That being said...

I'm working in a little town in the hill country of Texas.  I drive two miles on an interstate highway to get to the exit for the company I visit every day.  Last week,  just after I entered the highway, I saw a dozen police cars with flashing lights in my rearview mirror so after immediately thinking fuck they've figured out some crime I committed in the past, I pulled over to the shoulder.  Seconds later a motorcycle with a rider brandishing a hand gun in his right hand passed at a very slow speed.  News accounts later said it was a low speed chase, 30-40 miles an hour.  A mile down the road he abandoned the bike and headed off waving the gun at state police and officers from this little Texas town.  Four different cops shot him dead.

Who runs from police at 35 miles per hour?  Who can't catch and stop someone going 35 miles per hour?
In Texas, if you have a gun, you must realize that the store keeper, the soccer mom, crossing guard, quarterback of the football team, the clergy and damn near everyone else are also well armed.  They sell guns in convenience stores.  You can buy one and rob them on the same visit.

On a happier note, but no less odd, I really love watching Glee.  I know, just shoot me.  I've come clean to my family and admitted I have a problem.  Last night I found myself just amazed at how terrific the two gay dudes were in their rendition of "Baby it's Cold outside".

What the fuck is wrong with me?  I can't even say the only reason I watch is because Brittany is so freaking hot and adoringly stupid and slutty although she certainly is all of those.

I spend far too much time alone during the week.  Thank god for the weekends, who knows what entertainment activities I might resort to.

Last weekend at the grocery store I passed the book shelf with sarah palin's disgustingly ugly mug (where did she get those hideous glasses?) staring at me and I stopped and turned every book around to hide her face.  I think she and her dysfunctional family represent nearly everything that is wrong with America today.  I think we should settle the 2012 election by dueling.  That way the losers would really go away.  Not like we don't have extra weapons available.  We run out they could have it in Texas.

I think obama is done like overcooked chicken.  The only differences I see between him and george are the ability to speak semi intelligently and that aretha franklin didn't sing at bush's inauguration.  I mean, yes, that's pretty tongue in cheek but "change", please, other than bailouts and health care, where is it, and the war/s, on and on and on.  I think we should reinstate the draft.  Imagine how many fuck you's, no way, not me, not my kid, marches in the streets we'd get.  I can speak from experience, that's how you stop a stupid, senseless, no win war.

Do you realize that if every president prior to obama had been black he would be the first white president?  Perspective can be quite odd, huh?

Then someone like karen carpenter could have sung at the inauguration except of course she's dead.

If only mama cass would have given her that ham sandwich they both would be alive today.

That Rachel chick can really belt out a ballad, yup, but for me it's all about a hot slutty girl who says shit like  "I made him a card that said 'heart attacks are just from loving too much" and "whenever I pray, I fall asleep".


I hope you all get your stocking stuffed and your gift wrapped for christmas.


That being said....

Keeping an eye out........

Back where it all began.

I don't know if my life has come full circle or if it has been shot out of a cannon which I guess if shot hard enough would put it in orbit or at least a full oval.

The words used to come so easy here, they'd swirl and flow and crash with all the momentum of a flash flood smashing off the walls of a narrow canyon. Changing the shape of everything in their path, sometimes ever so slowly, sometimes with a startling abruptness.

We ask each other, where do we think we would be were we not where we are? Impossible to answer of course but interesting to speculate. I think we usually decide that we would still be very close to where we once were. Maybe, maybe not, no way of knowing. Each of us maintaining our own inertia unaware that an outside influence was about to upend all that we awakened to each morning.

Enough of that.

I don't know why I came back over here, I suppose it comes from a rare check of my stat counter and seeing that a precious few still drop in on occasion. That plus some feeling of exposure at the "new" haunt that renders me less than forthright. Although in fact there are other issues that render me less than forthright. The early anonymity we all cloaked ourselves in was liberating wasn't it? I think, actually I know, that was a strong attraction to this venue in the first place. That place to put out there what we kept to ourselves in our "real" lives.

For me, and for several others I know, blogging became the new real life.

So yeah, my life now is the merging of the old real into the new real and it's been about as real as it can get the past three years or so. I'm back in the home that was once my reality and is now a very much shared reality. I didn't begin blogging here but it was only about four months after my start that I posted about moving into this place.

Little did I know.

It's been far from easy. For those of you who are contemplating, or in the beginning or middle of turning a dream into your new reality let me tell you, it takes a willingness to make sacrifices way outside your comfort zones. Difficult, agonizing decisions, family sacrifices, financial sacrifices for sure, career, legal, on and on.

And because of what sacrifices are required it takes longer than you imagined in the beginning of the process. Related of course to just how much has to be overcome to get where you want to be. But it doesn't seem that one sees many examples of two single, available, able, accessible and ready individuals who just say yup, let's do it, hire the movers and get on with it.

Those occurrences must come from match.com or eharmony. Yay for them but it doesn't make for a very exciting or dramatic story and I even wonder if those bonds adhere like the one that comes from a long, difficult, arduous journey, the kind that when you finally arrive at your destination you just sit back all wildly wide eyed and sigh out a holy shit, if we knew it would be this long and hard would we have even taken it on?

Yes we would have, because the ultimate rewards have proven to be what we always thought they could be, would be. All that and more. And the trip to get "home"? A never ending source of conversation and wonder and amazement. The bad, hardest, most discouraging parts worn like battle scars of the wounds you incurred in each battle along the way and that you are proud to have endured and survived.

And the good parts, the sweet parts, turn that bond into the ultimate commitment. The one just about all of us have always wanted. And you don't let very many days go by without reminding yourself and each other how very fortunate you are to live it and how not cherishing and nourishing it would be the ultimate betrayal to another and to one's self.

It's like this Eva Longoria thing. Supposedly her star athlete husband has not consummated a physical relationship with the woman with whom he exchanged hundreds of texts of a sexual nature. It's still ruined isn't it? And she knows it, and I don't think she cares whether he hit it or not, it's no longer good enough. It's been spoiled, it can't be undone and it can't ever be the same again, that's why she went straight to filing for divorce, immediately, did not pass go. So did Brent Barry, the wronged husband of the other woman. Done, over, I don't care whether you fucked him or not. You can always do more, better, you can never, ever, undo anything.

Keeping it takes just as much care and attention and effort and is just as, if not even more important than all that it took to get to it.

Sometimes

she would sit up with her back straight against the headboard, sheet and knees drawn up and I'd hear the lighter click and that first intake of air and smoke and I knew she had been awake awhile, and she knew I would wake up and turn my face toward her and see the tips of her nipples pink visible from the glow of her cigarette. It would either be two or three or four, it didn't matter, when she woke she woke, and she did most every night. When it got too loud in her head and there could be no more pretending it was fitful sleep, or that it was dreaming. Sometimes she wanted comfort, sometimes she just wanted to be awake. We had grown accustomed to taking our sleep in shifts and even preferred it that way. For too long time together had to be stolen and together now we made the most out of sharing it. Maybe that thirty or forty or sixty minutes taken in the middle of the night was a way to keep stealing, to keep grabbing what we could, taking advantage of all opportunity. She'd smoke and stare at the geometric shadow shapes that came from light bouncing past windows to rest where the angles took it. It was easy to tell the ambient natural light from the yard and porch lights. It was softer and it moved throughout the night. It made no two nights the same and sometimes like tonight it lay shadows across her breasts or her face or the sheet covering her to the waist, barely. Tonight with her non smoking hand she traced the stripes slashed across the bright white sheet, then slipped the same fingertips just under where it was bunched low on her hips.

I couldn't see but I knew how she touched herself, how she would start out just resting her hand on her mound, letting her fingers lay just outside her lips. I knew she would soon ground out the cigarette and slip her other hand down to form a V with her fingers stretched straight, not moving yet, just applying the gentlest of pressure inwards to squeeze her lips together. Perhaps out of some necessity at some time she could pleasure herself with the slightest movements and only a hint of a change in her breathing. I knew she could sometimes let go in public, when the heat would overwhelm her, and cum with no one the wiser, except me. Squeezing her legs together, contracting her thighs, maybe it felt a lot like the squeezing she was doing now, god knows she knew her body. I wanted to know it as well and probably never would but I had learned fast and knew well the places I could take her that she couldn't take herself.

I could tell by the movement of her hands under the sheet that her fingers had splayed and were now parting the same lips that had been pressed together. She spoke for the first time, her voice a whisper in the room dead silent but for breathfalls and low humming house noises.
Do you love me? Like I do life.
Do you think I'm a good girl? The best good girl.
Not bad? The best sweet good girl.
And pretty? The prettiest girl, my prettiest, best good girl.

Her breathing had quickened, her words still a whisper, she had a whisper only I could hear.

And when I'm a sweet dirty girl, you love me then? I pushed the sheet down below my waist and showed her. This much.
When I open my legs like this and bury my fingers in my cunt, you love me then, you love that?
I placed my hand over hers, pressed, whispered, more, show me more.
She spread wider, wide open, we pressed our hands tight against her and I found her fingers with mine and we both slipped and slid in and out of her, fingers twined and hooked together, ball of my thumb on her clit making circles, moving it around and around.

We took her that way, til she lifted her hips and ground against our hands, we milked her and let it slick our fingers and her thighs. Her eyes rolled back like they do when she cums and her mouth falls slack and I almost always have a handful of hair when she goes over, holding it back so I can see her eyes and face, holding tight to claim her, fingers knotted tight, tighter as she cums.

She fell still, we held hands between her legs in the wet, played in it, she dozed after awhile, I let her catnap, wide awake watching and feeling her, let her have a few minutes.

We both knew that in twenty thirty forty minutes she would wake and see my face next to hers and I'd say hi baby and her hand would find just what she expected to find and she'd wrap fingers and wait for that quick head bobbing nod I do and we'd be awake longer this time.

Getting to later

First she had him unplug the cable box so she couldn't see what time it was when she woke in the middle of the night as she so often did. Those damn bright yellowish numbers that screamed out 2:12 or 3:17, not like the clock face that felt more like a little after two or a little before three.

2:13 now, like that, impossible not to stare and then open your eyes to look again, see how much time has passed. I don't want it to pass she said, I want it to just be now. Later, after she couldn't see time, she had him unplug the ticking bedside clock so she couldn't hear it.

He could never hold her close enough for either of them, it was like she was trying to climb inside him and he was trying to let her. It had been so long since he'd slept with anyone he didn't even mind when his arm or leg was pinned and uncomfortable, it just served as confirmation she was there. Together they had found their now and he promised her he would show her later wasn't something to be afraid of. He couldn't unhaunt her past but he could hold her shakes until they crawled back to where they came from, love her back to now.

Time doesn't count in bed she'd say. It stops, we don't get any older or sick and there isn't room for anything to get between us. But it has to be completely dark, so dark we can barely see each other. She said she wanted to go to that place where it stays dark for six months, that would be such a long, long now. And when he'd ask her what about eating she'd say no, you eat lots before you go to bed like a bear and live off the fat, plus your metabolism slows way down. Can you have sex he asked? Oh yes, sex, lots of sex she said, you have to have lots of that. So you don't get bed sores and to prevent muscle atrophy, preferably in lots of different positions so all the muscle groups get exercised.

In that kind of darkness, with that kind of closeness, he could feel her words as much as he could hear them, feel them against his chest with his chin resting on the top of her head. She raised her head the way she did when she was going to ask a question, said, would it be OK if we shut the door? Afraid someone's gonna come in he asked.

No, just want to make sure nothing can get out. He didn't think she could see him in the dark but she watched anyway and was right there waiting when he got back. I locked it he said. She pulled the comforter up over our heads and he could feel her say, I knew you would.

I awoke from a very vivid dream this morning. This is far from the dream I had but it did inspire this little piece of imagery.

What sweeter seduction than the one that shouldn't be? The one unplanned, uncharted, unexpected.

She was his daughter's friend, had been for many years. He remembered her back when she was gangly, stick thin with a quiet soft spoken voice in the crowd of shrieks and giggles. After college he had gotten her an interview for an international relations position, her field. She had blown it. He was later told by the interviewer that it wouldn't have taken much to say yes, she had all the creditionals. She just couldn't get him to yes. And she shouldn't be able to get him there either. Not to yes, not even to maybe. He had never given her a single lascivious thought. She wasn't the type for that, not from him. There were friends in the group, one in particular, who were bubbly and girly flirty but not Mo. Studious, reserved Mo participating from a step away, the one always in the back row in the group photos. The one whose jeans weren't so tight, whose skirts weren't so short. Pretty and feminine with only a slightly weakened chin robbing her of classic beauty. More understated than plain and not bold enough for flash.

Other than the interview when he coached her in his office before going in, obviously not coaching her well enough, the only time he saw her as an adult was at a special occasion. Birthdays or weddings usually. He remembered her at his daughter's wedding in her bridesmaid's dress that was silvery blue, there with her then husband who was to leave her five years later because he said the committment just didn't feel right to him. She was crushed, then picked herself up, managed to keep the house they had only recently acquired, and the last he had heard had delved into the dating scene with some success and more than her share of attention. She had apparently honed her interviewing skills and was doing quite well in her quiet self effacing manner, working as a third world sourcing consultant for a company that made some kind of huge off road construction vehicles. She was well on her way to recovery from the harshest of relationship demise, not fighting or cheating, but having someone look her in the eye and say the words, just come out with them, I do not love you. When she was making a home, and wanting a baby. Learning she wasn't loved, that her best wasn't good enough, not for him anyway. I think now she was just about to accept the faith that she was good enough for somebody and more than good enough for most. Even her confidence was quiet and understated but she was standing a little taller and sitting a little straighter than the last time I had seen her and I was taken off guard when she almost shyly flashed me her first adult smile. The first one I had seen at any rate. Not a flirt, not a come hither, just a smile that recognized me as someone other than a friend's father. We held it too long, by a fraction of a second, only a fraction. One of those moments that really shouldn't mean much but the breath gets caught and held anyway because it feels as if something important has just transpired. No jolt, no drama just enough of a something that you find yourself watching for it again. Not wanting to create or lure or provoke, just wondering what that was, if anything, and wondering if it will happen again. It did.

It wasn't cross room glances, more of a cross room awareness, when you just know where someone is, even better, when you know where each other is. There were other revelers but they weren't among them so it was in no way chemically induced, not those chemicals anyway. And it wasn't about to be, a gentleman doesn't drink for the courage to seduce one of his daughter's friends, and anyway a buzz would have been cheap substitute for what felt like something sitting on a warming dish. Or in the sun. Most didn't take notice, later, when they gravitated by chance, or not, into their first adult conversation about Mexican government subsidized manufacturing centers, cities raised where none were. And maybe it registered with some when she lifted some confection to his mouth wanting him to taste of something that she was yumming over, and certainly with a few more when she with the tip of her index finger wiped a sugary sparkle from the corner of his mouth. And if caught and held breath can be detected it certainly would have been. The silent soft sighs that follow such caught breath came simultaneously and once again they drifted uneasily apart after an interruption of one of them by someone, he couldn't even remember who, only that it was an interruption that felt everything but welcomed by either of them.

This time the awareness was punctuated by glances and shy smiles. He knew that was all for now, it was already feeling like an inflating balloon in the room floating above like something a child had released not so unintentionally. It was up to him to check and gather himself, direct his attention elsewhere, most of it anyway, or at least some of it, and he did so while never losing sight or awareness of her.

When she slowed and turned to look back at him, a longer glance this time, over her shoulder, just before she passed through the open door, he felt like he had just awakened from a dream that was going to sadly fade.

I want a storm tonight

and I think I'm going to get one. The map has a lot of red, I want some red, some red with that yellow blobbed around it like a loopy topo map with lots of green just behind. I want to hear the red boom and see the yellow bolt, let the green soak my head and hair and drip from my nose and chin and down my bare body in the dark. I want that kind of start to this week. Only one year in the last six have I not seen magic during this third week of September, this end of summer week. I'll see and feel magic again this week. This will another one of those special weeks in the Septembers of my life and maybe, just maybe, it will be the first week of the rest of my life and not just the next week of the rest of my life. I already know I'll stare love in the face and get a heart piercing. I know I'll hold softness and rub up against joy the way a cat arches and leans against your leg

Whatever else the week may bring, it will bring that, and that is already more than enough. More than more than enough is just........more. Not that I couldn't use a little more, I'm growing weary of less, but it will come as it comes. I wouldn't trade any of what I have for anything I don't.

But tonight I want a storm and I think I hear some red. Maybe it's my storm before my calm.

Driving thru the old neighborhood

You ever do that? Go back to a place that was once home? The trees always look bigger don't they? Even though it's been vacant here the furniture is all in place and all the momentos are still on the shelves and tucked away in the closets so it still feels like home.

I had many beginnings here. It's like a door that was opened for me, maybe more like a big picture window that faced a direction I hadn't looked before. You don't hear that term anymore, picture window, those huge double paned panels of glass that looked out the front of your world.

I never had the heart to shut this place down, it's like a personal museum that I still come and browse occasionally. There are many beginnings here, the beginnings of what are now constants in my life. Many who have commented here are now gone, visitors for awhile, moving on or moving out. I believe people are less enamoured with this medium, the honeymoon may be over but it remains an integral part of many of our lives. It's not about frequency or quantity, it's about the connection to a community unlike any other. I devote considerable less time to the effort but it's no less important to me. I think you pass the passion of comment counting and settle into a cadre of people that remain with you, people that you don't brood about if you don't see or hear from them for a few days, people you trust to be there, who never go very far away. Five or six or eight of those far outweigh any comment count.

I've found friends and lovers here, in this very spot. I've aroused and been aroused here, barked and howled and lamented, laughed and have been saddened and gladdened. I miss it here sometimes because I was a freer bird here, more uninhibited, occasionally even a freak flag flyer. I talked about how I want to love and touch and be touched and how running a palm softly down the coutours of a woman I love is a thing of joy and bliss and beauty. I have a photo of my lover that takes my breath away, in it she lays bare on her left side, the rise and swell of waist to hip and her perfect pear shaped ass is art to me, like a perfectly formed vase, in utility is beauty. Her form most certainly follows her functions. I can touch her for hours and have.

I think love is very simple. It may be surrounded with complexities and confoundedness but in essence it's quite simple. To never tire of being with someone, to have them be your choice of companions, to never tire of talking to them about anything, everything, and to never tire of touching them and being touched by them. I think that keeps the vessel full. I'm not sure how and why something so simple gets fraught with difficulties, there are many reasons I suppose.

If I always want to be with you, always want to communicate with you, always want to touch you and be touched by you, then isn't it just a matter of maintenance and care? And maybe most important, perhaps even more important than what you do, is what you don't do. You are bridged to each other and a bridge burnt can almost never be rebuilt. Enough get burned and the foundation crumbles and you can't bridge the gaps.

Oversimplification? Maybe. But maybe we make it harder than it needs to be with all the debris that floats around bumping and banging into the pillars, eroding the strength of what was once firm and solid.

Like bridges over troubled waters.

I'm moving

to a new location, something with a bigger back yard and a furnished basement with a bar and a love swing.

This space for rent

All appliances stay

It's a wonderful home I tell ya, I was very happy here

Here is my new address

Hope to see you in the new neighborhood

Happy Halloween

I met my first wife on Halloween and frankly this holiday has always frightened me which seems somehow appropriate. I donned my mask first thing this morning in the spirit of the day, however. The last time I went to a costume party I was Dracula which was great fun as I'm kind of into the vampire thing. Dracula always has really hot chicks with low cut gowns around and they all seem to have a suck my neck, fuck me look, both of which are high on my list. That's another cool thing about being Dracula, you can dress your woman as Bride of Dracula, essentially maul and mark each other before the party, and everyone will compliment you on what a great job you did with your make-up. Those fang marks look so real. Uh huh. The last Dracula movie was really hot, much hotter than Michael Landon as a werewolf which I think he played one time. Michael Landon and Dracula are both dead but the similarities end there. Dracula isn't into to all that hair, it gets caught in your fangs during blood sucking. Plus, Dracula wouldn't be caught dead, even though he is dead, in tights like all the new super heros of the day, Spider Man and Batman et al. It's hard to beat a basic black cape for sex appeal and it goes so well with a rivulet of blood at the corner of the mouth.

That blood looks so real.

Kat update

a very brave little boy should be home for Christmas.