Blogosphere, My Happy Home


There are times when I feel closer to the people I have never met in the blogging world than I do to my friends, family, and acquaintances in real life. And I wonder, would my blogging friends really accept me if they knew me?

I am a Catholic, heterosexual, Republican, old, white male. To many people, in Orwellian Newspeak, that makes me “ungood”. Yet I have always reached out to people who were different from me.

Every word I used to describe myself is a superficiality. Yet we seem to be a world consumed and divided by those surface differences. I notice this when I watch real time pictures and video from around the world on YouTube. I have watched video from Russia, post Communism, and the people walking on the streets and playing on the beaches look no different from us. We could be in America, except the signs are in Russian.

We can have our differences as long as we promise not to kill each other. Is that so hard?

I read in the blogosphere of people in nonconforming, unconventional relationships. They seem to love their partners as much as I love my wife, in my typical, monogamous, male/female-paired marriage.

May be after the highly amped-up stupidity of the last two elections, I am all burnt out. These hills are ones I don’t want to die on.

Endorphin High Maybe?



I am sitting here in my chair, feeling somewhat “high”

Lazy, lethargic, a little light-headed, wanting this feeling to stay.

I am a step away from sexual arousal

I want to share this feeling and also to feel bare skin against bare skin.

I want to stroke my lover’s labia, slide my fingers into her, as I press her clit with my thumb.

I want this floating out of time and body feeling to last.

No alcohol or drugs were used to bring about this euphoria,

Finding Purpose (Again)


I grew up around drama. I grew up around people struggling with weight and weight related health issues. In 1968, Thanksgiving weekend, my mother’s brother, died of a stroke. He was only 45 and dangerously obese. He received a Purple Heart in WW Two and I suspect he was haunted by The War to the day he died. It just occurred to me that this is the 50th anniversary of his passing.

That was a very real bit of weight drama. My mother’s weight drama was ongoing. She would get serious about losing weight, then start jonesing for sweets. Eventually she developed heart disease and diabetes. She too had a stroke, but lived on another eighteen months afterwards before she died.

Her weight drama and her depression went hand in hand. There were tragedies galore in her family, her father’s alcoholism, her sister’s out of wedlock pregnancy, her father’s death from a cerebral hemorrhage. For a crazy woman, she did the best she could. Pure Christian Love prevailed over most of this.

But I came out warped, broken. I had a few missing pieces to my puzzle of mental health. The disease that is alcoholism affected me and I found recovery in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous and its 12 Steps.

The other bit of drama is my rather casual attitude toward diet and exercise. I would lose weight, gain it back over the past 12 years, I would commit to a regular program of swimming, then my sense of hopelessness would take me out of the pool.

This all combined to give a general lack of purpose to my life. Until. This time when I found out I was diabetic, I embraced healthy habits with a passion.

Today, after learning we have to replace a vehicle, I was all worked up. I was about to blow off swimming today, but did not. And I had a good workout, the longest in almost ten weeks, 1750 meters.

It takes effort for me to live life as free of drama as possible. My mother’s craziness, her outbursts of anger live permanently in my memory. Thank God she never physically abused us. And she loved us, took care of us, and wanted us to grow up to be decent human beings. But the repercussions from her brokenness linger in me to this day.

So every carbohydrate I don’t eat is in honor of you Mom. Every lap I swim is for you. I want to be the healthy person, you could never quite be.

I choose to be a positive example,

One Day It May Be This Easy

He wanted that woman.

She wanted him.

It wasn’t just her body that intrigued him. Or the anchor tattoos, like Popeye’s, on her forearms.It was her whole demeanor. She would always touch his forearm when they chatted and once, as their conversation was a bit longer than usual, she absent-mindedly (or maybe not) stroked it slowly.

So after the meeting one day, he asked her to go with him for coffee.

“Coffee? No. Anything but that. You see, I am a barista.

So he countered with the only thing he could think of, frozen yogurt.

After they got their yogurt, he was tongue-tied. So he just blurted out, “I think you are the most attractive woman I have come across since…”

“Since when?”

“My wife left me for her massage therapist.”

“And that was when, last week?”

“Longer than that. Two.”


“No. Years.”


“So do you want to go to the movies? Or something like that?” She directly asked.

“How about you come to my place. And watch The Maltese Falcon and Casablanca?

“Sure. If I watch another live action comic book movie, I’ll puke. Just promise you will have parmesan cheese to shake on the popcorn. Oh, and one other thing, I will have sex on the first date, if the guy’s bathroom is clean and there’s no dirt under his fingernails.”

It’s just getting too easy.



, ,

I can hear the rain outside and I see the street lights reflected on the wet pavement. Will it rain all day? I don’t know. It is a cold rain, the bane of the South, never cold enough to snow, but cold enough to be miserable.

The coffee is ready, I just ate a navel orange. It was a small orange, as navels go, from California. There was a nice sweet and clean taste. Time now to pour a cup of coffee.

I start another day alone. My wife will sleep another 3 or 4 hours. Her lunch is packed. She will go to work for eight hours.

Another day. Alone. So it is off to AA and the Y in the alphabet of places that fill my life.

I admire of all you who physically love your lovers. I can remember the soft feel of my beloved’s skin, her body ready to yield. And yet she was not vocal about her passion, lest the neighbors hear. As if that mattered.

More Food. No Sex


I had my Weight Watchers weigh in today. I lost 5.4 lbs this week. 8.8 lbs in the past two weeks. Diabetes has put the Fear of God in me. Everything I blew off or paid lip service to around food has hit home as The Truth, the emes. (Nothing gets the point across better than Yiddish). So I’m eating as righteously as I can. Two words: fruits, vegetables,

I’m feeling way better. I do not want to be one of those anti-sugar, meshuganu types, but then again, there are worse types of people to be.

Food. And Sex.



It is Seven AM. I am watching a vacation video that Fresco Channel posted on YouTube about a trip to Key West, taken in the Summer of 2018.

It is innocuous enough and his videography holds my attention. There are scenes in the video that underscore just how obsessed we are with food. The featured event is called Lobster Fest and the video opens with food vendors preparing lobsters. He records trips to shops with great big cookies on display. Nothing unusual,right? But juxtaposed beside the food are the women rockin’ their admittedly hot bods, eating. No, nobody’s having sex, but nobody is into modesty either.

In my early teens, in my fantasy forming years, a classic film premiered, Tom Jones. It was all about class differences and the decadent landed gentry, just the sort of thing one would expect from the Labour-oriented filmmakers of the time. John Osborne, author of the play Look Back In Anger, wrote the screenplay, adapting the Henry Fielding novel of the eighteenth century.

One memorable scene features the title character Tom Jones (played by the incomparable Albert Finney) and a rather slatternly woman, played by Joyce Redman, seducing each other by eating. If food is your “thing”, this is pretty hot stuff., especially the “oyster course”.

When an amateur videographer, does a vacation video featuring food and attractive women, I think it’s easy to infer how we continue to link the two themes, food and sex, together. Of course, it takes a little effort to infer that the hot rockin’ bods and the monster cookies with whipped cream on top are in fundamental conflict, unless these women are Arctic explorers, marathon runners, or endurance swimmers, of which I am quite skeptical.

Quid Pro Quo #2


How do I find a lover for my wife? Craig’s List? Or some Find A Fuck Buddy website? Not. Her. Style. I was vexed and eager and curious. She had never been one to initiate anything sexual. She enjoyed the play, to be sure. But she would never say things she wanted and was curious about. Yet when I pushed an unexplored area, like oral sex, sex outside on a hot night, or when I ate out her asshole for the first time, she was “fired up and ready to go” the next time the opportunity rose.

And now this unusual request. I did a quick run down of every male I knew. They were either old or fat or bald or creepy lechers or just flat out boring. My wife, we’ll call her Jean, can take only so much sports chatter, stock tip rumors, or worst of all, politics.

But she did like men with no tolerance for bull crap; no gushing fountain of opinions ever inspired her. If a man liked to hunt or fish, she preferred to receive the venison roast, or the swordfish steaks without the story behind it. And she always exchanged the game with a carrot cake that would make a hippie proud.

Let’s go for real.  I can picture an imaginary ad now:

Real guy wanted to have sex with my wife and make me a cuckold.  No experience necessary.

My mind played with this conundrum as I left the neighborhood one morning.  The parents were there with their children, waiting for the school bus.  Usually more than one parent was there, kind of a unspoken rule, (We don’t let the children wait alone, not in this day and age.) Today I noticed Greg, the single parentwith two daughters, eight and six. Beside him, off leash, was their dog, a Bouvier des Flandres. The children, the Dad, the dog, a perfect grouping.  I wonder where the mother was. Who knows? This is the Twenty-First Century, after all.  The bus arrives. On come the red lights, the protective arm swings out. The children climb aboard.

As Greg heads back, I lower the window and remark,

“You never miss a day, do you?”

“They’re only little once and before too long, they won’t want me with 10 feet of them.”

“True. Well have a good day”

Off I went.  Maybe SuperDad is the right candidate.”


A dirty mind never sleeps. It tries. But stuff trickles in like rain through old shingles. I had a good day, really good day. Part of feeling good is feeling alive, aware of the passion in my heart. And the splendour of having such feelings,

Quid Pro Quo


, ,

NSFW. Mature story

I hadn’t planned on this. I had been good all my life, paid my bills, my taxes, joined the Army, married a woman I loved, fathered children, raised them right, and never cheated.

Until one day my wife said, “I’m bored. Find a man to fuck me. And I will find a woman to “do” you.”

I tried to get my jaw off the floor and engage in some kind of dialogue around this request, or demand, however you choose to look at it.

“Are you serious?!”



” I was a virgin when we were married. I have no complaints about you as a lover, husband, provider. But I just wonder what have I missed. Crazy, huh?”

“Well yeah.”

“Here are the rules. You will find a man you think I might be attracted to. You will inform him of my offer. He will then be examined by a physician of my choosing to determine if he is disease-free and healthy. I don’t what him dying while he’s doing me.”

“He will then go to see my friend Celeste, the artist, She will make a mask that he will wear whenever we have sex. She will also make a plaster mold of his cock. If he pleases me she will cast a replica of his cock in silicon rubber.”

“I will also wear a mask. All of our liaisons will take place a nice Air BnB of my choosing. I have arranged with the owners our need for strict anonymity and privacy.”

“Please begin your search as soon as possible. You are tasked with using your skills to find a lover, not a stud. If you are vexed or puzzled, good. For your job is to enter my head and think like me, desire like me.”