Drunken Thought #15

     I've been tucking it into my pocket.  Nice.  Neat.  In a cute envelope.  Each and every time something stupid comes out of your mouth, I've been gently filing it into the abyss behind my left lapel.  My thoughts and emotional impulses are folded two or three times to fit perfectly... To fit nicely... To fit neatly...
     Aren't I a saint?  Aren't I an alchemist?  For converting bullshit into pretty packages...  Sealing bullshit filled envelopes with a decorative closure... It even matches my outfit.  Aren't I nice?  Aren't I neat?  Aren't I a well-trained negro, to be so tall?  My jacket is so well tailored, you barely notice the lump swelling beneath my left lapel.

Enter: Vodka
Enter: Example after example
Enter: The right time for all the wrong things to happen

     Even the finest paper dissolves quickly in alcohol.  The beautiful, ordinate seals can not contain the bullshit locked within.  What happened to nice?  What happened to neat?  My mouth is neither.  My arms won't stop flailing.  My beautiful jacket is ruined!  And, I don't care.  It's covered in smelly, age-old bullshit.  And, I don't care.  You need to know.  They need to know.  I need to know.
     My pockets are bursting open for the world to see.  Here I am, in my Sunday's best, vomiting in public.  It needs to go...  All of it...  Get out of my body...  Get out of my face...
     In retrospect, I would've reconsidered my filing system; if I had known it would explode at a later date.  All of it at once.  I would not have tucked my anger away in neat places.  I would not swept my emotions under a rug so expensive.  Now, I have a mess to clean up.
     I've learned that even the abyss can fill to its brim....  Even an European-tailored jacket can tear at it seams.  Even the most beautiful, most extravagant seals have their limits.  Shit.  I thought I had finesse.  I thought I was professional.  It turns out, I'm a person, too... Shit.

Bad Sex: (Ep. 3) "Some Like it Rough"

     LOGO's new television series "Bad Sex" has garnered by attention.  The show features a sex therapist's work as he helps people with dysfunctional sexual issues.  Each episode focuses on a single client as (s)he participates in group and individual therapy.  I found the first two episodes to be nothing short of thought provoking.  Peeling back the layers of their sexual behaviors, the sex "specialist", Chris Donaghue, helps to reveal the deeper emotional issues they were masking with sex.  Good TV.
     The third episode rubbed me wrong.  They turned the camera to Erin, "A rough sex/love addict".  Choking.  Cropping.  Fetish.  She admits, "Sex has to be rough for her to enjoy it."  I found myself waiting for the bad part.
     Her therapy with Chris and the other clients showed that Erin had some major intimacy issues.  Habitually, her relationships consist of sex alone. No conversation.  No cuddling.  No connection.  The major problems with her love life were flagrant.  However, what offended me was their need to continue to emphasize her kinky proclivities.  Slicing in scenes of her purchasing sex toys and buying fetish gear.  From what I seen from the show, I believe her issues were independent of her kink.  Yet, the directors continued to draw this connection between her fetish and her fear of intimacy.
     Her two-year relationship with a married man was the problem, not her urge to be tied up.  Her ability to stay in a relationship with a man who fucks her and then sleeps on the couch was the problem, not the whips and chains occupying her toy box.  Maybe I would've appreciated it if Chris assured Erin, "It's okay if you like to be choked."  I think this show had an opportunity to be kink-positive and progressive, but squandered it on being sensationalist.

I think its possible to have your emotional/spiritual needs met in a kinky relationship.

  I think psychological health can co-exist with fetish.

What do you guys think about this episode?

Quantum Touch: Cups

     It's interesting, what can be conjured from a lover during a scene.  Bending.  Striking.  Digging.  An adult can dissolve into a crying child.  A human being can transform into an animal.  A body, of flesh and blood, can open its gates and become the ocean.

It was a Friday morning...
She surprised me...

     Placing the first suction cup against her back, I turned the knob.  She snaps, "Ouch! Can't you do it any slower?"  Massaging her back with oil, kneading her skin and muscles, I warm her up before trying again.  Turning the knob slower this time, I watched the plastic case fill with her flesh.  Hissing, "Fuck," she slams her fist against the ottoman.

Her mouth may have been filled with curses.
Her fists may have been filled with her comforter.
But, the scent of her cunt filling the air
was all the permission I needed to apply the second cup.

     Twisting the knob clockwise, her speech was quick and punctual, "Shit! Shit! Shit!"  If I listened more than sniffed, I'd stop.  But, my nostrils filled with the musk of a masochist.  My instincts took over and continued to systematically work her body.
     Taking my time, I strategically fastened cup after cup, riddling her backside with several of these bizarre attachments.  Sucking.  Pulling.  Tightening.  It's interesting, what can be conjured from a lover during a scene.  After the third cup grasped at the flesh of her ass, something changed.  Suddenly, like a gust of wind, silence made its presence known: sacred... still... golden...
     Someone 5' 5" can tower over the tallest of men.  Soft curves and moist valleys can match the hardness of diamonds.  It was Friday morning and she revealed herself a goddess.  I swear, her humming voice made the temperature rise in Oakland that day.  All I could do was watch and praise the miracle before me.

"Zen" by Forbidden Light (Featuring Boistrous)



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