I Can Make $123,000 A Year Selling Life Insurance!!!
(Wanna Buy Life Insurance From Me?)
Oh dear.
So the guy I work with, Columbine Boy, has gotten involved with this multi-level marketing scheme called Primerica. I hate these things.
Years ago, I was visiting a dear friend of mine in Milwaukee, a woman I knew from college and her husband were going to grad school there. I was in their apartment, catching up, going through all the 'remember whens,' and they started in.
"It's time for us to have our shakes!"
"Oh great! I'll have a chocolate one! I had a vanilla this morning, and I'm looking forward to the Very Berry for tonight!"
"I'll make them. They're so easy to prepare! And they taste delicious!"
"It's incredible to think that we get all of our nutritional needs met from these great tasting shakes!"
It was awful. And sure enough, before my time with them was over, they had to go to a meeting, and invited me to come along and sit in. Their mentor or manager or whatever he was cornered me and told me more about the benefits of whatever this thing was called.
"It's not a supplement! Don't call it a supplement! It's food you drink!"
Any questions I asked ("What about phytochemicals? Nutritional necessities that break down easily and so are only available from raw, unprocessed foods?") were deflected, or I was told to talk to someone else who would know, or come to a meeting on Tuesday when that would be discussed.
I've forgiven my friends, but I felt so abused by the whole thing. And after they were unable to either sell any of the crap from their "Representative Starter Kit" or sign up any of their nearest and dearest as representatives working under them... well, let's just say I haven't heard a word about it since.
So when Columbine Boy told me about this great opportunity he'd stumbled upon, and wanted to extend to me, I pretty much knew what to expect. But, for political reasons (like, I work with this guy every day, all day), I had to go to this damn meeting.
And it was way down in Conshohocken, an area I don't know at all, and my MapQuest directions had me going left when I should have gone right and right when I should have gone left. So it took me twice as long to get there and twice as long to get back than it should have.
And it was really bad. Lots of hype; no questions answered in front of the group; white people talking in the front of the room telling African American and Latino people listening to them that they can become financially independent, get out of debt, and leave behind their unrewarding low-paying jobs. Basically, they enlist you to sell life insurance, 401k plans, and mortgage refinancing. (And, the principle of multi-level marketing is that the product--whatever it might be--is inferior to what you'll easily find elsewhere, but because it's your sister-in-law or whoever who is hawking it, your chances of buying are greater.)
Now, would you trust me to refinance your mortgage?
Neither would I.
In fact, I'll go out on a limb and say it would be a really bad plan for me to refinance anyone's mortgage. Ask anyone on the Board of GMSMA during my term as Treasurer and you'll find out just how bad a plan that would be.
Luckily, my charm and wit got me out of there without too much of a hassle. I only had to talk to one person to explain that "gosh it's been a really interesting evening (Lie!), but it's not for me (Truth!)."
I'm hoping that Columbine Boy will A.) leave me alone about it from now on, and B.) not ask too many questions.
And I got home too late to watch the UK version of 'Queer Eye.'
Damn.
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Rain
Jeanne is upon us. I sat inside at Starbuck's tonight. I kinda went into Not Be Wet mode, and it was coming down so hard that the only option would be pressed against the wall. I opted for the comfy chair.
And driving home was unbelievable. The local roads were creeks. When I took Faithful Companion for his walk, he got soaked. And my boy-boy does not do soaked well. But, he loves the toweling off part afterwards.
I unpacked two boxes tonight. A weird thing. I've been looking and looking for my marmite. This amazing thing I got years ago at Williams-Sonoma. For the stovetop, for the oven, even at my preferred temperature for cooking anything of 500 degrees Fahrenheit. It occurred to me that it wouldn't fit in a box. And hunting around the garage--which is increasingly easy to do as I clear it out--turned up nada. I may have to invest in a new marmite.
Anyway.
It's still coming down out there. Pretty hard, too.
With the new arrangement of my bedroom, my bed is now underneath the the window. So I'll be going to sleep listening to the sound of the rain.
I wonder.
How long will it be before lying in bed listening to the falling rain doesn't make me think of that wonderful, perfect night in the cabin at Delta with Big?
Jeanne is upon us. I sat inside at Starbuck's tonight. I kinda went into Not Be Wet mode, and it was coming down so hard that the only option would be pressed against the wall. I opted for the comfy chair.
And driving home was unbelievable. The local roads were creeks. When I took Faithful Companion for his walk, he got soaked. And my boy-boy does not do soaked well. But, he loves the toweling off part afterwards.
I unpacked two boxes tonight. A weird thing. I've been looking and looking for my marmite. This amazing thing I got years ago at Williams-Sonoma. For the stovetop, for the oven, even at my preferred temperature for cooking anything of 500 degrees Fahrenheit. It occurred to me that it wouldn't fit in a box. And hunting around the garage--which is increasingly easy to do as I clear it out--turned up nada. I may have to invest in a new marmite.
Anyway.
It's still coming down out there. Pretty hard, too.
With the new arrangement of my bedroom, my bed is now underneath the the window. So I'll be going to sleep listening to the sound of the rain.
I wonder.
How long will it be before lying in bed listening to the falling rain doesn't make me think of that wonderful, perfect night in the cabin at Delta with Big?
Monday, September 27, 2004
Duluth Trading Company Rocks!
Duluth Trading Company is my new favorite online vendor. I am really thrilled with my Cab Commander Organizer. (From their... *ahem!* "Master Series.")
And check out the hot bald guy that appears on the front page of their catalog. He inspired my boss to come running out of his office clutching their catalog to make pronouncements about the uncanny resemblance.
Yeah. I was flattered.
And here's my next purchase... the Cable Tamer Bag! What, pray tell, do I need with a cable tamer bag? Do I have a bothersome fifty foot airhose that I'm finding awkward to take everywhere I go? No, silly! I need it for whips! The current inventory is two signal whips, two snake whips, two bullwhips (one ten footer with a two foot fall), and of course, my magical Joe Wheeler made hybrid signal-bullwhip. And it even has a handy compartment for holding the Pecard's leather dressing.
'Edge is right! The difference between a gay leatherman and a straight leatherman comes down to our uncanny ability to accessorize. The search for the gay gene need not have taken this long. All they need to do is look for the strand of DNA shaped like a messenger bag.
From bags to boots to bolos to belts, any damn fool can squeeze into a pair of chaps, but it takes a homo to find the perfect shoulder bag (like this one from REI) to hold his cigars, clip, lighter, money, lube, and trick cards since chaps are so pocket deprived.
Shop around at Duluth. Their products are 'designed and tested by Tradesmen.'
Duluth Trading Company is my new favorite online vendor. I am really thrilled with my Cab Commander Organizer. (From their... *ahem!* "Master Series.")
And check out the hot bald guy that appears on the front page of their catalog. He inspired my boss to come running out of his office clutching their catalog to make pronouncements about the uncanny resemblance.
Yeah. I was flattered.
And here's my next purchase... the Cable Tamer Bag! What, pray tell, do I need with a cable tamer bag? Do I have a bothersome fifty foot airhose that I'm finding awkward to take everywhere I go? No, silly! I need it for whips! The current inventory is two signal whips, two snake whips, two bullwhips (one ten footer with a two foot fall), and of course, my magical Joe Wheeler made hybrid signal-bullwhip. And it even has a handy compartment for holding the Pecard's leather dressing.
'Edge is right! The difference between a gay leatherman and a straight leatherman comes down to our uncanny ability to accessorize. The search for the gay gene need not have taken this long. All they need to do is look for the strand of DNA shaped like a messenger bag.
From bags to boots to bolos to belts, any damn fool can squeeze into a pair of chaps, but it takes a homo to find the perfect shoulder bag (like this one from REI) to hold his cigars, clip, lighter, money, lube, and trick cards since chaps are so pocket deprived.
Shop around at Duluth. Their products are 'designed and tested by Tradesmen.'
Sunday, September 26, 2004
I Am My Own Thom Felicia
Oh yeah.
Another pleasant day of domesticity.
Somewhere in this great land of ours, leathermen gather for fun and frolic. (Uh... "somewhere" would be Folsom Street in San Francisco).
But here at the Ol' Homestead, it's a different story. After yesterday's bout of housecleaning, today I turned my attention to my bedroom, the bathrooms, laundry, and chopping some firewood. The prize of the day is my bedroom. It is transformed. Even Dear Old Dad commented, along the lines of "You turned a shithole into a palace."
Yes I did.
The arrangement of the furniture I did when I moved here a year ago totally didn't work. So job one was moving around the furniture to find something that works. Then, I filled up two hefty bags with crap I don't need anymore (I love nothing more than throwing stuff away; it's like getting my teeth cleaned, getting a straight razor shave, and having a session with the Showershot all in one day). Then, I started arranging things on my bookcases. First off came a sort of shrine to all things leather. Three framed prints I bought at last year's Erotic Arts Festival in NYC, my officer's cap, rebel cap, leather cowboy hat, bootblack kit, various lengths of chain... It looks great in there. So great. It all, suddenly, works together so well.
Oh. And I swept up a years worth of dog hair, too.
Now, attic to basement, the house is looking great. (Okay, so the basement is still a disaster. That will have to wait until I can rent a dumpster.)
And I think I'm gonna go tackle a few boxes from the garage. Get that cleared out. Set up a welding atelier. As a time of renewal, Spring is over-rated. It seems Autumn is what's giving me a well deserved kick in the ass.
Oh yeah.
Another pleasant day of domesticity.
Somewhere in this great land of ours, leathermen gather for fun and frolic. (Uh... "somewhere" would be Folsom Street in San Francisco).
But here at the Ol' Homestead, it's a different story. After yesterday's bout of housecleaning, today I turned my attention to my bedroom, the bathrooms, laundry, and chopping some firewood. The prize of the day is my bedroom. It is transformed. Even Dear Old Dad commented, along the lines of "You turned a shithole into a palace."
Yes I did.
The arrangement of the furniture I did when I moved here a year ago totally didn't work. So job one was moving around the furniture to find something that works. Then, I filled up two hefty bags with crap I don't need anymore (I love nothing more than throwing stuff away; it's like getting my teeth cleaned, getting a straight razor shave, and having a session with the Showershot all in one day). Then, I started arranging things on my bookcases. First off came a sort of shrine to all things leather. Three framed prints I bought at last year's Erotic Arts Festival in NYC, my officer's cap, rebel cap, leather cowboy hat, bootblack kit, various lengths of chain... It looks great in there. So great. It all, suddenly, works together so well.
Oh. And I swept up a years worth of dog hair, too.
Now, attic to basement, the house is looking great. (Okay, so the basement is still a disaster. That will have to wait until I can rent a dumpster.)
And I think I'm gonna go tackle a few boxes from the garage. Get that cleared out. Set up a welding atelier. As a time of renewal, Spring is over-rated. It seems Autumn is what's giving me a well deserved kick in the ass.
Top Tip
This from the Better Homes and Dungeons Department here at SingleTails...
Y'know those black plastic bags they give you for your purchases at your local purveyor of leather and SM goods? Don't throw them away! Save'em!
After working your boys but with your favorite dildo or butt plug, toss the toy into one of the bags. That way, you won't get santorum all over and you don't have to interrupt the scene to clean up then.
Cool, huh?
This from the Better Homes and Dungeons Department here at SingleTails...
Y'know those black plastic bags they give you for your purchases at your local purveyor of leather and SM goods? Don't throw them away! Save'em!
After working your boys but with your favorite dildo or butt plug, toss the toy into one of the bags. That way, you won't get santorum all over and you don't have to interrupt the scene to clean up then.
Cool, huh?
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Hey... I'm Gay...
*sigh*
Checking on GeekSlut's blog, I found a link and a mention regarding this. A confab of gay bloggers in the Nation's Capital.
It's that ol' high school feeling again.
Geekslut, Addaboy, Jimbo, DogPoet, jockohomo... When I was starting out, I read these guys all the time. I met Addaboy for lunch once. I've chatted with Jimbo on AOL about MAL. I think DogPoet had a link for me on his blog. They were heroes and role models.
But... I mean... whaddamI? Chopped liver?
I think I have a kinda good blog going here. I'm gay. I would miss my brother's funeral if there was a conflict with Queer Eye. My favorite cocktail is a cosmo. I swear! I'm gay as a goose!
But somehow I just didn't make it onto the A-List of gay bloggers. Or the B-list. Or the C-list. Or, y'know, the R-List.
Well, yeah but so what. Story of my life.
Mondo Gay has always left me on the outside looking in. I don't quite measure up, and they're always switching the yardsticks on me.
But then there's the leather community. Somehow I think that if various and sundry leather community bloggers were to have a national confab, I'd be on the list. Cuz I'm on the list. I am totally on the list.
Acceptance and love. The warm arms of welcome giving me a big ol' bear hug.
That's what I get from the leather community.
Thanks, leather community.
Anybody up for meeting me in DC on October 24th, spending some time smoking cigars at DC9--say from 5pm till 8pm--so the place is nice and stinky before those homo bloggers show up?
*sigh*
Checking on GeekSlut's blog, I found a link and a mention regarding this. A confab of gay bloggers in the Nation's Capital.
It's that ol' high school feeling again.
Geekslut, Addaboy, Jimbo, DogPoet, jockohomo... When I was starting out, I read these guys all the time. I met Addaboy for lunch once. I've chatted with Jimbo on AOL about MAL. I think DogPoet had a link for me on his blog. They were heroes and role models.
But... I mean... whaddamI? Chopped liver?
I think I have a kinda good blog going here. I'm gay. I would miss my brother's funeral if there was a conflict with Queer Eye. My favorite cocktail is a cosmo. I swear! I'm gay as a goose!
But somehow I just didn't make it onto the A-List of gay bloggers. Or the B-list. Or the C-list. Or, y'know, the R-List.
Well, yeah but so what. Story of my life.
Mondo Gay has always left me on the outside looking in. I don't quite measure up, and they're always switching the yardsticks on me.
But then there's the leather community. Somehow I think that if various and sundry leather community bloggers were to have a national confab, I'd be on the list. Cuz I'm on the list. I am totally on the list.
Acceptance and love. The warm arms of welcome giving me a big ol' bear hug.
That's what I get from the leather community.
Thanks, leather community.
Anybody up for meeting me in DC on October 24th, spending some time smoking cigars at DC9--say from 5pm till 8pm--so the place is nice and stinky before those homo bloggers show up?
I Guess Meshak and Abednego Stayed Home
I can now trace my lineage back to 1778.
That's the year that my father's father's mother's ancestor, Shadrack Lord, came over from England and settled along the banks of the Schuykill River north of Berks County. (Present day Pottsville, Pennsylvania, home of Yuengling, the oldest brewery in continuous operation in North America.)
I love it that I descended from someone named Shadrack.
If I remember my lessons from Mennonite Summer Bible School correctly, Shadrack, Meshak, and Abednego were friends of noble Daniel. He of the Lion's Den. (I think I recall my teacher giving us a mnemonic to remember the trio: My shack, your shack, and to bed we go. Pretty risqué for a Mennonite, no?
I can now trace my lineage back to 1778.
That's the year that my father's father's mother's ancestor, Shadrack Lord, came over from England and settled along the banks of the Schuykill River north of Berks County. (Present day Pottsville, Pennsylvania, home of Yuengling, the oldest brewery in continuous operation in North America.)
I love it that I descended from someone named Shadrack.
If I remember my lessons from Mennonite Summer Bible School correctly, Shadrack, Meshak, and Abednego were friends of noble Daniel. He of the Lion's Den. (I think I recall my teacher giving us a mnemonic to remember the trio: My shack, your shack, and to bed we go. Pretty risqué for a Mennonite, no?
What's Doin' With The Most Fierce And Fearsome Leatherman In The Delaware Valley?
Viciously whipping a linebacker from the local college football team into tearful submission?
Throwing some punk street urchin boy into the sling and filling his hot boyass up with a load of piss?
Introducing a trainer from my gym to the joys and rapture of having 200+ pounds of steel chain padlocked on his rockhard body and keeping him there till he smokes a big fat maduro down to the ring?
Well...
No.
Today was all about housecleaning. I vacuumed. I dusted. I was down on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. My countertops are gleaming. The carpets are free of all dog hair. There are two enormous garbage bags less clutter that will go out on the curb on Tuesday night.
And, I followed Faithful Companion around with paper towels all day. Y'see, FC must have picked up a bug in doggie lock-up. He's been throwing up about a six times an hour. I kinda don't mind dealing with FC's vomit. Any chump can play with a puppy and take a dog around the block. But cleaning up shit, piss, and vomit... that takes love.
And after dinner (Cream Chip Beef on Toast!), I fixed brownies (of course they're from scratch) for Dear Old Dad.
Bike Stop tonight?
Nah. Way too late.
How about the Raven in New Hope.
Eh. I'll pass.
A good night's sleep.
Tomorrow, I'll be cleaning the bathrooms, burning the trash, and... chopping firewood! Yup, it's that time of year. Winter approaches, the leaves show their colors, and we'll need to keep warm.
Yeah. This Fierce and Fearsome Leatherman has the homefront covered and the homefires burning.
Viciously whipping a linebacker from the local college football team into tearful submission?
Throwing some punk street urchin boy into the sling and filling his hot boyass up with a load of piss?
Introducing a trainer from my gym to the joys and rapture of having 200+ pounds of steel chain padlocked on his rockhard body and keeping him there till he smokes a big fat maduro down to the ring?
Well...
No.
Today was all about housecleaning. I vacuumed. I dusted. I was down on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. My countertops are gleaming. The carpets are free of all dog hair. There are two enormous garbage bags less clutter that will go out on the curb on Tuesday night.
And, I followed Faithful Companion around with paper towels all day. Y'see, FC must have picked up a bug in doggie lock-up. He's been throwing up about a six times an hour. I kinda don't mind dealing with FC's vomit. Any chump can play with a puppy and take a dog around the block. But cleaning up shit, piss, and vomit... that takes love.
And after dinner (Cream Chip Beef on Toast!), I fixed brownies (of course they're from scratch) for Dear Old Dad.
Bike Stop tonight?
Nah. Way too late.
How about the Raven in New Hope.
Eh. I'll pass.
A good night's sleep.
Tomorrow, I'll be cleaning the bathrooms, burning the trash, and... chopping firewood! Yup, it's that time of year. Winter approaches, the leaves show their colors, and we'll need to keep warm.
Yeah. This Fierce and Fearsome Leatherman has the homefront covered and the homefires burning.
Meme!
What scar are you most proud of? A small, almost imperceptible scar on my palm. Years ago, I was visiting a farm in Kentucky with Faithful Companion. The farm dykes who lived there had electric fences up all over, to keep their own dogs away from their chickens, geese, and ducks. It was suggested that I let Faithful Companion 'discover' the electric fencing on his own. Well that didn't work. Or, perhaps, worked too well. Faithful Companion's collar got caught in the electric fence. He was panicking, trying to get away from weird sensation he didn't understand. I intervened, I reached down, trying to unsnag his collar from the electrified wire. I managed to do it, but Faithful Companion, in his terror, bit my hand. This is my favorite scar because it embodies what I believe to be a great truth: Faithful Companion's power to harm me is less than my love for him and my power to help him.
What's your favorite condiment? That's a toughie. If we're talking turkey, chicken, or tuna, it has got to be mayonnaise. But, if we're talking beef, pork, or processed foods derived therefrom, then it's got to be mustard. People who put mustard on mayonnaise foods and mayonnaise on mustard foods are degenerates.
Do you have freckles? Nope.
What's your preferred method of cooking? "Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. That's how all my favorite recipes begin. I love to roast.
What shoes are you wearing? My Kean's.
Who was the first person you ever French kissed? One of several girls I hung around with in high school. I was voted "the best."
What's your preferred breed of dog? Mutts rule!
Where were you were born? Doylestown, Pennsylvania
What color underwear are you wearing? The color of air. I don't do the underwear thing.
Where are your keys are right now? In the wooden tray on the table in my room..
What's your opinion of airline food?I like institutional food. If I could be on the meal plan for life, I'd check that box.
What cosmetic surgery you would consider? Not quite surgery, but along the same lines, I've long wrestled with the question of steroids.
Where's the most interesting place you've had sex? Beneath a waterfall in the moonlight. No, in a cemetary. Noooo, in the middle of a parking lot in downtown Milwaukee. Noooooo... in an army barracks with the threat of MPs coming in the door at any moment. Noooooo... in the surf of the beach of the Fire Island Pines... Get the picture? I get around.
What's been your worst ever injury or illness? I've led a charmed life in this regard. I remember praying for God to 'take me' when I had earaches as a boy. I think two years ago, when I had crypto or something (Thanks, Jersey City Water Authority!) would probably be the worst I've had to deal with.
Can you can sing well? I think I do, but no one else who has heard me does.
What would your Olympic event would be? I guess the assumption here is that I'd be able to train and get good, huh? I think baseball.
Name someone you admire.Woodrow Wilson
Which country would be hardest for you to locate on a map? Is it Uruguay or Paraguay that's across the Janiero river from Brazil?
Which part of the Sunday paper do you read first? When my Sunday paper was the New York Times, it was the City Section. A neighborhood by neighborhood breakdown of what's happening.
What languages do you speak? English, French, Italian, Russian. If by 'speak' you mean being able to conjugate verbs and have a rudimentary vocabulary. On a visit to Puerto Rico ten years ago I was able to pick up enough Spanish to get along fine.
In what religion you were raised? Uhhh... a nit to pick. Corn and pigs are 'raised,' but children are 'reared.' I was reared an Episcopalian.
Can you can draw well? I do alright. But my lines have no conviction.
What's your favorite photograph?Anyone of several from Margaret Bourke-White's industrial photographs, or depictions of construction workers building sky scrapers.
What scar are you most proud of? A small, almost imperceptible scar on my palm. Years ago, I was visiting a farm in Kentucky with Faithful Companion. The farm dykes who lived there had electric fences up all over, to keep their own dogs away from their chickens, geese, and ducks. It was suggested that I let Faithful Companion 'discover' the electric fencing on his own. Well that didn't work. Or, perhaps, worked too well. Faithful Companion's collar got caught in the electric fence. He was panicking, trying to get away from weird sensation he didn't understand. I intervened, I reached down, trying to unsnag his collar from the electrified wire. I managed to do it, but Faithful Companion, in his terror, bit my hand. This is my favorite scar because it embodies what I believe to be a great truth: Faithful Companion's power to harm me is less than my love for him and my power to help him.
What's your favorite condiment? That's a toughie. If we're talking turkey, chicken, or tuna, it has got to be mayonnaise. But, if we're talking beef, pork, or processed foods derived therefrom, then it's got to be mustard. People who put mustard on mayonnaise foods and mayonnaise on mustard foods are degenerates.
Do you have freckles? Nope.
What's your preferred method of cooking? "Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. That's how all my favorite recipes begin. I love to roast.
What shoes are you wearing? My Kean's.
Who was the first person you ever French kissed? One of several girls I hung around with in high school. I was voted "the best."
What's your preferred breed of dog? Mutts rule!
Where were you were born? Doylestown, Pennsylvania
What color underwear are you wearing? The color of air. I don't do the underwear thing.
Where are your keys are right now? In the wooden tray on the table in my room..
What's your opinion of airline food?I like institutional food. If I could be on the meal plan for life, I'd check that box.
What cosmetic surgery you would consider? Not quite surgery, but along the same lines, I've long wrestled with the question of steroids.
Where's the most interesting place you've had sex? Beneath a waterfall in the moonlight. No, in a cemetary. Noooo, in the middle of a parking lot in downtown Milwaukee. Noooooo... in an army barracks with the threat of MPs coming in the door at any moment. Noooooo... in the surf of the beach of the Fire Island Pines... Get the picture? I get around.
What's been your worst ever injury or illness? I've led a charmed life in this regard. I remember praying for God to 'take me' when I had earaches as a boy. I think two years ago, when I had crypto or something (Thanks, Jersey City Water Authority!) would probably be the worst I've had to deal with.
Can you can sing well? I think I do, but no one else who has heard me does.
What would your Olympic event would be? I guess the assumption here is that I'd be able to train and get good, huh? I think baseball.
Name someone you admire.Woodrow Wilson
Which country would be hardest for you to locate on a map? Is it Uruguay or Paraguay that's across the Janiero river from Brazil?
Which part of the Sunday paper do you read first? When my Sunday paper was the New York Times, it was the City Section. A neighborhood by neighborhood breakdown of what's happening.
What languages do you speak? English, French, Italian, Russian. If by 'speak' you mean being able to conjugate verbs and have a rudimentary vocabulary. On a visit to Puerto Rico ten years ago I was able to pick up enough Spanish to get along fine.
In what religion you were raised? Uhhh... a nit to pick. Corn and pigs are 'raised,' but children are 'reared.' I was reared an Episcopalian.
Can you can draw well? I do alright. But my lines have no conviction.
What's your favorite photograph?Anyone of several from Margaret Bourke-White's industrial photographs, or depictions of construction workers building sky scrapers.
W 2
I know. Too terrible to contemplate. A second term for George W. Bush.
Or is it?
Think about it.
The situation in Iraq continues to crumble, albeit at an accelerated pace. Without a plan, without adequate ground support, we defeated Saddam Hussein, but we are clearly losing the peace. The elections in January will do not a lot to tamp down the insurgency, as Prime Minister Iyad "Sweetheart of the CIA" Allawi is increasingly perceived as a tool of the U.S. occupation forces.
[Note: And that's a damn shame! I supported the original intentions of the war in Iraq: to supplant a ruthless dictator with an elected government in a region of the world where democracy is rare as are igloos.]
The Moslem world increasingly views U.S. interests with hostility, young Moslem men from Indonesia to Morocco are more and more inclined to heed the call of Jihad and wage war against the Great Satan. Al Quaeda has evolved and changed, from a fairly simple operation lead by a very shrewd man to a many-headed international Hydra. Diplomatic relations with other countries are so soured that nobody will be joining any U.S.-led coalition anytime soon.
And here at home, the chickens of the enormous deficit caused by out of control Federal spending will surely come home to roost, with skyrocketing interest rates (thus quashing the boom in home ownership), private sector recession due to contractions in government spending, and it's only going to get worse as the baby boomers start to retire, taking their productivity out of the economy and spending their golden years demanding increased government funding for entitlements due to the expectations raised by our political leaders of every stripe.
And a government without money to spend is an impotent government. And that means a crumbling infrastructure. And even fewer resources to enforce (weakened) environmental and labor regulations.
Okay. So that's bad. Right?
It sure is.
Now, do the Democrats really want to preside over that?
Even a shrewd politician like LBJ was defeated by inheriting the Viet Nam War from his predecessor. And John Kerry may be a lot of things, but a adept political wheeler-dealer with an amazing ability to unite and motivate an ever more divided nation he isn't. The Republicans would eat him alive.
So even if Kerry doesn't pull it out in six weeks, would it really be a bad thing to have four more years of Bush's earnest and decent ineptitude?
After all, it's not like he's going to head off to some new foreign adventure. He can't! It seems to me that the worst he could do would be to unleash the dogs of Ashcroft here at home, playing on the growing fears and insecurities of many Americans, and heading down the path of jingoism and benighted moral certainty.
But I can't see that happening in any way that would really matter. It would quickly become laughable.
Here in Up-For-Grabs-Swing-State-Land, where you can't relax on the porch of Starbuck's with a latte and a cigar enjoying the final days of 2004 warm enough to wear shorts and tank tops without being accosted by that nutty nutty Theresa Heinz Kerry tottering over the cobblestones dripping diamonds big as banana slugs, I think this has even dawned on the Bush-Haters among the Kerry voters. Even though I have yet to meet anyone who actually loves loves loves W., I know a lot of people who plan on going to the polls and voting for him. But, I have also yet to meet anyone who thinks that John Kerry is Da Man, or that he'd actually be able to do anything as President to make the world a better place in even some small way.
Peace abroad, prosperity at home. Remember the Clinton years?
Dang. At the time, it seemed like this was what life was going to be like from here on in. Imagine: an oval office blowjob rising to the level of national crisis.
Now, I wonder if I will ever again see an era like that in my lifetime.
I know. Too terrible to contemplate. A second term for George W. Bush.
Or is it?
Think about it.
The situation in Iraq continues to crumble, albeit at an accelerated pace. Without a plan, without adequate ground support, we defeated Saddam Hussein, but we are clearly losing the peace. The elections in January will do not a lot to tamp down the insurgency, as Prime Minister Iyad "Sweetheart of the CIA" Allawi is increasingly perceived as a tool of the U.S. occupation forces.
[Note: And that's a damn shame! I supported the original intentions of the war in Iraq: to supplant a ruthless dictator with an elected government in a region of the world where democracy is rare as are igloos.]
The Moslem world increasingly views U.S. interests with hostility, young Moslem men from Indonesia to Morocco are more and more inclined to heed the call of Jihad and wage war against the Great Satan. Al Quaeda has evolved and changed, from a fairly simple operation lead by a very shrewd man to a many-headed international Hydra. Diplomatic relations with other countries are so soured that nobody will be joining any U.S.-led coalition anytime soon.
And here at home, the chickens of the enormous deficit caused by out of control Federal spending will surely come home to roost, with skyrocketing interest rates (thus quashing the boom in home ownership), private sector recession due to contractions in government spending, and it's only going to get worse as the baby boomers start to retire, taking their productivity out of the economy and spending their golden years demanding increased government funding for entitlements due to the expectations raised by our political leaders of every stripe.
And a government without money to spend is an impotent government. And that means a crumbling infrastructure. And even fewer resources to enforce (weakened) environmental and labor regulations.
Okay. So that's bad. Right?
It sure is.
Now, do the Democrats really want to preside over that?
Even a shrewd politician like LBJ was defeated by inheriting the Viet Nam War from his predecessor. And John Kerry may be a lot of things, but a adept political wheeler-dealer with an amazing ability to unite and motivate an ever more divided nation he isn't. The Republicans would eat him alive.
So even if Kerry doesn't pull it out in six weeks, would it really be a bad thing to have four more years of Bush's earnest and decent ineptitude?
After all, it's not like he's going to head off to some new foreign adventure. He can't! It seems to me that the worst he could do would be to unleash the dogs of Ashcroft here at home, playing on the growing fears and insecurities of many Americans, and heading down the path of jingoism and benighted moral certainty.
But I can't see that happening in any way that would really matter. It would quickly become laughable.
Here in Up-For-Grabs-Swing-State-Land, where you can't relax on the porch of Starbuck's with a latte and a cigar enjoying the final days of 2004 warm enough to wear shorts and tank tops without being accosted by that nutty nutty Theresa Heinz Kerry tottering over the cobblestones dripping diamonds big as banana slugs, I think this has even dawned on the Bush-Haters among the Kerry voters. Even though I have yet to meet anyone who actually loves loves loves W., I know a lot of people who plan on going to the polls and voting for him. But, I have also yet to meet anyone who thinks that John Kerry is Da Man, or that he'd actually be able to do anything as President to make the world a better place in even some small way.
Peace abroad, prosperity at home. Remember the Clinton years?
Dang. At the time, it seemed like this was what life was going to be like from here on in. Imagine: an oval office blowjob rising to the level of national crisis.
Now, I wonder if I will ever again see an era like that in my lifetime.
Friday, September 24, 2004
Over The Shoulder
Another session tonight with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose. (By the way, didj'y'all know that form of appelation was created by the New York Times? The definite article is missing. "Actress Glenn Close" instead of "the actress, Glenn Close.")
Not too much work done tonight. We made it from my shoulderblade up my neck and over my shoulder. Joe wrecked his knee getting his bike started, and he had a busy busy day. It seems that he's going to be on a show called The Makeover Story that appears on the Learning Channel. (And tuners-in would be learning what exactly?)
Makeover Story sounds a lot like Queer Eye, only without... y'know... queers. And, it's mostly girls they're making over. Joe and the gang from Lion's Den were part of a makeover the show did awhile ago, and the host and crew loved them to pieces. So much so that they asked Joe if he'd want a makeover.
Most of today involved them rampaging through Joe's adventurous wardrobe (featuring everything from the black AC/DC concert tshirts to a propeller beanie to blue fuzzy slippers with googly eyes to camoflage briefs). Joe was told not to shave for this day, as it's 'Before.' So he was all kindsa scruffy. Tomorrow is all about 'Transformation,' so Joe gets taken clothes shopping and visits a spa. Somehow I think I'll prefer Before to After.
Anyway, it goes without saying that it looks really great. It doesn't look like it will be complete in time for my birthday. But it's the journey and not the destination, right?
Oh! And I was a trooper tonight. Not a whimper, not a whine, little less howls of anguish came from me. Granted, mostly we were hitting muscular areas, although the neck and collarbone are no party.
Video fare was the Triumph the Insult Comic Dog dvd. I was roaring.
Anyway, the adrenaline ride has left me tired. I'm off to bed.
Another session tonight with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose. (By the way, didj'y'all know that form of appelation was created by the New York Times? The definite article is missing. "Actress Glenn Close" instead of "the actress, Glenn Close.")
Not too much work done tonight. We made it from my shoulderblade up my neck and over my shoulder. Joe wrecked his knee getting his bike started, and he had a busy busy day. It seems that he's going to be on a show called The Makeover Story that appears on the Learning Channel. (And tuners-in would be learning what exactly?)
Makeover Story sounds a lot like Queer Eye, only without... y'know... queers. And, it's mostly girls they're making over. Joe and the gang from Lion's Den were part of a makeover the show did awhile ago, and the host and crew loved them to pieces. So much so that they asked Joe if he'd want a makeover.
Most of today involved them rampaging through Joe's adventurous wardrobe (featuring everything from the black AC/DC concert tshirts to a propeller beanie to blue fuzzy slippers with googly eyes to camoflage briefs). Joe was told not to shave for this day, as it's 'Before.' So he was all kindsa scruffy. Tomorrow is all about 'Transformation,' so Joe gets taken clothes shopping and visits a spa. Somehow I think I'll prefer Before to After.
Anyway, it goes without saying that it looks really great. It doesn't look like it will be complete in time for my birthday. But it's the journey and not the destination, right?
Oh! And I was a trooper tonight. Not a whimper, not a whine, little less howls of anguish came from me. Granted, mostly we were hitting muscular areas, although the neck and collarbone are no party.
Video fare was the Triumph the Insult Comic Dog dvd. I was roaring.
Anyway, the adrenaline ride has left me tired. I'm off to bed.
Cage Situation: In The Alternative...
Now if indeed I managed to get my new cage back here to the Old Homestead, it will promptly be dismantled and sit in the garage indefinitely. Soooo... I would sure be open to consider a long-term loan. In other words, if you have some dungeon space that could accommodate the niftiest cage you've ever seen (measuring six feet around and four feet high), and you're in that Fabled Providence-Philadelphia Corridor, then let's talk. All I would ask in return is to be able to use the cage to do a scene should the opportunity arise, and so that probably wouldn't be more than two or three times a year max. And, of course, that would be at your convenience. I wouldn't just go barging into your dungeon to take over. And if the dungeon space is commercial, we can talk about that, too. Lord knows it was built to last.
So. Interested in having a cage around the house?
Lemme know.
Now if indeed I managed to get my new cage back here to the Old Homestead, it will promptly be dismantled and sit in the garage indefinitely. Soooo... I would sure be open to consider a long-term loan. In other words, if you have some dungeon space that could accommodate the niftiest cage you've ever seen (measuring six feet around and four feet high), and you're in that Fabled Providence-Philadelphia Corridor, then let's talk. All I would ask in return is to be able to use the cage to do a scene should the opportunity arise, and so that probably wouldn't be more than two or three times a year max. And, of course, that would be at your convenience. I wouldn't just go barging into your dungeon to take over. And if the dungeon space is commercial, we can talk about that, too. Lord knows it was built to last.
So. Interested in having a cage around the house?
Lemme know.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Assistance Needed!
Good news! My cage is complete! Pics are on the way to me via email, and I'll post them if possible.
Problem.
Cagemaker Guy didn't quite follow the specs, and so it's bigger than designed. Not too much, six feet in diameter instead of five feet in diameter. But, it's too large to get into the back of my Jeep Liberty.
So how to get it from Providence, Rhode Island to my garage in Bucks County, Pennsylvania?
I need help with this. Know anybody with a truck or access to one who lives somewhere within the Providence-Philadelphia corridor? I'll pay cash money! (Not a lot, but some. Definitely buy dinner and give gas money.
Help. Please help. Help help help.
So. Anybody have a pickup? Anybody know anybody with a pickup? Anybody know anybody who knows anybody with a pickup?
Anybody?
Anybody?
If your answer is 'yes,' than by all means let me know. You can reach me via email at krrrush(at)mac.com. That's three r's in krrrush.
Thanks.
Good news! My cage is complete! Pics are on the way to me via email, and I'll post them if possible.
Problem.
Cagemaker Guy didn't quite follow the specs, and so it's bigger than designed. Not too much, six feet in diameter instead of five feet in diameter. But, it's too large to get into the back of my Jeep Liberty.
So how to get it from Providence, Rhode Island to my garage in Bucks County, Pennsylvania?
I need help with this. Know anybody with a truck or access to one who lives somewhere within the Providence-Philadelphia corridor? I'll pay cash money! (Not a lot, but some. Definitely buy dinner and give gas money.
Help. Please help. Help help help.
So. Anybody have a pickup? Anybody know anybody with a pickup? Anybody know anybody who knows anybody with a pickup?
Anybody?
Anybody?
If your answer is 'yes,' than by all means let me know. You can reach me via email at krrrush(at)mac.com. That's three r's in krrrush.
Thanks.
I have to be at work at 5 am tomorrow. That means, I have to set my alarm for 3:30 am. When was the last time I got up at 3:30 am? Why.... that would be never.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
I have to be at work at 5 am tomorrow. That means, I have to set my alarm for 3:30 am. When was the last time I got up at 3:30 am? Why.... that would be never.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
I have to be at work at 5 am tomorrow. That means, I have to set my alarm for 3:30 am. When was the last time I got up at 3:30 am? Why.... that would be never.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
And... And... I have to work a full day on Saturday.
Since I have my next session with Tattoo Artist Extraordinaire Joe Rose this Friday night, it is verrrrry unlikely I'll be showing up at 7 am. But we'll see. I'm kinda on a roll lately.
Apres Delta, la déluge.
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
Reflections on Delta
What a great weekend.
(Am I repeating myself?)
Something occurs to me. I'm a pretty good Top.
I swear, I say that with all the humility I can muster, being as objective as I possibly can.
When I bring all the elements together and just rock the guy's world... It's a beautiful thing.
And I put a lot of thought into making sure it all comes together.
Hmmm. "Thought" isn't quite the word. All my creative juices get flowing. The time worn formula of 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration comes to mind. There's that flash of intuition, and then go through it all in my head, step by step.
I know of nothing that engages me like that.
Delta is where I live. Where I really live. That's the real world. Delta and... y'know... similar events. MAL, Folsom Street East and Leather Pride Night, IML, TES Fest, Dore Alley, Inferno, Delta, Santa Saturday. Wherever leathermen gather. That's home.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps the day will come when everything is integrated. No more stepping back and forth through the looking glass.
Until then.
What a great weekend.
(Am I repeating myself?)
Something occurs to me. I'm a pretty good Top.
I swear, I say that with all the humility I can muster, being as objective as I possibly can.
When I bring all the elements together and just rock the guy's world... It's a beautiful thing.
And I put a lot of thought into making sure it all comes together.
Hmmm. "Thought" isn't quite the word. All my creative juices get flowing. The time worn formula of 1% inspiration and 99% perspiration comes to mind. There's that flash of intuition, and then go through it all in my head, step by step.
I know of nothing that engages me like that.
Delta is where I live. Where I really live. That's the real world. Delta and... y'know... similar events. MAL, Folsom Street East and Leather Pride Night, IML, TES Fest, Dore Alley, Inferno, Delta, Santa Saturday. Wherever leathermen gather. That's home.
Perhaps perhaps perhaps the day will come when everything is integrated. No more stepping back and forth through the looking glass.
Until then.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Delta-riffic!
Oh man.
Oh man!
Whew!
That was a great weekend.
Such a great weekend.
Left work on Friday and headed to the airport. Picked up Big and his luggage (for a little bit, I wasn't sure that those two had both arrived in Philadelphia together). We managed to find room in the jeep to accommodate Big and his luggage, and headed south to Delta. Hurricane Ivan was threatening, but we managed to get to the site before the rain started or darkenss fell, thanks to Big's excellent navigation. We found our room and unloaded, and managed to get to the dining hall before dinner service shut down.
Lots of sizing up the first night, finding out who was there and who apparently wasn't. Lots of Inferno folks that I was thrilled to see, and a passel of NYers, and some reeeeally reeeeeally woofy men.
Big and I wandered, checking it all out. We found our way to two of the dungeons, and things were pretty busy there. And that was a good thing. Travel fatigue soon set in--and let's remember, I had just worked a full week in the hardware department--so we headed to bed.
But first, Sir presented me with the New Collar. The first one, that I loved so well, made me break out. Red, scaly, itchy. Not what Sir and I were hoping for. So Sir, who always rises to the challenge of a mission (Virgo, doncha know), went in search of a replacement. He found a great woven black leather belt, took it to the nice folks at Mr. S, had it cut down and put D-rings on the end, and voila! New collar. So that was padlocked on, and once again, I was a happy boy.
Quite the night. I hear hurricanes a' blowin'. Ivan hit and hit hard. The rain was pounding against the windowpanes. But, sleeping there next to my Sir, I couldn't have passed a more peaceful night.
*sigh*
Saturday. The first full day of Delta. Right off the bat, I was approached by the man from British Columbia (BC) with whom I had done a chain bondage scene last year at Inferno. He was up for another trip deep into Chain Bondage Territory. Cool.
Of course, Job One was lugging two hundred pounds of chain and sundry other gear down to the dungeon. Luckily, BC was happy to help. And working patiently, the way you need to be with chain bondage, I soon had him helpless helpless helpless, padlocked into 200 pounds of hard cold steel. And he looked unbelievable. And just loved it. Loved it!
Apparently, BC is something of a budding Harry Houdini. The last rope bondage scene he did ended with him escaping. (And the better attributes of rope bondage would be what exactly?) Well, there was no escaping my chains. Uh uh. Under lock and key until I decided otherwise. Heh heh heh. He'll turn to dust before those chains will. And totally no escaping.
Good scene.
A brief word on Run Psychology. Day One, you think you've got all the time in the world. Best not commit yourself. Hold back. Figure out what you're in the mood for. Day Two. The halfway point. You start to feel the pressure. It's not gonna last forever. Kinda like turning forty... you realize that your time there (here, whatever) is limited. Make the most of it. Day Two is clarifying. You get up your resolve. Day Three. This is it, Bucko! Go for the gusto! It's now or... next year.
My Day Two Revelation: I want to Top! Sorry, Tops. I'm not the bottom boy this run. I want to Top again. I want to step up, take the lead, and make it happen.
Oh yeah.
Day Two brought a great opportunity. He's from Fort Lauderdale. Fort Lauderdale exists in my mind as a sort of Leather Paradise. Paradise as it exists in Islam. Y'know, the thing about all those virgins feeding dates to the faithful. I once whipped three men within twelve hours of getting off the plane in Fort Leatherdale. If the leathergods really find favor with you, you get to go to that sunny warm paradise where the beer is always cold, the bottoms are always begging for it, and cigar smokers are welcome everywhere. Not to mention the omnipresent mid-century design!
And Mr. Fort Lauderdale was just knee-buckling.
And kinda found me woof worthy, too.
But then we talked. As a Top... well, whatever. I wasn't interested in bottoming. As a bottom, Mr. Fort Lauderdale didn't like percussion. As in, Don't Hit Me. Huh. Well that would knock out... just about everything I do. How to parse this?
And then, I remembered the scene that Alpha had done with me that first year at Inferno when I presented a similar challenge. ("I don't bottom," said the man who would shortly be whipped, punched, tied up so it hurt a lot, pissed on and in...) So Alpha gave me a massage, and taught me how to submit, to give it all up, turn it all over, and just trust.
Thus, armed with massage oil, I set off for a date with Mr. Fort Lauderdale.
It was way cool. Oh man. Just beautiful. and he even had a space heater.
That's right, folks, I had a great time at Delta, even though I was cold much of the time! (Higher praise has rarely been uttered by my lips.)
And another amazing thing about Mr. Fort Lauderdale. We had an incredible amount of kooky things in common. I mean, how affirming was it for me to meet another gay man who had an over acting gag reflex? Criminy jigs! I'm not the only one!
Okay. Even though I was deep into Top Mode, I kinda wanted Keckler to tie me up. Lemme tell ya, I think he just rocks. Best I've seen. Beautiful, fluid, and he makes it loook soooo easy. He has such a good time with the whole deal. Such a good time.
I... uh... mentioned this to Sir. And... uh... kinda suggested that he and Keckler have a conversation. Make a plan. I was told to meet up with them after snacks.
So, fresh from a great time with Mr. Fort Lauderdale, i showed up at snacks. Sir and Keckler were a'waitin'. Flanked by the two of them, these two beautiful men, I headed back to the home away from home. There, Sir and Keckler had me hogtied on the bed in nuthin' flat. Sweet. Being Kind Tops, they allowed me to suit up in one of the many flight suits I had brought along to stave off the cold. The ropes felt great. Really great. Keckler bid us goodnight, and Sir and I settled in. Loved that.
Sleeping with Sir that night was, again, sublime. Absolutely sublime.
Even though... y'know... it was Bitter Freezing Cold.
Okie doke. Monday. The last full day.
Gotta tell ya, it was perfect.
To start off with, I gave Sir a lesson in throwing the David Morgan signal whip I got him for his birthday. Sir picked it up right away. I think he's a natural.
And then, it was all about boots. Earlier in the weekend, I had partaken of a great workshop on bootblacking run by black, bootblack extraordinaire. I still have nothing resembling self-confidence, but I think that I can take a shot at Sir's boots without doiong too much damage.
And a hike down along the creek had played hell with Sir's Corrigan jump boots, so I had my work cut out for me. So, I settled myself in the sunshine, and set to work with spit shining. I was at it for a while.
Bootblacking is so pleasantly meditative. And it's great to do in a communal setting. Like quilting. Sitting around chatting. And I think Sir's boots were looking pretty good. No shame in this boy.
I was busy with the boots right up until dinner.
Dinner.
I was kinda feeling the pressure. Doing the fox and the grapes thing. "So I only get to Top in one scene. That's cool. It was a great weekend." That kinda thing.
But the leathergods intervened. By the time dinner was over, I had two scenes lined up with two wonderful men. So after a few cups of coffee, I had a toy bag to pack.
First scene: singletails.
With a wonderful man. The two of us have been sort of circling each other and making noises like llamas in heat for years. No stranger to the whip he.
What can I say. It was wonderful. A beautiful man with a beautiful back. It felt great to take a man on that journey again. Wonderful. Wonderful wonderful wonderful. There is such magic and power in the whip. Such majesty. Like nectar and ambrosia, they're things for the gods, that a few of we mortals get to sample for ourselves. There is no greater scene.
We wound down. He was all giggly. No complete sentences were coming from him for a while. Uh uh. And I was pumped. I was flying.
Okay okay. Gotta shift gears. Gotta get ready for the second scene of the evening.
I was kinda worried about that. I mean, a bottom does not want to feel like the second course. He wants full attention. He wants to be the pearl of great price.
I went out into the (Bitter Freezing Cold) night, spent some time in quiet awe of the stars, cleared my mind, then headed back into the dungeon.
The second scene. My grand finale at Delta this year.
Couldn't have asked for a better man to work with. What a trooper. Again a challenge, though of a different sort. Y'see, there was hardly a square inch of this guy that wasn't already severely bruised. He had had one helluva run.
So how'd it play out?
Well, first, I got him nicely restrained in this big ol' bondage frame. A little vet wrap around his head took away his sight and allowed him to focus. With my kangaroo skin flogger with all the fine stringy tails, I worked his whole body, waking up the skin. This was The Beginning.
Then, I applied clothespins in even lines to his pecs and his thighs. This was no mean feat. His skin was stretched pretty tightly over his muscular beefy frame. But I got them on. Played with them for awhile, playing over them with my fingertips. This was The Middle.
Then I took out another flogger. The brickbat. Elk skin. Really heavy. Takes two hands. That's what I used to take the clothespins off. I took careful aim, and WHOMP!!! The clothespins went flying. Or at least some of them did. They were as tricky coming off as they were going on. And the boy was bellowing like a bull. Oh man was that great.
Another man, another great time.
This morning was all about packing, loading up the jeep. Heading out the driveway and homeward bound was poignant. Delta was great. Delta was really great.
So. So what about the food?
For the record, I had absolutely no complaints about the food. In fact, it ranged from Good to Very Good. And the coffee was really good. Seriously. The coffee at Inferno is absolute dreck. Barely drinkable. But at Delta, whether at dinner or at Command Central, I didn't have a bad cup of coffee the entire time.
Delta didn't have the intensity of Inferno. It was much more relaxed. Casual. Friendly. Suited me fine.
Next year? I have no idea. I think Delta will be held over Labor Day Weekend. And so, of course, will a softball tournement with the Ballbreakers.
I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
What a great weekend.
Oh man.
Oh man!
Whew!
That was a great weekend.
Such a great weekend.
Left work on Friday and headed to the airport. Picked up Big and his luggage (for a little bit, I wasn't sure that those two had both arrived in Philadelphia together). We managed to find room in the jeep to accommodate Big and his luggage, and headed south to Delta. Hurricane Ivan was threatening, but we managed to get to the site before the rain started or darkenss fell, thanks to Big's excellent navigation. We found our room and unloaded, and managed to get to the dining hall before dinner service shut down.
Lots of sizing up the first night, finding out who was there and who apparently wasn't. Lots of Inferno folks that I was thrilled to see, and a passel of NYers, and some reeeeally reeeeeally woofy men.
Big and I wandered, checking it all out. We found our way to two of the dungeons, and things were pretty busy there. And that was a good thing. Travel fatigue soon set in--and let's remember, I had just worked a full week in the hardware department--so we headed to bed.
But first, Sir presented me with the New Collar. The first one, that I loved so well, made me break out. Red, scaly, itchy. Not what Sir and I were hoping for. So Sir, who always rises to the challenge of a mission (Virgo, doncha know), went in search of a replacement. He found a great woven black leather belt, took it to the nice folks at Mr. S, had it cut down and put D-rings on the end, and voila! New collar. So that was padlocked on, and once again, I was a happy boy.
Quite the night. I hear hurricanes a' blowin'. Ivan hit and hit hard. The rain was pounding against the windowpanes. But, sleeping there next to my Sir, I couldn't have passed a more peaceful night.
*sigh*
Saturday. The first full day of Delta. Right off the bat, I was approached by the man from British Columbia (BC) with whom I had done a chain bondage scene last year at Inferno. He was up for another trip deep into Chain Bondage Territory. Cool.
Of course, Job One was lugging two hundred pounds of chain and sundry other gear down to the dungeon. Luckily, BC was happy to help. And working patiently, the way you need to be with chain bondage, I soon had him helpless helpless helpless, padlocked into 200 pounds of hard cold steel. And he looked unbelievable. And just loved it. Loved it!
Apparently, BC is something of a budding Harry Houdini. The last rope bondage scene he did ended with him escaping. (And the better attributes of rope bondage would be what exactly?) Well, there was no escaping my chains. Uh uh. Under lock and key until I decided otherwise. Heh heh heh. He'll turn to dust before those chains will. And totally no escaping.
Good scene.
A brief word on Run Psychology. Day One, you think you've got all the time in the world. Best not commit yourself. Hold back. Figure out what you're in the mood for. Day Two. The halfway point. You start to feel the pressure. It's not gonna last forever. Kinda like turning forty... you realize that your time there (here, whatever) is limited. Make the most of it. Day Two is clarifying. You get up your resolve. Day Three. This is it, Bucko! Go for the gusto! It's now or... next year.
My Day Two Revelation: I want to Top! Sorry, Tops. I'm not the bottom boy this run. I want to Top again. I want to step up, take the lead, and make it happen.
Oh yeah.
Day Two brought a great opportunity. He's from Fort Lauderdale. Fort Lauderdale exists in my mind as a sort of Leather Paradise. Paradise as it exists in Islam. Y'know, the thing about all those virgins feeding dates to the faithful. I once whipped three men within twelve hours of getting off the plane in Fort Leatherdale. If the leathergods really find favor with you, you get to go to that sunny warm paradise where the beer is always cold, the bottoms are always begging for it, and cigar smokers are welcome everywhere. Not to mention the omnipresent mid-century design!
And Mr. Fort Lauderdale was just knee-buckling.
And kinda found me woof worthy, too.
But then we talked. As a Top... well, whatever. I wasn't interested in bottoming. As a bottom, Mr. Fort Lauderdale didn't like percussion. As in, Don't Hit Me. Huh. Well that would knock out... just about everything I do. How to parse this?
And then, I remembered the scene that Alpha had done with me that first year at Inferno when I presented a similar challenge. ("I don't bottom," said the man who would shortly be whipped, punched, tied up so it hurt a lot, pissed on and in...) So Alpha gave me a massage, and taught me how to submit, to give it all up, turn it all over, and just trust.
Thus, armed with massage oil, I set off for a date with Mr. Fort Lauderdale.
It was way cool. Oh man. Just beautiful. and he even had a space heater.
That's right, folks, I had a great time at Delta, even though I was cold much of the time! (Higher praise has rarely been uttered by my lips.)
And another amazing thing about Mr. Fort Lauderdale. We had an incredible amount of kooky things in common. I mean, how affirming was it for me to meet another gay man who had an over acting gag reflex? Criminy jigs! I'm not the only one!
Okay. Even though I was deep into Top Mode, I kinda wanted Keckler to tie me up. Lemme tell ya, I think he just rocks. Best I've seen. Beautiful, fluid, and he makes it loook soooo easy. He has such a good time with the whole deal. Such a good time.
I... uh... mentioned this to Sir. And... uh... kinda suggested that he and Keckler have a conversation. Make a plan. I was told to meet up with them after snacks.
So, fresh from a great time with Mr. Fort Lauderdale, i showed up at snacks. Sir and Keckler were a'waitin'. Flanked by the two of them, these two beautiful men, I headed back to the home away from home. There, Sir and Keckler had me hogtied on the bed in nuthin' flat. Sweet. Being Kind Tops, they allowed me to suit up in one of the many flight suits I had brought along to stave off the cold. The ropes felt great. Really great. Keckler bid us goodnight, and Sir and I settled in. Loved that.
Sleeping with Sir that night was, again, sublime. Absolutely sublime.
Even though... y'know... it was Bitter Freezing Cold.
Okie doke. Monday. The last full day.
Gotta tell ya, it was perfect.
To start off with, I gave Sir a lesson in throwing the David Morgan signal whip I got him for his birthday. Sir picked it up right away. I think he's a natural.
And then, it was all about boots. Earlier in the weekend, I had partaken of a great workshop on bootblacking run by black, bootblack extraordinaire. I still have nothing resembling self-confidence, but I think that I can take a shot at Sir's boots without doiong too much damage.
And a hike down along the creek had played hell with Sir's Corrigan jump boots, so I had my work cut out for me. So, I settled myself in the sunshine, and set to work with spit shining. I was at it for a while.
Bootblacking is so pleasantly meditative. And it's great to do in a communal setting. Like quilting. Sitting around chatting. And I think Sir's boots were looking pretty good. No shame in this boy.
I was busy with the boots right up until dinner.
Dinner.
I was kinda feeling the pressure. Doing the fox and the grapes thing. "So I only get to Top in one scene. That's cool. It was a great weekend." That kinda thing.
But the leathergods intervened. By the time dinner was over, I had two scenes lined up with two wonderful men. So after a few cups of coffee, I had a toy bag to pack.
First scene: singletails.
With a wonderful man. The two of us have been sort of circling each other and making noises like llamas in heat for years. No stranger to the whip he.
What can I say. It was wonderful. A beautiful man with a beautiful back. It felt great to take a man on that journey again. Wonderful. Wonderful wonderful wonderful. There is such magic and power in the whip. Such majesty. Like nectar and ambrosia, they're things for the gods, that a few of we mortals get to sample for ourselves. There is no greater scene.
We wound down. He was all giggly. No complete sentences were coming from him for a while. Uh uh. And I was pumped. I was flying.
Okay okay. Gotta shift gears. Gotta get ready for the second scene of the evening.
I was kinda worried about that. I mean, a bottom does not want to feel like the second course. He wants full attention. He wants to be the pearl of great price.
I went out into the (Bitter Freezing Cold) night, spent some time in quiet awe of the stars, cleared my mind, then headed back into the dungeon.
The second scene. My grand finale at Delta this year.
Couldn't have asked for a better man to work with. What a trooper. Again a challenge, though of a different sort. Y'see, there was hardly a square inch of this guy that wasn't already severely bruised. He had had one helluva run.
So how'd it play out?
Well, first, I got him nicely restrained in this big ol' bondage frame. A little vet wrap around his head took away his sight and allowed him to focus. With my kangaroo skin flogger with all the fine stringy tails, I worked his whole body, waking up the skin. This was The Beginning.
Then, I applied clothespins in even lines to his pecs and his thighs. This was no mean feat. His skin was stretched pretty tightly over his muscular beefy frame. But I got them on. Played with them for awhile, playing over them with my fingertips. This was The Middle.
Then I took out another flogger. The brickbat. Elk skin. Really heavy. Takes two hands. That's what I used to take the clothespins off. I took careful aim, and WHOMP!!! The clothespins went flying. Or at least some of them did. They were as tricky coming off as they were going on. And the boy was bellowing like a bull. Oh man was that great.
Another man, another great time.
This morning was all about packing, loading up the jeep. Heading out the driveway and homeward bound was poignant. Delta was great. Delta was really great.
So. So what about the food?
For the record, I had absolutely no complaints about the food. In fact, it ranged from Good to Very Good. And the coffee was really good. Seriously. The coffee at Inferno is absolute dreck. Barely drinkable. But at Delta, whether at dinner or at Command Central, I didn't have a bad cup of coffee the entire time.
Delta didn't have the intensity of Inferno. It was much more relaxed. Casual. Friendly. Suited me fine.
Next year? I have no idea. I think Delta will be held over Labor Day Weekend. And so, of course, will a softball tournement with the Ballbreakers.
I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it.
What a great weekend.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Off
Almost finished packing.
Tomorrow, I head to work, and after work (and after depositing my paycheck at the bank, buying some evaporated milk, and grabbing a venti iced quad three pump vanilla easy ice latte at Starbucks), I'm off to pick up Big at the airport in Philadelphia, and then we head to the wilds of Pennsylvania for Delta.
Delta.
Hope I have a good time.
Talk to you on Tuesday or thereafter.
Almost finished packing.
Tomorrow, I head to work, and after work (and after depositing my paycheck at the bank, buying some evaporated milk, and grabbing a venti iced quad three pump vanilla easy ice latte at Starbucks), I'm off to pick up Big at the airport in Philadelphia, and then we head to the wilds of Pennsylvania for Delta.
Delta.
Hope I have a good time.
Talk to you on Tuesday or thereafter.
Have You Always Dreamed...
Sick Boy at work.
The one who greets new guys on their first job by asking them, "So if you found a dead babe, she just died, and her body was still warm, would you fuck her?"
And... you've gotta see this kid. He grew a beard in eighth grade. Hairy like a goat. He's about five foot three, but wears size twelve-and-a-half shoes. Huge feet. Right now he's got his head shaved and has a beard about a foot long. And crooked teeth.
Get the picture?
Kinda scary looking.
Okay. Really scary looking.
But he's a sweet kid. At least, he sure melted my heart with the dead babe thing.
Lately, he's been down on work. Calling in sick a lot. (I attribute this to the absence of my guiding hand at the sanding table.) Today was the first day he showed up all week.
He told me that yesterday, he got this thing in the mail. Addressed to him by name.
The opener was, "Have you always dreamed of being a model?"
It went on to to suggest that if your answer is 'yes,' then you call and make an appointment.
When Sick Boy told me about this, my immediate response was, "You're gonna call, right? I'll drive you."
So Sick Boy is gonna call and set up an appointment. I'm definitely going to go with him.
Chances are, it's some scam operation. When ever anyone walks in, they say "Yes! Omigosh! You are the one we've been looking for! I just got a phone call looking for someone exactly like you!!!" You have experience modeling, right? Oh, you don't? Darn. These people only want someone with experience. A portfolio. Oh well. But maybe... Y'know, since this is such a sure thing, we'd be willing to work with you, and cover most of the costs, if you'd chip in for materials. You'll get it back in the first ten minutes in front of the camera. Probably be about $150 if you've got it..."
So yeah. I wanna be there with Sick Boy when they try to put that line on him."
Sick Boy at work.
The one who greets new guys on their first job by asking them, "So if you found a dead babe, she just died, and her body was still warm, would you fuck her?"
And... you've gotta see this kid. He grew a beard in eighth grade. Hairy like a goat. He's about five foot three, but wears size twelve-and-a-half shoes. Huge feet. Right now he's got his head shaved and has a beard about a foot long. And crooked teeth.
Get the picture?
Kinda scary looking.
Okay. Really scary looking.
But he's a sweet kid. At least, he sure melted my heart with the dead babe thing.
Lately, he's been down on work. Calling in sick a lot. (I attribute this to the absence of my guiding hand at the sanding table.) Today was the first day he showed up all week.
He told me that yesterday, he got this thing in the mail. Addressed to him by name.
The opener was, "Have you always dreamed of being a model?"
It went on to to suggest that if your answer is 'yes,' then you call and make an appointment.
When Sick Boy told me about this, my immediate response was, "You're gonna call, right? I'll drive you."
So Sick Boy is gonna call and set up an appointment. I'm definitely going to go with him.
Chances are, it's some scam operation. When ever anyone walks in, they say "Yes! Omigosh! You are the one we've been looking for! I just got a phone call looking for someone exactly like you!!!" You have experience modeling, right? Oh, you don't? Darn. These people only want someone with experience. A portfolio. Oh well. But maybe... Y'know, since this is such a sure thing, we'd be willing to work with you, and cover most of the costs, if you'd chip in for materials. You'll get it back in the first ten minutes in front of the camera. Probably be about $150 if you've got it..."
So yeah. I wanna be there with Sick Boy when they try to put that line on him."
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