The Devil You Know

My first girl friend was a type, a certain kind of shy girl who knew how to get what she wanted by not asking.   By waiting for you to offer it. If she accepted, then you knew (or guessed) that you were getting somewhere.

Of course you never had actual verification from her.  And she never gave up the pussy, which would have been strong circumstantial evidence that she really liked me.

She kind of obsessed me during my high school years, even after I said something wrong and she slapped me and wanted nothing more to do with me.

My first wife was of the same type.  Demure, quiet but with a fire in her eyes. She never told you exactly what she wanted you to do and I had to guess, predict, offer things over and different, whether it was a new kind of restaurant, going out on an work night to a new neighborhood, get a new job, try a new position in bed.  She wouldn't let me know I was on the right track until I was far along, too late even to back out ("You know, I never really liked Thai"), at the edge of the gangplank and having to plead to be let back on the boat.

Everything I learned about her likes and dislikes were an accident.  A perverse but addictive kind of unraveling mystery she savored.  And that I did too.  Her measured reluctance to participate in the decision-making process was its own kind of decision making - she had me wrapped around her finger, hopelessly under the thumb of her unspoken whims.  Out of my mind to please - and whipped.

A girlfriend in there later lasted only 3 months, and there she was again.  I pursued her and she smiled and said if you want and I thought every decision was golddust. And I wasn't standing on any real ground.  The path ahead was shrouded in fog.

It was all the same co-dependent neediness, trying to be in charge but at the mercy of someone else, something impossible to control or know, movement without purpose.

We repeat our own bad habits because we're comfortable with them, we know the hurt and we know how to nurse the hangover the next morning.  Who wants to go find a new unexpected kind of damage?  They made me feel good, they made me feel wanted, they gave me something to live for (and to worry about).  I made love to them well too.

But then I sought out a different companion and it was a new and unfamiliar path. When things went wrong, she took part of the blame.  And she warned me ahead of time when she didn't like something.  And when she did.  If we traveled too far together she didn't pull the rug out from under me.   

If I fell she caught me.  Even thought I might want to crash on the rocks below in self-immolating defeat.

Let's Put On A Show!

Found this here on the HorrorSleazeTrash blog.  And I love it.

It works my exhibitionist perv, my girl singer perv, my hairy pussy jones.

Anyone know who or from what this is/from?  I'm resisting the fantasy that it's an outtake from The Voice.  If anyone can tell me I'll repay your media savvy and kindness with a personal pic of my cock.

Cleaning Up

So lately I'm going through the back reaches of this blog, rediscovering where I've been and what I wrote.  A diverse and head-spinning collection of thoughts and rants.  It's been 5 years.

I'm also finding out a certain amount of pictures (especially earlier) are missing now with that Google giant negative sign on it.

Deleted or reported by someone?  Is it possible there was a minor digital catastrophe a couple years back in which my Picassa album got moved?  Or renamed?  Is this Google+'s fault?

So I'm trying to replace those images (please have patience) by first figuring out what I had, seeing if they are in the bowels of my albums and worth reposting - or hell, just deleting the old post and being done with it.

I'm sure I had some good stuff I'll never find again.  There's a picture I spent about 2 weeks trying to find last month.  It was in my head but I didn't know where it was or how it was indexed/named.

Got it. (How could you find this without specific information? Google "ass phone fuck."  101 million hits.)

An unsolvable mystery is why the pictures here are now gone and the ones above and below are apparently fine.  It's not that only the hardcore ones are disappearing.  I get most of the pics from the internet to illustrate my points.  Everyone likes looking at pictures.  It's a way to get your attention.  Sometimes I'm clever and the picture actually makes its own point, beyond just posting another beautiful redhead with her legs open.

I actually suspect some rightsholder reports the image wherever they find it and Google deletes it across its entire platform, everywhere it appears, automatically by image recognition software.  No human intervention needed.

How all this stuff in connected behind the scenes is increasingly making me (and many) nervous about what we're really sharing online.  Unhappy surprises are often reported on how much Google or Facebook is collecting from us.  This panic is the reason for the initial success of Snapchat.  Self-deletes in 2 days.  If you're into that.

There's a tension between wanting to reach out and not doing something stupid.  I try to be pretty cautious about what I reveal online (yeah, except my dick).  But in reality there's nothing social about social networks.

They're not in person, you don't "talk" with all the body language or the hints or the cues in real space you're both in.  "Hey, listen to that."  There are no smells, or the nuance of a whisper beyond the mere words, uncaptured by a text, a Skype, a hang-out.  No matter how much I show you you still don't really know me.

You don't get my best.

Not that I don't try.  This place here is my documentation, my journal of the road trip.  It's a rather one-sided commentary but it's motivated by a yearning to talk with you.  To validate what I feel and ask, do you feel it too?  Does this get you hot?  Ever do this?  Am I crazy or are we all in this together?

I really appreciate those of you who have given me a kind word through the years.  A thumbs-up in the comments or a personal email means a lot.  Others have found me in more clever ways.  We're all anonymous, even if a name or an avatar gets tagged, accidentally or on purpose, to your comment.  The occasional feedback makes it all worthwhile.

They can delete my pictures but I got your attention in other ways.

This Weekend's Party

At the party this weekend there were 15 couples, all as old as us.  Maybe 20.  It was at an outdoor venue, with a patio and three different stations for finger food and drinks.

All married, all bored, all out for the night with friends, and all looking for the hosted bar.  The wives were wrapped in expensive dresses that were too tight at the wrong places, emphasizing rather than disguising heavy thighs and the freckled tops of their breasts.

The kids were in the other room inside, dancing to the DJ.  The men had $100 shirts on but couldn't hide the fact that their pants were tight under their guts, their hair thinning or thinned at the back.

We laughed together and nodded at the trophy wives, and flirted with each other.  We'd all been around the block, most of us were on our second wives or third husbands.  No one was single anymore.

High-heels were kicked off and the Absolut loosened tongues.

Husbands told their best jokes on their friends's wives, who had never heard them and placed hands on their shoulders appreciating the attention.  Wives giggled in the back about the one who had become a partner recently, and was never home to take his wife out, always busy taking clients to dinners in Tahoe.

The hot wives on the wrong side of 40 got a thin layer of sweat on their faces under the wire patio heaters at each table. Husbands loosened their ties and danced for the first time in 20 years.  Have you tried it with tequila?  Hey, that is a good drink.  And you said he couldn't dance.

The wives smiled in a drunken haze, and imagined the hard rich cocks of the other husbands who didn't look at their wives anymore but talked animatedly with their hands and a close-mouthed smile.  Someone else's husband who could do something new for them, better than the dead bums they slept with.  Staying power longer than 120 seconds.

The men gazed in sneaky glances at the ripe milfs,  heavy and hairy between their legs, all stretched and wet and nipples brown, experts in cock-sucking, attached and realistic about no-strings and able to get to the point without the drama the babysitter would have caused.

In Case I Haven't Been Keeping Up With The Redhead Thing Here

Via Anna Mous.

Do You Like Being Watched?

This is a quick political statement, on a blog that generally is not political (except for personal politics, which in retrospect overlaps seriously with larger politics nowadays).

We're hearing about those new wearable computer glasses, from Google, Google Glass, which will talk in your ear, show ratings and addresses and etc. on the glass ahead of you, as well as recording everything you see.  Erosblog had a nice discussion yesterday about the ramifications of this.  No one has anymore privacy and Google now has all your information to index, sort through, collate and track.

Google Glass, for this reason alone, will not be happening.  MiKandi, an app store for adults, started working with the potential of truly personal porn with a new app, which Google immediately banned.  The best amateur POV sex ever will not be created with the help of Glassware.

But that's okay.  Google has been pushing against adult uses for their products hard the last couple of years (see Erosblog, again, for various other topics, including what no longer appears in search results (such as the word "clitoris" or any NSFW Tumblrs) as well as the insistence on "real names" on Google + and no naked people (making the best use of "hang-outs" useless and broken)).

I understand, in a cynical way, why Google wouldn't want all manner of our floppy bits being indexed for their search, ad and social services.  People seem to have a casual concern for their privacy on the internet, not sure what impact it has.  If they have your email contacts, that's to be expected ("looks like your friend also likes 'Priceline'").

But if you discovered they were indexing your pussy pix, there'd be an uproar and 1000s of people switching to Bing.  If nothing else I guess they're hiding their evil under their increasingly transparent skirt.

I Want You

I want you naked
I want you drunk

I want you a little bored

Confused

Wet

I want the windows open
I want the neighbors to be gone
I want the rope of cum dried on your stomach

The blood on your lip not your own

Dripping

I want the dishes undone
I want the pitcher half full
I want you to grab me
Suck me and turn over
I want my finger up your asshole

Sighing

Saying someone else's name