Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
I wait for you,
Who should I be?
What do you want?
A story in 69 words - click if you are interested in playing along with Flash Fiction Friday
Friday, August 28, 2009
I went for a nice long run last night. 8 miles by the end. The weather was humid, but the temperature had dropped and I was in the mood to just keep going.
I passed an empty lot, overgrown with vines and weeds, and tall canopy trees. As I passed, a strange noise came from the lot, part electrical whine, part angry insect. I jogged past, but stopped and went back to investigate. I stood amongst the trees. I couldn't see birds, bugs, or wires to cause the noise. I threw rocks into the trees, trying to dislodge a flock or swarm, but nothing happened. When I held still the noise moved from tree to tree, without any visible movement, as if different hidden pods were discussing the silly human in their midst. I was fascinating, frustrating, and strangely beautiful. And I moved on.
After a long stretch of broken sidewalk, I found a great little spot, a mini-park leading to a hospital building.... If you click on the link below, and look at the left half of the screen, you'll see a series of 24 pillars, each with 4 cascading waterfalls, it was very primal as I walked through, very "Lord of the Rings". I never would have seen it if I hadn't just kept running.
I also passed an a branch of the gym were I'm an employee, several really cool buildings, and I passed through a neighborhood that had $1,000,000 homes, and some that might have sold for $100 and a goat.
When I got to Rice University I hit a jogging path, passing dozens of young, fit, coeds and young hard body guys chasing them. Then a neighborhood with fantastic modern architecture and a woman, in a very short skirt, bending over to get something out of the back of her car. It was a really, really fun run.
You can see my route here
I got back to my hotel and was dripping sweat. My socks were soaked, drenched, I dropped my shirts, my socks, my shoes, and stripped down to my running shorts (thin Lycra) and went down to the pool. It never felt better.
I did a few laps, did my shoulder exercises, and climbed out. Laying on the lounge, in the dark (it was now after 8:30), I relaxed and let my mind wander and felt myself grow hard and long under my shorts. I wished that you were with me, lounging, relaxing, stroking each other through the thin fabric of our swimming suits, your legs spreading to my touch, my hips twitching and lifting as you return the favor.
There were 6 other people around the pool, 2 women deep in conversation about an annoying husband, and 2 couples, on the far side of the pool, talking quietly and smoking. As I got harder I was grateful for the the cloak of night. I jumped back in the pool and swam until I shrank down to a publicly acceptable level, and returned to my room.
I showered quickly and dressed, conscientiously avoiding any new arousal. I dried, dressed, and went to dinner. A cute, but boring waitress served an excellent trio of min-shrimp, Talapia, and jumbo stuffed shrimp. After dinner I found a massage spa that offers a fantastic price of $40 for an hour for first time customers. I think I'll go back tonight, no happy endings, but a long massage would be wonderful.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Skin to skin, sleepy, quiet,
Hidden from the day for just a few more minutes
We kiss and smile
Love and passion overcoming
morning breath, late night TV,
and the pending alarm clock buzz
You roll your back to me
And my arms wrap around you,
holding you, keeping you mine
You giggle and wiggle back against me
“In a good mood” you tease as you find
Me hard from night’s long dream
I press my hips and lips against you
Kissing your pillow-warm neck
Feeling the small silk patch
Finding the cleft that invites me.
You roll again, face and kiss me
Pulling me on to you
Like a comforter on a winters morn
Staving off the cold and chill of the day
Kisses smolder and warm
Arms entwine to connect and protect
Legs move to invite and hold
Silk slips moves and falls to the floor
Sometimes it is simple
Deep and warm, tender inviting
Two bodies sharing warmth, staving off the cold.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
The more I read into the D/S world, the less I like it. I've played with submission in my fantasy life, and even in some cybersex scenarios, but it has always been voluntary submissiveness between to equally dominant players. She has no need to ask "permission" for anything. When we are together I have taken the "dominant" role, instructing, commanding, even punishing when "naughty" but every step, every play, is an act of voluntary wish fulfillment, not some obligation or abrogation of free will.
When one partner feels that he, or she, has the RIGHT of control, they have lost their power and have replaced it with coercion.
Those in the D/s world will disagree with me, I'm sure, but I don't get it, and what I do "get", I don't like.
There are a lot of D/s blogs to choose from, but from my reading, and acknowledged lack of experience, most of them are power trips from the D-side, and pale attempts at capturing, or expunging, a sexual father fixation on the /s-side. What bothers me most is the abandonment of accountability and free will on the part of the sub. I know that most of them will claim to be making a free will gesture in the act of submission, but many of then discuss reluctance, a sense of duty, border-line abuse, and emotional blackmail.
Everyone has their kink, their 'thing', but this is one that doesn't ring the bell for me. Feel free to tell me I'm wrong, I'm not here to argue with anyone, I'm just stating an observation, that this area feels like a dark place, a place where a lot of lost people go to get lost even more, and where there are many who wander the dark lands as predators...
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
The feeling of lost opportunity, to share a bed, a moment.
The separation from home and family, the sense of distance and gap
The slippery sheets offer no comfort, no 1000 washes softness of home
They smell of maids and soap and starch and newness, of sterility and indifference.
I had her in my room once, and it smelled of life
Wrapped in my towel, dripping on my floor, she smiled up at me and we kissed.
I held her and was happy.
Monday, August 24, 2009
When I first saw this site i thought it was a hoax, but unfortunately, it's not.
To get the full effect, look at the backgrounds of each picture for some additional slant.
I know that many readers in this corner of the blogosphere are democrats, and some are liberals (since those two are very different), and I would hope that you are as offended, as well as amused, by these books like I am.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Saturday, August 22, 2009
It had this definition on it....Mamihlapinatapai
How many opportunities have we missed, for love, for friendship, for a good lunch, or a nice day at the museum because we are in a state of Mamihlapinatapai.
The Yaghan language is, for those who are curiuos, is a dying language from Tierra del Fuego.
Friday, August 21, 2009
There are many that trust me,
to whom I am lying right now
they think they know me,
To tell them I don't know how
the secrets I am keeping
The hidden part of me
is what I want to show them
it's what they need to see
I am a different person
than the one they've come to know
there are so many facets
that I really need to show
but I don't know how to tell her
I don't want to break the news
but between the man that I once was
and now I have to choose
I'm not the man I was before
I changed to someone new
but the one thing that stays the same
is that I still love you
(OK, so I tried to make this one rhyme a little, that's the danger of listening to sad cowboy songs before writing, you think all of your poems are lyrics.)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I only I only have so much time in the day
if I don't eat, I don't need the gym,
if I practice, I can't write
if I sleep, I do nothing at all
when I read, I am not working
when I eat, I could be running
when I swim, my bike gets dusty
there are only so many hours
when I work, I am dying
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Night Falls, or does it creep?
It crashes with an angry blackness that obliterates all memory of light.
It can linger if it chooses at the very edge, quietly nudging until we acquiesce and invite it in
the night is welcome, and the dark is calm, and the promise of a dawn is within us
how do they do it, the prolific, the writers? Where does it come from, the words, the images, the pain, the joy?
I build pathways for lightning
I stand in puddles in the rain with metal rods in my hands and scream at the sky
hit me you mother fuckers! Hit me!
but rarely do they oblige
Monday, August 17, 2009
What am I willing to sacrifice for art, love, or sex?
Do I give up time at the gym, to find time to write?
Do I forgo candy because I have no time to burn off the calories of the multi-colored chocolate shells?
Does my pay check vanish because they find the blog and proof that days, their days, were spent on fantasy, smut, and desire?
Do I trade love for sex, seeking the next cunt over my wife’s heart?
Do I choose the thrill of meeting at the next hotel over the mundane applause at a third grade dance recital?
Do I replace trust with anger, and open smile with a stolen glance?
Is home and hearth really worth a girl who sucks and swallows?
Do I love the pulse of my cock more than the embrace of my wife?
The feel of her breast over the good name of my father
When does the feel of her skin cost too much
The sound of her voice become too dear
The price of her mail too steep
What are we willing to sacrifice for art, love, and sex
All that we have, and more than we should.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
I have never drawn a dog with a tilted head
Straight forward & resolute
Faithful to their master by the very stare
Or in stately profile
Gazing to the far horizon answering danger and threat
But never with tilted gaze
Prepared to play
To be loved,
To be tackled in the dew tipped grass
Because my pen doe not know that look in the mirror of my life.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
My name is Tony (not really)
I am an addict (really).
Sex is my drug,
Women are my dealer
and I love them all.
And I need to stop.
I need to take a break, clear my head, make better decisions.
I have often said, and hold to be very true, that we think the most clearly, we see things more truthfully, during the 2 minutes following an orgasm than at any other time. What ever drug is in our head during that moment is a freakin' truth serum. Our physical needs are met, our sensual self is at rest, and the world comes in to focus.
And I saw things I didn't like.
So, the next few posts will be really bad poetry, because, lets be honest, I'm a really bad poet. Most Internet poetry is just awful. There is a reason I can't get published, it's because I suck. But, that is beside the point (right there, next to the point, beside it, but not THE point). I'm going to post it anyway.
So enjoy (yea, right) a week of poems that don't rhyme, meters that don't match, and some of the most twisted and mangled metaphors you'll ever see. And don't expect it to be "so bad it's funny" because it's not. It's not an Adam Sandler movie, it's a a Rob Schnieder movie, it's "Duece Bigalow: Male Gigalo 12 - Adventures at Guantanamo Bay".
Plus, I'm going to be in Houston on business where the Internet is shut down tighter than a Nun's behind, and if I allow myself to sign-in at the hotel, I'll wake up 12 hours later, late for work, my pants still half off, and some random clip of gap-toothed teenagers with big hooters getting it in the ass from "daddy" and the hotel room smelling like Porn Day at Boy's Camp. How's that for TMI Tuesday?
See ya' all later.
Friday, August 14, 2009
She's very pretty. I met her just a couple of days ago at the bus stop. I got there at my accustomed time, which is three minutes later than I should, but two minutes before the bus arrives. I like to cut it close. I have been bit in the ass a few times and then had to drive. Missing the early bus is no big deal, you just take the next one, but if you missed the last one? Well, you are screwed.
I noticed her from across the street, ‘a new girl’, I thought, as I waited for my turn at the crosswalk. She was in tight jeans, simple black flats, and a white blouse that from a distance was fairly nondescript, but when you got up close you noticed that the neckline was a loosely crocheted lace pattern, that, while it hid her thin white bra, it did so just barely, and highlighted the swell of her breasts in the deep plunging V-neck.
I preemptively ignored her, assuming that she, like all other women of her beauty, would ignore me. I don't have much to say, I am rarely asked to say it.
To my surprise she asked when our bus was going to be there. "Our bus?”, and she confirmed that we were, indeed, heading to the same business center. What began as a simple question about timing turned into an hour and a half conversation as we rode and complained about the bus. I found out that she has two boys, a new job, and a fantastic laugh. The woman ahead of us, a surly little bitch if there ever was one, kept trying to shush us and we just looked at each other and laughed. Eventually the unhappy woman moved to a different seat, presumably in front of two people who were not flirting like crazy and laughing too loudly
Of course, nothing happened that first day. I gave her my business card with my personal e-mail address on the back but didn't hear from her, as expected. Meaning, I didn't expect to hear from her, and she did exactly what I expected.
The next day we picked up our conversation again and she even commented that she did not see me on the bus heading home. I had been waylaid at work by any wonderfully erotic e-mail exchange and I let time slip by. This time, instead of a casual outfit, she was dressed to the nines. Wonderfully industrial shiny black pumps lifted her 4 inches off the ground, making her a bit taller than me now. Her legs were wrapped in beautifully soft gray wool, and I noticed, as I let her on the bus in front of me, that they hugged her very shapely ass without revealing any panty lines. Of course I wondered if that was because there were no panties at all. A guy can wonder, right?
Her blouse was the faux turtleneck in blue that covered her cleavage, but displayed her shape in wondrous detail. She has the perfect sized breasts for her frame. I am guessing a 34B, maybe C, and they were up, out, and very perky. We ended up talking for another long commute. At one point she asked if the bus was ever so crowded that people had to stand. I said that yes, it happened every few months that I had, indeed, had to stand up for the entire 90 minute commute.
This triggered an interesting image, of me, standing in the aisle next to her seat. After my hands became tired from holding on to the upper bar in the bus, I let my hands fall my side, inches away from her shoulder. As the bus jostles and shakes its way down the freeway, I bump lightly into her shoulder and apologize; she just smiles up at me and says that it is "Quite all right."
A few minutes later I feel her hand in mine, directing my open palm to her shoulder, where I feel the soft fabric of her sweater, a few more moments pass, and much to my surprise, she shifts her body in such a way that, without me meaning moving at all, she has placed her left breast under my open hand.
The image was so powerful that it felt almost like a premonition. I know that is silly, it's just my ego fantasizing about a beautiful woman with a soft sweater and a beautiful chest.
But, the question that really surprised me, the real question that was forming in my head was what am I going to do about her?
I think we could be friends. We've now talked 3 ½ hour about various topics, she gives me the body signs someone who's open, friendly, and a little bit flirty. She's beautiful, divorced, fairly flexible on her work schedule, and has two kids who were out of the house most of the time.
What if she hinted at something more?
What if she was okay with something physical?
I've seen her in three different outfits, and she looked fantastic in all three.
Her legs are long and lean, her thighs slim and strong, and I would love to dive between them and hear the sounds of her orgasm, though muffled by her legs wrapped tightly around me head.
Am I actually thinking about cheating again?
Is she the one that will flip the switch?
Have my conversations online, the cybersex, the dreams and fantasies about other women finally caught up with me?
I think for now the answer is no, but I am surprisingly close to say yes.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
How many times you check your Blackberry, thinking you heard it ring or felt it vibrate, when you know it didn't?
How many times do you pull it out of the holster, looking for the "new mail" icon, when you know you don't have any?
How many times do you get into Gmail "just to make sure" when you know there is no e-mail?
How many times you get into Gmail, and hit "refresh" thinking that your Blackberry must be missing the signal, out of order, or just needs a “nudge”?
I just did it again. My Blackberry is sitting on my desk, fully functional, having just received an e-mail five minutes ago, however, I just hit the button, which opens the screen, just to see if something was there.
I know nothing is there.
I know my Blackberry is not broken.
I know my Blackberry is working just fine.
I also know that my two favorite e-mail friends are busy, one on vacation, and one at work.
Yet I check, hoping that they dropped me a note, a flirt, a naughty little ditty to make my heart skip.
And then I get back to my desk and sign in. Maybe it is in my inbox, but just hasn't made it out of my Blackberry yet. I say this to myself, knowing that new mail usually hits my Blackberry before my inbox.
My technology works as intended, but not my brain.
I check when I know there is nothing there.
I check again knowing that nothing has changed.
I think that 20 minutes has gone by and then realize that it has only been five, but I check again. This is not healthy.
Oh, what was that? I'll be right back, I've got to go check my e-mail this no, seriously, I think I saw the little light on my Blackberry flash, okay, so it didn't flash, but I swear I thought I heard it vibrate on my desk. Don't laugh, I think it did, I'll be right back, just let me go check.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
'Time!' You gasp against my lips, urging me on desperately.
I grin at you and sink to my knees, trailing my mouth down your body, the water rushing over me, slicking my hair back, filling my mouth. You take a tiny step forward to divert the flow and give me easy access to you. I flick my eyes up at you, smile quickly as I lick around the head of your cock, tasting the clean skin and the first hint of pre-cum. You're staring down at me, your face intense, time forgotten. I slide you into my mouth smoothly, swirling my tongue and tilting my head. Your hands go to my head, applying no pressure, just resting there gently, fingers stroking my cheek as I suck and lick and stroke.
I close my eyes, focusing on your pleasure completely, taking you deeper, faster, sucking strongly, feeling you swell and pulse and clench, hearing you gasp and moan - trying to be quiet. I can hear a couple giggles from outside the door, but they just spur me on. Your fingers tighten in my wet hair and I can sense that you've hunched over me a little and suddenly you let go, and my mouth is filled with the sharp taste of you. Again and again, you release into me, and I continue to stroke, slowly and gently until your fingers relax and I feel your body slacken a little.
You help me to my my feet as the water stops and wrap me in my towel as you reach for yours. We open the door to the shower to a smattering of applause and several somewhat scandalized looks from mothers of puzzled looking children. I grin at you, laughter bubbling up through my chest and you pull me close for a kiss before we continue, back to our campsite and the warm snugness of our tent.
Monday, August 10, 2009
I think I just found the perfect place for some dirty outside fun. The
showers at the campground I'm at take 75 cents for three minutes.
You, me and $1.50 could do some serious damage to the reputation of the
camp as a "family friendly" park.
We strip down in a small cubicle outside the shower, and as your hands
start to make me hard, I toss in three quarters and the hot water
I'm feeling generous so I push you up against the poorly painted
cinder-block wall and spread your legs apart with my knees. I don't
need lube or a formal invitation so I split you open with one thrust
and order to you start fingering your self as the hot water sprays
across you exposed skin.
You prop yourself against the wall and lift one leg, giving my cock and
your fingers better access. We can hear the timer ticking and know
that your three minutes are almost up. The block wall scratches your
ass with each of my thrusts. We hear a line start to form outside, but
our three minutes aren't up. The one minute chime goes off and I
increase the depth and speed of my thrusts. 60 seconds, 120 thrusts, a
count down to climax. With 30 seconds left your knees give out and I
impale you and hold you against the wall, tongue-fucking your mouth as
your orgasm rocks you. Your breathless gasps turn to shrieks as our
time runs out. I reach upward and pull down three more quarters from the
stack on the top of the wall
Sunday, August 9, 2009
or running with out my iPod
or waking up in the middle of the night and sitting in the back yard
or going to my Mother-in-laws' house
Technology, the constant ties to others,
the burden of "instant communication
the tyranny of the "5 Fave", Speed Dial, and Caller ID
the pressure of chat, IM, tweets, twitters, and pokes
There are times to connect,
and times to be disconnected
A time to chat
and a time to talk
A time to flirt
and a time to seduce
A time to blog
and a time to journal
A time to talk
and a time to listen
To every thing there is a season.
(and my apologies to The Preacher)
This should post early Sunday morning.
I hope to be running, quietly,
before the boats and bikes awake,
along a mountain road, a trail, a path.
I hope to see the sun rise over a peak I've never seen
I hope to hear a birdsong I've never sung
I want to breath air fresh from the trees,
Made just for me.
Friday, August 7, 2009
I can promise you, without a shadow of a doubt, this will not be happening this weekend. ----->>
The family is going camping this weekend. I grew up camping so it's not a big deal. you grab some food, an air mattress, a tent, and some clean water and you are pretty well set.
My wife, however, is a city girl who has never gone camping without her Girl Scout leaders. It's my fault for not having taken her to the woods earlier, but it just never came together.
On Friday morning, I am sure she will be running around trying to pack the last available cans of pork and beans in LA County into the back of our van. We will have enough water to start our own swimming pool, and a big enough first aid kit to supply a Third World hospital for a year. she will have outfitted the children with implantable GPS devices, and we will all be carrying whistles, compasses, an emergency signal mirror, and some bear repellent.
The time we get home, she will say, "Why did you make me bring all this stuff?"
However, I know that we will not need, that she will not pack, and will not miss, condoms, lube, her battery-powered vibrator, or my favorite massage oil.
My only goal is to go water skiing for the first time in 20 years without breaking a leg.
One good thing, is that my cell phone from work will be out of range for three days. I am looking forward to that. The downside is that I will be away from Blogger and my wonderful friends.
So, to those I read, and to with whom I chat, and to those with whom I flirt, I will miss you all and see you on Monday.
Of course, I will cheat and schedule a few posts while I am gone, but don't expect too much. Like the nightly news, I am having to make this up in advance.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
He spoons her from behind and gently slips his left hand over her hip, under the waistband, and between her legs. Conditioned to satisfy his morning needs, her legs spread and her hips rise to his touch as she rolls on to her back. Her mouth opens, searching, like a hungry little bird, for his first kiss.
His lips meet hers as his fingers begin to pull wetness from inside, preparing her for intrusion. Trapped between his weight and the soft sheets, she dreams of him, feels him filling her, and feels the soft dreamy wetness that seems to satiate her thirst. He is gentle, but insistent as he pulls the silky fabric of her thong to the side and slips in, supporting his weight on his elbows, covering her, without crushing. His lips caress her neck and she responds without speaking as he bottoms out his thrust and cums quietly, holding perfectly still as his body clenches and swells, then empties. He counts to ten and feels himself soften and withdraws,
leaving a shiny trail across her skin.
The alarm chimes quietly and, while two bodies stir, only one awakes
while the other dreams.
(This was written for some friends this morning, and, with their encouragement, I'm posting it._
Not only does it have three beautiful women, who seemed about to get naked, there is enough tension in the eyes of the girl on the right to suggest that all is not right.
She looks suspicious of the girl on the left, and I would not be surprised if the next shot shows her arms wrapped around the middle girl, trying to pull her away, trying to claim her again as her own.
The intimacy between the two on the left is tempered by the hand on the hip, reaching back to include the third girl, but it is my bet that by the end of the night, tempers will have flared and only two will remain.
Is the girl on the left tough enough to battle the jealous one on the right? Is the one in the middle being naïve, thinking that she can handle two women with strong personalities? As the one on the left reaches around holds the ass of the tall girl in the middle, she is staking a claim, but it is a claim that will not be relinquished willingly.
Perhaps I have the scenario all wrong, perhaps the one on the right is challenging the one on the left, challenging her to experience her first one, her first threesome, or maybe just pushing her into trouble.
I don't trust the one on the left to know what she's doing; maybe she's the naïve one, walking into a strained dynamic of a couple in trouble. Maybe the two on the right have been together for a long time and are looking for some new excitement. The girl with the tattoo has brought in the third, a pawn in her play, someone to tempt and test her longtime lover. I can see tattoo girl pushing the inexperienced newbie into the arms of her girlfriend. She encourages them to test each other, to explore, to bring each other pleasure, all the time plotting revenge for of a trail that she herself has set in motion.
I have read many times that the number one fantasy for men to have a threesome with two other women. This just proves that most men are idiots. The dynamic between a man and a woman is tricky enough, but throwing in two women, with passion, jealousy, possessiveness, and a 28 day cycle of crazy, is just asking for trouble.
I'll admit that the image turns me on. I am the typical male in that girl-girl porn is one of my favorite things to watch. The tenderness in the intimacy is different than that between a man and a woman. Where a man is mostly penetration and domination, two women have to work together, entice and explore each other, and find a mutually satisfying ways to bring each other to orgasm. While I admit, that men and women should also work this way, it's fun to watch women work it out.
As I look at the image, I imagine the girl on the right slipping her hands up under the T-shirt of the middle girl. Her hands slide along the skin, reaching up, finding her breasts, and rolling them, molding them in her hands. The girl on the left kneels and begins to unbuckle a black belt with silver studs.
Black panties come in to view and four hands strip them off her slim hips. Two in front, two in back, hand up and down her frame, bring her to a quick climax. The dominant female, now satisfied, turns her attention to the new girl who is surprisingly shy after bringing her new friend to orgasm.
The more experienced curls lay her on her back on the big bed, showering her with kisses, light touches, and a tender approach. Slowly their hands drift downward, tickling her thighs open as the administer kisses to her upturned chest. Her climax hits her, almost as if by surprise, as 20 fingers and two mouths attack her with experienced intent.
Finally it is the girl with the tattoos turn. Now she starts to push the buttons of the other two, encouraging them to please each other while she watches, building her resentment in her head as she throws them together. She watches them pleasing each other, touching, exchanging giggly kisses and deep caresses. She coaches and controls them to act out their innermost fantasies, as the new girl rolls onto her back, legs and arms spread in orgasmic exhaustion, Velcro cuffs appear from beneath the bed and she is quickly restrained.
Middle girl is confused at the change in tone, as additional implements are produced, long hard plastic, meant not for pleasure but for pain. A whip, a candle, a change in mood fills the air with an angry tension…..
But that is for another day...
(They say a picture is worth 1,000 words, so I have 200 left.)
Monday, August 3, 2009
I had a wonderful experience this morning. I was online in a friend of mine popped into Chat and said hello. Over the course of the next couple of hours (sorry boss) we chatted, joked, laughed, and climaxed. During our chat she sent me pictures, beautiful, sexy, intimate pictures. Pictures that made my heart skip, and my breath to catch in my chest. At first I couldn't believe that she sent them. Then I got bolder and asked for them, and she sent more.
By the end of our time together we were happy, satisfied, and closer. And that is what blogging is all about, getting closer, it is about intimacy
Not physical intimacy, for though we both had an orgasm, we are miles and miles apart and worlds away. It is intimacy of a different sort we seek. Whether it is through words or pictures, we seek to have others know us, to understand us, to see us for who we really are, to hear what we have to say.
This is the scariest kind of intimacy, to have others know us for who we are, not who we pretend to be.
I seek the anonymity of the web so that I can speak truth that cannot be spoken at home, work, church, or on the playground of my life. Behind the mask of Advizor54 I can say things that are in my heart, but that can never pass my lips in polite company.
- I love porn
- I love to fantasize about the 18-year-old girls that pass me on the street every day
- There are several women at church that I would like to fuck, whether they want me to or not.
- I am no longer happy at home.
- There are days when I think that marrying my wife was a huge mistake.
- Sometimes I wish I never had kids, though I love mine more than I ever imagined I could.
- I think Angelina Jolie is ugly.
- I think Constance Marie, of the George Lopez show, is one of the prettiest woman on TV, plus, she reminds me of my first mistress.
- One of the best orgasms of my life was with a Canadian stripper five years ago.
- Another one of the best was five hours ago.
- I no longer believe many of the things my parents taught me.
- I am coming to realize they taught me many things by example that I did not want to learn, I blame them in part for my bad marriage.
- I know that my marriage is my own making, and that I should not blame my parents at all
Some truths are more painful than others. Sometimes we want to speak the truth about things we profess to believe but no longer do. Sometimes just expressing the doubt is enough to anger those around us.
We blog to gain release, to say out loud that which we hide inside. We confess our affairs, our secret desires, our failings, our successes that cannot be named. We talk about our failings, our hopes, our fears, our joys.
We want people to know us as we see ourselves, but we live in fear that our real selves will be rejected by those whose rejection we cannot abide. My wife would be stunned, shocked, angered, ashamed if she knew some of the thoughts I thought, the desires I have. Some of them even shock myself, So I pretend. Some things, I admit, should not be acted upon, some impulses should be controlled. But some of them, some of them need to see the light of day and so I blog.
I blog to tell the truth, or my own version of the truth, and sometimes I blog to lie. But in choosing the lies I tell, I reveal myself, I strip off the veneer I show to the world.
Sometimes it feels good to stand naked, on stage, unprotected. Because when I am done, and I walk offstage, having heard the critiques and comments of the world around me I can turn, give the world the bird, and say to myself, "That wasn't so bad."