For a Friend.....
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Posted:Sep 27, 2006 7:11 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1494 Views
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Torn
I found it hard to think straight looking at her. Her full thick chestnut hair, so tempting, inviting my hand to stroke, to grasp, to hold her head, and her heart... I take a deep breath. The pain in her blue eyes is so deep. She longs to surrender herself to the urges that surge through her lovely body, but the words heard so long in the small church she grew up in tear at her soul. She feels dirty and lost and weak and unworthy, and yet she longs so to feel the hands of a lover holding her, controlling her, making her into the wanton she so longs to be.
I do not know what to say to her.
I long to take her in my arms but ....
The sensuality of her strong body demands her surrender. The love in her heart demands that she give of herself, yet she cannot without the blessing of her lifelong beliefs, which have no place for the wanton.
I would tell her of Mary Magdalen; friend, lover?.... wife?.... confidant of the mortal Lord... she who would have offended and scandalized the churchgoing biddies, was she unacceptable to the Lord? Did He demand she stop her wanton ways?.. We have no evidence of this. The stories of the bible which take such pains to count the strokes of each lash and the numbers of each loaf and fish, seem to have forgotten to tell of her altered ways. Or did she alter nothing? Did they perhaps not record it because it did not happen?
God loves each and every one of us. His love is not conditional. It does not demand of us. It is.
We hurt Him when we hurt each other.
Of all the commandments the greatest is Love. Love Me above all and love your fellow man for love of me. Was that not what He taught?
If we love our fellow being we do not treat them with contempt nor indifference. It does not mean we cannot spank their butts, or punish them when they so delightfully deserve it. It does not mean that we cannot love them .. physically, emotionally, deeply and thoroughly.
Anyone who has ever known that moment of deep and abiding peace and joy at the moment of our highest passion cannot deny the love that suffuses our being. Is this anything but a pale reflection of the love He...or She.... has for us?
I know when I am being false. I feel the shallow imperfection of my being when I give in to the impulse of the moment and allow myself to act in a way that I know is not based on the beliefs that I hold. When I mistreat a fellow being, just because I am in a bad mood, or think they have not lived up to some expectation of my own, I know that I am not being the man that I would be. I wish I could say that doesn't happen often, but I try not to lie here...
I know when I am diddling a woman who appeals to me, but whom I know that I do not, and will not ever love. I know that I am wrong and that the moral imperative is to be honest and treat her as a woman but not as a potential lover. Not to offer what I know I have no intention of ever giving. The easing of a moments loneliness with the shallow shadow play of love is a weak indulgence that cheapens us and demeans us. I know that.
But I also know that when I feel that I do have love for a woman and honest appreciation for what she brings to me and demands of me, the joy and the delicate balance of my feelings and her desires is a sacrament to savor and to draw strength and support from. I know that this is the grace of His love and to honor that and demand of myself an honesty that beatifies the moment is to recognize that all such grace flows from Him.
I believe that the most ardent and hard line Baptist Fundamentalist has as much right to their beliefs as I to mine, and that He/She will judge us not by the actions we perform but by the feelings that underly those actions. The sin of my fundamentalist would be if his/her actions were based not in love but in pride or false piety. The sin in mine would be if my actions, whatever they may be, and however they may appear to the outside world... were based on lies.
The grace of our passions when we know that we are being honest and true to our own beliefs is the touch of His/Her love for us.
What more could there be?
................ Rory
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oasis
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Posted:Sep 22, 2006 6:59 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1462 Views
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I walk.. for my health, mental physical and spiritual. I enjoy it. toward the end of my walk, I cross a small bridge that is a main four lane pike over a small creek. I stop and standing under an old tree, gaze down into the shallow stream. A whole world passes there. Fish, turtles.. occasional voles. tadpoles. flotsam and jetsam of a meandering stream. not unlike my own life. The more I let myself look the more I see. A fallen branch has found a home in an eddy where it has trapped grasses and such to form a pool that hosts a world of small life. I watch as the teeming stream lulls my stress and takes me outside of myself.
Sometimes... I try not to overuse it... when I am at work and stressed and trying to keep an eye on the man inside, I let my mind go to that bridge and rediscover the center that is me.
R.
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Round 58
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Posted:Sep 18, 2006 12:24 pm
Last Updated:Sep 27, 2006 7:11 am
1470 Views
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I used to describe myself as an actor, overrehearsed and waiting in the wings for a cue that never comes.. I want so badly to believe in love but find it so hard.
Mired in a bootless marriage for so long..
I feel more like a punch-drunk boxer who keeps getting up and answering that stupid bell, when he knows the fight is over and the outcome is decided. what else can I do...........
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the moment.....
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Posted:Aug 20, 2006 7:49 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1532 Views
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There are those who ask me why. They think I am strange. Alternate lifestyles are so.... different. It is hard to explain. The depth of emotion and involvement. The feel of the rope in my hands as I carefully choose the pathway that the knots will take. The distention of your breasts as the byte of rope envelops them. The rising color ... of your breasts, of your face,..... the way you squirm against the embrace of the rope as it holds you, knowing it is my rope, it is I who hold you, sieze you... keep you. The total helplessness as you surrender your total self to me, finding your joy in the joy I take in your totally bound body.
I love to caress the firm pressed flesh where it presses on the rope and feel you squirm. The ice cube that teases your nipple and firms it, then my hot lips capturing it and biting down til you whimper. Your wetness belying your fear as your thighs are spread further apart. My hand caressing and knowing you as few men know their lovers. Knowing each small move that will take you higher and higher.....
I cannot love you more than in those moments when my whole fist is inside of you and your tremble on the delicate edge of that luxurious orgasm that lies just beyond your reach, then I tip you over that edge and you fall in a mindless cry.
I look at you, as I enter you and I wonder... how can they not want this?.......
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Saturday Night Fever.... reprise
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Posted:Aug 6, 2006 8:18 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1459 Views
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My turned on this old movie today. I never watched it. I didn't finish it today. I respect much of the work of John Travolta, but this movie is a depressing, shallow visit to a time that barely noted a cultural footnote. The slapping at the table; the grandmother; the mother's retreat to religion, rather than speaking to her husband... I lived through this as a , and for the past ten years or more of my marriage. I don't want to focus on it.
I feel that soon I must end this play. The characters have become charicatures, and the movements so redundant as to have lost all honor.
I am the primary focus of dishonor. I know that part of why I am still here is because I would not abandon my family, but to stay in the current situation, waiting for the release that will not come and finding the only sexual release in the embrace of my own five fingers and the flirtatious play with some lovely friends here at Local Sexy Swingers....
So I look to the wings for the stage manager to signal down the curtain, and pretend that the tears are but glycerin drops.....
Rory
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Realization
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Posted:Jul 31, 2006 5:56 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1459 Views
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So much of what we say and how we say it is but background music to the questions our bodies and our eyes are asking. Your movements suggest that you wish to be vulnerable, but only if I will cherish and envelop you. My eyes say that I like what I see but that it is more than just the flesh or the form but the movement and the choices you make. Our voices change with the sense of wonder, or joy, or hope or ...desire; we dance a duet that isolates us from the world even as it unites us in a sphere of our own being.
I feel myself rising to the offer you make, and finding the price a joyful bargain that I will willingly pay. I tender my offer... and you gracefully nod...
R
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lusting
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Posted:Jul 27, 2006 12:51 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2007 5:16 am
1790 Views
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how easily I was aroused when I was younger. Now I am 58 and I find that although I am able to enjoy looking at pretty women, they do not attract me as they did. Now, I find that the clever comment, the warm laugh, the passionate fire of joy these things are what wake the hunger within.
Oddly, I liked being easy. Now, I may go weeks without meeting anyone who even trips my meter. As for someone who makes me hungry... fasting is good for the soul.
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a fantasy
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Posted:Jul 21, 2006 7:47 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1439 Views
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I feel her gaze as I drive. We have errands to finish and then the to put to bed. I am hot, tired and lamenting the loss of the day that I could have spent doing so many things. She is watching to see if I am angry. I know I should not be angry. The stillness of her thoughts carries on the air.
I can be such a dick.
"Guess you owe me." I smile.
"Oh? And just what do I owe you?"
I hear the smile in her voice. I have made the right choice. I smile.
"Well.... let's see. I could have been home watching the game, with a beer, and something to eat."
"Yeah? So?"
"So, I figure a little game, with some inning and outing and some close calls... maybe something warm and sweet to sip, and something to nibble on...."
Her deep throaty chuckle sends a shiver up my spine.
"Hmmmm... and where do you think all this is to take place?"
My hand reaches over to caress the thigh that is as exciting to me as it ever has been. I hear her gasp.
"Not now."
"Just a down payment."
I feel her hand on my thigh, as she strokes upward and kneads the rapidly hardening evidence of my excitement.
"Keep that up and we'll never get the errands done."
"Screw 'em." she laughs. "We can call your sister from the hotel. I am sure she would love to watch the ."
I laugh, thinking, I'm not even a baseball fan.
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no guarantee
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Posted:Jul 21, 2006 7:38 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1450 Views
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katsback commented on my blog. She longed for that which I had lost. She is incredibly lovely and appears intelligent and vivacious. You look at her and think; "How can anyone so lovely and so enticing possibly not have a wonderful relationship?"
There are no guarantees. As lovely and desirable as she seems, one can understand that the wrong man can make her life a hell. I live in a marriage where love died long ago. Bills, and two in college and a third in her senior year of high school, make it doubtful that I will ever again know that love that I have tasted in my past. A love that I long for and ache for and weep dry tears in the endless night of my soul.
What would I risk to touch again that pinnacle of personal committment? I do not like the idea of 'cheating' or 'playing around' yet I so long for that feeling. To look into someone's eyes as we shop, or paint a room, or visit with friends, and know that she is thinking the same I am; how soon will we be naked and lost in each other's sensoria?
But ... there is no guarantee....
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conversations
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Posted:Jul 21, 2006 3:39 pm
Last Updated:May 9, 2007 5:17 am
1507 Views
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Sleep is slow in leaving me. I feel you stir and know that you will rise; lying abed is not your way. Part of me reaches out to you, but you do not see that beneath the cover as you start to plan the day.
"Need me to get up".
(please say no)
"Just putting some things in the wash."
{you could pull me back to bed}
"Ohh.. okay. Twenty Minutes."
(til I start to stir... I feel my lids closing and wonder only briefly if you are watching.)
"I have to go to Mom's later."
(You could come with)
"Okay, I'll see if I can fix the leak in the bathroom faucet."
(Or wax the car, or declaw the cat, anything but go with)
I hear you leave the room. I sigh. Relief? When did we stop looking into each other's eyes, and each other's hearts? When did we start these phantom conversations that say so little while leaving so much unsaid?
But I think of the things that are unsaid. You make me feel like a failure. I make you feel like my mother. Your parents are sweet but I don't even know them. They love me, but there is a reservation that twenty years hasn't changed.
I feel that you haven't desired me in years. You feel that I need to grow up.
Would the floodgate burst upon the valley that sleeps in oblivious ennui below?
Would the crest of the wave wash away the fears or choke us and destroy any vestige to which our lives tenuously cling? Is this any way to live?Then sleep takes me, and the conversation is stilled...for now.
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Fondling vs Fucking
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Posted:Jul 19, 2006 10:51 am
Last Updated:May 9, 2007 5:17 am
1495 Views
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Okay... catchy thought. the truth is I have never seen myself as a 'love-machine'. I enjoy sensuality and caressing.. I enjoy teasing, and prolonged foreplay. I love to lose myself in the moment with someone who genuinely pleases me, so that I can feel the joy of the session. The idea of just 'getting off' or fucking is strange to me. Having said that, I love just going for it. It does not always have to be about prolonged sensual play. Sometimes, the intensity dictates a wild ride with a quick crescendo.
The basic reality ... for Me, is that the intensity of the experience is much more important to me than the time or the pace.
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holding
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Posted:Jul 19, 2006 5:45 am
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1446 Views
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Strange how the feel of a woman's breast in my hand holds me like little else. I feel the texture and the warmth. I feel the differences and the similarities and I know that she is unique and special. I feel her response to my thumb teasing her nipple, squeezing..hard enough, too hard... the subtle signs of surrender to my need, to my desire. Slow rise to a moment of sweet holding. My fingernail strokes the sensitive nipple and you gasp, releasing the held breath and easing into my grasp in a promise of fulfillment.
I savor each breast I have known. Size, shape, sensitivity, sweetness, each unique to herself and a part of the moment between us.
I am held by the memory of such moments. Savoring.
.............
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Hope Beckons
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Posted:Jul 18, 2006 12:49 pm
Last Updated:Apr 29, 2024 2:41 am
1584 Views
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On War and Deat, I feel sick at heart for the families of the soldiers who die in our ugly little wars.
When we marched against segregation and for civil rights in the sixties, adn against Nixon's dirty little war we were, largely, ineffectual. Racism still lingers and the slogans of the day;
We Shall Overcome; Make Love Not War; Give Peace A Chance... are as valid and as meaningless today as they were then.
The pain and the embarrassment, and often the estrangement from friends and familywas a painful price for no clear prize.
So , was it wrong? The many people who saw the National Guard standing over the Students at Kent State; the people who watched in confused helplessness the trials of the Reverends Berrigan and the Chicago Seven; were they unaffected?
Was the cumulative groundswell of inadequate change the final compensation for the pain and tears? They have built no brave new world upon the ashes of the past. The treatment of the prisoners at Guantanemo; the suspension of civil rights; the lies and manipulations of the media by a government that continues to believe that the public... you and me... can not make sense of the 'greater issues' and are best led down the garden path.
We watch the news and it disquiets us. We don't know what to do, so we turn on Jeopardy or a re-run of Charmed and pretend the deaths in Lebanon, and so many other cities with faces not unlike our own , are of no consequence to us.
Why bother? Carpe Diem. Take what you can and the Devil take the hindmost.
No. Simply and unequivocably.... No.
Hate the war not the soldiers.
Hate the sin not the sinner.
The only thing in life that matters is that we follow the dictates of our hearts. Despite confusion, despite fear, or uncertainty; despite the baleful stares of friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers. To follow the "Path with a heart" as Carlos Castanedas said. Or, if you like; "To thine own self be true .... and it follows.. thou canst be false to no man." as the Bard would have it.
We teach that if anyone touches them in a way that 'makes them feel funny', or 'doesn't feel right' that they should tell a trusted grownup immediately. We seem more willing to trust the instincts of that five year old than our own.
The next time you are watching the news and an item makes you 'feel funny' ..or doesn't 'feel right', Don't change the channel. Don't distract that insightful within you. Turn off the television and become the trusted grownup. Listen to the and think of what makes him or her un-comfortable, then follow the path with a heart.
......
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