wicked and that ain't so easy
"if there were but world enough and time..."

but there isn't.

so......spit it out.
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missed a lot
Posted:Mar 16, 2018 11:53 am
Last Updated:Mar 16, 2018 12:09 pm

since when did a TV series run from Oct to November, take a hiatus over the holidays and then end in March? is that normal? add in the two weeks off the the Olympics and it was barely a season.


seems like less is just less. and now the regular stations are showing more and more reality TV than anything else. music shows, game shows, survivor, bachelors, chelfs, wtf.

amc has some new stuff, syfy, OWN. seems like the big 3 have lost their footing. hell, might as well just sell to Gordon Ramsey............he's on every week, all year.

i have a Roku so i'm grooving on old stuff and the Netflix and amazon series. i finally watched the Sopranos. not bad. and the Wire - way good.

i need suggestions - what did you watch that was killer that i can find on my Roku?
if you had to choose
Posted:Mar 3, 2018 11:33 am
Last Updated:Mar 8, 2018 10:20 am

say you only had 10 minutes.

and you had a partner who was willing for you to make the choice. okay, better, a partner who was not just willing but equally turned on by all three options.

yeah okay - a bit of a fantasy but not really because in my case, i love all three and can easily get off with all three so bite me.

as a man with a woody, do you fuck:

her mouth, her pussy, or her ass?

curious minds want to know

images do not seem to want to stick here so see the comment
for now.........
Posted:Feb 24, 2018 10:03 am
Last Updated:Feb 28, 2018 3:31 pm

In the smallest of spaces, in the darkest of corners, in the silence, she crouches. It would be fine to be here really if only she could stop remembering that there was more than here. She wishes desperately for when all she knew was here.

Once in the passing of time she saw what she now remembers is light. Then it seemed not like a thing but a lack of what she knew. It had terrified her with its sharpness, its acuity but so briefly had it stayed that she had no sense of what she’d seen as real or imagined.

Still, it began the before. Now it is not enough that a day is gone, that a night passes, that the door opens, closes times three, that the ceiling pours water on the fifth night like the skies have opened on a summer storm. Now here is not everything.

It had been easier to be only here, she had been quieter inside. but now, now she was more. More was painful in every way, in her body it cried out for the water before the water was coming, for the food before she was hungry. She’d tried to find here but it is gone. The harder she looks for it the further away it moves.

More brings pieces that don’t fit. pictures that cause pain, she stands finding nothing holds her down, she travels the darkness learning every inch. Words come tumbling back naming her discoveries.

Again, it rains. again, it rains. Four rains pass for a month.

Once when she fed, she threw the bowl against the wall. It bounced, she cried.

On the fifth day when it rains, she will try again to find out where the water falls the heaviest.

For now, she crouches in the smallest of spaces, the darkest of corners, in silence.
valentines in the garden of good and evil
Posted:Feb 14, 2018 11:20 am
Last Updated:Feb 27, 2018 9:35 am

In the beginning, he treated her with a certain deference, opening doors, helping her with her coat. As time passed, so did these signs of kindness, respect. He would always check to make sure she made it home safely from work. Now days would pass without a call. She knew that her position had altered but had little idea what had precipitated the change. When he called and asked if she would meet him for dinner on a Tuesday, she hesitated. It was difficult for her to arrange her week nights to accommodate evening engagements. Her silence was a bit too long.

"I am not asking, chere. I need you to meet me at 7:00. I will expect you there."

The call cut off, leaving her without recourse. She would meet him, there was nothing else to do. As she planned, she allowed herself to wonder if this was the last time she would see him, if this meeting was simply a formality. She took care with preparation, dressing simply but with an eye for detail, knowing what he preferred. Her hair was perfection, so rarely the case and she smiled a bit that for once it had allowed her to win. Makeup that appeared to not be there at all, an aubergine shawl over a black dress that fell to her calf, a small guarantee held in her garter, nothing in her hands.

She stood by the maître d’s station, her head raised, arms to her sides. Recognizing her, he led her to the table in the corner, beckoning a waiter who moved off quietly. Within a few minutes she had a glass of sauvignon blanc in front of her to run her fingers over restlessly though she never raised it to her lips. Time passes in odd ways when waiting. Sometimes in fits and starts, other times it seems to stand quite still only later do you realize that a piece has gone missing without notice. Tonight, an endless string of seconds, dripping water on a tin plate, inexorable, endless, her nerves pulling tighter with each plink.

When his hand slipped onto her shoulder, she nearly flinched. His dark eyes opened wide then shuttered. She rarely showed any sign of overt emotion in public. The waiter arrived promptly with his drink, hesitated, left.

“You must be wondering what is happening.”

Tilting her head, she simply watched his face for clues, her face receptive. It is difficult to be a vessel, no? To be the one who waits to be filled, the one who loves more. And yet the one who knows more, to be the one who can see it all.

“please, before you say anything, I have something I must tell you”

The waiter returned with more drinks, blinis, caviar.

As he vanished yet again, she stood, went to his side. Whispered in his ear.

His head flew back, eyes searching hers. Truth is always so disconcerting. As she took her seat, he downed his drink, she reached for a blini, suddenly hungry.

His hand dropped to the bag. She watched as he reached inside. Her hand slid up to her thigh.

He placed a tiny box on the table. His laughter was deep. She stared at him.
inept attempt at deriving information without providing any
Posted:Feb 5, 2018 10:34 am
Last Updated:Feb 7, 2018 12:08 pm
never done one so this will not work like a normal poll with an instant tally since i will have to count it up. sighs.

here's the thing. i was sort of in a way kind of hoping that i could get feedback on an issue without having to really be too precise about the need for the feedback or the issue itself.........snork. so

section one:

how long between communications is too long?
does it matter what type of communication you utilize?
how many words are too few?

you may now comment freely on what you think i'm doing or not doing and make me feel small.

the men i love
Posted:Feb 1, 2018 11:48 am
Last Updated:Feb 5, 2018 11:11 am

of us, smelling distinctly of skunk, spill out of the uber in our fancy wear, laughing hysteriy at god knows what, link arms and skip, yes skip the 50 yards to the club door. If I were the bouncer, I would think twice but we’re all over 65 and apparently, we look charming instead of crazy and he lets us in. I will admit, it could be my wildly spiked hair but then I’d be denying Jesse’s orange pony tail which is nearly feet long and quite the statement piece.

We find a banquette……. yippee. settle in and order drinks. could say drinks are gilding the lily but then no asked you, did they? It’s booby’s birthday, so he gets to choose everything tonight. I am a wee bit frightened. the music is slamming but it’s not anything we want to dance to, so we drink, and we wait. Jesse doesn’t indulge since he’s 25 sober but laughs louder than every else when a young man (under 40) asks me to dance. Up I go.

It’s a cha-cha and I’m so hoping he knows that. But he’s just flatlining. I cha-cha on my own and enjoy the feel of the skirt swinging and my body slipping easily into the rhythms of the music. Jesse taps him out and the night begins for me, the joy of being swept around the floor, controlled motion with some who can dance. I have 5 pairs of shoes. And pair is just for dancing. Smiles.

Jesse is a big man, but he moves like he has air under his feet. He uses his hands so well, I never falter, I am always where he wants me to be. bodies moving like .

I have watched salsa dancers,so sharp and clean, it is like watching knives clash against each other. Techniy amazing, tight, tense. I prefer those who melt into each other a bit more. Who wants to be cut to ribbons when you can be seduced?

When the salsa music starts, Jesse and I practiy race to the floor. We may be the oldest people there, but we are not to be denied. Some cutters (see above reference) were ing up next to us but Jesse clearly fucked me while we danced – we won, hands down. Not that there was a contest or anything. Snork. When we return to the table, He and his husband made out while I excused myself to the ladies’ room..and yes, I did.

Sometimes I wish they were straight so I could get some action off the floor, but then we wouldn’t have nearly as much fun or get toplay his/her secret life where we assign the people dancing a name/job/life. we are incorrigible, funnier than anyone we know and just this side of disgusting. It’s freeing to be with them, they take such good care of me.. I love these men who take me dancing
creme brulee
Posted:Jan 28, 2018 9:11 am
Last Updated:Feb 7, 2018 12:07 pm

breaking someone down is a process. i remember watching my uncle break a horse one summer. the animal was beautiful, wild, strong. i hated my uncle for what he was about to do, to take something so free and make it into something tamed.

i watched, and over two months the horse grew to take the bit, to allow uncle to slide his hand along his flanks to saddle him, yet every night, when released, that horse, he bucked and ran, a wild thing still. They came to know each other these two males. to dance in some way. to blend in some way, to form some type of bond. But always, always, the horse resisted. the dark sugar on the top of the crème brulee, needing to be cracked before the spoon could sink into the smooth soft cream underneath.

being two things, the wild horse and the man's horse is never easy. and it shouldn't be. the very essence of a power exchange lies in this dynamic. I don't want a Dom who beats me into submission. i want a Dom who beats me into a frenzy of need and passion. One is abuse. the other is D/s and S/M. breaking someone down is not about breaking them,

it's about ramping them up, )bringing them to that point where they are freed, where you've cracked the shell of the glaze on the crème brulee and now, that soft, sweet cream is just waiting to be devoured.

oh, now, it's not for everyone, i know. no need to get your knickers in a twist. But imagine if you can, your man, his hand on the flat of your back, your ass raised up in the air, his breath in your ear, as he whispers, count each lash easy. then, i'm going to fuck your pussy until you scream.

tell me that isn't a turn on i dare you.
an ethical dilemma
Posted:Jan 24, 2018 2:51 pm
Last Updated:Feb 14, 2018 12:29 pm

Ethics Test
This test only has question, but it's a very important . By giving an hst answer, you will diover where you stand morally. No else will know, so you won't be fooling any but yourself if you give anything but a truthful answer.

The test features an unlikely,completely fictional situation in which you will have to make a decision.

Remember, your answer needs to be hst, yet spontaneous. Please read slowly and thoughtfully, giving due consideration to each line.

Here's the situation:

You're in Florida; Miami to be specific. There's chaos all around you caused by a tsunami with severe flooding. This is a flood of Biblical proportions. You're a photojournalist working for a major newspaper, & caught in the middle of this epic disaster.

The situation is nearly hopeless. You're trying to shoot career-making photos. There are houses and people swirling around you, some are disappearing under the water. Nature is unleashing all of its destructive fury.

Suddenly you see a man floundering in the water. He's fighting for his life, trying not to be taken down with the debris. You move closer ...somehow the man looks familiar. You suddenly realize who it is.

It's Trump, President of the United States!!

At the same time you notice that the raging waters are about to take him under...forever, you realize you have options. You can save the life of the President, or you can shoot a dramatic Pulitzer Prize winning photo, documenting the death of of the world's most powerful men.

So here's the question, and please give an hst answer:

the question is in the first comment..
a haiku for Mountain Man
Posted:Jan 23, 2018 10:05 am
Last Updated:Jan 24, 2018 2:42 pm

my quilt faded from washing
is filled with colors
redolent, of your body
a privilege doing business with you
Posted:Jan 21, 2018 9:28 am
Last Updated:Jan 23, 2018 10:32 am

I was talking to a friend about a memo sent out by an employee at google, an engineer who is a white male. He called into account the various benefits that women and people of color were privy to that he as a white male did not have access to and said that this was not only unfair, but illegal. Two other white engineers have now joined him in his efforts of redress. Google terminated his employ. I would note that the memo was 10 pages long.

What was most interesting about our discussion was her take on the issue of white privilege and where and when it ceases to matter. She is not white. As we talked, it occurred to me that I could not disagree that color is of little import in moments of life and death or deep personal crises. One sees this played out over and over again. What we both wondered is whether this speaks well or ill of our fellow human beings.

The memo man could see no reason why he should care about diversity, increasing the number of women in the workplace, etc. because it did him no immediate service and impacted his work not at all. To have the company require that he support something that had no purpose in his life, his work or his ability to do his work was to him specious and not within their area of concern. Should they continue to demand it, he wanted access to all the benefits the women and minorities received (trainings, meetings, restrooms, etc.). There is some validity in this. does he have to support the agency mission to be an effective employee? But again, does a company have to hire anyone who does not support their ethos as an employee? Ah, therein lies the rub.

As an employee at will, they can fire him without citing cause. He can collect unemployment, but he can’t litigate. He can only litigate for an “ism”. What ism has been called into play here? Cynicism?

I loved our talk. She said the military (she’s a vet), has limited racism now because of the fear of dying but since women are still few and far between in combat, sexism is still rampant. HA. We noted how well people can work together in a crisis like a hurricane and then go back to separate corners after.

Is trust only a matter of needing the other person for something? And if there is no need, no pain, there is no trust, no reason to give a shit? I know we all say we’re not like that, but a whole bunch of people are like that…. way too many are way too eager to turn and walk away, just because it isn’t hurting them……yet.

And one day of marching is not enough. It’s cool, glad you did it but it’s not enough. Maybe we all have to hurt before we really understand.
The Crone (for little sis)
Posted:Jan 18, 2018 12:27 pm
Last Updated:Jan 23, 2018 10:36 am

He could not find it in him to cross the small bridge. After all the miles he’d hiked to get here, after the fasting, after the months of searching to find this place, he stood, frozen just a few hundred feet from a door that he had sworn to open, to crash through, to burn if need be. He panted, hands on his knees, bent double as if he had run for miles, stomach roiling.

Watching, he saw the door open inward to darkness. A tiny bent woman with white hair nearly to her knees, a froth of wiry strands blown by a wind unseen, unfelt, crept forward incrementally followed by a dog so large, so lupine that he could but stare as he straightened for a better view. Her hand deep in his fur, they moved across the wooden slats of the porch, the wolf/dog prodding her, her soft laughter drifting towards him as she settled into a rocker, her skirts which seemed to be blue, green, purple, catching the sun, her hair, flying.

“Well now, you fixin’ on coming across?”

Startled, assuming himself to be well hidden in the bushes, he stepped out.

He ran across the bridge, across the small verdant yard, halting only when the yes wolf stood, eying him.

She sniffed the air. He could see now that she was blind. It gave him the courage to move closer.

“Step on back son. If you’re thirsty, there’s tea on the table inside. Bring some for me, let’s get this done.”

He stepped into the dim, smells of herbs, fire, food flooded his senses. The room belied the exterior seeming so much larger, and he was tempted to wander when her voice pulled him back to task. Filling the glasses, already set on the table, he hurried back outside, setting one on the ledge beside her and sat on the porch edge. As the first mouthful slipped down his throat, he felt the cold, then a long sweet release as if part of him that had been held so tight for so long, let go.

The numinous moment came out of him in a small moan. The crone smiled, “ feels good going down, eh?”

“yes, is it magic?” He asked, stunned.

“it’s tea.” Reaching into her pocket she slipped something to the wolf who he chewed it thoughtfully before swallowing, licking her small hand, settling at her feet, closing his eyes.

“I need an answer from you.”

She sat silently, breathing in the clean air, listening. But to what? To him, or to the sound of the water over the rocks in the creek, the soft shushing of the wind dancing in the tree tops, the thousand of sounds he began to pick out of the air around him, the gentle chuffing from the sleeping dog. The repetitive groan from the loose board when she rocked back…

When he woke, the door was ajar. It was nearly sunrise. He could smell the fire, the bacon. She called out, “nearly ready, if’n you’re hungry.”. He stretched, moved quickly. She pointed, “toilet”. Gratified, he washed up hurriedly. They ate in silence.

He did the cleanup. As he stood at the door, the dog came to him, pushing him gently forward. She stood by the table, today dressed all in green. He wondered how she knew what she was wearing.

“Just do.”

He smiled, “thank you.”

She nodded….”off you go then.”

As he crossed the bridge he did not look back. He was afraid that if he did, there would be no house, no bridge, no stream, no wolf. He walked steadily forward. As we sometimes must.
waiting room madness
Posted:Jan 15, 2018 10:41 am
Last Updated:Jan 23, 2018 10:37 am

Sitting back in the chair, she wondered if all the other people waiting were thinking about the same things she was thinking about or if their minds were as jumbled as hers. It seems that when faced with learning one’s fate, she tends to look backward instead of forward which comes as a surprise to her. Why look at what she’s had instead of trying to see what she will be able to have. why think of what she’s already done instead of what she can still do. It seems silly and somewhat pathetic to her and fills her with a morose sort of shame that she isn’t used to feeling, one she’d prefer not becoming used to.

Oh for god’s sake snap out of it, pinching her thigh, with her short nails. Like it makes any difference at all what you’re thinking. It will be exactly what it will be and then you will do what you must do and that’s the end of that. Man plans, God laughs. Or man laughs, and God laughs louder. What a stinker. Her smile is caught by the woman across from her and returned. Damn, she was hoping to avoid talking to anyone but now it seems THAT’s not going to happen either.


“You seem happy”

“Well I was just thinking of what a little stinker God can be”

“Oh, oh, my”

That should shut her up

“Yes, he can although I suppose mostly we deserve it”

HA. One of those. Fuck me, now it begins.

“Really? How does one merit God’s stink eye?

The woman blushes. Slides forward in her seat and whispers. “we all have secrets, eh?”

She nods not only to avoid answering but because it is indeed the truth.

The woman moves to sit beside her. “is your secret a big one?”

“It’s not all that. I suppose I have a few. Most are just things I’d rather forget.”

“Mine is so terrible that God has forsaken me.”

“you can’t out sin god’s forgiveness.”

The woman looked at her in disbelief. “Who told you that/”

Her name rang out. She rose and walked through the door.

“Who told you that,” the woman screamed after her.

As she moved forward, she thought, I hope I’m right.

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Most Recent Comments by Others

Post Poster Post Date
missed a lot (18)christylovesfun
Mar 17, 2018 10:28 am
if you had to choose (75)sdnjd15
Mar 15, 2018 7:08 pm
for now......... (6)lindoboy100
Feb 25, 2018 3:59 pm
valentines in the garden of good and evil (15)lindoboy100
Feb 18, 2018 11:55 am
shitholes (119)BiggLala
Feb 12, 2018 4:39 pm
inept attempt at deriving information without providing any (31)KItkat1415
Feb 7, 2018 10:33 pm
the men i love (33)lindoboy100
Feb 5, 2018 10:20 am
creme brulee (35)author51
Feb 1, 2018 1:28 am
an ethical dilemma (31)Heathen_G
Jan 27, 2018 7:58 pm
a haiku for Mountain Man (10)lindoboy100
Jan 24, 2018 1:01 pm
a privilege doing business with you (18)sweet_VM
Jan 23, 2018 8:00 am