don juan lover

dated a guy who was really into pleasing the woman.  hunting down the things that rocked her, appealed to her.  he knew if he couldn't get a woman excited he wasn't doing it right.  he prided himself on being an impressive lover and having a satisfied woman.  he had his moments, not often, where he got selfish or tired and opted for quickies.  quickies bother me.  coz it's all about the guy getting the quickie when he's in the mood and too bad if she wanted to climax as well.  never the other way around.  what about her getting some when he's not in the mood but she is?  back to the story.  one time he gets on and does his thing all hurried and not taking time to excite me and i kid you not at the end he asked me "was it good for you?"  didn't think anybody really asked that.  being direct as i am i told him it wasn't good for me.  not even nearly.  was he serious?  he was surprised and offended by my response and it lead to a big argument.  i tell him i'm in it for the climax too.  it's not just about him and his climax.  at no point during his advances did he ask me if i did or didn't want to get off as well.  there was no point where a quickie was discussed and determined as being what we both wanted.  he says something about thinking i would be pleased just to have him in me.  probably not meant the way it sounded - like he was a rock god or something.  i flipped out, gave him a big piece of my mind, saying at no time did i agree to just please him.  at no point was it discussed that i didn't also want to be pleased.  he just assumed i would be ok being used as a vesicle to store his cargo (my exact words).  that made him angry and so we both shouted back and forth.  no resolution was reached then and we didn't talk to each other for two days.  me plotting how i would make him understand my point of view, trying to figure out how and what i would say.  then i come up with an idea.  i take him to the bedroom, touch him, kiss him, get him excited.  undress him.  undress myself.  throw him on the bed all barred up.  jump on and work him for a few minutes.  without even pretending to climax i hop off him and ask him "was it good for you?"  he says "what?" realizing it isn't going to go the way he expected (much how i felt after our last encounter).  he tells me he's not done.  i tell him i am and add, "but it was a pleasure having you in me" and i get dressed and leave him alone, all barred up and no where to go.

Later he tells me I made my point well.

table top dancing

I once danced on a dinning table in hot pants and a t-shirt to an entire Deee Lite album.

Those were the days ..

r.i.p beast

Can't take it with you when you go.  So why care about it and hold it in high esteem?  It doesn't matter.  Not important in the scheme of things. It's an object.

I know that.  Logically I get it and I still miss my beloved.  When I see similar cars or cars that are the same colour I feel nostalgic and sad that the car is gone.  Almost brings a tear to the eye.  Yes I am grateful the friends who were in the car are ok.  Yes I am grateful my injuries healed.  It's just a car.  Lives are more important.

Still remember the policeman who arrived on the scene (he was cute) asking me if I drove the little dinky silver car.  The look on his face when I told him I drive the beafy V8 [that crashed into the car in front, that had crashed into the car in front and so on].  He looked a tad impressed.  I felt pride and also greif.  My car was crumpled up.

Now I drive another V8 which people tell me is so much better.  Performance wise, age wise, looks wise.  Yeah, I supose so - there's pride there.  And I still miss my beast, my beafy V8, the shark I use to call it.  Cruising, smooth, sleak, circling it's prey.  It was unique.  As far as I could research, only around 250 ever made.  Now down to 249.  A right-off.  Bye Bye car.

And I still miss my V8.

forever young

I wish I was forever locked in my fantasy.  It's fun here.  Me myself and i.  Multiple persons.  We have a great old time.

(Multiple personalities is people lost in their imaginations)

Got my dancing and singing and romance.  I'm hip and I'm grovin'  Got my stories and ideals and I'm loving life.  If only I could stay here.  Real life is such a shit.

People.  Work.  Life.  Draws me out and I don't like it.
Alas it has to happen.

Some of us are born preferring our imagination to real life.  Still I contribute to the world.  I ain't to daydreaming bludger livin' off the dole not earning my keep.

None-the-less like being lost in my world of stories and fantasies and all that.

Give me bush walking and imagining any day.

Give me dancing my guts out pretending I'm famous - or dancing for you - any day.

Plus I write and love it.  Shit load of stories to prove it.

Then life draws me out.  Reality. 

Go away .. I was happy here

date night

Speak to any relationship counselor and they'll suggest a date night for stagnant relationships were the couples have been together for a while and take each other for granted.  They got comfortable and are content to sit around ignoring each other.

He went to a counselor and got told he should have date nights with me.  Wish I'd have been there because I'd have laughed at the counselor and said what the hell point would that be?

When I go on a date with him I get one of of two things. 1. Ocotoman. 2. Distance.

Last night's date he was cold.  Walking towards him all dressed up he says nothing.  No telling me I look nice.  Nothing.  The most I get is your bum feels good in that skirt.  It's better than nothing though I want more.  We drive to the movies and he's saying and doing nothing date-ish.  May as well be going shopping for all he's giving.  No holding my hand, stealing looks at me, telling me I look nice.  We get our pop corn and go into the theater and he's sitting next to me like a statue, back straight, facing front, hands to himself.  No holding my hand, leaning towards me, putting an arm around me.  Nothing.  The most I get is him leaning over to tell me that actor is such n such from that other movie or show.  I eventually lean over to him and hold onto his arm, or put my hand on his thigh.  After some time he returns the gesture and only keeps his hand there for a little while.  It's back to playing statues.  I'm looking over at him every now and then thinking how good looking he is, wishing he'd do the same.  The movie is over and we leave talking about how good the movie was.  The Dark Knight Rises.  Wicked movie.  Loved it.  So bloody cool with a great ending and stacks of cameo appearances.  Can't wait for the next one.  In the car he's still saying and doing nothing date-ish though he does hold my hand.  By now my hand is limp.  I've lost interest.  I'm feeling depressed.  I'm feeling unattractive.  I'm feeling uninteresting.  It's all about expectations.  His expectation is date night is about going out together and doing something enjoyable.  My idea of date night is we flirt and chat and he builds me up and makes me feel 6 feet tall.  My idea is we do some extra stuff we don't normally do that removes the taking for granted comfortable content BORING stagnant feeling.  We could have sat on the sofa at home and had the same kind of dumb pathetic ignore me all night type of night.  Which is what we have all the time anyway.

The next day he's pissed off with me for confessing my feelings about the date and lack of flirting which came about because he paid me a compliment when I was half undressed saying I look good.  I replied "Oh now you compliment me."  Must have been wearing too much at the movies since the only time I'm complimentable is when I'm half naked.

And that's our date night.  Oh goodie..... can't wait until the next one.

a sermon on sinners

i am the lord thy god
thou shalt have no other gods
no graven images or likenesses
not take the lord's name in vain
remember the sabbath day
honour thy father and thy mother
thou shalt not kill
thou shalt not commit adultery
thou shalt not steal
thou shalt not bear false witness
thou shalt not covet

the group of people who hung negros up in trees then went to church on sunday and shouted “halleluiah i believe in jesus christ the son of our holy father amen!”
the group of people who stoned a girl to death.  the lady who back stabs and gossips and tells
untruths about people.  the man who coverts another man’s wife and thinks he’s not cheating because she is a picture in a magazine or some chick in a video. the paedophile who claims to be ‘born that way’ and can’t help his impulses, or those sick men who go to thai child brothels, or invest money into an asian prostitute for as long as the money lasts.  the mother who bashes her children or dates some asshole that will do it for her while she does nothing.

they kid themselves that they’re not sinners, or they've repented for their sins so god will forgive them.  0r maybe they don’t believe in god and couldn't give a rat’s ass about what they do because there is no heaven or hell and no punishment that will make them stop.

we like to sit back in our cosy houses pointing the finger at the ‘bad sinners’ while in truth we are all
sinners.  get real and admit you’ve done at least one of those things.  for the most part we do nothing about the sinners which is a sin in itself or we believe we are not sinning - because we think the above is ok. we fight for nothing and go with the flow.  we do nothing but pray to our gods that it won’t happen or tell ourselves we’re going to heaven where the sinners won’t be and life will be perfect (while all the sinners suffer in hell). or maybe you go nowhere after death the all the crap is gone.

ridiculous foolishness and not good enough.  we as a collective people need to get up off our fat asses and be proactive in dealing with sin starting with ourselves.  even if you don’t believe in the 10 commandments because it’s for a religion that is not yours; not killing, not committing adultery, not stealing, not bearing false witness and not coveting makes sense.

random phone call

The guy on the phone said he was looking for someone else. He asked for such & such and I told him he's got the wrong number. He asked me which number he'd rang. I asked him what number he was after. He read out my number.
I knew the owners of the house. They had lived there for a long time and before them an old man. No one by the name of the person this guy was after had ever lived there.
He begins chatting with me saying he may as well make the most of a wrong number.
He phoned again a couple more times to chat talking about Steven King books and asking me about my interests. There was no personal discussion aside from discussing single status and what we look like. The guy was truthful enough saying he had a girth broader than his shoulders and he was older than me.
Then one day he suggests we meet, I agree, he picks a date and time. I bring a friend. As soon as I saw him I knew he was not my type. He was older and broader than I expected, short and had a particular unattractiveness to him. My friend and I sat with him and had a drink chatting. It came easy enough since we'd spoken so much over the phone.
It's time to go so he walks us to my car. As we get to my door he reaches in to give me a proper kiss. I turn my face so he'll kiss my cheek. He asks if we'll see each other again and I'm very direct and tell him no.

Thinking about it years later. How did he get my number? What if the call wasn't as random as he claimed? Strange things happened in that house. Middle of the night phone calls often. Rubbish going missing. Hearing someone walking around outside the house at night time.

I was so naive innocent and trusting back then.