There is this fine dance (not a special beautiful dance but one with a very narrow line of demarcation, and if one steps over it there will be hell to pay). So back to the fine dance… we all walk this fine line of social interactivity with each other. We see a profile that catches our eye, we look at it knowing that person will know we are looking at it. We see something blood curdling in their list of interests like maybe ohhh I don’t know maybe they like Catholicism and it flips us out because we are a recovering Catholic. So we immediately discard an otherwise perfect person. Hmph. Maybe said Catholicism is an interest because they majored in comparative religion or it’s just a typo. We discard and we discard fast. THEN they look at us and jeezopeezo they send a message. Do we read it? Ignore it? Delete it without reading it? do we reply? or ignore? If we do reply are we hateful or nice? If we are nice will they persist in their advances?

Advances!? Holy cat hair, it’s a freakin’ (short) message from a total stranger, and we have worked ourselves into a tizzy. Lets elaborate.

Lets say we look at this slightly interesting persons profile. They have a nice bod or a great smile or a twinkle in their eye and their profile doesn’t have anything on it that squicks us out! Way cool. Now what… we looked… they will know… what if they think we suck… and they ignore us…?! ACK!

Back up a sec. We look, they look, it’s cool, we chat, we like, we say hey let’s do the phone thing, it‘s all good… then what. (Please notice I did not end that sentence with a question mark. It’s a statement.) We want to talk more with this person but how can we?! They will think we are needy. Maybe we are needy – we sure don’t want anyone to know that do we. We might just really have hit it off really well and we both want to talk more, neither one wants to appear needy. So everyone involved backs off, takes a Wednesday night off, pretending to be in church (especially if you live in the Midwest), and gawd forbide let it be a Friday or Saturday night, NO ONE with any self-respect would actually chat on a dating site on Friday or Saturday night! Who in their right mind would admit they don’t have a date? Wait a darn second… isn’t that why we are here (insert squinty eye here _> …). Isn’t it? To get a date, a partner, a fuck buddy, a battering ram, some jerk off material, a piece of ass. Yea, it is, but we can’t actually admit that now can we.

So we back off, then we wonder why the other person hasn’t jumped in and initiated something. They have also backed off because we are all doing the same silly chicken dance. We fluff up our feathers, piss on a bush and make some noise. Then we cower. And hope for Mister or Miss perfect to magically appear before our eyes and carry us away on a beautiful white horse. Is finding a dinner date in the vanilla world this difficult?

Here in cyber-land we can peruse dozens, hundreds, thousands of persons of every known sexual persuasion and discard 99 out of every one hundred for something trivial, some minor blemish that we would normally overlook. “I hate red hair!” we squeal as we delete yet another perfect person except for that damn imperfection of red hair. If we had met them in a real-time setting and they were perfect except for the red hair we would get to see the person smile, hear their lovely voice, smell them, intercept their pheromones and see how they tie their shoe laces. They would place a hand on our shoulder and we would melt in spite of the red hair. Not so here in cyber-land. We deletedeletedelete until our delete button is worn out.

Then we bitch and moan and groan because “isn’t anyone real!?”. “Where are all the real people?” we demand. Deleted. Because of a minor flaw or worse because we can’t admit we ARE looking for another human being and we are lonely and we would give our left nut to get the shit beaten out of us just once please and thank you!

How to step out of the dance… I don’t know. I have experienced it so many times it could pay the National debt. Regardless, almost every conversation one starts in this environment will fade away like the morning dew because most of us are afraid to meet a stranger and run headlong into a possible perfect person. Is that a red hair?

There is the group that only interacts in dungeons or at play parties, for the sake of safety (a very legitimate reason I might like to add) so they avoid the loners who hate the BDSM community at large and theoretically COULD be stalkers, molesters, worse! because without the safety net of a community and the self policing a community can do it is much easier for that kind of thing to happen.

Then there are the lone practitioners, they shun the drama and political bullshit we all have to put up with when we are a part of the much larger whole. There is no perfect world.

All this has been hashed out many times by many writers far more eloquent than myself.

What’s my point? LMFAO! I’ll be damned if I know. It’s Wednesday night, I don’t go to church, I don’t have a person to toy with and quite frankly I miss that.

Male Submission Art

Happy Holidays,

Barren brain without input

I’ve been trying for weeks to come up with a new story. Nothing has piqued my interest. Nothing comes to mind. Nothing. I write in the vanilla world and I never lack for ideas there, so this is perplexing. If you have input I am open to suggestion.

tsk, tsk

Ok I’m back. Spam. Gotta love it.

I haven’t hit anyone in a long time. I haven’t even annoyed or tormented anyone recently. Volunteers? No wait! I did hit Kingsnake a few weeks ago. What a pleasant surprise that was. I may have left a few marks. I haven’t heard back from him yet … still wondering if he got in trouble with his wife and/or girlfriend. I sure hope so! But that’s just the sadistic side of me.

Anyway thanks for the call Gypc. See you somewhere!

Spidr

So, at the ripe old age of 55 I take a job as road manager for a band. Said band plays a gig at Hollywood Forever, which you may or may not know is that cemetery in Los Angeles with some of the most famous people in film and in California history. So I schmooz with one of the owners. At some point one of the band members slips me a styrofoam cup with about 1 1/2 ounces of green liquid in it, gives me a sly grin and says, “check it out babe”. My first reaction was to slap him, but I digress.

I sniffed, raised an eyebrow in surprise, gave him a promising smile, and sipped, very cautiously. Oh my. Absinthe. It took the two of us most of the evening to finish the heady  delight in a styrofoam cup. Oh for a crystal glass.

I mentioned later on to the owner how much I had enjoyed it and my long interest. He mentioned there had been an Absinthe tasting party a few weeks before and they had all this extra Absinthe just laying about and he would probably give it away to the employees. I asked if he would hire me. He laughed and offered me a bottle to which I accepted.

As we were settling for the performance that night he presented me with a brand new bottle of beautiful green fluid, Absinthe, and asked me if I knew how to properly drink it … with the little spoon and a cube of sugar. I shyly said I had read about it but had never seen one and would have to get one. To which he pulled one sterling Absinthe spoon from his desk drawer and handed me.

Cruising down the highway in the wee hours of the morning I casually mentioned my acquisition to my drinking buddy. He was furious and green with envy and assumed I would share it with him and demanded to know what I had had to do to get my hands on the bottle. I smiled coyly, batted my eyelashes and said it was my secret.

He still thinks I gave the guy a blow job or had sex with his girlfriend while he shot the whole thing. I let him think that. He wants part of the bottle and I have made it clear, HE will have to earn it the same way I did, and to call me when ready.  I haven’t heard from him yet.

Spidr

I will sashay past you and brush your ass with my round belly, brush your hand, whisper in your ear, and still you will wait. For the word. One word.

Mine.

S.

S.

Trudge through the warm asphalt at the Spidrsden door and drag your ass back to my embrace. Turn your back to me when you approach – shun me a moment. I will lean in – press my warm breath upon your neck – whisper in your ear – rack my nails down your sides – leaving warm tears.

Antonia pressed her chest upon the mans back, wrapped her long arms around him and racked her painted nails across his nipples as he quivered with anticipation. She smoothed her palms along the lines of his abdomen and toward his crotch entangling her fingers deeply into his patch of fur. She writhed up and down in a humping motion enticing him more. The man’s breathing quickened as did Antonias and their bodies locked together in a pulse of desire.

Antonia bent him forward and his cheeks naturally splayed apart as she ran one hand along the underside of his growing cock coddling his balls and finding her way to his hole. Her own manhood growing in lust. She fingered the hole and he moaned.

The man had so long longed for this moment and dared not think it would really happen this night – such a lovely tall strong persona Antonia is.

He reared toward her. And met Anthony’s cock – full and thick – hot and pounding, and he gasped as it pushed into him. The man closed his eyes as the cock went deeper and began to thrust in and out. Anthony was slow and careful, cradling him in his arms, whispering in his ear, biting his ears and neck and shoulders.

Their heat rose and the pace quickened and they fucked hard. Anthony pounded at the man’s asshole and the man met every stroke. Finally Anthony screamed and his climax burst into spasms and gasps and he racked Antonia’s nails over the mn’s chest and blood-red lines welled up. The man shuddered with his own bone shuddering climax.

They fell into a different heap and kissed and gasped and fondled and wrestled each other into submission and laughed with pleasure. Tenderly the man stroked Anthony’s muscular body, his arms and legs and his sweaty neck, licking the salt from the hollow at the base.

The End.