Looking for you outside the nightclub...
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Posted:Apr 5, 2018 5:30 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1519 Views
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The meeting was for nine; I pulled into the parking lot at forty-. I was listening to some classic French pop songs on a CD. I turned the music down and looked around at the mostly empty parking lot. I wondered if the club was open? I looked up at the red and blue lights highlighting the name on the surface of the wall high above me. Another car pulled up to park, but, I didn’t see any get out.
So I waited. I was looking for your new white car, but wasn’t sure if you were coming in your husband’s black truck. I looked around the lot. I combed my hair while looking in the rear view mirror. I think you said I needed inches cut off when we were on the noisy dance floor last week. I had ear plugs in, and just nodded. My mother was always telling me to ‘get a haircut!’ So, I’m used to the admonition.
I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel. I was thinking that I haven’t had any sexual adventures this summer compared to the summer of 2015. But I’ll let that be ‘more mystery, and less history’ for now. This season it’s the bland leading the bland. Or, is it ‘let them eat fake?’
I love being lost on the dance floor and getting into the music and not thinking of some of the hum drum aspects of everyday drudge. To float on sounds on a grey tile floor with flashing lights and …an ‘I forgot what I was going to say’ moment. Or “I forgot what I was worrying about” coming into coniousness like an epiphany. Religion may be the opiate of some people, but some of us act like ‘shakers’ to get that divine feeling.
The clock struck nine, and I saw people head toward the door. A woman went by in clickety-clack high heels. So, I went inside to find you.
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Oral Sex - One Woman's View
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Posted:Apr 1, 2018 5:24 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1883 Views
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FELLATIO
Ah, sucking dick. For the penis owner, it's a wonderful thing. For the mouth owner, it can also be a wonderful thing. Getting off and hearing/making somebody get off are both awesome, and when it's done conscientiously, it will be remembered and cherished for many many masturbatory sessions to come. Heh. Come. I just made a pun there.
There are quite a few women, however, that have gone on a bit of a strike against the kind of gleeful and free head-giving days of yore. Often, I am confronted with angry males regarding this, and I always wind up giving the same advice. Here, you get it for free, and it's all anonymous and stuff. Put it into practice, and you'll be GOLDEN.
Boys:
1) Landscape, please. You see, while there are loads of women who depilate their crotchal regions by razor, epilady (*shudder*), hot wax, and Nair, not so many guys do the same thing unless their genitals are on display for the whole wide world to see. This must be stopped. I'm not saying that it should ALL go away, and I understand that shaving one's scrotum is an endeavour NOT to be taken lightly, but a little pruning of the hedges is a really good idea. You see, hair comes out of its follicles at some very inopportune times.
Having one of those mile-long pubes stuck to the roof of the mouth waaay in the back of the throat can cause a bit of consternation and there's no beverage in the world that can dislodge that little fucker. Since the lovely noise of "HAAAAUUUUULK!!!! CHHHHHHHHHHHUUUULLLLLLAAAAAK!" tends to be less than sexy (and sometimes shatters the mood), do your part to prevent this type of hairball-horking. You'll find that if you prune the hedges a tad, your Area will get much more attention.
2) Unless requested, do NOT put your hands on the back of your partner's head and push. Ditto that for entwining the fingers in the hair and doing same. We like it when you touch us, and usually our heads are the only thing within reach. Touch our face, grab our hair, whatever you like. The second that you push our heads onto your cock, however, some of us may have flashbacks to Unpleasant Experiences, and it may even be bad enough to cause us to put a stop to that fabulous suckjob you were just enjoying. Granted, if she says she wants you to throatfuck her, you go right ahead. But again, this is a *specific request*. If it is not made, just play nice and enjoy the ride.
3) A little warning, please! When you are going to shoot your load, it is The Law Of The Land that you inform us. If you do not, you risk being fired, being snowballed, or having other unspeakable things done to you. (Also, it is especially important that you do NOT shove the back of our head when you make this announcement. REALLY fucking important. Got it, Chief?) Talk to god or the FSM, say your partner's name in that sexy "oh-holy-shit" voice, but Let. Us. Know. It gives us time to decide if we're going to want it in our mouth, on our tits, in our hair, or shooting across the room to see if you can hit the wall this time. And it's polite.
4) It's NOT a Fine White Wine. A lot of boys talk to me about the fact that nobody ever wants to let the ejaculate in their mouth. "Why not?", they whinge. I'll tell you. The diet of the average penis-owner is fucking wretched, especially should you happen to be American as well. High sodium, loads of red meat and coffee, and just not nearly enough potassium. Your partner won't let you come in their mouth? Do yourself a favour, killer.
Next time you're throwing the Spam Javelin and you get some shpoo on your hand, have a nice lick. (This only makes you gay if you lick somebody *else's* blooge, not your own. You're performing a scientific experiment. If it makes you feel better, say out loud in your best Dexter voice, "It's a BEEYOOTEEful day for science!") As a matter of fact, I double dare you to do it. Now, would you want to give a mouthful of THAT to somebody who's being nice enough to you that they're going to suck your dick? Really. So...cut down on the salt intake, go for the chicken for a while, and no coffee. Have some nice pineapple juice, a ham steak, bananas. Potassium is the friend of the semen. If you're lacking, so will your taste be. Instead of the usual Bleach & Oyster Stew, serve up something a little less vile. Your partner will thank you for it.
5) No matter where you came, kiss us afterwards. Unless your partner says, "omg no way lemme rinse first where's the goddamn Listerine???" and starts singing Tarzan Boy as they run to the bathroom, you should be polite enough to give us a hearty Thank You kiss for a job well done. I mean, after YOU get done with US, the first thing you do is come up to the surface and shove your tongue down our throat. Let us do the same to you. Fair's fair.
Girls:
1) How many times do we have to tell you NO FUCKING TEETH ALREADY! I don't even think I should have to elaborate, but I keep hearing about egregious ignorance of this rule. You don't want somebody to chew on YOUR special bits, do you??? Stop it. It's not nice. You learned in preschool that biting is bad. Now that you're an adult, you should know that not ALL biting is bad, but that biting peepees is still totally against the rules. You don't wish to get a reputation as The Shredder, do you? Then sheathe those fucking things already. Jebus!
2) Testicles. They want your attention. It's RUDE that you don't give it to them. There they are, innocently hangin' there, conveniently placed, and you ignore them??? Now come on. They won't hurt you! They're hearing all sorts of good things about you from their friend the penis. Why are you going to leave them out of your reindeer games??? Give them a little fondle with your hand (y'know, the one that's NOT wrapped around the penis or gripping your partner's incredibly fabulous ass), show them around the inside of your mouth, batter them a little bit with your tongue! See? It's fun! And oh, the noises you'll get out of your partner! Woohoo!
3) Know your limits. If you can't deep throat and you KNOW this, then don't even try to show off. Especially not in a first encounter. It will go very badly. If it's a skill that you wish to learn, and you have a willing study partner, then by all means coat the bed in plastic and go to town! However, it's only polite to NOT attempt those tricks at home that you've seen performed by hardly trained professionals. Gagging is only hot when both people are going for that, and not too many folks are into being puked on. Remember, I'm not talking about pros, here. I'm talking about civillians, people who DON'T give blowjobs for a living. Don't choke on the cock. Stomach acid can sting, and vomiting on an unsuspecting partner is definitely giving more than anyone bargained for.
4) Oh, stop making that face. If you don't want to be giving head in the first place, then you should say so and find another way to get him off. If you encouraged him to come in your mouth, then you are only allowed a slight grimace at the taste as you swallow (and point your face down, please, so he doesn't get a complex about it). After that, of course, you may begin singing Tarzan Boy and run for the Listerine, but until that point, play nice. You wouldn't want him to make a face like that after he'd just eaten YOU, would you? You'd probably go right home and cry, wouldn't you?
5) It's not indestructible. It's a penis. A part of the anatomy. Sometimes it'll have some foreskin, in which case, you need to be REALLY GODDAMN CAREFUL because the head is going to be about a million times more sensitive than the crew-neck brigade, because it's not been rubbed by boxer shorts, jeans, and every other damn thing under the sun. Feel how soft the skin is? It wants to be treated somewhat gently. There's all that blood in there making it swollen, and the nerve endings are on Orange Alert. If he wants something a bit rougher, he'll let you know. Also, you can gradually get more enthusiastic with your ministrations as the BJ goes on, but you should be listening carefully for ANY clue that what you're doing might be painful. If you're not sure what else to do, hum or moan with his cock inside your mouth. It's sometimes called "a hummer" for a reason, and the vibrations are soothing in a lovely sort of way.
BOTH OF YOU: Communication is key. Talk. Tell your partner what you want, or how much you really like what they're doing, or something else you'd love for them to do if you need to distract them from an action that isn't working for you. Look each other in the eye (well, as much as you can from that angle without giving yourself an eyeball cramp). It's hot. Totally.
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Why Millenials Might Be Having Less Sex Than Their Parents
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Posted:Apr 1, 2018 5:15 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1539 Views
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A new study suggesting millennials will have fewer sex partners than Boomers got everyone talking about indifferent twentysomethings and their sexed-up parents, but the truth may be even more shocking: a separate study found almost half of twentysomethings have not had sex at all in the last year.
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Before we get to the not-so dirty details, let’s back up: the recent study of over 33,000 people published in the Archives of Sexual Behavior measured the collective number of sex partners of entire age groups — and it included a complex statistical analysis that projected how many partners millennials would have by the time they hit middle age.
“If the millennials do something very different as they get older, say they decide they’re going to have a lot of sexual partners in their 40s, then yes this number could end up looking different in 10 years,” says Jean Twenge, author of Generation Me and one of the original authors of the study. “But that would be unusual.” The study found that millennials were likely to have had an average of about 8 partners, while Boomers were more likely to have had 10 or 11.
But if millennials are going to keep sowing their wild oats into middle age, another recent study suggests they’ll need to up their game: less than 7% of 20-somethings have sex 2-5 times per week, according to data from online dating service Match, and 49% of people in their 20s have not had sex at all in the past year.
Even more shocking? The study says one in three 20-somethings have never had sex at all. “You’d think they’d be focused on sleeping around, but really what they’re focused on is getting ahead,” explains Dr. Helen Fisher, a biological anthropologist at Rutgers University and Chief Scientific Advisor for Match. “In their 20s I think they’re working very hard. There’s something to be said for the fact that they may be taking relationships and commitment more seriously.”
That seriousness is reflected in the way millennials calculate risky behavior, which is a big part of sexual activity. “This is a generation that has grown up with an awareness of HIV/AIDS,” explains Jeffrey Arnett a research professor at Clark University and author of Adolescence and Emerging Adulthood. “When the boomers were in their heyday, that didn’t exist and it seemed like free love was a good idea.” He also notes that millennials are much more likely to use condoms than boomers ever were.
Arnett says millennials may see their elders’ licentious behavior as a cautionary tale. “It’s not only that they have fewer sexual partners than the baby boomers did, but they also drink less, they smoke less, the crime rate is half now than it was 20 years ago, teenage pregnancy has plummeted—it’s part of this broader pattern of less risky behavior,” he explains. Millenials are also less happy.
“It could be that the saw the consequences of not following the rules—high divorce rates, drug addiction, and a lot of teenage pregnancy and so on, and there are many of them who have grown up to be more conservative in terms of some of their own social behavior.”
Paradoxically, it also could be that increasingly lax attitudes about premarital sex make it well, a little less sexy. In the ’60s and ’70s, having premarital sex felt like breaking a taboo for someone you loved, Arnett explains: “it was a daring thing to do.” Today? It’s just something Mom and Dad used to do.
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Sketch Every Day
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Posted:Mar 29, 2018 7:36 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1329 Views
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Drawing of a woman on a leash...
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Saturday Night - Sunday Morning
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Posted:Mar 27, 2018 1:13 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1972 Views
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It was a dark and stormy night as I drove down River Street next to the trolley tracks into Milton. I went over the river, and through the woods with the radio on. I was going to meet a man who was Dominant, and had put a personal ad online. He wanted a 'submissive cocksucker' who would dress in sexy lingerie. He would 'train' some to do things the way he liked. I answered. Because his ad was so detailed, I decided to include my ph number in the first email, along with a small picture of me 'dressed' in a black strapless bra, black women's underpants, and black thigh high fishnets with red 'fuck me' pumps. My ph rang very soon after I sent the reply, his voice sounded deep and mauline. He said he liked what I wrote, and he liked my picture.
He said he was going to be unavailable for weeks, after tonight, so....would I see him tonight. I had to get ready, I asked him to call back. He did, and I said, "yes." I got my bag together with an all black outfit, and left my house at o'clock to make sure I got to his house by nine.
I had an aluminum box-clip board with my detailed directions from online maps. I did not want to get lost. I was driving down the highway south that I had taken to teach drawing classes in the past, so I felt comfortable in the setting summer sunlight on Route 3 South. I was listening to a CD of the Argentinian band 'Soda Sterno' -- and thought of the singer who was in fell into a coma night after a concert when he was fifty old, and then lived that way for more and died. Requieat in pace et in amore. So, I must enjoy myself while I may....
I found the twisty, turny road a little confusing, but...then I'd come to a street name that was on my list. I found his development and drove over the speed bumps he told me about. Then, into the parking space for guests -- a barked from and open upstairs window, and a woman glared at me through a reen door across the drive as I walked to the path. Well, I was a 'visitor' that's were my friend said to park. I saw the door number, and pushed the bell. After a moment the door opened.
"You're early," he said, eyes opened wide.
I shrugged. "Sorry, I guess I planned for an hour drive. What time is it?" I stepped inside. He had a big house and I could see a large reen in a room with a couch. "I can dress. Do you have to take a shower?" I could see he was in a t-shirt, and sweat pants. "I can sit and wait on the couch," I volunteered.
"You can change in the upstairs bedroom," he lead me up the stairs. I was nervous, but excited. I had found the place, and met the man. He did not ask me to leave, even as I came to the door with a dress shirt, tie, black jeans and a baseball hat. My long hair was hidden in a bun. He had asked on the ph if I wanted to come in the door without him seeing me in 'civilian' street clothes. I could 'dress' and he would only see me 'en fem.' I said, no. I wanted to shake his hand and look him in the eye when I crossed his threshold into his home.
There I was in the bedroom unpacking my backpack and dressing like a girl. I had black panties, a black bra, black thigh high stockings, a danceskin with a oop neck, red heels, and a black skirt. I had even grabbed a black cape - to be goth. I had some sunglasses I stuck in my neckline. I went down the stairs with my male clothes in my backpack, and my high shoes in my hand so I wouldn't stumble in the dark, and on the rug. I went to the large living room with the huge reen showing women feeling each other. Some ethereal music was ing.
I could hear the shower. I looked through my purse for some lipstick - I had to look carefully in the light for the red. I do have some green lipstick I got for dressing like a witch at Halloween. I looked around for a mirror. I didn't see , so, I just put the lipstick on carefully in the middle, and then kissed my lips together. The Master had said on the ph he wanted me to wear lipstick. So, I did.
He came through the hall past the raised dinning area with a large table and a laptop at the end. He had on a white bathrobe, and his glasses. He was in his bare feet, and taller than me - he wrote that he was feet . I'm a little foot . A tall Master, and a little sub.
"So, are you ready to begin?" he asked me.
I was balancing with my arms out near the window and an end table in the thick carpet.
"Yes," I said enthusiastically. I wanted to do this. I had the cape and swirled it around me and stepped past him to the step up to the dinning room, with a doorway. I could cross that threshold.
"So," he said seriously. "You know I don't want to do anything degrading, or humiliating, or painful."
"Yeah, I'm ready to be submissive, but, I don't want to be insulted, or told I don't look to good, or ....." I trailed off.
"I won't do anything like that, " he said reassuringly. I was taller standing on the step, and with my heals, so I was looking in his eyes. He was hst. He had blonde hair cut short on the sides with a little combed up in waves on top. He had glasses, but I could see his blue eyes. He had a nice square shape to his clean shaved face, and was fairly in shape. I liked him.
The room was inviting. There was a large couch, with a desk and chair behind. That's were I put my backpack. I left my di of soft Spanish Classical Guitar in my bag. He had on good music. The windows along the back wall had long blinds, maybe it was a sliding glass door to a patio, or something. The center was the very large video reen, with just videos of women together. The sound system was very good.
So I stepped down to begin our in his living room arena. "Stand over here," he pointed near the end of the couch near the window, "facing away from me." He took off the bathrobe and stood there in skimpy underpants. "Take off the cape, that's not going to work."
I walked over to where he told me to stand and faced the windows in the dim light. There were a few lamps around the room, but everything seem to be turned low. The television provided a flicker. I untied the long black cape, and flung it dramatically over the back of the couch. I stood expectantly, curious about what he wanted to do, but calm, because, he was running the show. I was an actor, and he was the director.
He was behind me and lifted up my skirt and felt my behind. "You will only speak when spoken to. You will address me as 'Sir.' Is that clear?" he said calmly. His voice was pleasant.
"Yes, Sir," I said obediently. At least I wouldn't have to struggle to come up with things to keep the conversation going. I looked at the long blinds as blue lights flashed from the video reen. The music was a kind of strange 'house' rhythm with sexual overts. I felt relaxed, but excited. He turned toward the video reen.
"Stand right behind me," he said.
He was taller than me, even if I had on inch high heels. He reached up to the back of his neck.
"I want you to start licking here, and go all the way down my spin, to the bottom."
"Yes, Sir."
I thought I knew where this was going. My tongue was heading for his ass. I was the humiliated submissive. But, that's why I came. So, I started licking slowly down his spin. I did feel sensuous, and stimulated. My hands were gently holding onto his sides so I wouldn't fall off my heels. I got down to the bottom and the elastic string of the skimpy thong he had on.
"Now, lick my cheeks."
"Yes, Sir."
I licked along side of his ass cheek, and then over to the other. Back and forth, each time a little closer to the center, and the thong string elastic. "Lick in the middle"
I pulled the string aside and slide my tongue deeper between his ass cheeks and felt the soft tissue. I was licking his asshole. I was a submissive bottom on my knees dressed like a woman and kissing my Masters behind. I felt a little humiliated. But, not much. Who was I hurting? No . This was between me and him, and for a little while, at least to begin with. We were ing. So what. He had just taken a shower.
He was facing the video reen, watching the girls wiggle and . He moan a few times. I closed my eyes and licked away. When he pushed back, I stuck my tongue in more. To myself I said, "In for a penny, in for a pound."
We seemed to do it for a while. I started to just concentrate, and stop thinking about other things, and got into the physical feeling. My Master made approving sounds and told me it felt good. I felt proud. I was a good little sub, who could bring pleasure. I was a submissive ass licker for my gently dominant Master. I felt comfortable.
He turned around and presented me with his cock in a thong or cod piece, or whatever. I went to touch to pull it off.
"No," he said firmly. "Not yet. Lick my thighs."
So, I licked either side of his thighs, my tongue brushing along the sparse hair, and my mouth brushing against the fabric of the prick in the underwear as I went back and forth. It was hanging down heavily. I had not seen his prick yet. Only in pictures.
He pulled his cock out, and took the underwear off stepping from foot to the other on the rug, his prick dangling inches from my face. I was on my knees, and he stood before me and moved his prick to my lips. The moment of truth. I opened my mouth, and stuck out my tongue to just touch the tip. Electricity. What a feeling.
His prick liked me, and was dangling down, growing. I put my lips around the mushroom head and licked around and around and around. He moaned. Master liked it. I was a good submissive cocksucker. I love giving pleasure.
Back and forth, fast and slow, in and out. I loved seeing his prick up close. I liked cupping his balls with hand and holding the base of his cock tightly in the other hand while sucking the head. I know enough to simply always keep my teeth covered with my lips while putting a prick in my mouth. The 'secret' to pleasant oral sex with a man.
He sat down on the couch with his legs spread and his prick sticking in the air. I sat between his legs. I sucked some more. Up and down, side to side. Lots of action. For a long time I was sliding up and down. His hard prick felt so smooth an warm, and alive. I loved the feeling of sucking him, and hearing him make approving sounds. He had his hands across his chest, and didn't push my head down, or guide me. He did tell me to do things.
His long legs were stretched out on either side of me as I was on my hands and knees with his hard erection stuck in my mouth. He reached over and got a bottle of oil and put it on his prick, and put some on my hands. He wanted me to squeeze him tight and with it for a while. So, I did. Up and down, slip and slide. His prick glistened.
"Now take the head in your mouth," he told me. So, I took the prick in my mouth while squeezing and jerking the shaft hard. "Harder!" he said.
"Yes, Sir!" I stroked hard and licked around the head and felt a salty taste. My Master was coming in my mouth. I felt like a successful cocksucker. With the intensity of his orgasm he suddenly froze.
"Stop!" he said. I still held his dick in my hand, but very gently eased off pressure. I didn't move. I let him enjoy the moment. Seconds passed. Was it a minute. He opened his eyes.
"That was so good. Thank you."
"You welcome, Master."
I was so happy to please. I stood up and straightened out my clothes. I took off my high heels and stepped back. I sensed the 'ene' had ended.
"Shows over Synergy," I said.
"What's that?" he was going to the computer at the dinning room table as I put my shoes in my back pack.
"The line is from an old 'girls' cartoon - 'Jem' were a plain girl used a sophisticated computer to project holograms. When her transformation was over Jem would say, 'Shows over synergy.' I liked the realistic drawings and backgrounds."
I was packing my back, and taking my girl clothes off. I was back in my black jeans.
He called from the dinning room table. "I found some Jem videos on Youtube. They also say there is going to be a movie." I could hear the Jem theme song ing from the laptop. "Jem...is truly outrageous....No else is the same, Jem is my name."
Our session was over, so I could be my chatterbox self again. He said we should get together again, and that we had each other's ph number, and email. I liked being with him, and, I think he liked being with me. I dressed in my 'male' neutral clothes, but couldn't find my clip on tie buried in the bottom of my back pack. I put my flat shoes on, and shock his hand, and was out in my car in the cool night air.
I was glad we had a successful 'date.' I drove home happily thinking about what we had d, and how I had been a submissive CD bottom without any problems. I had my music on again, and was thinking of the man I had just pleased. I wanted to do that again. I knew I'd have sweet dreams.
Xenagogue Vicene
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Craigslist drops personal ads due to sex trafficking bill
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Posted:Mar 27, 2018 12:53 pm
Last Updated:May 23, 2024 8:33 am
1863 Views
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Craigslist drops personal ads due to sex trafficking bill - by Lia Eustachewich (New York Post) 23 March 2018
Craigslist has yanked its personal ads section in the wake of an anti-online sex trafficking bill that passed in Congress this week.
The Allow States and Victims to Fight Online Sex Trafficking Act, or FOSTA, makes websites criminally liable for content that its users post, including ads and sex-trafficking content.
Craigslist -- whose personals include bawdy categories such as casual encounters -- said it pulled ads because it wasn't worth running afoul of the new law.
"Any tool or can be misused," the website said in a statement. "We can't take such risk without jeopardizing all our other s, so we are regretfully taking craigslist personals offline. Hopefully we can bring them back some day."
It added, "To the millions of spouses, partners, and couples who met through craigslist, we wish you every happiness!"
Reddit also banned sex-worker subreddits, including s, Male s, Hookers and Daddy, shortly after the bill was passed.
Previously, websites like Craigslist faced broad protections from legal liability for user-posted content.
FOSTA has been criticized by some lawmakers and sex workers for making it harder to combat sex trafficking.
"The failure to understand the technological side effects of this bill -- specifically that it will become harder to expose sex-traffickers, while hamstringing innovation -- will be something that this Congress will regret," Sen. Ron Wyden (D-Oregon) told CNN earlier this month.
Wyden and Sen. Rand Paul (R-Kentucky) voted against FOSTA, which passed 7-2 in the Senate on Wednesday. It is likely to be signed into law by President Trump.
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A Rhythmic Connection - My Night at a Suburban Boston Dance Club – 14 Aug 2014
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Posted:Aug 16, 2014 5:20 pm
Last Updated:Aug 18, 2014 3:55 am
9076 Views
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I laid out my clothes on my bed. Dancing shoes with some doctor's gel soles to comfort my soul while prancing. Plain black men's dress shoes. Black pants with pleats and a crease. A simple black belt with a grey buckle. An auburn shirt with a collar. A grey tie with subtle lines at right angles – like a technical drawing – hardly visible.
I was pushing myself to go out. I was happily skating around the house listening to music and looking at my desktop with a slide show playing. Too happy at home entertaining myself. Out, out!
I like being able to meet people online. Special interests require a special search. A general interest 'boy meets girl' night club is not always the place to look for that strange flavor when you tire of vanilla.
I had just sent a second email to a person I had contacted online. Our mutual interests shall be explored. I had sent my home phone number. But, I felt some panic. What if my phone rang right away. We had seen each others pictures, there was a long ad, I sent a fairly detailed response with a picture. Mutual inclination.
I had gone out to 'Vincent's' night club in Randolph, a suburb just south of Boston, two weeks ago with a woman friend. I live right on the edge of the city, and a downtown club would be the same distance to drive, about eight miles. I like the feel of the city, but the search for parking brings a tedious tour of the narrow one way streets. The parking in the suburban 'big box' function facility with the dance club is free. So, to the suburbs I go. The crowd is a little more straight laced and 'average' looking than in a downtown club, or a music venue in Cambridge or Somerville across the river. But one never knows who one will bump into. Suburbs have their exotic secrets.
A night club with dancing is like a primitive human's bonfire at night to celebrate a hunt with rhythmic dancing and chanting to drumming when all are well fed and in a happy mood. What a feeling of group solidarity – part of a successful herd that hunts and gathers enough for all. Well fed people should be dancing every night. I do. How can people listen to music and not move?
So, my clothes were laid out, and I wanted to get out of my house to avoid answering the phone. I told myself to stop being an internet troll who roller blades and drives family members to appointments. Summer nights are for hunting passionate connections.
I had gone to Vincent's two weeks ago on a Thursday night with a woman friend. She is a longtime friend of my family, a 'Mary Poppins' to my , and like a sister to me. Dancing with her is like putting on a comfortable pair of slippers. Also, she is great to gossip with about people in the club, she likes to dance, and she is not jealous when I am looking at women around me dancing and not at her.
But staying home is always so easy. The summer evening was pleasant. My back door was open, a cool breeze came through the landing, and into my kitchen. I could just look at interesting people online. I could just watch a woman dancing – online. I could go outside and skate under the street lights to any song I wanted.
Vincent's club has a buffet as part of the admission price on Thursday nights. Since the place is attached to a big function hall with a kitchen for weddings and other gatherings they are able to provide a nice dinner. The cost for a male is seven dollars: women get in 'free.' Apparently the women are 'bait' for another species. The food may be a way to get women out of their homes on a Thursday night. I first started going to the club when I read an article in the 'Boston Globe' lifestyle section about 'Dating Over Forty' and local bars and clubs that were oriented to 'adult singles.' I was divorced and decided to stop drinking beer and dancing alone at home every night.
“What good is sitting alone in your room? Come hear the music play,” was in the musical Cabaret. That phrase comes into my head.
But, my hair is so long. Down to my shoulders, and slightly past. A 'classic rocker' aging without a haircut. During the cold winter I had bundled up and not really been thinking about my hair. I can get away with a long ponytail as a drawing teacher for adult education. Since spring and less clothing I have just let my hair grow. Longer and longer, I saw a 'Fractured Fairy Tale' on a Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoon with the story of Rapunzel. What would the male form of that name be?
As 8 o'clock showed on the clock above me on the wall I resolved to get dressed, and go out. I thought of putting my hair back in a neat business-like ponytail as I combed my hair in the mirror. Nope. “Let your 'freak flag' fly,” I said to myself as I got into my car. I wasn't going to a job interview. I was hunting in the night for....something. A rhythmic connection.
I listen to music often, every day. But, I am used to picking the songs I want to hear. At the club they play songs the DJ or someone thinks the audience will generally enjoy. So, there is a kind of 'top 40' or 'dance standard' feel to the songs. Hardly any songs that I would pick on my own, at home, dancing freely. But, if you want to clap along with the audience, you follow the crowd. Herd animals enjoy a group stomp.
One last look in the mirror, one last brush of my hair, my keys off the hook, and down the front steps and into my car. I was listening to an audio book of Samuel Butler's “The Way of All Flesh.” Some long words to begin a night with.
Route I93 South flowed quickly and I was down the highway, and in the club parking lot in ten minutes. I parked my car in the middle and looked up at the colored lights on the building highlighting the name: 'Vincent's.' I wondered who he was. Was there a real 'Vincent?' My guess, the bosses oldest .
A woman pulled up in a car next to me and got out walking toward the door. I walked up to the lone doorman. “Good evening,” I nodded and smiled. I paid the young woman at the ticket window seven single dollars and got a receipt. I handed the paper to a young woman at a lectern taking tickets. Into the large room I went. The music was booming: I had in my earplugs. There was no line for the food on the upper deck. Some people were dancing on the stone patterned gray dance floor. There's lots of space, like the parking lot.
The dance floor is in the middle of the bar with elevated areas on four sides. There are nice railings along two long sides of the rectangular area for people to stand facing the dance floor and feel like part of the action.
I got some leafy green vegetables, whole wheat rolls that were still warm, and a small baked potato. I found a stool toward the back and ate as I scanned the crowd. I saw some of the same people my friend and I had gossiped about two weeks earlier. The quiet serious faced girl who sat near the dance floor next to an older woman. She had tan skin and perhaps was hispanic. Looking at an older woman past sixty with a smear of lipstick and a flowered dress I thought of a Poe story that spoke of “paint begrimed belle dames making one last stab at beauty.” Why not?
Some older women walked by as I perched on my stool against the back bar counter which was closed. I glanced, they glanced. Would I get up enough courage to ask someone to dance? Maybe. But, I thought I had made an accomplishment by simply making it to the club and getting out of the house to meet someone. I only looked at my cellphone to check the time. Although, I saw an internet connection pop up for Vincent's. I tried a password – Vincents – to see if I could get online. I couldn't. Good. “Forget the 'virtual' and concentrate on the 'reality.' “ I told myself.
At the bar – I saw Rapunzel. One of the bar tenders in the middle island was a twenty-something blonde with long hair to the bottom of her back. I couldn't take my eyes off of her. I was sitting on a stool thirty feet away. She had long, straight blonde hair parted in the middle. I couldn't take my eyes off her. I was facing the dance floor as people danced, so I had a reason to face that way. But, I was looking at her.
Some beefy guy with big arm muscles was in the way. He was standing next to the bar chatting with the blonde. I loved watching her pretty, animated face as she spoke to the customer. He was holding a bottle of beer. A big tip gets a little conversation. I thought of a 'kissing booth.'
More people were out on the dance floor. The songs seemed to be 'classic disco.' Boogie nights and disco infernos while staying alive. Not my favorite songs, but tolerable.
Then the blonde barkeep moved to the side and I could see her shapely legs in very short shorts. Goodness. The girl must work out somehow. Her top was low cut and prominent plump boob tops were on display. The sight of this beauty was worth the trip. I was saving her memory for later. “Pay attention!” I told myself. “There will be a test later.”
A pretty petite waitress carrying a tray and drinks asked, “Can I get you something?” I shook my head 'no.' I stopped drinking long ago. So I would get out of the house at night.
Another attractive waitress in a short skirt stopped by me. “No, thanks,” I said. I hope they make money off someone. I'm here for the eye candy. I watched an animated woman in a white dress with a lace shawl over her shoulders talking to an older man down the bar counter. They had some food in front of them and she spoke excitedly. I couldn't hear her words with the music and my earplugs, but, I liked her. Her dark brown hair was down to her shoulders, and she had makeup on.
A couple of Asian women came up to the brunette and they seemed to know each other and spoke on friendly terms. The older white haired man asked one of the women to dance.
I decided to get closer to the dance floor, and the blonde Rapunzel tending bar. I just wanted to look.
As I leaned on a small counter on the railing facing the dance floor I could bounce to the music while watching the dancers below. Two women were smiling and dancing with swaying bodies and in such pleasure it was infectious. I felt a sway in the crowd. I saw a thin older woman I had noticed the week before – well past sixty and still hungry to dance. Good for her. She was dancing alone.
I saw a man we had noticed weeks ago dancing on the high platform as if he was in gym class. “No recognition of the beat,” I had said of his enthusiastic exercising to the music. But, he had found a woman. An attractive, long brown haired woman was dancing with him. She wiggled her behind in obvious delight – to the beat. When he started to do a bizarre random spin, she seemed to reach out and stop him. He had found the woman he needed. Good for him. I was jealous. I liked her, too. Them, he had her backed up against the wall and was kissing her. How dare they?
I looked at other women dancing on the floor and smiling widely. Middle aged girls having a night out. Squinting I could picture them as young maids, all in a row.
I resisted the urge to take out paper and draw. I have done that in the past. Fun drawings. But, I look nutty enough with my long hair already. I had noticed people using their smart phones and tablets before, and wondered what they were doing as the glow lit up their faces against the darkness of the club. Check something, yeah, start playing a game, or something? Why come to a club? What will you do with a partner when you are relaxed? At least if they see me drawing on paper with a pencil they know I will be drawing on paper with a pencil when I am relaxed. I am always drawing.
I turned around discreetly to face the bar behind me and glance at the beautiful blonde with the long, long hair. But the mature women below me dancing were actually people I might meet and interact with because of mutual attraction and inclination. Blondie was out of my league. But, a boy can dream.
As my legs tired, and I'd seen enough women wiggling to fill my head with images I decided to leave just before midnight. I had no work in the morning, not even as Mr. Mom, or taxi driver to the . The night air was cool as I looked for my car. I looked up to the 'Vincent's' sign and tried to figure out the angle from earlier in the night. My red car did not stand out in the black and white shades of night. As I turned the key the audio book “The Way of All Flesh” came back on. A hundred year old story. I love driving fast late at night with an empty road in front of me. Did I dream of the women dancers? I don't remember.
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Robin Williams - What was his point? Requiescat in pace et in amore.
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Posted:Aug 13, 2014 3:34 am
Last Updated:Aug 20, 2014 6:59 pm
9772 Views
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I see many of the same points as raised here:
"Comic performer and actor Robin Williams, 63, was found dead at his home in Tiburon, California on Monday, apparently as the result of suicide. According to various sources, Williams suffered from bouts of severe depression and had struggled with alcoholism and drug addiction at various points in his life. He had open heart surgery in 2009.
The news of Williams’ death has evoked genuine sadness throughout the United States and beyond. But his death calls not only for sadness, but also for anger. Once again, the brutality of American society has claimed the life of another immensely sensitive and beloved artist. The loss of Williams follows by only several months the tragic death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. Several years ago, the actor Heath Ledger died before he had reached 30. A comprehensive list of major American artists whose lives ended due to some form of suicide – whether deliberate or accidental – would contain hundreds, if not several thousand, names.
Invariably, when death is the result of suicide or drugs, the media refers to the deceased’s “personal demons,” as if the cause of the tragedy lay in the psyche of the individual. But the terrible frequency of such events demands a social explanation. One cannot avoid the conclusion that an artist of Robin Williams’ caliber was especially vulnerable to the blows delivered relentlessly by the existing social setup – with its endless glorification of all that is base and rotten (that is, its adulation of the rich and their values) – to a human being’s innate sense of decency. The fate of Robin Williams’ – for all its poignancy – is a highly visible manifestation of the extreme distress in which so many millions of Americans live.
It is difficult, in the immediate aftermath of Williams’ death, to write a critical appraisal of his life and work. One is inclined to avoid saying anything that may appear unsympathetic, let alone harsh. But a significant element of Williams’ tragedy is to be found in the immensely difficult conditions in which he worked. Robin Williams was an exceptional talent whose career unfolded at a time when there were few opportunities for his art to find adequate expression.
He burst into prominence in 1978 on the television comedy Mork & Mindy, as a genial, playful alien, and remained in the public eye until his death. By all accounts, he remained a generous, unselfish and relatively modest individual to the end.
Aside from continuing to perform as a stand-up comic, Williams appeared in dozens of films, the best known of which include Popeye (Robert Altman, 1980), The World According to Garp (George Roy Hill, 1982), Moscow on the Hudson (Paul Mazursky, 1984), Good Morning, Vietnam (Barry Levinson, 1987), Dead Poets Society (Peter Weir, 1989), Awakenings (Penny Marshall, 1990), The Fisher King (Terry Gilliam, 1991), Mrs. Doubtfire (Chris Columbus, 1993), The Birdcage (Mike Nichols, 1996) and Good Will Hunting (Gus Van Sant, 1997). He won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor for Good Will Hunting .
Williams was born in Chicago in July 1951. His mother was a former model from New Orleans and his father a senior executive for Ford Motor Company, responsible for the Midwest region. Williams’ family moved to Bloomfield Hills, Michigan when he was a and he attended Detroit Country Day School. Later, the Williamses shifted to the Bay Area, where Robin Williams would make his home for much of his life.
He studied acting at the Juilliard School in New York City, where he was one of two students accepted into the Advanced Program by famed producer John Houseman. He left the school in 1976. Two years later, Williams appeared in an episode of Happy Days as “Mork from Ork” and the popularity of the character led to Mork & Mindy, which ran for four seasons.
Williams was capable of extraordinary feats of comic intensity. I suspect many people who first saw him on television or in performance in the late 1970s will recall thinking there was something almost supernatural in his ability to generate characters, voices and situations in a breakneck, dizzying, absurdist sequence. Williams made “free association” into a fascinating and sometimes exhausting art form. On this score, he remains almost unapproachable.
It is a measure of Williams’ gifts that they prompted Bill Irwin, a remarkable comic performer and improviser in his own right (with whom Williams appeared in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot in 1989), to make this comment following Monday’s announcement: “I was on stage with him in ‘improv’ a few times and only for a few seconds in all that time did I feel I was anywhere near being a partner or an equal player. Most of the time I thought ‘Robin will see this through. He knows what he’s doing.’ And he can see in my eyes that I’m looking to him and he’ll shepherd us through to some safe conclusion. I’m playing Robin’s game and he will take care of me.”
At the same time, Williams’ manic delivery and his obsessive desire to please or win over an audience, which seemed to know no bounds or restraints, suggested a fragile mental state. One had to wonder what life was like “offstage,” if there ever were such a thing, for such a personality. How could he possibly be satisfied with everyday life, everyday conversation?
Looking now at some of the early Williams performances, one is struck by a couple of things. First, they do seem rather dark for the most part. The performer seems to be skating on the edge of a precipice, perhaps afraid to look down. Second, all in all, one has the impression there was somewhat less there than it initially appeared. The very brilliance of the verbal and physical careening tended to conceal the relative lack of a sharp or incisive point of view. The comic could literally put himself on all sides of a subject, almost simultaneously. To what extent was he aware of this? It’s impossible to say, but one has the sensation at times that Williams did not dare slow down for fear the audience would discover a certain emptiness, a certain lack, at the core of the show.
When he was obliged, by age and health, to perform at less than “land speed record,” the difficulties with and gaps in Williams’ material became more obvious. For an example, see his 2009 “Weapons of Self Destruction” comedy special, taped in Washington, DC. He relies far too much on sophomoric lewdness and social commentary of a very generic sort. It is not a performance designed to seriously offend the powers that be. It even grows tedious.
In terms of his acting, it is not Williams’ fault that he appeared in films during perhaps the weakest three decades of Hollywood’s existence. None of the films cited above is especially important. None of them is particularly telling about American life or society. Sadly, even if one considers the overall body of work of a number of the better directors—Robert Altman, Paul Mazursky, Peter Weir, Barry Levinson—the films featuring Williams are among their poorest or most problematic. They tend to be works, whether comic or not, that deal with various (and for the most part secondary) forms of eccentricity or alienation.
It is also not primarily Williams’ fault, and indeed at times it almost seems unfair for someone of his explosive and unsettling abilities, that very few of his films or performances displayed or pursued a consistent and genuine non-conformism. In fact, he was widely reproached at a certain point in his career for the sentimentality of a number of his films. Memorably, in John Waters’ black comedy, Cecil B. DeMented (2000), a band of underground cinema terrorists assault a suburban cinema where Patch Adams: The Director’s Cut is playing, a reference to the cloying 1998 film starring Williams as a medical student in the 1970s.
Whatever Williams may have thought he was doing, his numerous appearances before the troops in Iraq and Afghanistan helped lend credibility to those neo-colonial wars. In 2005, Williams told USA Today, “I’m there for (the troops), not for W,” referring to Bush. But military sites, official and unofficial, were singing his praises after his death, and that is not a healthy legacy.
A difficulty in having something substantial to say about American society, including its endless wars, was not unique to Williams. It was a widespread phenomenon, as the generation of former radicals and protesters to which he belonged largely turned to the right, often enriching themselves in the process.
He seems to have been a compassionate and caring individual, but the general circumstances and atmosphere, as well as his own individual situation, were not conducive to making a social commitment or sticking one’s nose out. Under the best of conditions, the American entertainment industry proceeds like a giant sausage maker, grinding up everything that comes within its grip. Nothing is so never-failingly destructive in the US to the sensitive human personality as great success.
According to reports that may or may not be true, Williams was particularly depressed by the failures of his most recent television series, The Crazy Ones, which was cancelled after one season, and his most recent feature film, The Angriest Man in Brooklyn, which received bad notices and did not last long in theaters. And there is always the danger in Hollywood, with its built-in short attention span, that even the biggest of yesterday’s stars will end up forgotten and abandoned.
Robin Williams was a remarkable artist and his work will be remembered."
From another person's site. But mostly good points.
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Devo - 'It's a Beautiful World We Live In!' Song Stuck in My Head
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Posted:Aug 12, 2014 4:36 pm
Last Updated:Aug 13, 2014 5:25 pm
8694 Views
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I saw an episode of 'Futurama' were the band Devo is asked to perform 'Whip It.' They refused. The band played 'It's A Beautiful World.' I had totally forgotten the song from the 1980's. Memories came back to me. I looked the song up on Youtube and watched several cover versions that weren't bad. I also listened to the original, again, and again, and again. Like a . What's up with that?
Beautiful world
Its a beautiful world we live in
A sweet romantic place
Beautiful people everywhere
The way they show they care
Makes me want to say
Its a beautiful world
For you, for you, for you
Its a wonderful time to be here
Its nice to be alive
Wonderful people everywhere
The way they comb their hair
Makes me want to say
Its a wonderful place
For you, for you, for you
Hey tell me what I see
Boy and girl with the new clothes on
You can shake it to me all night long hey hey
Its a beautiful world we live in
A sweet romantic place
Beautiful people everywhere
The way they show they care
Makes me want to say
Its a beautiful world
For you, for you, for you
Its not for me
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Boston's Museum of Fine Arts - Graffiti Vandal Spray Paints on Outside Walls
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Posted:Aug 12, 2014 12:59 pm
Last Updated:Jul 6, 2019 2:16 pm
8892 Views
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Officials from the Museum of Fine Arts are investigating after they discovered spray painted images of Homer Simpson and other graffiti on the exterior walls of the building, as well as on the base of the statue that greets visitors at the main entrance.
A groundskeeper who asked not to be identified said she was “bummed” when she walked around the art museum on Friday morning and found the graffiti, which included phrases like “tell the truth” and Homer Simpson’s face, on the outside of the Japanese Garden, the front and back entrance to the gallery, as well as on the foundation of a prominent statue, called “Appeal to the Great Spirit,” which depicts a Native American riding atop a that welcomes guests coming in from Huntington Avenue. The actual statue was not damaged.
“We have seen little things here and there but nothing to this extent. Behind the statue, it’s pretty extensive,” she said, adding that she hadn’t seen anything like this happen in the fours years that she has been managing the property. “I’m bummed, and the community inside is just, like, ‘wow.’ It’s really too bad.”
By late afternoon Friday, a spokesperson from the museum said the graffiti was being cleaned off of the property. The security company that runs the museum’s surveillance cameras had also been notified, and officials confirmed they were working with the Boston Police to look into the matter.
Besides the bronze statue’s base, the graffiti was found on four corners of the building, along the back steps and near the doorway of the Fenway entrance, and on a front-facing wall along Huntington Avenue. The graffiti was done in black and gold spray paint, and similar images of Homer Simpson’s face were in each spot.
East Boston resident Michael Campbell, who drops his off twice a day to attend art classes at the museum, said he didn’t see the graffiti there on Thursday night, and was disappointed to arrive Friday to see that it had marked the large statue’s platform at the main entrance. “It’s ridiculous,” he said. “Even if—I’m totally against graffiti—but if you have to do it, there are plenty of other blank walls that are unattractive to put your graffiti on rather than someone else’s artwork. This has ruined my whole summer."
Campbell said it was “absurd” and sends a bad message to the coming in to take summer courses. Other museum goers were "Shocked, simply shocked," that anyone would draw something on a museum wall. Many were visibly angry as they looked at the line drawings of the cartoon character.
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One Commenter wrote:
"If that was Massachusetts Museum Of Contemporary Art, they would put frames around each one of them and charge you extra for a walking tour. "
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