Thursday, February 28, 2008

Close

(This is something I posted on Alt.com back on December 10 -- it's a poem by Carson Reed. At that time I wrote the following introduction: "my friend ladyofdelights just posted an awesome poem by Carson Reed. I looked to find out more about him and found this one. It's not erotic, but I do like it.")



Close

You been waiting for me to call and I been waiting for you to call and nobody calls and we just wait.

We are signal-free. Our digital phones make zero ones and zero zeros. We are flush with weekday minutes. Our phone bills come every-other month.

All the germs on our telephone mouthpieces have died of neglect.

Your Nokia has a cricket in it. My Cricket has a spider.

Our telephone notepads have no notes. Our Sticky Notes are blank blue blocks.

The outsides of our refrigerators are empty.

We are sine-qua-non-talkers. We are liberators who have freed the airwaves of our speech. People who like to talk to each other should call us and thank us. And they would, too, if our numbers were listed.

We are verbally chaste. We are phone abstinant. We just say no to talking.

It isn't always easy. Sometimes I have dreams of talking to you and in the morning all the things I wanted to say stain my pillow. Sometimes (blush) I lock myself in the bathroom and talk myself silly.

People put their ears to my ear so they can hear the ocean. People drop pennies in your ear and make a wish.

I'm not sure what happened. I think we must have been taking turns not calling each other and somebody took two turns and messed things up. Now, it's been so long we've both forgotten whose turn it is to not call. We both think it's our turn!

Really it's all so silly I was going to call but then I got to thinking that I been thinking about this all wrong. We may be standing at the edge of an achievement. What is the world record for continuous tandem not talking anyway? We must be close.



Carson Reed

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Why I Left Alt.com

I joined Alt.com in July last year (2007), shortly after joining its sister site AdultFriendFinder.com (AFF). Alt is devoted more to BDSM, and that stuff didn't interest me at all at the time (in fact it scared me) so I ignored Alt to concentrate on AFF.

I met Tiggy on AFF a few months later. The timing was fortunate, because shortly after we met she deleted her AFF account to concentrate on Alt. There she was fast becoming one of their most popular bloggers. So in December, at Tiggy's suggestion, I started reading Alt regularly just to follow her blog there.

Her Temple of Laphrodite is an outstanding blog. It is varied and fascinating in its content. But its most distinguishing and attractive characteristic is the warm and friendly way in which she responds to everyone who comments. It's true: anyone who leaves a comment gets a reply.

Tiggy also enjoys flirting with visitors, sometimes in sexually explicit terms (this is Alt.com after all), and in the beginning I found this unsettling and just too intense for me. I had a strong reaction to some people's comments, and I had never before been with anyone who continued to flirt with other men (or women). Sometime between Christmas and New Years I quit reading Alt for a while. But I know this hurt her feelings; after a while I felt that I understood and accepted her blogging ambitions well enough, and began to join in the conversation.

However I didn't want to admit to myself that there remained within me a constant undercurrent of jealousy and insecurity as I read Temple of Laphrodite. Sometimes when I did notice myself feeling that way, I tried to brush it off or rise above it. But looking back on it now, I feel sure that this is a major reason why I have reacted very strongly to some posts

So finally, in late February I let my feelings get badly hurt by another post, and cancelled my Alt account entirely. I could still read most of Tiggy's posts on her blogspot blog, but now I could avoid the maddening comments by Alt members. I know I annoyed Tiggy with my sudden departure, but otherwise I'm very happy with my decision to leave.

Since leaving Alt I am much closer to being relaxed and at peace. I don't worry about who is flirting or exchanging erotic stories with Tiggy. I can see that some of the comments on her blog were constantly gnawing at me, mostly at such a low level that I didn't even admit to myself that they were bothering me. This had helped turned Alt.com into a place of major insecurity for me, which in turn affected my reaction to her posts. Thus I was much more likely to react in hurt when reading Temple of Laphrodite than when reading the same post on blogspot.

My only regrets are (a) leaving so abruptly as to offend Tiggy and (b) not doing it sooner.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

Love

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.

If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.

When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13 (New International Version)

A Better Plan

Could I have laughed instead of feeling hurt?
A smile, just to deflect the inner pain?
And so passed by a lighter, smoother, safer route,
A path without the drama and the stain?

Was there a better way? A wiser kind of man
would take a few more minutes to reply.
To share a little fun would be a better plan
It's not too late to give it just a try.

2/24/2008, on the plane

Thursday, February 21, 2008

More Time For Kissing


I was thinking that
less deep discussion would leave
more time for kissing.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Boners at Work

I don't get boners 
when I'm at work anymore.
There are more than enough pretty women, 
must be me who's shut that door.
Is it stress?  Am I too tired?
Has religion cut the line?
Am I too much the romantic?
Not enough the horny kind?
Or is it just the weight of time,
falling like a stone,
the inevitable result
of declining testosterone.

A Cell Phone Vision


This morning I was lying in that dreamy half-awake state. And I thought of my cell phone.

In my dream state I began to use it to look at pictures I had taken, send text messages, check my email. All the usual stuff. But then I realized that there was no battery in the phone -- for some reason I had removed it. So I pulled off the back cover, inserted the battery and went back to using the phone.

So here's the thing: without the battery I was just pretending or imagining that I was actually communicating with anybody else on the phone. Yes the phone is capable of doing everything that I was doing, but it was all in my head.

Now one could apply this in a variety of ways. My first thought was prayer. I may not be real sure anymore what I believe about God, but I do believe it's worthwhile praying to he/she/it. But how often have I stood there with no battery in my phone, chattering away to God as if he was listening, when I was really just talking to myself.

But then these are easy parallels. Here's the hard one: where do I get a battery?

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Kneeling in the Temple

I wrote this in November last year and posted it on alt.com. Warning: sexually explicit content.

My 3pm meeting took the full hour. I was deeply involved in the substance of it, so it's not as if the minutes dragged. But as the time drew closer to 4 and then beyond, I was conscious of my growing impatience to be off. Half-past 4 is pretty early to leave, so I got a few raised eyebrows as I stuffed my laptop in its bag and headed out the door, making no effort to attend the less-vital 4pm meeting already in progress.

I have not seen you for so long. More than two weeks. A week was long enough for us to question ourselves, but it brought us closer in the end. Thank God for email. And then your brilliant suggestion of a phone date. We couldn't touch, but we talked and talked. You at home, me in a conference room at work. At the end of an hour there were still things I hadn't said yet.

I crawl through the traffic, progress measured in yards, not miles. But I am not impatient. It will soon get better, and then I'll be climbing into the pines and redwoods, breathing the cleaner, thicker ocean air on my way to your door. For days I've been singing your song to myself, and now it's all I can think of:

I like you, I want to see you naked, lying in my bed.

I will be lying in your bed soon.

As I cross the summit and head down to you, I pop one of Pfizer's gifts to humanity into my mouth and swallow. I'm 54 years old, dammit. I can still get it up on my own, but yes it makes a difference.

But mostly you make the difference. I feel so comfortable and happy with you, and you do such remarkable things, and you are so accepting. You keep me "up" later than ever.

Almost to your street, I turn in at a store. Only a couple of days ago you'd published the "Makeup Brush Trick" and I said I'd bring the baby powder . I'm hoping they'll have some flowers.

And then I'm parked. Is it the right house? I've been here just once before when I dropped you off. Recognizing your car in the driveway, I ring the bell.

And there you are. On the phone and still wearing a name badge on your trim, gray, professional suit. You are so cute and your welcoming smile is already thawing the ice that seems to persist in my veins and arteries. We touch softly as you usher me inside, into the kitchen.

Your home is indeed a temple of delights, a place that has been loved into being. Where my house is cluttered, yours is tidy. My random knick-knacks are scattered or piled whereever they could find a resting spot, but yours have been carefully placed. And so much painting. Not college-dorm color blotches but purposeful, artful, lovingly painted decorations. A house of worship.

When you finish your call we kiss. If you told me you drugged your lip gloss I would have to believe you, because even from our very first kiss I knew my world had changed. You electrify and melt me at the same time.

You show me all around. Besides the pleasure of sharing more of each other, it reassures and calms me as the surroundings start to become familiar. The cranes in particular draw me in.

I hope these surroundings can become more familiar in the future. "I like you, I want to see you naked, lying in my bed."

With food and wine now, we settle ourselves onto the round rug on your bedroom floor. You've changed clothes and the satin dress you're now wearing shimmers in the soft light. My Levi's are a little tight, so I take them off, hoping it isn't too soon. I realize that you have a plan, but I don't know what it is. The food is good and we're enjoying just being together. I love the sound of your voice. One of your kittens is biting my toes through my socks.

I move closer to you on the floor, so we can touch. Soon we are holding each other. Through the silkiness of your dress, the curved softness of your breasts feels more exquisite than ever. I want to feel my hairy chest against you, but my shirt stands in the way. When you finally unbutton it I feel tremendous relief.

As we move to the bed, your eyes are sparkling. What do you have in mind? Soon you are straddling me, gently rubbing a long yellow silk scarf across my face and chest. I'm wondering what you want to do with the scarf. We've talked about limits and about what we like. And I trust you. I'm wondering if you'd like to tie me up with the scarf. You ask me, and we talk. I am excited to say yes.

Would you have liked to have blindfolded me as well? I wasn't afraid of it, but I like to see you, so I said no. But next time, yes, please blindfold me.

The feather. So lightly over me. I'm hairy, so there are places where it doesn't work as well, but you manage to make me twist with pleasure and anticipation.

The ice is melted! I begin to see a little better how carefully you've thought ahead, to even have the ice there. You leave me to get more.

I like you, I want to see you naked, lying in my bed.

I hear the door downstairs and voices. If I didn't trust you, I'd start to worry about what's going on. But I do trust you so I lie quietly in blissful anticipation. Nevertheless you saw my eyes widen when you came back, and you explained that your housemate had come home.

And then the ice. You started simply: sharing it with a kiss. Then as you held it in your soft lips you applied it to my unwary nipples. And you took them in your teeth and gently bit, slowly finding just the point where my muscles tensed with the pain and my back began to arch.

And then I felt a wet creamy bead applied down and up each of my thighs. It felt like a tube of ice cream being squeezed out. But it was just the ice, melting as your warm, soft lips caressed my skin. My tension and excitement was mounting. Then you started slowly at the bottom of my balls, moving gently and deliberately right straight up the center and onto my hard dick, right up my dick to the very tip. My eyes crossed and toes curled. I want you so much even now.

Now you have taken my penis in your mouth, your tongue soft and warm but still the ice is present. The feeling is exquisite. I can't help hoping it doesn't taste bad, and meaning to ask later. My hands are still tied by the silk scarf, but I'm clinging to the head board.
I don't want them to come loose. For a long time my dick lives within those holy halls, and I am a worshipper there.

Now you are moving once again, straddling my chest and presenting your wet pussy. My arms still restrained, you lower yourself onto me. My tongue reaches for your clitoris, for the piercing in your labia. Then I'm sucking your swollen labia into my mouth and reaching as far as I can with my tongue. I've never been in this position before, never had this much pussy in my mouth before. Your cries and tightening muscles help guide me to what pleases you.

Finally, you're on me and my dick is inside you. Your hotness and mine are joined together. I want to hold your waist, to squeeze your ass, to move you on me so that my hard penis is as deep as possible in your sweet cunt. The scarf somehow vanishes from my wrists and I'm holding you.

Pretend you are climbing a mountain whose summit is inside me.

I'm climbing the mountain. I have not yet reached the summit but when I do, first I want to stand an eternity and enjoy the view. Then cast myself into space and fall to its very roots.

Paean to "Lady of Delights"

I wrote this last year and originally posted it on alt.com.

Magic

When the moonlight glistens
on the lapping waves
That's when you practice your magic on me.

And when Phoebus tips
above the golden hills
I know you practice your magic on me.

And when our lips touch
in the moment that lasts for days
That's when I feel your magic in me.

But when your shining eyes
close in joy,
Your tranquil smile beams
on me alone,
As you ache, cry and tremble
with each move of our hips,
That's when I practice my magic in you.

2007

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Processing (a Haiku)


When you said you were
"Processing" I feared the worst
and became foolish.

A Valentine for Tiggy

When we hold each other
It all makes sense to me.

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

Not a Puzzle (a Haiku)


Your thoughtful silence
reminds me that you are a
joy, not a puzzle.

Friday, February 8, 2008

Door #?

Synopsis

Cock Robin steps through the door to find himself in a multicolored landscape of infinite possibility. Instead of grim determinism, he sees there is opportunity for beautiful, joyous variety at every decision. But before he can take a step forward, he must free himself from a tangle of fears and jealousies.

Door #5

Synopsis

Mr and Mrs Cock Robin enter marriage counseling. Six months later, Cock Robin tells her about Tiggy, who he is continuing to see. After a lot of tears and anger, the Cock Robins agree to a separation. Cock Robin moves into the spare bedroom, but spends half the week in Tiggy's burrow.

After two months, frustrated by his lack of commitment, Tiggy kicks Cock Robin out ...

Door #4

Synopsis

After some time together, Tiggy and Cock Robin part company. Cock Robin continues to surf alt.com and other internet dating sites, enjoying a succession of girlfriends, each one cheaper and more degrading than the last. Finally, after losing his family, his money and his job, he moves to Mexico to live in a camper. There he dies at age 67 of hepatitis.

Door #3

Synopsis

After a discrete year with Tiggy, Cock Robin admits to Mrs Cock Robin that he is in love with someone else. Broken hearted, Mrs. Cock Robin flies south for the mission field with half the Robin family's net worth. Cock Robin and Tiggy live happily ever after, though somewhat poorer.

Door #2

Synopsis

Cock Robin and Tiggy spend two discrete years together, after which Mrs. Cock Robin comes out as a lesbian and moves in with her friend Ms. Sparrow. All live happily ever after.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Door #1


Cock Robin flapped out of the rain onto the landing outside his nest. Large drops rolled down his folded wings to form the beginnings of a puddle on the mat. He shook himself, but not vigorously, and the damp seemed to seep beneath his feathers into his skin.

The tired bird sighed as he regarded the entrance to his nest. His shoulders stooped perceptibly, his plumed head dipped and his eyes screwed shut briefly as if he was trying to forget something.

Five years. Five years since she had gone away. And Cock Robin had never filled that void since. Closing his account on alt, he tried to forget those luminous days and nights together, the magic of her tender kisses, the hunger of her eager, thrusting hips ... "No" he said out loud to himself, shaking his head. "Such thoughts are sinful," he reminded himself wearily, sadly.

Mrs Cock Robin greeted him with a peck. "I'm off to Bible study again tonight, honey," she cooed as she brushed past him for the door. Cock Robin felt weak and sick.

He grabbed a dinner from the freezer. God, he was sick of Swedish Meatballs. Tossing it on the counter, he reached above the oven for the gin. As he took a glass from the dishwasher, he inspected it carefully. Yes, it was clean. After adding some ice cubes, he went to the cupboard for tonic water, but there was none. "Damn it," he said to himself.

The half-filled glass of gin sat abandoned on the dirty counter as Cock Robin settled wearily onto his perch in front of the TV, took up the remote and pressed Play. Pastor Bluejay's sermon on Repentance sprang to the screen. "God damn it," he said to himself again.

A tear began to form in his wrinkled eye. But rather than running freely down his feathered cheek, it hung delicately for a moment, then seemed to shrivel from within as it joined the chilly dampness under his skin.