She's a beautiful young woman. And there she was, in my dream. She's a former coworker. A friend. A woman I haven't worked with in years and who I haven't seen in almost a year. We never dated. We never shared a moment of intimacy in our life. But she showed up in my dream in a most intimate way.
I don't remember much of the dream, but what I do remember has haunted me pleasantly for the last couple of days. I don't know how we got where we were or why, but somehow, some way, she was topless, and I was sucking on her nipples.
I'm not sure if waking from the dream was a blessing or a curse. It feels like a curse, because I did not get to experience more of her exquisite charms. But perhaps it is a blessing, because I remember the thrill of tasting her sensitive nubs in my sleep. Perhaps I would not remember if I slept on. The only dreams I ever seem to remember -- and remembering dreams is a rarity for me -- is those dreams I have just before waking.
I tried to go back to sleep. Tried to go on, licking and sucking and nippling, but the sensuous moment was lost.
Lost, except for the memory of a moment shared only in a dream.
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sex. Show all posts
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Friday, August 31, 2007
They eat their young, and not so young
Republicans are wreaking more havoc on members of their own party than Democrats could ever dream of doing. Senator Larry Craig, an Idaho Republican, is expected to resign his senate seat in the morning just ahead of the GOP's inner-party political lynch mob.
Is it because Craig plead guilty to a misdemeanor? Or are they worried that Craig violated some ethical standard because he showed his business card to a cop, and may have been trying to use the power of his office to get out of an arrest? Doubtful.
Or could it be the stigma that maybe a conservative -- gay, straight or bisexual -- may have been soliciting man-on-man action?
Personally I could care less about Craig's sexuality. I do not believe homosexuality is a lifestyle. That makes it sounds like a choice, and it's not. I also don't think it's a preference. Again that has the connotation of someone choosing something over something else. People don't choose their sexuality any more than they choose their eye color. You can hide your eye color behind tinted contacts or sunglasses, but it doesn't change what's behind the colored lenses.
It's been estimated that about 10 percent of the population is homosexual. So, theoretically out of any random group of 10 people, 1 will be gay. If the U.S. Senate reflects the societal ratio, that would mean out of 100 U.S. senators, about 10 would be gay or lesbian.
I find it distressing that in 2007 a U.S. senator could be run from office for the fear that he may be gay, essentially.
What is disgusting about this whole episode is that there is still such a stigma about gay sex that men would need to have some choreographed bathroom stall ritual in order to find someone to have human, physical contact with. My dear friend Gene describes the ritual on his Logorrhea blog. This sad episode sends the wrong message to young men and women trying to come to grips with their sexuality that may not fit societal norms. It says it's not OK to be gay, and if you are it's not OK to be open about it and whatever you do, don't get caught playing footsy or worse under a bathroom stall.
But gays are not alone. While society has gotten more politically correct and is not at overt and blatant about its bigotry, the hatred is still there. The stated reason's for the attacks on Craig or the reason he will give for resigning won't list anything about sexuality. You'll hear things like criminal charge and ethics and lying and hypocrisy. It's not that he may have sucked cocks or let other men suck his cock, it's that he lied about it.
Blacks know discrimination. American Indians know it. Women know it. Jews know it. Latinos know it.
We hear a lot of clamor in the public and political arena about border security and illegal immigration. Why? Because terrorists are flooding over our borders and bombing innocent civilians regularly? No. Because illegal immigrants are taking American jobs? No, not based on unemployment figures. Because of the high price of social services illegal immigrants are costing us hard-working taxpayers? Well, that's a common claim, never mind the fact that as baby boomers start pocketing their Social Security checks, some of the dollars they will be collecting will have been paid in by people using phony Social Security numbers who will never collect Social Security taxes they have paid into the system from their wages. And in states with sales taxes -- which I think makes a good argument for Oregon to consider a sales tax at long last -- every dollar illegal immigrants spend for most goods and services is taxed.
Most of the noise about illegal immigrants -- maybe not all, but the majority -- is about bigotry, pure and simple. It's a hatred of people with brown skin from Mexico, or Central America or wherever who don't speak English.
Straight white people, men in particular, need to be very careful about the venom and hatred they spout now. The tide in many communities in this nation has changed. The majority is rapidly becoming a minority. All those minority groups we white men have pissed off and offended will collectively outnumber us. Some day they may outnumber us at the election polls too. And white men better hope against hope that our system of government -- not a true democracy but a representative democracy -- with a balance of powers, will protect homophobic, bigoted white men from the pissed off masses who we've been kicking for generations.
Sometimes I think I should have studied political science more extensively in college. I only took one sequence of courses. My favorite poly sci professor used to have a line he used repeatedly. I may not have it work for word, but it went like this: Politics is pretty dull, dry boring stuff. Put it's pretty damn important stuff too.
He was right.
Senator Larry Craig didn't lose an election. He was cast aside like used toilet paper in a public restroom stall by conservative members of his own party and by some in the gay community too. What message are we all supposed to get from that signal?
My friend Gene, on his Take That... blog is much kinder to Craig and dares to dream of a better world where gay people can be "out and proud."
I'm not sure if I am as optimistic as Gene. But I am proud of my gay friends and family members who are out and proud. After this Craig incident, I am also learning just how brave they truly are as well.
Is it because Craig plead guilty to a misdemeanor? Or are they worried that Craig violated some ethical standard because he showed his business card to a cop, and may have been trying to use the power of his office to get out of an arrest? Doubtful.
Or could it be the stigma that maybe a conservative -- gay, straight or bisexual -- may have been soliciting man-on-man action?
Personally I could care less about Craig's sexuality. I do not believe homosexuality is a lifestyle. That makes it sounds like a choice, and it's not. I also don't think it's a preference. Again that has the connotation of someone choosing something over something else. People don't choose their sexuality any more than they choose their eye color. You can hide your eye color behind tinted contacts or sunglasses, but it doesn't change what's behind the colored lenses.
It's been estimated that about 10 percent of the population is homosexual. So, theoretically out of any random group of 10 people, 1 will be gay. If the U.S. Senate reflects the societal ratio, that would mean out of 100 U.S. senators, about 10 would be gay or lesbian.
I find it distressing that in 2007 a U.S. senator could be run from office for the fear that he may be gay, essentially.
What is disgusting about this whole episode is that there is still such a stigma about gay sex that men would need to have some choreographed bathroom stall ritual in order to find someone to have human, physical contact with. My dear friend Gene describes the ritual on his Logorrhea blog. This sad episode sends the wrong message to young men and women trying to come to grips with their sexuality that may not fit societal norms. It says it's not OK to be gay, and if you are it's not OK to be open about it and whatever you do, don't get caught playing footsy or worse under a bathroom stall.
But gays are not alone. While society has gotten more politically correct and is not at overt and blatant about its bigotry, the hatred is still there. The stated reason's for the attacks on Craig or the reason he will give for resigning won't list anything about sexuality. You'll hear things like criminal charge and ethics and lying and hypocrisy. It's not that he may have sucked cocks or let other men suck his cock, it's that he lied about it.
Blacks know discrimination. American Indians know it. Women know it. Jews know it. Latinos know it.
We hear a lot of clamor in the public and political arena about border security and illegal immigration. Why? Because terrorists are flooding over our borders and bombing innocent civilians regularly? No. Because illegal immigrants are taking American jobs? No, not based on unemployment figures. Because of the high price of social services illegal immigrants are costing us hard-working taxpayers? Well, that's a common claim, never mind the fact that as baby boomers start pocketing their Social Security checks, some of the dollars they will be collecting will have been paid in by people using phony Social Security numbers who will never collect Social Security taxes they have paid into the system from their wages. And in states with sales taxes -- which I think makes a good argument for Oregon to consider a sales tax at long last -- every dollar illegal immigrants spend for most goods and services is taxed.
Most of the noise about illegal immigrants -- maybe not all, but the majority -- is about bigotry, pure and simple. It's a hatred of people with brown skin from Mexico, or Central America or wherever who don't speak English.
Straight white people, men in particular, need to be very careful about the venom and hatred they spout now. The tide in many communities in this nation has changed. The majority is rapidly becoming a minority. All those minority groups we white men have pissed off and offended will collectively outnumber us. Some day they may outnumber us at the election polls too. And white men better hope against hope that our system of government -- not a true democracy but a representative democracy -- with a balance of powers, will protect homophobic, bigoted white men from the pissed off masses who we've been kicking for generations.
Sometimes I think I should have studied political science more extensively in college. I only took one sequence of courses. My favorite poly sci professor used to have a line he used repeatedly. I may not have it work for word, but it went like this: Politics is pretty dull, dry boring stuff. Put it's pretty damn important stuff too.
He was right.
Senator Larry Craig didn't lose an election. He was cast aside like used toilet paper in a public restroom stall by conservative members of his own party and by some in the gay community too. What message are we all supposed to get from that signal?
My friend Gene, on his Take That... blog is much kinder to Craig and dares to dream of a better world where gay people can be "out and proud."
I'm not sure if I am as optimistic as Gene. But I am proud of my gay friends and family members who are out and proud. After this Craig incident, I am also learning just how brave they truly are as well.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Really feeling the music
I was talking about iPods and music in my last post. I know I'm not having this much fun with my iPod.
I'll never look at a woman sporting earbuds the same way ever again.
Oh, crap! I just had another thought. Remind me to confiscate my daughter's iPod.
I'll never look at a woman sporting earbuds the same way ever again.
Oh, crap! I just had another thought. Remind me to confiscate my daughter's iPod.
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Good dream leaves a bad feeling
I've felt a bit off all day. The day got off to a weird start.
I've always had a hell of a time falling asleep. As a kid, I would go to bed and spend hours playing out elaborate scenarios in my head.
Going to sleep has never been easy. But once I'm asleep, I sleep the sleep of the dead. On weekends if I want to get up before, oh, say noon, I have to set an alarm, no matter what time I go to bed. On weekdays I set three alarms every morning, and still have to be careful I don't hit the snooze button so long that I don't make it to work until lunch. If there is ever a fire in the early morning hours I'm ash.
But this morning I woke up a couple hours before my first alarm was set to ring. I was in the throws of a dream. A sex dream.
The odd thing is that rather than it being arousing, it was disconcerting. I don't know what it was about the dream that put me off, but I was freaked out, not turned on.
Wasn't I supposed to be turned on? And why wasn't I? It is a feeling that left me empty and out of sorts. That's a feeling I haven't been able to shake all day. It's sort of like the feeling waking up after a bad one-night stand and realizing what, and who, you just did.
Now, it's time for bed again and I'm tired and still out of sorts.
Maybe all will look, and feel, better in the morning.
I've always had a hell of a time falling asleep. As a kid, I would go to bed and spend hours playing out elaborate scenarios in my head.
Going to sleep has never been easy. But once I'm asleep, I sleep the sleep of the dead. On weekends if I want to get up before, oh, say noon, I have to set an alarm, no matter what time I go to bed. On weekdays I set three alarms every morning, and still have to be careful I don't hit the snooze button so long that I don't make it to work until lunch. If there is ever a fire in the early morning hours I'm ash.
But this morning I woke up a couple hours before my first alarm was set to ring. I was in the throws of a dream. A sex dream.
The odd thing is that rather than it being arousing, it was disconcerting. I don't know what it was about the dream that put me off, but I was freaked out, not turned on.
Wasn't I supposed to be turned on? And why wasn't I? It is a feeling that left me empty and out of sorts. That's a feeling I haven't been able to shake all day. It's sort of like the feeling waking up after a bad one-night stand and realizing what, and who, you just did.
Now, it's time for bed again and I'm tired and still out of sorts.
Maybe all will look, and feel, better in the morning.
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Seize the day
There was a woman in my bed.
This is not an everyday thing. I had been single again for nearly 16 months, sleeping alone and frankly that solitude, once a cruel necessity, had become a nagging annoyance.
It’s been a fucking long time since there was a woman in my bed. Well, there was my mother when she came to visit me a few months ago. But this was not the same.
The woman in my bed was a woman I’ve had sex with before.
Now, if I learned anything from the movie “Dead Poet’s Society” it’s the Latin phrase carpe diem, which – if you haven’t studied Latin, or seen the movie, or spent time with a snooty hedonist – means seize the day.
Was this it? Was this the time?
As S headed toward the bedroom, I hung back on the couch under the auspices of watching the CNN coverage of Hurricane Rita, which was at that hour making landfall on the Texas/Louisiana coast.
Should I join her?
No words had been spoken about it. No implicit invitation. But I knew that I would not be turned away. Carpe-fuckin’-diem buddy boy!
Not that that was necessarily any indication there would be sex. My guest and I had found ourselves in the same bed several times before and the last several occasions were mostly, if not completely, innocent.
The last time was in Palm Springs several summers ago. S was traveling on business in Southern California and detoured to Palm Springs for a couple of days – and nights.
And it was hot as fuck. Too hot for covers or pajamas even. So S stripped naked. And since I normally slept naked when I was not sharing my bed, I thought “this could be much more fun than being naked in bed alone.” So I shucked my shorts and demurely slid under the covers. It was too damn hot to cuddle or even touch when we went to bed, but by the time morning arrived it was much cooler and I cuddled up to her naked back, wondering if she could detect my obvious arousal.
She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t seize the arousal. And I didn’t carpe diem either. And all too soon she was heading back to L.A. for a return flight to Oregon.
And life went on.
I don’t know how you describe a relationship like that. Do friends share a bed? Do people in platonic relationships share their nudity? And why didn’t we become lovers again, even if only for a brief moment or two.
S and I have each wanted to pursue a relationship with each other at different times, but to no avail. We are victims of our own bad timing. When we met, I was living with a woman in a doomed relationship. S undoubtedly played a part in me realizing that merely existing with someone in a relationship was not living. By the time I ended the relationship and my former girlfriend moved out and moved on, I had been offered and accepted a job in California.
S and I had a brief, passionate fling before I abandoned her and my home state for the Golden State. Several months later S and I met up for a passionate holiday weekend in Las Vegas. But I fell in love with the California desert, and she loved the Oregon Coast and we couldn’t figure out how to melt the miles. We were still pursuing our individual, and separate, professional and personal dreams and our desire for each other just didn't fit in those plans.
I stopped to see her a couple times on return trips to Oregon and she made a couple of trips to California for business, but the sexual part of our relationship was over.
So, how did she end up in my bed last weekend?
Since my return to Oregon there have beed a few e-mails, a few phone calls. And I had a pair of tickets to a concert and needed – wanted – a date. So I asked S. She lives several hours away from Salem, so she drove up here Friday. We had dinner then went to the show in Portland before returning to Salem. Of course she could and would stay. It was far too late to even think about letting her head back. And I am not about to make a guest sleep on an air mattress or the couch.
So, she was in my bed. Waiting.
And I fell asleep on the couch.
S came out about 7 a.m. to see where I was and why the TV was still on. We chatted for a bit. But it was far too early in the morning and we had been up far to late for either of us to be ready to start the day yet. S said she was going back to bed. I turned off the TV and the lights. And I followed her.
She was already under the covers when I climbed into the empty side of the bed, wearing my new “lounge wear” pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. When my arm came to rest against the curve of S’s back, it was readily apparent that her shirt was missing.
Talk about having a hard time drifting off to sleep. It’s amazing how a nearly nude woman lying by your side can be such a distraction to the mind.
I eventually did doze off, but somewhere in the haze of the half-dreaming state, I felt S shifting beside me. And she took my arm and wrapped in around her. My arm draped over the warm flesh of her bare midriff.
When I awoke later, we had shifted positions somehow, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, my arm draped over her shoulder and wrapped lightly around her back. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.
I woke up around 10 a.m. S was still sleeping. I quietly made my exit and returned to the living room, letting her sleep. She emerged a while later, her formerly bare skin now covered. We shared a comforter on the couch for a while before heeding those primal urges – for a hot shower and for food.
I’m sure men and women probably have different views on what happened or didn’t happen. In my head and heart, nothing happened. It was all innocent. Perhaps more intimate that most friendships, but nothing I felt ashamed of doing.
But there is one person, the person I tell everything to, who I hadn’t shared these details with – until last night. And that woman is the reason that nothing happened. She’s the reason I did not seize the day.
I made her a promise.
D and I have known each other a long time, and I’ve turned my back on our friendship, our long-distance relationship, a couple of times to pursue other relationships in the last seven years. But I made a promise to her and to myself. Actually, we promised each other that we would finally seize the day and find a way – check that, create a way – to get together.
We’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer.
S and I have had our chances. And I am glad she is still a friend. I sense that she may be willing to try again. I supposed I entertained that notion too not long ago. But the requisite spark is not there.
But for those few hours it felt good to share time and space with someone. It felt good to share my bed, to offer a shoulder to sleep on. It felt right and normal and nice.
It wasn’t the right someone. It wasn’t the right day.
Dating
Relationships
Single life
This is not an everyday thing. I had been single again for nearly 16 months, sleeping alone and frankly that solitude, once a cruel necessity, had become a nagging annoyance.
It’s been a fucking long time since there was a woman in my bed. Well, there was my mother when she came to visit me a few months ago. But this was not the same.
The woman in my bed was a woman I’ve had sex with before.
Now, if I learned anything from the movie “Dead Poet’s Society” it’s the Latin phrase carpe diem, which – if you haven’t studied Latin, or seen the movie, or spent time with a snooty hedonist – means seize the day.
Was this it? Was this the time?
As S headed toward the bedroom, I hung back on the couch under the auspices of watching the CNN coverage of Hurricane Rita, which was at that hour making landfall on the Texas/Louisiana coast.
Should I join her?
No words had been spoken about it. No implicit invitation. But I knew that I would not be turned away. Carpe-fuckin’-diem buddy boy!
Not that that was necessarily any indication there would be sex. My guest and I had found ourselves in the same bed several times before and the last several occasions were mostly, if not completely, innocent.
The last time was in Palm Springs several summers ago. S was traveling on business in Southern California and detoured to Palm Springs for a couple of days – and nights.
And it was hot as fuck. Too hot for covers or pajamas even. So S stripped naked. And since I normally slept naked when I was not sharing my bed, I thought “this could be much more fun than being naked in bed alone.” So I shucked my shorts and demurely slid under the covers. It was too damn hot to cuddle or even touch when we went to bed, but by the time morning arrived it was much cooler and I cuddled up to her naked back, wondering if she could detect my obvious arousal.
She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t seize the arousal. And I didn’t carpe diem either. And all too soon she was heading back to L.A. for a return flight to Oregon.
And life went on.
I don’t know how you describe a relationship like that. Do friends share a bed? Do people in platonic relationships share their nudity? And why didn’t we become lovers again, even if only for a brief moment or two.
S and I have each wanted to pursue a relationship with each other at different times, but to no avail. We are victims of our own bad timing. When we met, I was living with a woman in a doomed relationship. S undoubtedly played a part in me realizing that merely existing with someone in a relationship was not living. By the time I ended the relationship and my former girlfriend moved out and moved on, I had been offered and accepted a job in California.
S and I had a brief, passionate fling before I abandoned her and my home state for the Golden State. Several months later S and I met up for a passionate holiday weekend in Las Vegas. But I fell in love with the California desert, and she loved the Oregon Coast and we couldn’t figure out how to melt the miles. We were still pursuing our individual, and separate, professional and personal dreams and our desire for each other just didn't fit in those plans.
I stopped to see her a couple times on return trips to Oregon and she made a couple of trips to California for business, but the sexual part of our relationship was over.
So, how did she end up in my bed last weekend?
Since my return to Oregon there have beed a few e-mails, a few phone calls. And I had a pair of tickets to a concert and needed – wanted – a date. So I asked S. She lives several hours away from Salem, so she drove up here Friday. We had dinner then went to the show in Portland before returning to Salem. Of course she could and would stay. It was far too late to even think about letting her head back. And I am not about to make a guest sleep on an air mattress or the couch.
So, she was in my bed. Waiting.
And I fell asleep on the couch.
S came out about 7 a.m. to see where I was and why the TV was still on. We chatted for a bit. But it was far too early in the morning and we had been up far to late for either of us to be ready to start the day yet. S said she was going back to bed. I turned off the TV and the lights. And I followed her.
She was already under the covers when I climbed into the empty side of the bed, wearing my new “lounge wear” pajama bottoms and a T-shirt. When my arm came to rest against the curve of S’s back, it was readily apparent that her shirt was missing.
Talk about having a hard time drifting off to sleep. It’s amazing how a nearly nude woman lying by your side can be such a distraction to the mind.
I eventually did doze off, but somewhere in the haze of the half-dreaming state, I felt S shifting beside me. And she took my arm and wrapped in around her. My arm draped over the warm flesh of her bare midriff.
When I awoke later, we had shifted positions somehow, her head resting in the crook of my shoulder, my arm draped over her shoulder and wrapped lightly around her back. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.
I woke up around 10 a.m. S was still sleeping. I quietly made my exit and returned to the living room, letting her sleep. She emerged a while later, her formerly bare skin now covered. We shared a comforter on the couch for a while before heeding those primal urges – for a hot shower and for food.
I’m sure men and women probably have different views on what happened or didn’t happen. In my head and heart, nothing happened. It was all innocent. Perhaps more intimate that most friendships, but nothing I felt ashamed of doing.
But there is one person, the person I tell everything to, who I hadn’t shared these details with – until last night. And that woman is the reason that nothing happened. She’s the reason I did not seize the day.
I made her a promise.
D and I have known each other a long time, and I’ve turned my back on our friendship, our long-distance relationship, a couple of times to pursue other relationships in the last seven years. But I made a promise to her and to myself. Actually, we promised each other that we would finally seize the day and find a way – check that, create a way – to get together.
We’ve waited this long, I can wait a little longer.
S and I have had our chances. And I am glad she is still a friend. I sense that she may be willing to try again. I supposed I entertained that notion too not long ago. But the requisite spark is not there.
But for those few hours it felt good to share time and space with someone. It felt good to share my bed, to offer a shoulder to sleep on. It felt right and normal and nice.
It wasn’t the right someone. It wasn’t the right day.
Dating
Relationships
Single life
Saturday, March 26, 2005
Good Friday? Says who?
I guess I never paid enough attention in Sunday school when I was a kid. Why would Christians refer to the day their messiah was executed as Good Friday? That just doesn't seem to make much sense.
This Friday I shall dub Odd Friday. It was just an odd day. My daughter and I went to the video store to return some DVDs rented a couple of days ago when one of her friends spent the night. On the way back to my daughter's house, we got into a very odd conversation. At least it seemed odd for me, as an absentee father, to be having this chat with my not yet 14 year-old female daughter.
First let me preface this by saying this was a follow-up to a something that happened the night before. My daughter was chatting online and her mother watched in to the room where the computer was. The word blowjob was on the screen, and her mother, appropriately I thought, put an end to her chat session and may prohibit her from chatting for some as yet undefined period of time. Now, this word was in the message sent to my daughter, not in the message she sent out. But still, it is a bit inflammatory to see a word like that on a young teenage girl's IM message.
So, Friday my daughter brought up how her mom was "pissed" at her and didn't want to push her luck by asking to hang out with a guy friend on Friday. So I asked, "You understand why your mother was so pissed don't you?" To which daughter replied, in a typically defensive teen manner: "I didn't do anything wrong."
OK, I was a master at the I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't let the conversation end there. Secondly, that was not an answer to my question. But the stunner to me was, in the ongoing conversation the word blowjob came out of my daughter's mouth, not once, but twice.
Perhaps this was so unsettling to me because I never talked about blowjobs with either of my parents, an I lived with them full time until I went to college. That word never came up in conversation in our home. It was a typical Midwest family upbringing (or what I imagine as such, and I am certain that other people experienced the same thing). We never talked about sex. We never had "the talk." I somehow managed to lose my virginity, and get a woman pregnant by the time I was 26 due to the instruction imparted in locker rooms, school buses, adult magazines and some one-on-one lab experimentation that started in college under the apprenticeship of some more experienced female instructors.
Anyway, I don't know if I accomplished anything in the conversation with my daughter. I was trying to tell her that she needs to be able to talk to her mother about stuff like that. I am pretty sure my point was entirely missed because of the defensive wall daughter threw up. And I was doing what I could to not walk away from a touch conversation if for no other reason than to show that I don't just come to town to take her shopping. Being involved means more than being a credit card. But all I probably accomplished was pissing her off. When I left the house that afternoon, I ended up saying goodbye to her through a closed bedroom door. There was no response from the other side. Her mother's words of wisdom to me when that happened was "She's 13."
Yes, she is.
So, I left Portland and headed east several hours to the place where my parents, brothers and grandmother live. To the house where I grew up. In the land of tumbleweeds, farm fields and country living, otherwise known as dial-up Internet computing hell. The oddities continued there. OK, so I have been in the state for several days and am just now getting to my parents' house, but there was no big reception waiting for me. No small one either for that matter, even though I had called and gave them 3 hours notice that I was on the road and on my way.
When I got here, the only person around was my mom. She didn't even get out of her chair when I walked in. Dad, who is fighting a cold and is still recuperating from knee surgery was in bed, as was my grandmother. And who wouldn't be in bed at 5:30 in the afternoon. Grandmother finally came out about 8, and then went back to bed about a half hour later. Dad emerged briefly at one point in his underwear (not an attractive sight) and then went back to bed. He reemerged about 9:30 or so, for less than an hour. Both brothers showed up, one obviously tipsy but trying not to let it show, and he passed out early. And the other brother, the one who I rarely see when I'm home anyway, headed back to town.
The funny thing is, I don't expect much from my family. We are not good conversationalists together (unless you count verbal disagreements) and we aren't touchy-feely emotional with one another either. I've been trying to learn to cast off that upbringing, that part of my nature forced in that family furnace for all of my daughter's life. I find I have to make an effort to tell her I love her. I have to work at conversation with her. And fortunately, her family is very expressive. They are huggy people. I was once very uncomfortable with that, but I've grown to appreciate it and even like it. I also was fortunate to have a relationship not too long ago with a woman who was also very outgoing like that, and I worked diligently at expressing my emotions with hugs and words in that relationship, which has helped with my daughter. All those years of work, however, have done little if anything for the relations with my own family. I don't doubt that we love each other, but we do not express. And sometimes, in spite of the love, we don't like each other very much.
So, it was definitely an Odd Friday. I'll spend much of Saturday here in rural Oregon, with my family, then return to Portland to spend the last remaining hours of my time in the state with my daughter before returning to California on Sunday.
As is often the case, it has been a rather bittersweet visit. Perhaps this whole bachelor living thing isn't so bad after all.
Family
Parenthood
Travel
Religion
This Friday I shall dub Odd Friday. It was just an odd day. My daughter and I went to the video store to return some DVDs rented a couple of days ago when one of her friends spent the night. On the way back to my daughter's house, we got into a very odd conversation. At least it seemed odd for me, as an absentee father, to be having this chat with my not yet 14 year-old female daughter.
First let me preface this by saying this was a follow-up to a something that happened the night before. My daughter was chatting online and her mother watched in to the room where the computer was. The word blowjob was on the screen, and her mother, appropriately I thought, put an end to her chat session and may prohibit her from chatting for some as yet undefined period of time. Now, this word was in the message sent to my daughter, not in the message she sent out. But still, it is a bit inflammatory to see a word like that on a young teenage girl's IM message.
So, Friday my daughter brought up how her mom was "pissed" at her and didn't want to push her luck by asking to hang out with a guy friend on Friday. So I asked, "You understand why your mother was so pissed don't you?" To which daughter replied, in a typically defensive teen manner: "I didn't do anything wrong."
OK, I was a master at the I didn't do anything wrong, so I didn't let the conversation end there. Secondly, that was not an answer to my question. But the stunner to me was, in the ongoing conversation the word blowjob came out of my daughter's mouth, not once, but twice.
Perhaps this was so unsettling to me because I never talked about blowjobs with either of my parents, an I lived with them full time until I went to college. That word never came up in conversation in our home. It was a typical Midwest family upbringing (or what I imagine as such, and I am certain that other people experienced the same thing). We never talked about sex. We never had "the talk." I somehow managed to lose my virginity, and get a woman pregnant by the time I was 26 due to the instruction imparted in locker rooms, school buses, adult magazines and some one-on-one lab experimentation that started in college under the apprenticeship of some more experienced female instructors.
Anyway, I don't know if I accomplished anything in the conversation with my daughter. I was trying to tell her that she needs to be able to talk to her mother about stuff like that. I am pretty sure my point was entirely missed because of the defensive wall daughter threw up. And I was doing what I could to not walk away from a touch conversation if for no other reason than to show that I don't just come to town to take her shopping. Being involved means more than being a credit card. But all I probably accomplished was pissing her off. When I left the house that afternoon, I ended up saying goodbye to her through a closed bedroom door. There was no response from the other side. Her mother's words of wisdom to me when that happened was "She's 13."
Yes, she is.
So, I left Portland and headed east several hours to the place where my parents, brothers and grandmother live. To the house where I grew up. In the land of tumbleweeds, farm fields and country living, otherwise known as dial-up Internet computing hell. The oddities continued there. OK, so I have been in the state for several days and am just now getting to my parents' house, but there was no big reception waiting for me. No small one either for that matter, even though I had called and gave them 3 hours notice that I was on the road and on my way.
When I got here, the only person around was my mom. She didn't even get out of her chair when I walked in. Dad, who is fighting a cold and is still recuperating from knee surgery was in bed, as was my grandmother. And who wouldn't be in bed at 5:30 in the afternoon. Grandmother finally came out about 8, and then went back to bed about a half hour later. Dad emerged briefly at one point in his underwear (not an attractive sight) and then went back to bed. He reemerged about 9:30 or so, for less than an hour. Both brothers showed up, one obviously tipsy but trying not to let it show, and he passed out early. And the other brother, the one who I rarely see when I'm home anyway, headed back to town.
The funny thing is, I don't expect much from my family. We are not good conversationalists together (unless you count verbal disagreements) and we aren't touchy-feely emotional with one another either. I've been trying to learn to cast off that upbringing, that part of my nature forced in that family furnace for all of my daughter's life. I find I have to make an effort to tell her I love her. I have to work at conversation with her. And fortunately, her family is very expressive. They are huggy people. I was once very uncomfortable with that, but I've grown to appreciate it and even like it. I also was fortunate to have a relationship not too long ago with a woman who was also very outgoing like that, and I worked diligently at expressing my emotions with hugs and words in that relationship, which has helped with my daughter. All those years of work, however, have done little if anything for the relations with my own family. I don't doubt that we love each other, but we do not express. And sometimes, in spite of the love, we don't like each other very much.
So, it was definitely an Odd Friday. I'll spend much of Saturday here in rural Oregon, with my family, then return to Portland to spend the last remaining hours of my time in the state with my daughter before returning to California on Sunday.
As is often the case, it has been a rather bittersweet visit. Perhaps this whole bachelor living thing isn't so bad after all.
Family
Parenthood
Travel
Religion
Friday, March 04, 2005
Women! Can't live with 'em...
So, my favorite late night playmate is off doing God-knows-what in a big Midwestern city, so I haven't had anyone around to be a bad influence on me this week, and I'm going stir crazy.
Just don't tell her that, she'll get a big head, and then I'll spend a lot of time trying to bring her back down to earth.
So, it's the middle of the night, and I have no real inspiration, but I have a good beer buzz, so I can't let that go to waste. So I thought I would check in and say howdy.
I've been debating on whether to add a bunch of blogs to my Blogroll list, but I haven't yet. I'm noticing a couple of themes in the blogs I frequent. Many of them are written by women, and those that aren't have a heavy sexual component to them. I'm not sure I want those on my list. Who knows what people may think of me!
OK, so I'm a bit of a pervert. I can't help it. Being single for a lot of my adult life has an effect, ya know? So I read a lot of blogs written by women. The female mind is much more interesting than the male mind, mainly because I don't understand how the female mind works.
Apparently, women like sex, but they don't want men to know that, at least not without some sacrifice or major investment on the part of the man. I don't think women and men are that much different really, but they look at the world differently.
It strikes me as odd that women will tell their girlfriends "everything" about their man, but won't tell their man much in a straightforward way. Men always seem to have to guess what their mate is thinking. And God forbid you guess wrong!
I can't help it, women fascinate and befuddle me. They are amazing creatures. The more time I spend with them and trying to figure out how their heads' work, the less I seem to know.
I obviously didn't learn enough about how to flirt and taunt and tease the opposite sex when I was on the playgrounds of my youth. But I refuse to look at this whole intergender interaction as a "game." It's far too serious for that.
Oh, I should just shut up, enjoy the beer buzz, and call it a night.
And I will. After a toast. To the fairer sex.
Cheers ladies.
WomenSunday, February 20, 2005
Could it be true?
OK, I took this quiz. It's supposed to tell you what you love about making love. I'm not sure if this is quite on the mark or not, but here's what the quiz said about me:
Thrill
You're in it for the thrill, the excitement, the adrenaline rush, you do it anywhere and everywhere. You love the danger of getting caught.... but be carefull..... you might scar some children for life!
I didn't realize I was so daring. Look out world! And those of you not involved in the fun better close your eyes. Who knows what you might see!
Sex
Take the quiz: "What do you love about making love?"
Thrill
You're in it for the thrill, the excitement, the adrenaline rush, you do it anywhere and everywhere. You love the danger of getting caught.... but be carefull..... you might scar some children for life!
I didn't realize I was so daring. Look out world! And those of you not involved in the fun better close your eyes. Who knows what you might see!
Sex
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Dreamus interruptus
So, maybe I got a little carried away with thinking about finding a naked woman on the couch in that last post. It must have influenced my subconscious. I ended up having a sex dream last night.
Ordinarily, that would not be a bad thing. And this was not a bad dream per se. It just sort of ended with the same sexual frustration all of my too infrequent sex dreams seem to end with. People into dream analysis would probably have a field day with telling me what those dreams symbolize. But it never fails, every time I'm getting a little in a dream, it gets interrupted by other people -- in the dream . Dreamus interruptus.
But this dream was a little more disturbing in that it was about my ex. I haven't written much about the ex on here. A few hints here and there, but nothing specific. The ex is my former fiancee, who broke off our engagement in June after being engaged since December. Anyway, the odd thing about having a sex dream about her is that there just wasn't that much sex in the end. I've certainly heard the jokes about how marriage can kill a sex life, well I was beginning to think that we were getting an early start, because the engagement seemed to kill ours. I think that we had sex maybe once after becoming engaged.
Anyway, there we were in the dream doing the sex. And it was vivid. I think I almost woke myself up because I was actually thrusting my hips while dreaming. We were having the sex in a car in broad daylight, when suddenly my ex, who was on top, catches some movement out of the corner of her eye. But she doesn't get worried that we'll get caught, she gets curious about the hubbub outside the car. So, mid performance, she starts asking, "Hey what's going on over there."
I don't know and don't care because I am pretty into what's going on right here.
But that doesn't seem to matter.
There are people in uniform milling round some distance away from where we are. So, we stop what we are doing (dreamus interruptus yet again) and I am dispatched to investigate. Turns out those people in uniform are police.
So I walk for a while, trying to get a good look at what the commotion is all about. And I walk up to a police officer to see what I can find out. I get no satisfaction from the officer either. He mumbles something about it being nothing really, and it's nothing too worry about. No true answers, but I gather from his demeanor that he's bored, so it can't be too interesting.
So, I start heading back to the car to get back to the business so rudely interrupted, when I get caught up in this throng of people walking down the sidewalk. I feel like a salmon swimming up stream to spawn. The flow of people is working against me in my mission.
Then, out of the crowd, I spot her. My ex. She's walking with someone. A female friend. I know it's a friend, but don't know which one in that vague dream knowledge sort of way. And I'm trying to get the ex's attention. I know she sees me, but she just ignores me and walks on past.
Hey, remember me? We were just boinking back in the car? My dick's still wet. You must remember.
No. No dice.
So, I walk back to the car, not sure what I'm supposed to do when I get there, because there is no one there to tell what I've learned and certainly no one there to finish the job with.
I awoke shortly thereafter.
It was, for obvious reasons, a rather frustrating sex dream. As most sex dreams tend to be. They don't happen often enough, and when they do there is no, um, satisfactory conclusion.
But the real frustration is that the ex seems to have invaded my head again when I wasn't looking. Months ago I couldn't get her out of my head. A minute couldn't pass without thinking about her. Being constantly conscious of her absence. But lately, I've realized that I can go for hours without a single thought of her. In fact, I think maybe I've even gone 1 or 2 days without thinking about her. And that has been, at long last, a relief.
Maybe I am analyzing it too much. Maybe I should be just happy to have had a sex dream, regardless of the end or the snub that was a figment of my own sleeping mind.
But if anyone knows how to prompt a sex dream successfully, please let me know. And if you know how to cast the female lead in a sex dream, I'd pay for that information. I'll schedule some dream auditions.
I hear Jennifer Aniston is available.
Ordinarily, that would not be a bad thing. And this was not a bad dream per se. It just sort of ended with the same sexual frustration all of my too infrequent sex dreams seem to end with. People into dream analysis would probably have a field day with telling me what those dreams symbolize. But it never fails, every time I'm getting a little in a dream, it gets interrupted by other people -- in the dream . Dreamus interruptus.
But this dream was a little more disturbing in that it was about my ex. I haven't written much about the ex on here. A few hints here and there, but nothing specific. The ex is my former fiancee, who broke off our engagement in June after being engaged since December. Anyway, the odd thing about having a sex dream about her is that there just wasn't that much sex in the end. I've certainly heard the jokes about how marriage can kill a sex life, well I was beginning to think that we were getting an early start, because the engagement seemed to kill ours. I think that we had sex maybe once after becoming engaged.
Anyway, there we were in the dream doing the sex. And it was vivid. I think I almost woke myself up because I was actually thrusting my hips while dreaming. We were having the sex in a car in broad daylight, when suddenly my ex, who was on top, catches some movement out of the corner of her eye. But she doesn't get worried that we'll get caught, she gets curious about the hubbub outside the car. So, mid performance, she starts asking, "Hey what's going on over there."
I don't know and don't care because I am pretty into what's going on right here.
But that doesn't seem to matter.
There are people in uniform milling round some distance away from where we are. So, we stop what we are doing (dreamus interruptus yet again) and I am dispatched to investigate. Turns out those people in uniform are police.
So I walk for a while, trying to get a good look at what the commotion is all about. And I walk up to a police officer to see what I can find out. I get no satisfaction from the officer either. He mumbles something about it being nothing really, and it's nothing too worry about. No true answers, but I gather from his demeanor that he's bored, so it can't be too interesting.
So, I start heading back to the car to get back to the business so rudely interrupted, when I get caught up in this throng of people walking down the sidewalk. I feel like a salmon swimming up stream to spawn. The flow of people is working against me in my mission.
Then, out of the crowd, I spot her. My ex. She's walking with someone. A female friend. I know it's a friend, but don't know which one in that vague dream knowledge sort of way. And I'm trying to get the ex's attention. I know she sees me, but she just ignores me and walks on past.
Hey, remember me? We were just boinking back in the car? My dick's still wet. You must remember.
No. No dice.
So, I walk back to the car, not sure what I'm supposed to do when I get there, because there is no one there to tell what I've learned and certainly no one there to finish the job with.
I awoke shortly thereafter.
It was, for obvious reasons, a rather frustrating sex dream. As most sex dreams tend to be. They don't happen often enough, and when they do there is no, um, satisfactory conclusion.
But the real frustration is that the ex seems to have invaded my head again when I wasn't looking. Months ago I couldn't get her out of my head. A minute couldn't pass without thinking about her. Being constantly conscious of her absence. But lately, I've realized that I can go for hours without a single thought of her. In fact, I think maybe I've even gone 1 or 2 days without thinking about her. And that has been, at long last, a relief.
Maybe I am analyzing it too much. Maybe I should be just happy to have had a sex dream, regardless of the end or the snub that was a figment of my own sleeping mind.
But if anyone knows how to prompt a sex dream successfully, please let me know. And if you know how to cast the female lead in a sex dream, I'd pay for that information. I'll schedule some dream auditions.
I hear Jennifer Aniston is available.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Those can't be real (and this can't be happening)
I think my dad's a tit man.
It took me nearly 40 years to discover this, but I'm pretty sure he goes for the big breasts.
I'm basing this on the fact that he brought up breasts and breast implants twice during a two-day visit to his house over the holidays.
The first "incident" was when we were talking about a woman who graduated from my high school a few years before I did. He told me that there was a rumor (and isn't there always a rumor going around in a small town) that this woman was seen by a schoolmate of hers working at a strip club and that she'd had some "work done."
He went on and on about how this woman, who is the mother of 2 or 3 teenage boys (I think), had "big ol' fake tits" and was dancing for dollars.
I didn't know how to react. Just how do you have a conversation with your father about fake tits? I'm sure some guys do, but I never had those conversations -- or any conversations -- related to anything sexual with either of my parents when I was growing up.
We never had "the talk." I hear some parents do have "the talk" with their kids, but you wouldn't know it from my household. Not that that prevented me from learning about sex. Thank God for Playboy magazine for showing me were the parts and pieces were, and for Penthouse Forum for describing various ways to insert Tab D in to Slot P.
And along the way, a few girlfriends in college expanded on the book learnin' to give me some lab experience as well. Because sex education was not home schoolin' in my family.
I learned enough to get a girlfriend pregnant when I was 25, but not enough to prevent the pregnancy (and not that I regret my daughter for a second, except for now she's a teenager and I know there will soon be boys wanting to book some lab time with her, which absolutely freaks me out). I still remember my mom's words when I broke the news to her that she was going to be a grandmother.
"Shame on you!" she said.
Shame on you? That's it? It was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing, except for the fact that I was stunned beyond belief by her reaction and freaked out about the whole daddy thing.
So, needless to say, I don't have the skills to talk about S-E-X with mom or pop. So, I tried my best to get out of the your-schoolmate-is-a-stripper-with-rubber-titties conversation. Of course, as fate would have it, I saw the alleged stripper the next day at a public function. And I probably don't have to tell you what kept running through my head every time I saw her.
Yep.
I wonder if those are real.
But if that weren't bad enough, the night of my dad's boob-job narrative, the subject came up again.
Dad and I were the last people still awake in the house. I'm a night owl by nature, so that was fine, but I couldn't have gone to sleep if I had wanted to since we were in the living room, which was doubling as my bedroom during the visit. Finally about 2 a.m. or so, dad decides to call it a night, and offers to give me instruction on how to work the remote control for the TV.
My parents have a satellite dish operated by a remote control of some ancient and mysterious technology that is now obsolete. So the remote control apparently can't be replaced. Or so my dad said. It has something to do with using sound waves instead of infrared. I don't know. And of course, the remote is about 15 years old, or more, and has a few buttons missing. So you can only flip through the channels one way. And of course, you have to point the remote at select objects at precise angles or the damn thing doesn't work at all. I half expected him to tell me I had to stand on my head and stick out my tongue just right to make the little sucker work. And changing the dish to point to a different satellite is apparently so complicated that I just shouldn't even go there.
So dad demonstrates.
Apparently because I'm a journalist, he asks me if I want to watch CNN.
No. I'm on vacation. I don't want to watch CNN. And how many more times can I watch the video of the tsunami and its devastation that all broadcast outlets were running? Too depressing.
Next.
So, dad keeps flipping. Along the way, he tells me that I can't watch the Playboy channel because they don't pay for that channel. But he says there are other stations. Then he stops on Showtime or Cinemax. And a movie is just starting. And what should come on the screen by a shot of a blonde woman, topless with double-D (or bigger) breasts. And she's just standing there.
"Those aren't real," dad says. "You can tell because they are too round. Real ones aren't that round."
Thanks dad.
Then he goes on to tell me about some trip he took to a strip club with my cousin somewhere in Northern California. Of course, that's the same cousin who took me to a strip club for the first time, but that was information I didn't plan to share with my dad.
But maybe my cousin had.
Blabbermouth.
Is that why dad kept bringing up tits, strippers and such? I don't know, but I did know I didn't want to have that conversation with my dad.
Isn't that what blogs are for?
So, dad leaves the TV on the T&A channel and shuffles off to bed.
I changed the channel.
Not that I didn't want to see some T&A. But my grandmother was sleeping in the next room for heaven sake! That's all I need is for my 90-year-old grandma to come tottering out in the middle of the night while I'm, um, uh, watching THAT on TV.
I've already heard the "Shame on you" speech once. Don't need that again. And I didn't need to try to figure out how to work the remote to get the soft core porn off the screen while my granny is standing there slack jawed at o-dark-thirty.
I saved my vacation T&A gawking for the strip clubs, thank you very much.
And no, dad wasn't invited.
It took me nearly 40 years to discover this, but I'm pretty sure he goes for the big breasts.
I'm basing this on the fact that he brought up breasts and breast implants twice during a two-day visit to his house over the holidays.
The first "incident" was when we were talking about a woman who graduated from my high school a few years before I did. He told me that there was a rumor (and isn't there always a rumor going around in a small town) that this woman was seen by a schoolmate of hers working at a strip club and that she'd had some "work done."
He went on and on about how this woman, who is the mother of 2 or 3 teenage boys (I think), had "big ol' fake tits" and was dancing for dollars.
I didn't know how to react. Just how do you have a conversation with your father about fake tits? I'm sure some guys do, but I never had those conversations -- or any conversations -- related to anything sexual with either of my parents when I was growing up.
We never had "the talk." I hear some parents do have "the talk" with their kids, but you wouldn't know it from my household. Not that that prevented me from learning about sex. Thank God for Playboy magazine for showing me were the parts and pieces were, and for Penthouse Forum for describing various ways to insert Tab D in to Slot P.
And along the way, a few girlfriends in college expanded on the book learnin' to give me some lab experience as well. Because sex education was not home schoolin' in my family.
I learned enough to get a girlfriend pregnant when I was 25, but not enough to prevent the pregnancy (and not that I regret my daughter for a second, except for now she's a teenager and I know there will soon be boys wanting to book some lab time with her, which absolutely freaks me out). I still remember my mom's words when I broke the news to her that she was going to be a grandmother.
"Shame on you!" she said.
Shame on you? That's it? It was all I could do to keep from busting out laughing, except for the fact that I was stunned beyond belief by her reaction and freaked out about the whole daddy thing.
So, needless to say, I don't have the skills to talk about S-E-X with mom or pop. So, I tried my best to get out of the your-schoolmate-is-a-stripper-with-rubber-titties conversation. Of course, as fate would have it, I saw the alleged stripper the next day at a public function. And I probably don't have to tell you what kept running through my head every time I saw her.
Yep.
I wonder if those are real.
But if that weren't bad enough, the night of my dad's boob-job narrative, the subject came up again.
Dad and I were the last people still awake in the house. I'm a night owl by nature, so that was fine, but I couldn't have gone to sleep if I had wanted to since we were in the living room, which was doubling as my bedroom during the visit. Finally about 2 a.m. or so, dad decides to call it a night, and offers to give me instruction on how to work the remote control for the TV.
My parents have a satellite dish operated by a remote control of some ancient and mysterious technology that is now obsolete. So the remote control apparently can't be replaced. Or so my dad said. It has something to do with using sound waves instead of infrared. I don't know. And of course, the remote is about 15 years old, or more, and has a few buttons missing. So you can only flip through the channels one way. And of course, you have to point the remote at select objects at precise angles or the damn thing doesn't work at all. I half expected him to tell me I had to stand on my head and stick out my tongue just right to make the little sucker work. And changing the dish to point to a different satellite is apparently so complicated that I just shouldn't even go there.
So dad demonstrates.
Apparently because I'm a journalist, he asks me if I want to watch CNN.
No. I'm on vacation. I don't want to watch CNN. And how many more times can I watch the video of the tsunami and its devastation that all broadcast outlets were running? Too depressing.
Next.
So, dad keeps flipping. Along the way, he tells me that I can't watch the Playboy channel because they don't pay for that channel. But he says there are other stations. Then he stops on Showtime or Cinemax. And a movie is just starting. And what should come on the screen by a shot of a blonde woman, topless with double-D (or bigger) breasts. And she's just standing there.
"Those aren't real," dad says. "You can tell because they are too round. Real ones aren't that round."
Thanks dad.
Then he goes on to tell me about some trip he took to a strip club with my cousin somewhere in Northern California. Of course, that's the same cousin who took me to a strip club for the first time, but that was information I didn't plan to share with my dad.
But maybe my cousin had.
Blabbermouth.
Is that why dad kept bringing up tits, strippers and such? I don't know, but I did know I didn't want to have that conversation with my dad.
Isn't that what blogs are for?
So, dad leaves the TV on the T&A channel and shuffles off to bed.
I changed the channel.
Not that I didn't want to see some T&A. But my grandmother was sleeping in the next room for heaven sake! That's all I need is for my 90-year-old grandma to come tottering out in the middle of the night while I'm, um, uh, watching THAT on TV.
I've already heard the "Shame on you" speech once. Don't need that again. And I didn't need to try to figure out how to work the remote to get the soft core porn off the screen while my granny is standing there slack jawed at o-dark-thirty.
I saved my vacation T&A gawking for the strip clubs, thank you very much.
And no, dad wasn't invited.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Women are still a mystery
Here I am, rapidly approaching 40, and I’m not sure if I understand woman any better today than I did in my 20s.
I got a Christmas card in the mail today from my ex. My ex now lives on the other side of the continent. At this time last year, I was shopping for an engagement ring for her for Christmas, which I gave to her on Christmas Eve. And she accepted the gift and wore the ring for about almost 6 months before giving it back to me one June day. It’s a day I’ll never for get.
Well, it would be hard to forget the day when the woman you love and plan to marry tells you “not so fast buster. Take your little trinket back.” OK, so that’s not a direct quote, but the effect is the same. What the hell is a man supposed to do with an engagement ring, without a fiancée’s finger to put it on? I still haven’t figured that one out. So, for now the ring resides in a lock box, until I figure out how to sell it or what the hell to do with it. But if that wasn’t enough to etch that day indelibly into my mind, it was also my parents’ wedding anniversary and the day former President Ronald Reagan died. A historic day to be sure. Like I will need all those stories in the media every June on the anniversary of Reagan’s death to remind me of the day my world fell apart, let alone the fact that it’s my parents’ anniversary.
So like I said, I got a Christmas card from my ex. I’m not quite sure what to do with that either. I didn’t send her a card. I didn’t send out any cards this year actually. Just wasn’t in the spirit.
So, as one might imagine, it has been hard to separate memories of my ex from this so-called festive holiday season. I’d be happy to skip this Christmas, thank you very much. Let’s just get on with 2005. But interestingly enough, my subconscious mind was not focus on me ex this morning when I was awakened from a dream by the ringing telephone. I was actually in the midst of a great dream. A sex dream no less. But it was not my ex in the dream, or at least not that ex. Although I was dreaming about getting down and dirty with a former lover. But this lover was one from a few years past. We weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend. That wouldn’t be an appropriate description, considering that my former lover was actually married at the time of our dalliance. She has divorced and remarried in the interim. I’m not quite sure why she was on my subconscious, sleeping mind this morning. But I’m not sure that sort of thing should be analyzed too deeply. Sex dreams are not to be questioned, merely enjoyed. If it weren’t for that damn ringing telephone, who knows how that one might have ended.
So, was thinking a bit about that former lover today. We’ll call her T, to protect her privacy and that of her family. But T was a good friend when I needed one, and certainly taught me a thing or three about male-female intimacy. I will forever owe T a debt of gratitude for that. Hopefully, she got some benefits out of the deal as well. We were never destined to be a couple. But we made more than a couple of good memories together. And we experienced a few firsts together as well. But the dream I was having this morning was not a replay of any of our erotic adventures. It seemed to be a completely new situation. If only that damn ringing phone hadn’t spoiled the dream. I didn’t answer it, but it woke me up anyway. I tried to go back to sleep and return to that blissfully erotic dream. That never works. I hate it when that happens. Especially when the only intimacy you experience is in a dream, and even that is a rarity, you certainly don’t want to miss out on those opportunities.
Even women in dreams are a mystery to me. But then again, a little mystery makes life – and dreams – much more interesting.
Relationships
Dreams
Sex
I got a Christmas card in the mail today from my ex. My ex now lives on the other side of the continent. At this time last year, I was shopping for an engagement ring for her for Christmas, which I gave to her on Christmas Eve. And she accepted the gift and wore the ring for about almost 6 months before giving it back to me one June day. It’s a day I’ll never for get.
Well, it would be hard to forget the day when the woman you love and plan to marry tells you “not so fast buster. Take your little trinket back.” OK, so that’s not a direct quote, but the effect is the same. What the hell is a man supposed to do with an engagement ring, without a fiancée’s finger to put it on? I still haven’t figured that one out. So, for now the ring resides in a lock box, until I figure out how to sell it or what the hell to do with it. But if that wasn’t enough to etch that day indelibly into my mind, it was also my parents’ wedding anniversary and the day former President Ronald Reagan died. A historic day to be sure. Like I will need all those stories in the media every June on the anniversary of Reagan’s death to remind me of the day my world fell apart, let alone the fact that it’s my parents’ anniversary.
So like I said, I got a Christmas card from my ex. I’m not quite sure what to do with that either. I didn’t send her a card. I didn’t send out any cards this year actually. Just wasn’t in the spirit.
So, as one might imagine, it has been hard to separate memories of my ex from this so-called festive holiday season. I’d be happy to skip this Christmas, thank you very much. Let’s just get on with 2005. But interestingly enough, my subconscious mind was not focus on me ex this morning when I was awakened from a dream by the ringing telephone. I was actually in the midst of a great dream. A sex dream no less. But it was not my ex in the dream, or at least not that ex. Although I was dreaming about getting down and dirty with a former lover. But this lover was one from a few years past. We weren’t exactly boyfriend and girlfriend. That wouldn’t be an appropriate description, considering that my former lover was actually married at the time of our dalliance. She has divorced and remarried in the interim. I’m not quite sure why she was on my subconscious, sleeping mind this morning. But I’m not sure that sort of thing should be analyzed too deeply. Sex dreams are not to be questioned, merely enjoyed. If it weren’t for that damn ringing telephone, who knows how that one might have ended.
So, was thinking a bit about that former lover today. We’ll call her T, to protect her privacy and that of her family. But T was a good friend when I needed one, and certainly taught me a thing or three about male-female intimacy. I will forever owe T a debt of gratitude for that. Hopefully, she got some benefits out of the deal as well. We were never destined to be a couple. But we made more than a couple of good memories together. And we experienced a few firsts together as well. But the dream I was having this morning was not a replay of any of our erotic adventures. It seemed to be a completely new situation. If only that damn ringing phone hadn’t spoiled the dream. I didn’t answer it, but it woke me up anyway. I tried to go back to sleep and return to that blissfully erotic dream. That never works. I hate it when that happens. Especially when the only intimacy you experience is in a dream, and even that is a rarity, you certainly don’t want to miss out on those opportunities.
Even women in dreams are a mystery to me. But then again, a little mystery makes life – and dreams – much more interesting.
Relationships
Dreams
Sex
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