I was writing a response to Southern Girl's comments on a posting from a couple of days ago about fantasies and how specific some of mine are when I realized that it was getting a bit long for the comments, so I decided to post it up here.
If you haven't read the first post take a quick look to see what I'm talking about.
This is, as always, much longer than I expected. here we go.
I found my pattern of fantasies to be interesting as well and have been wondering why they are so specific. Certainly the work-related women are more easily explained, the office desk, the black skirt and "private" moments in the office, the Rocker, who I work with, is just too fun to restrict to work, plus, not many people know that she's a rocker. I'm one of a small number that have seen her "other" tattoos.
I guess each one invokes an arch-type of a girl I've been attracted to, from prissy bitch to untouchable beauty, from athlete to librarian.
Some people I can imagine in all sorts of places. I fantasize about my wife all the time, and in all sorts of places. At home on the trampoline, at church in the vestibule, on a bus late at night, in the park, on our couch, some of these fantasies are memories with a spin, others are unfulfilled wishes.
Including “My Friend’s Wife” was a debate for me, because it reveals an mean streak in me that I don’t like. I’ve never had, or entertained, rape fantasies. It happened to a college friend and her recounting of her story was really too awful for me to take at the time. She needed to tell her story, and I needed to hear it to understand her, but it put me off that kind of “fantasy” for good. It is one genre of erotica that I do not pursue.
So, why do I characterize my fantasy about this woman in this way?
Some reasons are pretty clear:
She tried to break-up my wife and I while we were dating, not so she could have me, but just ‘cause she didn’t like me.
She’s a hypocrite. She wore an almost see—through black cat suit with no bra, and thong panties to a Halloween party, then complained that a girl in a bikini (full coverage top and bottom) was “immodest.
She is just bitchy, always ready with the snide remark about your shoes, your fashion sense, the music that was playing, the books you were reading.
Nothing was ever, ever, her fault. Someone was always to blame, her daddy, her school, the professor, the boyfriend, it was never her.
And she is prissy and self-righteous, claiming to be, if not quite a virgin, than very, very close.
But, she was undeniably, totally smoking, fuckably hot. HOT HOT HOT. I hated her, and hated myself for wanting to fuck her so much. I knew that if I EVER made a play for her that I would be shot down, in public, with the most malicious of intent. She is not the kind of woman that just says “No thanks.” She would find a way to let everyone know, pre-Facebook, that you had asked her out and been shot down. Damn I hated her, but I yanked out more ‘gasms to her body that anyone that year.
That combination or anger and lust, of desire and repulsion, the hunger for her and my reaction to that hunger drives a strange and angry fantasy. It always is forceful, nonconsensual (at first), powerful sex.
I encounter her in a deserted beach house after a party, she teases, flirts, and then rejects, and I snap. Outweighing her by 80 pounds, her physical struggle is feeble, laughable after I make my decision to take her. Her screams go unnoticed over the roar of the surf, and I feel no need to stop her shouting. Pinning her down I rip open her blouse, knowing that no bra will impede my way. Her frail punches, ineffectual against my six pack abs (hey, this is my fantasy), serve to make her full, but perfectly sized breasts jiggle and bounce as I begin to unzip my pants. She twists and turns underneath me, ending on her stomach, so I reach behind me and roughly grab her ass and force my hands between her legs. Her linen shorts, hot off the latest NY Fashion rack, rip easily and her $100 thong comes in to view.
She screams again but I am not sure if it is over her impending violation or the loss of the “must have” shorts of the season. I let my weight settle on her and she can’t catch her breath as my body forces the air out of her lungs. I lighten up enough to let her breath, but, by the time she has caught her breath to renew the struggle my fingers are inside her tight, wet cunt and I’m punishing her for her struggle. Her first orgasm is a complete surprise and she screams at me, not to stop, not to let her go, but screams at me with the anger of a freshly broken colt, anger directed at her protesting, but too easily aroused body.
I lift off her and grab her long blonde hair and turn her over. Kneeling up she has room to move and she scrambles away from me on her hands and knees, even as the evidence of her climax makes her inner thighs glisten and shine. Almost out of my reach, I swat her ankle and cause her to trip. She lands with a thud on the thick area rug and I pull her back to me by the foot. She kicks at me with her free leg, inadvertently spreading her trembling legs and exposing herself to me. I reach up and pull her thong until the thin fabric snaps in my hands. She is shaved, waxed clean, and I call her out for being a bare-skinned little slut.
A fist, meant for my face, misses as I duck backwards, and I feel the wind as her knuckle grazes the tip of my nose. With her body twisted from her massive swing, and with one ankle still in my grasp, I pin her back to the floor. With a few angry pulls the last scraps of her blouse tear from her body and she is naked beneath me. Her chest heaves as she struggles to catch her breath and I move forward. Kneeling over her chest, I can feel her breasts beneath me as she fights against me. I reach behind once more and slap her bare and open clit, and she yelps. From pain or pleasure, I don’t care, but I do it against and see that pleasure is winning the day.
“Are you done fighting?” I ask, “If you are, I’ll give you what you really want.”
She holds still on the hardwood floor, still reeling from the fight, her fear, and the humiliation of cumming under my hand.
I lean in close, brushing her hair away from her face. With a move quicker than I can anticipate, her forehead smashes in to my mine and I rock back on my heels, allowing her to turn on to her feet. The force of her blow, however, causes me to land on her legs and her escape is impossible. I allow myself to recover, using my body weight to keep her in place. I allow her to slip forward and she regains her hands and knees as I pin her in place, sitting on her ankles. But now she is mine.
Her slim thighs and buttocks now confront me. She is panting and out of breath, and almost out of fight. I caress the back of her thigh and she flinches, trying to pull away. I bring my other hand up and wrap them around the front of her legs. My fingers, like 5-legged spiders crawl up her skin, to the soft curve that will bring me to her center. With my hands firmly on her hip bones I allow myself to kneel up behind her. I pull her towards me and she yields. Feeling that I have opened my shorts, she now presses actively against me, feeling my arousal as much as she wants to deny her own.
I rub the head of my cock up and down her slit and she awakens and starts the struggle again. My right hand moves to her shoulder and I pull her hard against me while my left hand fends off her blows. I grab her wrist and hold it tight which allows me to pull my body away from hers enough to allow my body to spring upright and nuzzle at her lips.
“Say please.” I whisper. She shakes her head.
I pull her back and her lips begin to give way. “Ask me nicely.”
Again her head sways back and forth, her long silky hair covers her face.
“Are you mine?” I ask and my tone of voice tells her that this is my last question.
Her head drops forward and her body softens under mine. I release her arms and she puts her elbows on the floor and folds her hands together under her forehead, leaving her hips up and open and inviting.
“I am yours.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I started this story a couple of hour ago. Between then and now I have handled several phone calls, and a meeting with my boss. When I came back to finish, having left off after her first orgasm I noticed that I wanted to take the story a different direction. Emotionally I was finding it hard to write a true rape scene, even though I have harbored angry feelings towards this woman for years. I couldn’t find a way to keep the anger at the fever pitch that pervades my dreams where I take her fully, ravaging her and then taking her again in a way that she fears most. As “the victim” she deserves to be punish, to be degraded, defiled. As the attacker, I exhibit power, strength, control, righteous anger and take my measure on her sexually. In my fantasy it is the penetration that breaks her down physically, it is taking her anally, that breaks her spirit.
So why did it morph into a submission fantasy? Why is the demand to be invited in, the demand to be asked, and finally the request to be owned the final line?
Friday, May 29, 2009
I was writing a response to Southern Girl's comments on a posting from a couple of days ago about fantasies and how specific some of mine are when I realized that it was getting a bit long for the comments, so I decided to post it up here.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
It was the story of Father Cutie, a hunky priest that was known for his Oprah-style talk show and good looks. He was known to millions and was on the rise, until he was photographed on the beach with a woman and, in one photo, had his hand inside her bathing suit caressing her ass. Now that is a story all of it's own, but what caught my eye today was an article on CNN that says he's moving to the Episcopalians to be with his girlfriend.
I have no beef, really, with a priest realizing that the Catholic priesthood is no longer his calling and following his heart to be with the woman he loved. Except for the blatant betrayal of trust, breaking of his church vows, breaking the laws of God as taught by his own church, and damaging the faith and confidence of all of his followers, was what did he really so wrong? Oh yea, he lied about it too.
That is, actually, not the point of this post. I quote from the CNN article:
The Episcopal Diocese of Southeast Florida said Cutie will deliver a sermon Sunday at a church that diocese leaders are looking to restore.
Are you kidding me? Are the Episcopalians really that desperate for publicity that they would take an confessed and unrepentant fornicator (he was single), a defrocked priest, and liar, immediately into their arms and give him a pulpit?
I'm the last one to throw stones and Father Cutie, if you've read anything on this blog you'll realize that I have my struggles with faith and faithfulness, but, as a church, don't you think that the Episcopal Diocese of Southeast Florida would at least make him pretend to be sad, repentant, contrite, SOMETHING?
I do not know much about the Episcopalian faith, I do not know their doctrine, but putting Father Cutie at the pulpit is like putting Manny Ramirez in charge of your drug testing program. You might as well let Hugh Hefner handle the church calendar shoot.
I just don't get it.... What are those nutty Episcopalians thinking....
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
A lot of sex bloggers talk about fantasies, the dreams, the goals, the plans of conquering new erotic vistas. Sometimes it is a travel related as in this week’s TMI-Tuesday, sometimes we write about a person we desire, a place we would use, or a new toy for play.
Lately I have been reviewing the fantasies that been playing through my head for the past few year as if cataloging them might give me insight into today’s struggles, wants, desires.
I realized that I have very few celebrity fantasies. I know there is a whole genre of celebrity sex fiction with frequent appearances by the expected list of super models, singers, actresses and models. Though I have a major jones for Marissa Miller I don’t have her in my head when I’m having sex or even day dreaming about sex.
But I have come to notice that I have very specific fantasies about specific people, all of whom I know in real life. Some are fairly understandable, others less so, but I thought I’d make a list….
The Admin – In my office, doggie style, on my conference table
The Runner – light bondage in the woods, perhaps tie her to a tree
The Actress – Catching her masturbating in her office, tight black skirt, white blouse
The Rocker – TV blasting, great music playing, every position, lots of laughter
My wife’s friend – Mad, Angry, Aggressive, bordering on rape, and definitely anal. She’s such a priss that she needs to be brought down a peg or two, or three
The Good Girl – In her back yard, by the pool, on a lounge chair, she’s on top. Long and slow, languid, deep, a little doggie, a lot of oral, she’s never had it like this…
Cycle Girl – In her million $ mansion while her maids watch
Teacher – in her crummy little loft, late at night, naked and sweaty, but gentle.
I may expand on these later, but I’ll post a couple of questions…
Do you fantasize about celebrities or people you know?
Are you fantasies generalized, specific, do the vary from dream to dream?
Share your thoughts….. Please!
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
1. Before the industrial revolution, most people never traveled more than 30 miles from their home. How far from your birth place do you now live?
Right now I’m 740 miles away from home, but I have lived up to 10,000 miles away in southern
2. What is the farthest distance from home you have you have ever had sex or an orgasm? What is there farthest distance you have travelled from your home to have a sexual encounter?
See answer above. No sex, but orgasms aplenty.
As far as travelling for sex? I flew from
3. How many states (or Canadian provences or your country's geopolitical division) and counties have you had sex and/or an orgasms in?
I have had an orgasm in 6 countries,
J Thank you Princess Cruises.
States for Sex?
States for Orgasms?
24. ? Depends on business
4. Have you ever had sex in a vehicle? While the vehicle was moving?
I’ve never had intercourse in the car, but I got a blow-job from my wife of 48 hours while we drove from
I let an ex-girlfriend watch as I brought myself off while we carpooled to work. She never helped; she just liked to watch me cum.
I brought my first mistress to orgasm for the first time in the front seat of her family mini-van while we were parked at the mall, and then again while we were parked on the street outside my house.
5. Do you have any travel related fantasy? If so, share, please.
Just a few….
Random sex with the cute passenger next to me on an airplane (preferably female - LOL)
Meeting someone on a hike in the
Going back to
Flying back to
Banging my wife on the balcony of a hotel overlooking a golf course at noon.
Bonus: On holidays that honor our military do you tend to remember those currently serving or veterans of military service?
We always fly the flag the entire weekend. I write a letter to my Dad every couple of years expressing my gratitude for his service and the service of his brothers. My daughter’s Girl Scout Troop (current) and my Scout Troop (past) puts out flags for the vets at the local cemetery.
Friday, May 22, 2009
I wish I was in a better, more energetic mood today, because I should really be writing a kick-ass THANK-YOU note to everyone who has dropped by my humble little blog this month. Based on the weekly report I get from my blog counter, May 2009 has been my best month ever!!! I know that some blogs get to my monthly count in a day, and some in an hour, but I really don’t care about that. All I really care about is the 322 visitors that came by this month. I have no idea how many unique visitors that really is, but I love every one of you.
Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!
Thursday, May 21, 2009
I've seen this before, but have never really thought about it. Its not that much of a turn on to watch, so I had this question, and please feel free to reply anonymously...
Do you slap your pussy while you are masturbating or having sex?
I'm not sure if this is something that feels good or is purely a creation of porn film makers....
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
The good stuff?
A morning hand job
An excellent training run on Monday (13.1 miles 1:55 time)
A chance to sleep in 3 days in a row
A great conversation with my crush at the gym
2 hours in the car with crush #2 this afternoon
The Bad Stuff?
Work is boring, but busy, a horrid combination
A favorite blogger left us
It's starting to get HOT
A business trip got canceled
A chance to see a friend was lost
See, nothing at all exciting.....
Monday, May 18, 2009
As a white, middle-class, straight, Christian, Male, I fit in to all of the ‘bad guy’ categories when racism is discussed. When I join a discussion on this topic, I am immediately ostracized because of my skin, my sexual orientation, my faith, and and my income.
Because of my particular graduate program at university (African Development), I was outnumbered by women 10-1, non-whites 3-1, and non-Christians 2-1, the gay/straight split was about 50/50, YET, I was always accused of controlling the conversation, getting preferential treatment, and other nonsense. Keep in mind that all of my professors were from minority groups and they were equally hostile to my profile.
The best part was watching the rich white American women (Liberal) fight with the poorer African-born black women (Conservatives). Then you got the fights between the North Africans (Arab/Muslim) v. the Sub-Saharan Africans (pro-capitalist/Christian). Then you got the screaming matches between the pro-abortion/family planning crowd and the personal responsibility/morality groups, another women v. women battle.
My long winded (sorry) point of this is that blacks, women, gays, and atheists are just as discriminatory and racist as the worst of the white guys. There will always be an “us” which means there will always be a “them,” and “they” are always the bad guy.
This topic was a huge area of discussion and argument when I was at University. For reasons listed below, I was the minority token in my program and caught hell for it. Several students petitioned to have me removed from the program even thought I had lived and worked in Africa for 2 years and they had never been there. They used political correct language such as 'empowerment', 'ethnic group', 'social tension', 'political justice', and 'economic opportunity, when the people I worked with, in country, use real words like jobs, money, tribes, war, anger, tension, capitalism, and freedom.
Racism and discrimination is alive and well in America, Europe, and ALL of Africa. The ethnic apologists go as far as saying that racism as practiced by minorities is acceptable as 'payback' for the years of imbalance in the system. Really? So two wrongs really do make a right?
As a white, middle-class, straight, Christian, Male, I have been the 'victim' of racism and discrimination many, many times. I understand that it does not equate to the experience of other minorities, but let's not forget that this is a two-way street a group discussion, not just an excuse to blame the only white kid in the room.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
I have a Titlelist #1 golf ball on my desk that I roll back and forth mindlessly as I think through problems at work. Today, the dimples on the ball and the hard formica top of my desk disturbs the quiet and broke the silence and had to be put away for the day. I left my door closed. My phone did not rain. My Blackberry sits quietly in my gym bag, still turned off, silenced by the mood of the moment.
The loudest sound, besides my voice, is the soft hum of my laptop fan as it works quietly in its docking station on the far corner of my desk. I have had one phone call for work, one phone call with my wife, and a brief conversation with my admin before she went to take her human physiology exam. If you removed the 30 minute conference call from my agenda, my total talking time today would have been less than 10 minutes. Even now, as I speak into my voice recognition software I am speaking quietly, softly, to maintain the purity of the day.
The pervading sense of quiet has come at a good time. Physically I am exhausted. Last week was hectic at home, at work, at church, and especially at the gym. On Saturday I ran a half marathon road race that involved some of the steepest mountains in my area. I ran this race several years ago but, as I described it to a friend, I under estimated the hills, and overestimated my fitness. To be blunt, the race kicked my ass.
Since yesterday was Mother's Day I could not afford to miss a beat. I was in charge of an after church reception for all of the women in the congregation which meant that I had to put my catering hat on early Sunday morning to get ready. The event was a total success with our pastor getting rave reviews from several of the women who attended. They had told him, "if I get one more half dead flower from the youth group, I'm going to smack them with it."
Several of the women as I talk to them informally, said that they did not want to have a chocolate bar thrust upon them when most of them were trying to lose weight. My solution was a very simple fruit and pastry buffet, so they could eat healthy if they wanted to or indulge a bit if they wanted to give themselves the day off from their diets.
While I was happy with the way the buffet and social hour turned out I was a little discouraged that K. was not there. Not only is she stunningly beautiful, she runs a party planning and catering service of her own, and I wanted to be able to show off my catering skills.
As I sit here in the quiet, enjoying the complete lack of interaction with those around me, I start to wonder. I wonder if I close my eyes what time it would be when I finally woke up. I wonder why I did not go next door to the empty executive office take a nap on the couch.
Since I wrote that last line, 15 minutes passed. I think I fell asleep.
Friday, May 8, 2009
She put me in my place with a single line, by simply telling me to stop asking certain kinds of questions. No more “What are you wearing?” or “What did you do last night?” It was now off limits, where before, it had not been, I was now on the outside looking in. Excluded.
And it hurt. It made my heart race with a strange mix of shame, for not knowing when to stop, of anger, for being cut-out of a previously intimate friendship, of embarrassment of having to be told, like a little boy, to “Stop pestering the nice lady.” And for looking like a freaking puppy dog begging for scraps at the sexual table.
Was I that pathetic that I had to live vicariously through someone else’s sex life? W as I that lonely as to be happy with just hearing about the exploits of others? I felt jealous of men that I had never met, of lovers I would never know, all with a woman that had been nice to me, but with whom I had never had a real relationship, we had just talked, gotten to know each other, and, at my prodding, shared intimate details of our lives without having any real intimacy at all.
Now what do I do? Do I throw away her phone number? Delete her from my “Contacts” list in e-mail so I’m not tempted to hit her up with an e-mail? I felt like I had to put myself on some leash to make sure that I didn’t bother her again so that we might still consider ourselves friendly, if not friends. It was like building a “drunk dialing” list before “drunk dialing” had been given a name. I didn’t know at to call it back then, “lonely e-mailing” just doesn’t have a ring to it., how about “Desperate Digits”? Still no cache….
What do I do if I see her on-line? Is she ignoring me? Do I have to ignore her now?
I take her name off my IM list, hide the chat window, and turn-off the feature that delivers her mail to my in box. Now I look and I don’t see her so I can’t bug her. Is she really there? Is she out there and choosing not to IM? What is she doing? I want to know, but not at the expense of pissing her off forever.
I turned in to “that guy” this week.
I am that guy, who says "Hi" every time he sees you on line
I am that guy, who asks the wrong questions
I am that guy, who being nice with being interested
I am that guy, who reads a blog and thinks he knows you
Damn, I hate “that guy.”
So, to my friend, I say, “I’m sorry.” I will be more respectful of your boundaries and your personal space. I will realize that sharing your sexual life on a blog does not allow me to inquire about it in e-mail. I will stop asking for details to fuel my fantasies and will leave you alone when I see you on-line.
I will stop being “that guy.”
She gave a great summary of why she is hesitant to have sex doggy style, so I thought I would give her all the reasons I like it. It is one of my favorite positions, truly. And here is why...
I love doggy style for a many reasons.
(after I posted on her site, I started adding a few more that were a little more....detailed...)
1 - It is very visual. I can see our bodies coming together, I can see your hair cascading over your neck, the strength of your shoulders, the line of your back, the sensual flare of your hips, and the openness of your body.
1a - I love the look of your ass. Though I'm not going for the back door, its cute to tickle and tease you back there.
1b - It's easier to see you in the mirror in this position. I can see your face when you turn towards the mirror and your breasts and side, your arms, your hair, all come in to view.
2 - I's Primal. Doggy isn't about tenderness, it's about deep penetration and pleasure.
2a - I can see myself entering you, and that is a powerful image.
3 - I can move around a lot. I love a woman on top, and I love missionary, but doggy is two bodies joined at one point, the best point. We are both free to move, but we chose to stay connected inside each other.
4 - It's physical. Don't worry about your love handles. In this position we actually use them for just that, we grab on, hold on, and pull you in tight.
4a - i love pulling you on to me, back in to my body, i love feeling you press against th eheadbord to force myself deeper, to make a stronger, tighter, more intimate connection.
5 - It's submissive. OK, a guy's ego has to come out to play sometimes. We ask you to flip over and you do, and you have to give yourself to us. You are on your hands and knees, head down, ass up, a classical sign of submission in the animal world. See #2.
6 - It feels really, really good. Long deep strokes, freedom to move, a beautiful view, hair to hold on to, hips to grab... wow, what's not to like...
6a - I love stroking your back in long oil-covered strokes. I like pressing your cheeks open, tickling your crack with a little bit of lube.
6b - I like pulling out and then pressing myself in. The first 2 inches are the best.
oh, and #7 - it frees you up to play with yourself. That may be the best part of all.
So that's one guys point of view about my favorite point of view. LOL. So relax, have fun, and enjoy. And believe me, we guys never think about the negative stuff that runs through a woman's head. We are just happy to be with you. Really.
So, what do you think? What is the best argument for or against doggy style???
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
At some point I should sit down and write a well-reasoned post on my "animal rights" position, but today, I'll just shoot from the cuff and piss people off.
I love animals. Really, I think they are great. Don't know what we'd do with out them, however, they are not people.
People are more important than animals.
People should treat animals as a special and precious resource, but, it's OK to eat them.
Occasionally, it is OK to do medical experiments on them. Make-up is NOT a medical item, so blinding bunnies is a bad idea. BUT, if I can save a cancer patient, develop a new surgical technique, improve a bullet proof vest, perfect a new vaccine, or understand heart disease enough to save people, then I am OK with using animals to achieve those goals.
My brother has a bad heart and now has a pig’s valve where his used to be. I am glad that the medical world took apart enough pigs to realize that they could save my brother’s life, because, repeat after me, My brother is more important than a pig.
I don’t know how many pigs were used, all I know is that my brother is a live because we studied pigs, and we did it when they were dead. Sometimes there is no other way.
Students can not learn anatomy from a book; you have to study living things. You have to dissect, bisect, and vivisect animals and people that were once alive. You can not test everything on the computer; you have to give it a try on something that is alive.
Recently a company was criticized for testing military body armor on pigs. What is the alternative, test it on prisoners? The handicapped? The Christians?
Repeat after me, Humans are more important than animals
As a Christian, I believe that God put man on the earth and gave him dominion over all things. But, with dominion, comes responsibility, stewardship. That means that we must use what God gave us wisely. Christians should be at the head of a more realistic, more practical “Green” movement. We should be doing less people bashing and more educating. We should encourage recycling, reduction in waste, less consumption of resources, a more moderate and more conservation-focused, environmental lifestyle.
Animals should be treated with respect, but not treated as people, because they are not people. Animals that we raise for food should be given healthy living conditions, a quick and painless death, and freedom from disease whenever possible. I believe that VEAL is an immoral food. I believe chickens should be given more room to move around and I’m willing to pay more for free-range eggs, though I know that’s not the most practical way to get eggs. I fully support legal efforts to improve the care of animals in the food industry; I do not favor making food illegal. I do not believe that we should let our emotional reaction to cute and fuzzy dogs, cats, rabbits, or ferrets (ugh) cloud our thinking on rational agricultural and food policy.
I believe that pets are wonderful to have around, but that they should not be treated like humans. Your dog does not need a birthday party, nor does you cat need to have monogrammed sweaters. I believe that the personification of our animals reflects a deepening mental illness within our society. We are connecting with other humans less and less, those who have children are criticized and ridiculed, PETA and their cohorts debase the human spirit be equating us with animals, so we turn to our animals for a one-side, emotionally twisted relationship.
If an old woman is lonely, she should have visitors, not 100 cats. If you want, but can’t have kids, be a foster parent, volunteer at the local day care, help run the parks program, or something else, but don’t buy an animal and torture it with your emotional baggage.
Pets get old, pet’s die, and that’s OK. In Leesa’s post that inspired this one, a vet was being sued for the death of a 13 year old dog. Using the “7-year’ rule, that makes the Miniature Schnauzer about 91 years old. Let him go. Again, we see an unhealthy emotional response to a perfectly natural occurrence. Instead of suing the vet, grow-up and realize that pets die, people die, we all die. The schnauzer’s owner has obviously lost sight of the difference between humans and animals. This also indicates a problem with moving further and further away from the natural world around us. Cocooned in the urban environment, we forget, ignore, and deny the natural cycles of life.
I’m not calling for a new agrarian migration, but a summer on the farm would do a lot of people, mostly adults, a lot of good. I grew up in a rural area. I had cats get killed by coyotes, birds get eaten by cats, dogs get in fights with bigger dogs, and dogs get in fights with cars. I dutifully cried at each burial, but the counsel my father gave me at each graveside, is true now as it was then, “Son, It’s just a pet. You’ll be fine.”
And, since I’m just rambling on, I’ll through in one more thought about one slice of the debate. This does not apply to all factions of the animal rights movements.
Because I believe in God I see order, purpose, and a rational approach to the universe. My beliefs are built around a hierarchy of creation with God and people at the top. I have rules and responsibilities, blessings and stewardships, and a high expectation of myself to treat the earth “and all that lives therein” as a gift from God, something to be cherished and protected.
The most strident “animal first” advocates tend to be less religious, less conservative, and frequently attack the “believers” as being anti-animal. But what is their motivation? Most do not want to elevate the condition of animals, as much as they want to bring men down to an animal level. With no God, there is not right or wrong, if animals are equal to man, then man is equal to an animal and therefore man is an animal. Since animals have no morals, nor the ability to make moral judgment, then why does man even try? They espouse an “animal rights” agenda that has more to do with anti-religious fervor than anything else. If I am an animal, then I can behave like an animal, I can hump and pump any one that will let me, and no one has the right, be it priest, king, president, or God, to tell me otherwise.
The “animal first” claims to be for the rights of animals when it mostly is an attack on the concept of “man.”
And, on furs. I’m not a big fan of wearing fur and I think that, over time, society will move away from this as long as the designers leave it out of their latest catalog. However, I think the anti-fur advocates are attacking the wrong people with buckets of blood. Shouldn’t they be going after the designers, the big fashion houses, and the style gurus that continue to put fur in the market? Why don’t they attack the big names of fashion? Because the big names of fashion share their other social agenda issues. It is easier for the PETA goons to attack women, typically rich, white women, women who are powerless to defend themselves and whose attack will bring headlines, but not ramifications. It has always seemed hypocritical to me that a strongly left-leaning movement (not a lot of the GOP on the PETA mailing list) would attack Women so ferociously, while giving the men who design, distribute, and sell these products are warmly welcomes at fund-raisers and awareness lunches.
And, on Hunting. The hunters I know are more pro-animal, pro-conservation, and pro-environment than anyone I have ever met in the animal rights movement. Hunters understand, appreciate, and value the wild, the earth, the wilderness, the beauty and majesty of what this earth has to offer more than any Prius-driving goatee-spouting, sign-waving protester. If you want to save the mountains, put the hunters in charge, if you want to save the wetlands, put the fishermen at the top, if you want clean air, pretty trees, and lots and lots of birds, just let the duck hunters take over Washington. They’ll have things under control right away.
Monday, May 4, 2009
I do not get enough sleep. Ever. I have never gotten enough sleep. Never.
Since high school with band practice in the morning, on the field by 6:15 AM, and sports after school, I went in to sleep deprivation early. College was worse as I would study, work, or play cards until the wee hours of the morning, all the while getting up to go running before the light of day hit my dorm towers.
My professional life began, the running continued, and the homework and cards was replaced by late nights at the office, dinners with friends, and lots and lots of dance clubs after all that. Yes, I know that we all looked dorky doing Country line Dancing, but the music was fun and cowboy girls are hot
Writer’s Comment – My intro’s all get way too long. I get a thought in my head and get this obsession to explain everything, to put it in context, which I find fascinating, but to my dear readers, whom I love and want to maintain, have already read three paragraphs that really have nothing to do with today’s post.
Which is about, a wonderful Monday morning hand-job.
Like I said, I never get enough sleep. Now long-married, fun has been replaced with homework, paying bills, doing dishes, and paying more bills. We got in bed at 1:00 AM last night and my alarm was set for 5:00 AM. The missus persuaded me to “sleep in“ until 6:00 and got to the gym at lunch. I agreed.
But, I woke up at 4:55 like I do every morning, 5 minutes before my alarm went off. I was barely awake and hard as a rock. I love my morning wood, so I stroked it a little bit, daydreamed about taking my wife from behind outside, and fell back to sleep. At 6:05 her alarm went off and she snuggled up to me and discovered that I was back to being hard. I told her to give me a squeeze and that I had to jump in the shower.
She slipped my pajama bottoms off (sleeping nude doesn’t work with 3 kids and a small house). Much to my surprise, she started kissing my chest and asked if I needed to get a condom to keep down the mess.
When I stood up she opened the blinds letting the morning sun brighten the room. I stripped naked and locked the door. She stayed in her PJs but snuggled next to me and got back to stroking me. I propped up some pillows behind my head so I could watch. The morning sun through our big window made it feel like we were outside. I laid back and watched her work my cock up and down.
I love watching her touch me, I love being naked, being on top of the sheets, leg’s spread, body open. She curled over me and took me in her mouth and sucked gently. I started thrusting and she let me in deeper. It was bliss.
She doesn’t like it when I cum in her mouth so I whispered that I was getting close to cumming. She took my right nipple in her mouth and started treating it as she should, roughly and with a lot of teeth. I swept her hair back so I could see her biting and kissing my chest. I felt my orgasm approaching and pulled her off my nipple so I could see my cock in her hand. She moved up and down with deliberate speed and just the right grip. I spread my legs further and started whimpering and gasping. She told me to be quiet and I kissed her to shut her up.
A couple of more strokes was all it took. With her tonge in my mouth and her hand on my cock, I came with several large spurts and felt it hit my stomach, chest, and cover her hand. We kissed for a few more minutes as she drained me completely.
She stood to wash up and I lay there, basking in the morning sun, warm, naked, hard, lost in post-orgasmic bliss.
Who says that Monday mornings are no good?
is the definition of addiction, but we'll get to that later.
Dr. Drew, a late night advice talk show host on KROQ radio in Los Angeles, gave me my favorite definition of addiction, he said that "Addiction is the continuation of behavior in the face of escalating negative consequences."
add the idea of potential consequences, because many addicts dismiss their
addictions on the idea that they never have been, or will be, caught.
Have you been caught?
What is your addiction?
What is the consequence that you fear most?
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Sunday morning post.
I’m cheating again, I’m writing this in advance, in anticipation of Sunday, and what I will be thinking as I dress for services.
I wonder who, as spring blossoms and temperatures rise, will remain in attendance or will disappear in to the parks and mountains, beaches and deserts that all beckon them on Sunday morning.
Will Carrie, with her long blonde hair, Brek girl smile, and bright white teeth be in her family’s pew, or will she be on the sand, wrapped in the small black bikini that I gave her for her last birthday. The one for which she must shave completely, the one that hides nothing, the one that she modeled for me in the back yard of her husband’s new home.
Will Mandy sit demurely with her new husband, 8 rows back, left side, and smile while John Paul leads the children’s choir? Will she lean over to her husband, older, richer, lonelier than she knows, and whisper in his ear about how good Jean-Paul’s cock tastes, about how much it fills her sweet insides and how he calls out his dead mother’s name, begging for forgiveness, when he cums down her throat?
I wonder if Celeste has told her father that she is no longer a virgin, or if Tobias has admitted to Celeste that she wasn’t really his first, and that she definitely won’t be the last.
Has Karl decided to leave Janel for his mistress at work? Or his mistress in
I pray that Mrs. Johnson will find the courage to call Child and Family Services the next time her son comes home angry, or maybe she should just call the police now. I hope that Mr. Johnson won’t be there when it happens, because the last that family needs is too angry drunks.
Will Janine accept the scholarship to Notre Dame and leave her boyfriend Derek, who’s destined to be still bagging groceries at 45 while complaining that his mom just raised the rent, again. Will she go off to
Will the soccer twins realize that their mom comes to their games to meet the other moms? When will they know, or admit knowing, that daddy is never coming back, though a 2nd mommy may be in the works. When will their mom, Izabal, Izzy for short, admit to them, or to herself, that the only thing she cares about is the smooth, shaved skin of another woman’s sex? Will she ever flip from the perfect lipstick girl to a Birkenstock queen?
Will the hot brunette with the short curly hair, the wonderfully soft skin, the perfect breasts, and the full round ass realize that I’m sitting here behind the organ thinking of her? Will she ever appreciate how enticing she is, how much I want to take her away and ravage her, to strip her naked on the balcony of an over-priced hotel and take her from behind while beach combers sizzle and bake in the summer sun below us? Will I ever be able to tell her how sweet her body is to me, how I revel in her taste, her wetness, or fragrant gushings. Does she know how much I want to kneel between her outspread thighs and feast until she is satisfied, and then feast again until she is overcome with pleasure?
As I sit and review the music that will lift the congregation’s spirits and send them home with a song in their hearts, does she know how hard I am, how I long to be with her, to love her, to be taken by her, to be owned by her.
Does she know how glad I am to have her as my wife? Does she know how much I miss her?
Saturday, May 2, 2009
4 british women 2 cute, 2 average
2 looked similar, but different hair color, builds, faces similar
Said hello to older, prettier, bustier woman, she smiled back, nothing more
Got on treadmill, younger got on next machine, started to chat
Moved to sauna (in back of men’s locker room, had to sneak in)
Sweats came off, said that 4 women in same room was tough
Offered my shower
You can come use mine, I’m married, Me too, I’ll just watch (joke), she agreed, we pull on sweats and go upstairs
Shower starts, washes, touches herself
Pounding on door, shocked, step out in bathrobe to answer
Older sister, “are you shagging my sister?”
She steps in and sees sis in shower, nude
Am I too old? Why her?
‘cause she talked to me
OK, keep going, pulls me back in to bathroom
Watches sister masturbate
Gets aroused, undressed, joins in shower, I’m on bathroom counter, hard, naked
Girls Start washing each other
“just like summer camp, eh sis?
Sometimes the outline, the idea, is sexier than the final product because we, as readers, get to fill in the gaps as we like.
Friday, May 1, 2009
I wanted to take hold of the lapels of your new jacket and pull you close, softly, gently, and kiss you. I wanted to slip my hands up under your coat, feel the warmth of your body, and pull you close, to feel you body press against mine, to feel your breath on my neck and you ran your fingers through my hair and nibbled on my skin.
I wanted you to look me in they eyes and kiss me boldly as I wrapped my hands in your ponytail and felt your slim hips press against mine.
I wanted you to whisper that you were wearing the lingerie I bought you for Christmas, that it felt small and sexy under your perfect image as a corporate girl.
I wanted to, but did not.
Sexy Sadie, a favorite lady, posted a very vivid description of a problem that plagues many couples.
Click HERE for the post.
"It is a choice he has made, to continue to make me feel inconsequential, undervalued and slighted."
This is a battle that is fought daily by many of us. The problem that I have found is that the one partner doesn't know, before they say it, what will fall in to this category for the other partner. So it is difficult to stop.
When we feel slighted, dismissed, undervalued, it is usually because we value something more than our partner. I do the dishes and she forgets to say thanks. She gets her hair cut and I don't notice (in my defense, she just refreshed the highlights and trimmed her bangs). I figure out a complicated problem in the wood shop and she says, "How hard could it be, it's just wood?" The kids get an "A" in school and she wants some of the credit. I spend hours building a database for her latest volunteer effort, but don't get to share in the chocolate from the thank-you basket.
I take a shower, shave, put on some cologne, and try to get her in to bed early, and she falls asleep, or worse, gets on the phone with her mom/sister/suicidal girlfriends (pick any of the three) and I go to bed hard, lonely, and pissed.
So how do you break this cycle? How do you communicate about problems when your partner doesn't know the problems exist?
The cliche answer is "improved communication." But what does that mean?
It means being blunt at times and taking the time to educate our partner about what is important. Most of the time this can be presented in a positive light instead of a criticism.
I can't believe you didn't notice my hair
You think dinner made itself?
Yes you look nice today, because I ironed your shirts you no-good, do nothing slob of a pig!
I love it when you notice my hair, it makes me feel sexy when you pay attention.
Did you enjoy dinner? It's fun to cooks when people appreciate the food.
I'm glad you like the new desk, let me show you how I designed the corner to make it work.
Of course I don't mind swallowing, and I'm really glad you remembered my name this time...
I have started to be more direct in my communication. In the past week I have told my wife, a wonderful cook, that I don't like string beans no matter how she cooks them, that she needs to find a "sticky" rice instead of the little grains of sand she makes now, and that I'm frustrated in bed when she doesn't want to join in the fun (I really don't like one-sided quickies).
She's told me that I need to stop trying to touch her butt-hole during sex, that I'm go too deep when I cum, that I need to be more pro-active in helping with the kid's homework, and that she expects me to take out the trash without being reminded.
If you can communicate simple, direct ideas, without trying to solve everything at once, you can make progress. Don't let picking the TV show to watch before bed become a proxy fight for where you go on summer vacation. Don't yell at her for coming to bed late if you aren't helping with the laundry.
The truth of the matter is that we all want to feel valued, listened to, and appreciated. BUT, our partners can't make us feel that way until we share what we find is important, what hurts our feelings, and what makes us happy.