only in a 69 position. But Connie, sweet Connie, has engulfed me and is mashing her nose into my pubic hair for all she's worth. And despite it all, I don't cum in her throat, but wind up fucking her standing up, and cum deep inside her. Yes, I know, unprotected sex, but this all took place during the only era when you couldn't die from having sex...post syphilis, pre AIDS.
The stranger part is that she travelled with us for a couple of weeks, met Her along the way, told Her how cute I was, and She never once imagined that my cock had been deep inside numerous parts of this seemingly nice girl.
Well, she was a nice girl, just a slut in the process.
Earworm-Grand Funk Railroad We're An American Band
This story is deadly true, and took place in the mid '70s, and I was out on the road with Alice Cooper. We were doing a spate of concerts for MidSouth Productions, and we blew through Memphis, Mobile, Jackson Miss, and then we pulled into Little Rock. I headed for the hotel to sort out my accounting and count the money, the crew went to the venue to set up, the musicians took naps and relaxed. When I get to the hall around 6PM, one of my roadie friends asks me if Connie has gotten to me yet, and I ask him Connie Who?? He says, "You know the song by Grand Funk Railroad...sweet sweet Connie's doing her act, she has the whole band and that's a natural fact," and it dawns on me...the song is about a groupie, a groupie whose aim isn't so high, the one who does the crew.
Now, all my guys know that I'm married, they've met Her, we're all good friends in spite and in addition to my being the straight guy, and yet the road manager hooks me up with Connie. I tell him it's really not my style, he tells me that I'll upset her, disappoint her, she prides herself on getting to EVERYONE. And so I wind up in Alice's dressing room, with my tongue down her throat, to start with, her hands all over me, and then she drops to her knees as if poleaxed, opens my zipper with her clenched teeth, pulls out my cocks and starts to go to work...and after a few minutes, I realize that her breath is tickling my stomach, and it's because she's swallowed me whole, and is breathing heavily through her flared nostrils...she's facing me and deepthroating me ever so efficiently...now She can do this, but usually only in a 69 position. But Connie, sweet Connie, has engulfed me and is mashing her nose into my pubic hair for all she's worth. And despite it all, I don't cum in her throat, but wind up fucking her standing up, and cum deep inside her. Yes, I know, unprotected sex, but this all took place during the only era when you couldn't die from having sex...post syphilis, pre AIDS.
The stranger part is that she travelled with us for a couple of weeks, met Her along the way, told Her how cute I was, and She never once imagined that my cock had been deep inside numerous parts of this seemingly nice girl.
Well, she was a nice girl, just a slut in the process.
Earworm-Grand Funk Railroad We're An American Band
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