IN LIMBO AGAIN...

…Still…kinda…sorta…maybe…I dunno.
I’ve been finding myself between a rock and a hard place the past few days and it’s frustrating the hell out of me. The majority of my life and belongings are still in a ten by twenty foot storage unit I can’t do anything with for another couple of weeks until after we move to our new place. That in itself won’t resolve a great deal of my dilemma when we do. If anything it may make things worse for me for quite a while more and my lack of mobility are only making a frustrating situation even more so.
I find myself sitting on the couch in the same place looking at the same scenery with a thousand thoughts and ideas bouncing around in my head that never shuts off for even a moment wanting to do more than just sit here and write stupid musings and shit that people only probably read the first two sentences of anymore these days and I don’t blame them for that. I wouldn’t read it either. What I’d rather be doing is translating some of the things I wrote into visual images like I used to but we don’t have the space at the moment and it wouldn’t be fair to try and make this cramped space any more cramped than it already is so I sit and wait impatiently. One of the problems is that once we’ve moved…I won’t have a whole lot more space than I do now. I’ve gone from vast amounts of space to attempting to be creative in a shoebox without crowding my wife out of the space we do have to share these days. The thought of “expanding into other parts of the house” is not an option for a whole book of reasons.
First and foremost…it won’t be my house. My wife and I are HUGELY grateful for what our daughter has offered to us, but it’s still an uncomfortable and embarrassing circumstance for me to wrap my brain around some days. The places I’ve lived in the past I’ve usually had more than a vague idea of how things were going to be laid out. Everything had its place functionally, visually and otherwise. You’d never know it to look at how I currently live here in transition but I am a neat freak to the point all of my clothes are color and seasonally coordinated in my closets and drawers. I hate clutter of any kind and don’t believe in hodge-podge decorating simply because something might fit where it doesn’t belong at the moment.
Simply put…the cleaner, more functional and simpler a place can be the happier I am because my head and eyes don’t hurt as much then (My wife and I are modern/contemporary people). Now add to this the fact that we’ll be sharing space with our daughter, her boyfriend and our granddaughter and their personal tastes which since it’s their place I can’t just charge in like some flaming Scottsdale decorator with a feather duster up my ass and plan anything and everything without their input and authorization. As it is I know we’re going to tangle somewhat over where certain things should go and my studio equipment shouldn’t have to be a part of that discussion. I have visions of what the patio could be…but what it will end up being is anyone’s guess right now as an example.
Lacking mobility is another frustration for me right now. In times past if I had an idea, wanted to see something first hand or simply ran out of something I would jump in a car go do what I needed to do and be back in a flash to continue on with what I’m doing. If an event, show or party of interest was going on…we went without a second thought. Add to this additional inconvenience the fact that a lot of stuff I used to do without a second thought I can no longer do without someone around to make sure I don’t hurt myself. Now these days I have to plan days and weeks in advance to get from point A to point B and back with a driver or a babysitter and time is more of a premium than before because of the cost… never mind planning for the money to do anything as well (I’ve filled out more forms for forms and such than the average person has ever seen in a lifetime recently). I now understand why Andy Warhol and people of his artistic level had a staff just for filling out paperwork and another one for grants…geeeeeze.
So here I sit, wondering, waiting, feeling frustrated and a little bored wanting to know if after the next few weeks are over I’m going to actually start to work on my new life and the experiences it will probably bring or resume the current one sitting here with a thumb up my ass…but with a new view…sorta.

Travels with Yoda Part IV

PART IV

Who knew…that after a couple of glasses of wine Yoda, of all people, would turn into a lounge lizard? A revelation I couldn’t have planned for.
We were asked to bring him with us to our monthly meet & greet Wendi & I have hosted for the past seven years. All of our goofy and sexy friends thought he was a real kick, gave him celebrity treatment and was quickly absorbed by the group. In no time at all Yoda was nearly smothered with love by every woman in the bar ( I can’t show you how well without incriminating many people I like so use your imagination on this one) and gladly signed body parts like a rock star.
Sometime during this, unbeknownst to me, he managed to down more than a glass or two of wine in the process. The next thing I knew he was standing squarely underneath every woman in the place wearing a dress and looking up to see what they were (or weren’t) wearing. Needless to say Wendi & I had to corral him and park him at the bar before he got into some real trouble where he promptly passed out face down on the bar and remained there for the rest of the night which we were actually grateful for.
We didn’t get much trouble from him for the rest of the evening, that is, until later when we got home and he began to take a “less than sober and honorable” interest in the vacuum cleaner as we were hanging up our coats in the closet (ewww).
Everyone seemed to not mind his drunken antics but I made a mental note to try and keep a tighter leash on him in the future.
The party was a great success and we ended up with over a hundred and twenty happy well wishers who were there to celebrate that Spring was finally here (meaning less clothing to have to wear and more parties outside and in the pools), St. Paddy’s Day and my upcoming Birthday.
Sunday proved to be “interesting”. I’ve never had to deal with a hung over Yoda before. Between moans and saying things in a language I’ve never heard before and a repeated request for gerbils (…don’t know…don’t want to know) he was not his usual semi-cheerful self for most of the day to say the least. Every now and then he would look at me and images of my death and dismemberment would fill my head which made me more than a little nervous at times and cause me to remind him he brought this all on himself.
After a long nap he seemed to re-join reality with only having to rub his head now and then with a ghastly moan. He did mutter from time to time something that sounded like “I’m getting too old for this shit” and refrain from hurting anyone…including himself in the process. I’m legally deaf so I have no real idea what he said…but it makes sense. To help ease his pain I dug out my newly found olive pitter and made him a dry three olive martini and let him watch his favorite movie (“Dogma” …he thinks Jay and Silent Bob are geniuses). He actually asked to watch “Hudson Hawk” because he thinks Sandra Bernhard is a sexual goddess in that movie but I couldn’t find it (intentionally).
As the day eventually wound its way into evening Yoda thanked Wendi & I for taking care of him then without missing a beat looked at me and told me we hadn’t even really begun to tackle my journey yet. I agreed with him and with that he rolled over and went to sleep.
I can only imagine what Yoda has in store for me tomorrow as we head into my new life and future. One thing I know for sure is…it’s going to be different.

Travels with Yoday Part II

PART II
As I mentioned in my last post Yoda and I made our first bus trip the following day with Wendi to pick up some prescriptions and a few other odd things we needed.
Although comfortable, in an industrial sort of way, this mode of transportation didn’t impress the little guy very much and, frankly, I don’t blame him. He made use of his time while we waited for our connections levitating Mini Coopers just for fun to Wendi’s amusement (he’s got a thing for the babes). Other than that it was a pretty dull adventure.
Over this last weekend we went out to have a glass of wine (or two, or three, or four) with our new found friends FUNARIZONAN and IRISHCREAM. Since I’m not allowed to drive we had to resort to hijacking a car from our daughter and her boyfriend at gun point because Yoda was unable or too distracted to take over their minds. He was bouncing all over the place singing “party,party,party… PARRRRRRTY!” over and over again driving ME nuts, with Wendi (finally) behind the wheel and me as navigator while Yoda cowered on the floor in the back seat (Wendi’s an acquired taste behind the wheel) we headed off to our favorite wine bar (Terroir) for some merriment.
Upon arriving we made the usual rounds saying hi to the staff (who are our favorite people in the whole world) and some goofy lady having a baby shower for her daughter there (pregnant woman, wine…interesting blend there but we’ll avoid that discussion for now). We ordered a cheese and fruit plate along with one of our favorite bottles of Rose’ and settled in for what we hope would be a pleasant conversation with our friends and as it turns out…it was that and more.
Yoda had made the rounds at the baby shower, gotten a few phone numbers and made it back to our table to catch his breath just before S (FUNARIZONAN) and E (IRISHCREAM) had gotten there.
S and E couldn’t be more wonderful people, it was like sitting and talking to lifetime friends instead of people we had just met for the first time a few minutes before. The wine flowed, the conversation came quick and clever and the food disappeared much too quickly.
One couple, who are regulars at the bar, had seen us and came out on the patio to sit near us but didn’t attempt to join in the conversation. They just sat and listened intently. They tend to show up on our Saturday nights and do just the same. Our groups cover a lot of subjects in a, more often than not, sexy way and this conversation was no exception. Between sexual encounters, squirting and physical malady similarities we were having a good time. They seemed amused until Yoda (remember Yoda) hit his wine limit. In one quick motion he tore off his clothes, jumped on the table and began shaking his booty at that couple. A moment later the couple decided it was time for them to leave.
We discovered that afternoon that Yoda’s and wine don’t mix well. E and wine had a similar effect we understand later, yet not nearly as badly as Yoda. E later confirmed she will live to drink another day and enjoy it although she may stick to Bailey’s a little more than wine.
We were able to finally get Yoda dressed while listening to his pathetic “what do you think of my light saber?” joke over….and over again. Once he was dressed we collected ourselves, paid our bill and danced off into the sunset with future plans to get together again soon.
Yoda lay on the back seat half heartedly singing the “party, party” song while pumping his fists in the air and a moment later was fast asleep before we got home.
I’ve never had to tuck a Jedi into bed and to be honest…it was kinda weird and hopefully I won’t again in the future but he did look kinda cute laying there sleeping.
We’re supposed to take him to a party in a few weeks, but we may not be able to tell you what went on there at that point. Let’s just say we hope Yoda’s light saber is well charged and ready to go by then.

Dinner with a Friend

DINNER WITH A FRIEND
The late afternoon light always gives the Mediterranean a magical feel that can seem timelessly decadent and tranquil all in one moment. This part of the world called the French Riviera has the reputation to match the light. The Old World villa’s and apartments blend seamlessly with the new condos and hotels as they roll up the hills away from the water towards the miles of vineyards and farm lands beyond. I had flown in to Nice and Hyeres/Toulon Airport late last night and was too buzzed to get much sleep then. I owed a friend a visit and now was as good a time as any. I spent most of the time that morning (as I somehow often do) watching the sun come up and gazing over the Mediterranean at the boats in the harbor before heading off for breakfast. St. Tropez beach had been my planned hang out of the day. I was hoping the sun, sand and view would help remove some of the jet lag and possibly some of the stress I’ve been dealing with the past few days. My body was baked…..and so was my brain in record time. I don’t think I had blinked all day for fear of missing something wonderful. Beautiful, tan, well- kept bodies wearing considerably less than the ladies in the Bain de Soleil ads I remember seeing on TV when I was younger. Bodies everywhere, bronzed bare breasts arching up to meet the sun. Designer sunglasses and jewelry accessorized the next to non-existent, if any, items of clothing to be found on the women as they strut from water, to chair, to bar and back again. This constant movement is the mating ritual of the “Rich and Fabulous” and in many cases the “Wannabe Rich and Fabulous”. Everyone would size each other up and weigh the invitations looking for that “A” list offer that will complete their social calendar for the day and advance them socially (and maybe financially). The entertainment value of all of this posturing can wear thin quickly I discovered and after more than a few disappointed hello’s and good-bye’s from some of these young beauties I decided to take my private party of one back to the hotel. I had plans for the evening and it didn’t include any of them…at least not tonight. As I drove my car back to the hotel from the beach my neck started to hurt again just thinking about all of the quick turns and snaps it had done and the visual workout my eyes had endured earlier. It couldn’t help but bring a smile to my face. I barely had time to enjoy the moment when I found myself pulling up to the front of the hotel. The valet put my car away as I made my way to the desk to retrieve my messages and mail and was told a package was left in my room. The invitation I had made this trip for had arrived and I opened it while I crossed the lobby to the elevator. There were two cards inside. One was a hand written note stating that a driver would pick me up at the hotel at eight and take me to my destination and to “Please Dress” for dinner. It was signed “M”. The other card was an engraved calling card still preferred by well to do European’s with the single name “Monique” printed on it. I have met many Monique’s around the world and there is many more in France. It’s the “Debbie” of French names in many ways, but a blind fool could easily tell what I already knew about the woman whose name was engraved on that card. This was no ordinary “Monique”. It made me smile again to think about it. Americans have generic looking self-important business cards that won’t even get you a cup of coffee at Starbuck’s. I could have shown that card just about anywhere in the world and more than just doors would open for me. I knew “Dressed” didn’t mean a tuxedo in this case, but I also knew a little more effort was expected than the “Just in from the Islands” look I had been sporting most of the day. When I entered my room there was a wrapped shoebox sitting on the bed with another note from Monique on top of it. “Be sure and shave, you look like shit.” Was all it said, with that in mind I got cleaned up and dressed into cream colored worsted wool slacks, a powder blue cotton shirt, raw silk sports coat and then I opened the package. Inside was a handmade pair of Brentano caramel and white spectator shoes (in my size of course) which I quickly put on with little time to spare and headed out the door with me wondering how she knew what I was going to wear. I made my way out of the elevator and back across the lobby just as a limousine pulled up. A driver came around and, with only his eyes and a slight nod of his head, acknowledged me, letting me know he was aware of who he was supposed to pick up, then opened the door. Off into the evening we rode. The driver was a pro. He didn’t speak and seldom even glanced back at me in the mirror. Which was fine with me, I somehow didn’t feel in the mood for small talk. There was much on my mind that needed sorting out and the quiet time was helpful. The life on the sidewalks and streets outside the car was more of a distraction than I cared to deal with right then so I just settled back, closed my eyes and let my brain unload for a few minutes. A short time later we arrived at a building on the hill near the center of town. It was a large street side villa with a view of the harbor. I could see part of the beach I had been on earlier that day as well as the lights on many of the yachts I had passed in my travels to and from the hotel and to the café I had stopped and had lunch at earlier in the day. The street opened into a small circular plaza with a fountain in the center. The breeze from the harbor blew quietly across the plaza causing all of the vegetation to dance and sing a quiet tune. At one side several cars had been neatly parked and an armed security guard patrolled quietly. The walls of the villa were washed in color from unseen lighting that cast them in ochre, blue, purple, teal, yellow and red against the aged patina of the walls giving this old building a surreal new look. Two rather large, well dressed men stood at the door. You could tell they weren’t guests and they weren’t there for decoration. Their tailored suits neatly hiding Uzi’s underneath. Before I could reach into my jacket and produce my invitation they opened the door and gestured me in while quietly giving me the once-over. I couldn’t help but wonder if I had made their “friend” or “foe” list. When the doors opened I could hear the sounds of a live band playing something that was a little African rhythm, and a little Jazz. It immediately took you over and drew you further in to the building. The color scheme on the outside of the building had been carried into the building as well… only warmer and darker the music was matching the décor perfectly. It took a moment or two for my eyes to adjust. Unfortunately not in time to keep me from almost knocking a lovely woman, in the most transparent black dress I’ve ever seen, on her ass. “May I help you?” she asked half laughing in French as we both struggled to keep her from falling. She had on a musk based perfume that was sending my head into orbit while I momentarily held her to me. So much so that it was a minute or two before I realized I was supposed to let her go and respond to her question. I’m not an impulsive person by nature, but her perfume and the intoxicating rhythm of the music was giving me thoughts of fucking this beautiful unknown woman right there in the lobby in front of God and everyone. Fortunately I came to my sense’s……I think. I fished the card out of my jacket pocket and handed it to her. She smiled while she brushed her hair back out of her face with her hand and said, “We’ve been expecting you” in English and handed the card back to me. “Follow me please.” She smiled over her shoulder as she led me through a black velvet curtain. “I’d follow that perfume, and the lovely ass in front of me, just about anywhere.” I found myself thinking as I moved my way through the curtain. The room was filled with round tables covered in cream-colored linen. The tables were spaced so as to allow movement by the guests and staff, but close enough that you could carry on a conversation with the table next to you without talking loudly. The heavily textured and colored walls made the large room more intimate in a surprising way. The staff, although provocatively attired in silky white and black, was all business and professional as they moved from table to table. It appeared the band was having a more difficult time paying attention to what they were doing than usual perhaps. Their eyes were darting in every direction trying not to miss anything that might be happening. In spite of this they seemed cool and weren’t missing a beat musically. I have to admit I was impressed. All around me couples were sitting and having lively conversations with the people near them as they enjoyed their meals and drinks. Some would look up and smile, as I was lead to a table near the center of the room. As we neared the table I began to take more notice of what people were doing. One woman at a nearby table gave me the most lustful look I’ve seen in a long time as she un-did the halter of her dress and exposed her breasts to the room. It was a matter of seconds before the man next to her spooned some sauce from his plate onto one of her nipples and began licking it off…much to the delight of her table companions. I smiled into her eyes. She moaned quietly and smiled as I continued to follow the lovely hostess to my table. There were three couples seated at the table having drinks when I approached and without a moments hesitation I was introduced to them all by the hostess before she turned and retreated back behind the velvet curtain. As I was just sitting down and beginning my “getting to know you” chit- chat the white sleeve of a waitress was setting down a glass of red wine. A Merlot you could smell from two feet away. It was wonderful. “These people know a helluva lot about me for never having been here before.” I thought to myself as I took a sip of my wine. The quiet moans from the table behind me had become more intense. My table companions kept looking past me to the point I had to turn and see what all of the noise was about. The lovely woman with the exposed breasts now had her feet spread widely upon the table while a woman next to her was reaching under her dress and working her pussy into a wet frenzy. Thrusting more and more of her hand into the woman with greater and greater speed as she looked lustfully into the woman’s eyes and occasionally kissed her while the man on the other side of her continued to lick and nibble on her tits. Her head was thrown back and her eyes closed slightly as she grabbed both people in each hand and she began to thrust her body into the woman’s hand causing even more of her “lover of the moment’s” hand to disappear further into her pussy. Her thrusts began to get harder and faster matching the thrusts of the hand. The dishes and the glasses on the table were bouncing all over the place as her body worked it’s way into a wave-like rhythm that started below her neck and rolled down to her pussy and her thighs. A man walking by unzips his pants and slides his cock into her open mouth and she swallows it down like she was starving, taking all of his cock in one giant gulp. Moments later her body stiffens and a muffled scream filters out from around the cock in her mouth then her body relaxes for just a moment before starting a whole new series of convulsions. The man withdraws from her mouth as cum spills out of his still pulsing cock on to her face as a broad, exhausted smile lights up her lips. It was quite an impressive sight I must say. It certainly wasn’t what I had expected to see at dinner that’s for sure. I turn back around in my seat and see that my newfound friends had gotten a little caught up in the whole scene and were happily playing themselves. They were massaging breasts, groping crotches, with kisses being passed around the table. The woman to my right, Corrine, had her husbands cock in her hand and had been unconsciously playing with him while watching the goings on at the next table. When she realized I had turned around and was looking at her she smiled and unzipped my pants and reached in to get acquainted with my cock. My hand began to work its way up her stocking’d thigh exposing more of her beautifully shaved pussy as her somewhat short dress moved further up her belly. Suddenly I could feel a hand gently resting on my shoulder and a body leaning closer into me as a very familiar voice found its way to my ear. “Having dessert before dinner Mon amour? How very American of you.” I didn’t even have to turn around as my tablemates all broke into laughter…… Monique had arrived. “No…. just an appetizer sweetie.” I smiled as I rose to give her a kiss and a hug with my cock still hanging out of my pants as everyone continued to laugh. She was as beautiful as the last time I saw her. Even if she was wearing slightly more clothing than that micro thong bathing suit bottom she had on that day. That thong didn’t leave much to the imagination, but then again… it didn’t stay on very long. THAT however is another story for another time. Right now she’s standing before me in what can only be described as the perfect “Little Black Dress’. The almost non-existent straps showing off her beautiful tanned skin with her dark hair in that short spiky style she’s always worn it in. Her vivid blue eyes jump out and take all of me in with an approving nod, as she sits down beside me. Judging from her smile she was pleased with what she saw. “I see you’ve already met everyone else.” She smiles as she glances past me and looks at Corrine’s still exposed pussy and gives it a slight pat then licks her finger. “A friendly group you’ve got here.” I grin as I look around the table and the room. She smiles slyly but says nothing, as she looks closer at me. She reaches over and pats my unzipped fly as she says, “I see some things never change with you.” “On the contrary, things get better.” I reply back as I give her another kiss on the cheek and then proceed to stuff what’s left of my manhood…and my pride, back into my pants. I no sooner finish my statement than fresh glasses of wine and salads are put in front of us. The breast of one of the waitress’ resting on my shoulder as she places hot rolls on the table. I playfully turn and take a mock bite at it, which doesn’t even cause the woman to flinch. Just a slight smile as she continues her task. The conversation at our table becomes livelier with each course. The woman across from me has made eating food a new erotic art form as each morsel is seductively drawn into her mouth, her long tongue wrapping around the food, causing a lustful look from Monique and comments from other table guests about the woman’s obvious talents. Monique’s breathing seemed to be getting deeper and more deliberate as she ate and watched not only the people at our table, but everything that was happening around us. She did this with amazing calm and grace, not some frantic voyeuristic “take it all in” looks like I’ve seen other people do. She looked pleased to say the least. The activity in the room had increased as we ate. People in various stages of undress had begun to play and suck their way through the room. The band was beside themselves, but still valiantly playing. They were devouring food and each other as the level of activity seemed to become wilder and more uninhibited. If our table was approached at all it was done respectfully, kiss’, touches, very sexy caresses, but little else. Everyone made sure Monique was the first person to be approached. It was as if they were being granted audience with the Queen or something. I could sense the eyes upon us as we ate. Everyone was watching and waiting……but for what I hadn’t a clue at the moment. The food kept arriving at our table each dish more wonderful and decadent than the last. The tastes, smells and textures adding to the intoxicating passions building in us and around us like a drug we couldn’t get enough of. The more we ate…. the more we wanted. Deconstructed this, seared that. Duck, scallops, lobster, uni, caviar…you name it and it appeared in artistic bites that surprised and amazed, even me. The staff masterfully negotiating the room of partially bare, sweaty bodies that lie between our table and the kitchen seemed super-human. Even they were loosing clothing, but managed to maintain their professional demeanor. I hadn’t touched Monique yet, but I couldn’t resist any longer. Reaching down I ran my fingers lightly against the inside of her thigh causing an involuntary gasp from her that surprised both of us. Her eyes grew wide and wild yet she said nothing. She just locked her gaze into mine as she continued to place a small bite of roast duck into her mouth. I returned my hand to her thigh to find her legs spread slightly wider in anticipation of my touch. I barely made contact with her skin when her mouth falls open and her eyes half close as another gasp escapes from her lips. I can feel the heat from between her legs as she continues to stare into my eyes as hers silently ask me “What next?” An odd silence fell upon the place. The only sound was the music from the band….or so it seemed. I wasn’t sure if we had become more of a center of attention than we were before or what, but I wasn’t going to turn around and find out right that minute either. My cock has become so stiff it’s found its way out of my still-open fly and is waving around like a heat seeking missile in search of a target. This sight hasn’t been lost on Monique either. Without ever taking her eyes away from mine she takes hold of my cock and begins to stroke it. This happens long enough for her to turn in her chair and bring her head down upon my cock. It felt wonderful as my cock disappears into her very wet mouth. The collective gasp let out by everyone around us made it all the more exciting. My head begins to spin in sheer pleasure as she works me in and out, her tongue dancing along the shaft of my cock and deeper into her throat. A very large, naked and dark man moves from somewhere behind me over to the other side of Monique and begins to stroke her back as he unzips her dress. As he helps her dress fall to her waist she grabs his cock in her hand and begins to stroke it before starting to alternate between our two cocks. As she’s sucking his cock she stands with her ass to me and lets her dress hit the floor exposing her beautifully tan ass and pussy to me at eye level. She’s so wet that juices are running down the inside of her leg. I’m not one to pass up a golden opportunity so I stand, remove my jacket, and move towards her. My cock is way ahead of me and is moving on a direct course to those very wet lips. I undo my pants and they hit the floor with a thud as the head of my dick finds her slit and slides right in to her. I’m barely inside her when her pussy begins to spasm. With each grip around my shaft she draws me further and further inside of her. It’s as if she’s sucking me off with her pussy……. it’s incredible! Corrine has taken leave of her clothes and is crawling on the floor underneath us. Lifting my leg I let her underneath us and free my leg from my pants. Suddenly I feel her tongue licking my balls and working its way down my shaft to slide onto Monique’s pussy and around her clit where she does some serious tongue work before returning back to my balls and repeating this all again. It’s all I can do to keep from cumming instantly. In an effort to keep myself from cumming I turn my attention to the other side of the table……bad idea. There was the woman with the great mouth lying sandwiched between a man and Corrine’s husband Marcel on the table next to us as she was trying to get yet another mans cock into her mouth. Marcel was pounding his cock up her ass so hard that he was driving her head into the man she was trying to suck and would knock him back off of the table….. only to have him mount the table and start over. Seeing those cocks sliding in and out of every hole in her body did me in. My cock exploded violently inside Monique’s pussy. Cum was oozing out from around my cock as I kept pumping still wanting more of her. Corrine was busily licking every drop of juice and cum from around my cock and Monique’s pussy not loosing even one drop, moaning with pleasure as she did so. Corrine’s fingers were frantically massaging her own pussy to the point that her own juices were forming a puddle on the floor between her legs. Still I kept pumping…. getting harder with each thrust. Her breathing has become passionately determined, but I can tell that, even as excited as she is…..she’s not ready to cum yet. Corrine stands up and slides her hand between Monique’s ass and me, gently pushing me back and out of Monique’s pussy. She then grabs Monique’s waist and guides her onto the table and onto her back without Monique missing a beat as she continued to suck on that large black cock. Corrine bends down and buries her face in Monique’s pussy as she moves her hips in front of me and spreads her cheeks and offers me her own pussy to fuck. I remove the rest of my clothes and slide in to those silky folds between Corrine’s legs just as another woman appears and begins to suck and massage Monique’s tits. I’m not entirely sure how much I have in me after just cumming so much in Monique’s pussy, but who am I to pass up such a wonderful offer. A few moments later the noise from the other table becomes louder and more passionate. I glance over to see Marcel pulling out of the woman’s ass as she rises up and rolls over on her back. The three men, almost in unison, begin to cum all over her body as she reaches between her legs and begins to shudder to a climax. I begin to hear the familiar sound of Monique building to her own climax as Corrine begins to thrust harder and harder into me as she devours Monique’s pussy. Corrine’s legs begin to shake and she slumps hard into the table for support as she starts cumming hard herself. The man in Monique’s mouth stiffens and cums and so does Monique….. with a vengeance, she starts flopping around on the table like a fish out of water and then falls silent and motionless except for her fast, heavy breathing. The silence in the room at that moment was both surprisingly calm and a little un-nerving at the same time. Everyone begins to kiss and hug while Monique slowly rises from the table. I glance around the room and see that the room is missing most of the people that were there earlier. About the only people left are a few members of the wait staff and the guys in the band who are looking a little befuddled and unsure as to whether they should continue playing or call it a night. Monique rises to her feet and comes straight to me and kisses me passionately as her body continues to shake uncontrollably. She leans into me for support as her breathing is still coming in deep sensuous draws. The passion in the eyes is still there along with her smile. My instincts tell me the evening isn’t over yet. She bends down and picks her dress up off of the floor and drapes it over her arm as I collect my own clothes before she takes my hand and leads me away from the table towards an arched doorway at the opposite side of the room. She looks amazing wearing only her heels and her skin glowing with sweat, reflecting the golden lighting of the room. Halfway across the room she glances up at me and says, “Welcome to my Club” as her smile takes over her face. “Your Club?” I asked half surprised. “Yes, I own all of this… including the parts you haven’t seen yet.” She playfully answers back. “I thought this was a restaurant.” I find myself saying sounding more surprised. “It is …..And soooo much more you haven’t even seen yet. Some come for dinner, some for a party, and some for a night not to be forgotten soon. I hope for you it will meet all of the needs of your legendary adventurous nature.” She laughingly says as she leads me through the door into what I’m sure will be a pleasurable night in the unknown, sensual world she has built here. Untold and as secretive as she herself is. A place limited only by ones desires and imagination. Monique wouldn’t have it any other way and tonight neither would I. Tonight belongs to Monique. With that I follow her naked body through the door. The textured walls in the halls are awash with the same colored lights that highlighted the outside of the building and the dining room. They bring an elegant richness everything and everyone I see. European Swing clubs are amazing places. I haven’t been in all of them…yet but the ones I have been in are well thought out and impeccable in every way. Monique’s appears even better. The minute attention to detail is impressive. The theme rooms I was able to glance into as we walk by are stunning. Even just the basic play rooms are elegant and sensual not just a room with a bed and some basic decorations to create a “theme” like many of the clubs in the states do. The dungeon looks like it’s been there hundreds of years (and quite possibly might have been). The Middle Eastern room gives you the feel of being inside a Bedouin tent filled with brightly colored pillows, rugs and cushions. One wall in a large play area appears to be white frosted glass until someone goes in and the door is closed. Then it becomes a two way mirror spectators can see in while the occupants can’t see out. The “Pool” is like a giant fish tank with plexiglass benches and seats placed all over and a bar on the back side you go up steps to enter surrounded by four in-ground spa’s and several large beds. We reach the end of the hall to a large door that opens as we get closer. Inside the walls are colored wine red with several leather couches the same color scattered here and there. I the center of the room there is a large four posted bed. On that bed is a naked woman tied to the posts. As my eyes adjust to the amber colored light in the room I realize the woman on the bed is the young woman who seated me earlier. Monique and I cross the room and when we get to the bed slides part ways up on the bed and looks at me before saying “Are you ready for dessert?” as I hear the door close behind me.

Another Taste

People asked to read a little more of the book so here's another chapter...enjoy.

Henry and Me
High School was…High School. Most people look at it is as a coming of age period. The problem for me was that I had already cum…several times and not by my own hand. The experiences in California had advanced me sexually beyond many kids my age and the things that were of interest to the people I was meeting were worlds away from where I felt I was headed. I didn’t feel I fit in right away and the few friends I had made in the short time I’d been there so far were hopelessly lost adolescents and the girls were indifferent to a, somewhat, geeky looking stranger. Fortunately I met (or re-met) Jill. Her dad had been my grandparent’s landscaper while he was going to college to get his teaching degree. He would bring her along when he knew my brother, sister and I were going to be there and we’d play games or hang out in the tree house in the backyard while he worked. Once we moved to California I don’t remember seeing her when we’d come back for visits during the summers over the next five or six years. Jill and I had a first period class together. I didn’t recognize her but thought she was cute and she didn’t have a clue as to who I was but we made eye contact that first morning that seemed familiar. I don’t think either of us could tell you why but when we saw each other and had barely sat down next to one another we started behaving like old friends and ended up talking a lot each morning at school for the first few days of the beginning of the year. There was an immediate connection and I felt like I’d known her my whole life which was bugging the hell out of me in the back of my mind. It wasn’t until I went with her after class one day to drop something off to her dad that I realized who she was and that he was one of my teachers. It still took a little more talking before the light went on in my head as to who he was and why I knew him. He thought it was funny…I was mortified. Even so, I sensed she was a kindred spirit and quickly discovered over the remainder of that day her interests were very similar to mine and I wasn’t in a hurry to end what seemed to be a potentially interesting relationship over who her dad was. We liked the same movies, music, books, food, art and, eventually, the same curiosity about sex. One afternoon while her parents were gone we were in her room having a very serious discussion about Iron Butterfly with “Inna Gadda Da Vida” pounding out of her phonograph while the smoke from a stick of Sandalwood incense floated around us. I was sitting on the edge of the bed watching her semi-dance around the room to the music while she talked. Then, without any notice, she walked over and gave me a kiss. That wasn’t really anything new at this point. We’d been kissing so much since day one our lips were raw most of the time but this time seemed different. More intimate. I don’t know what possessed me to do it but as she stepped closer I reached up under her brown and red checked mini dress and grabbed her ass. She didn’t resist. Instead she started breathing harder, kissing me harder so I slid my hands inside her panties…still no resistance. I grabbed her panties and started sliding them down her legs. She started shaking but just held onto me tighter and continued to kiss me. I hadn’t felt that since several months earlier when I first saw and touched my Jr. High girlfriend naked for the first time so I felt back in familiar territory for the moment. As her panties hit the floor she shuddered then moved to get onto the bed. There was no sense of shyness about her. She lay down with her legs spread slightly apart making no attempt to hide her pussy from me while I sat next to her and just looked at me with a never before seen look of anticipation on her face as I started working a finger in and around her pussy, stroking what little hair she had there. Something I had done many times before at that point with other girls…albeit clumsily. Then she grabbed my hand and guided it where she wanted me to touch her and at what speed and pressure. Just then the song winds out of a solo and back into a more intense version of the first few bars of the song. The next thing I know she has a death grip on my wrist and she’s bouncing all over the bed like she’s having a seizure before the song crashes to the end with her going completely still and hardly breathing as she lets go of her grip on my wrist. I sat there in shock not knowing what to do while I hear the record needle click along before the arm lifts up and over then shutting the player off with a very long silent moment following it. Before I could panic she sits up like a rocket and gives me a big passionate kiss before breathlessly exclaiming “Man, that was fantastic!” and flops back on the bed. A moment later we hear the backdoor close as I’m picking her panties up off the floor. She quickly grabs them from me and stuffs them behind her just as we hear a knock on the door and her mom sticks her head in and asks “Is everything alright?” “Yeah Mom we’re fine.” And the door closes leaving both of us in a fit of giggles. The added excitement of nearly getting caught quickly became the first area we explored and sought out new and interesting ways to push that envelope. The world became our playground…literally. Nothing was too out of bounds to try. One afternoon, with Richie Havens singing “Motherless Child” on the radio, we took the next step and while she lay on the bed in her dress minus her panties I went down on her. I’ll admit right now I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, but I more than made up for that fact in earnest effort and was rewarded with my first blowjob from her while updates from the concert in a place called Woodstock were being broadcast between the songs that day. My cock had barely passed her lips and touched her tongue when Robert Plants voice began screaming over the radio as the beat pounded along with the few thrusts it took to cum. You would have had to use a stopwatch to time how long it took me to cum. Before we had barely started it was over, but I didn’t care! It was a blowjob! At least by now I knew enough to be proud about such things. I came in her mouth and all over her face. She looked amazing even though the look on her face was saying she wasn’t sure she liked that part just yet. (Eventually she loved it) And so things progressed on into the fall, bringing an end to an adventurous summer. We both improved our sexual skills and experiences on a daily basis. I learned to really enjoy the moistness of her mouth around my cock and that I loved the taste of her pussy juices. One evening my parents were throwing another summer party (which they did quite frequently back then). Jill and I snuck out to the shed in the backyard with half a bottle of wine we stole from the party, a blanket, and my transistor radio. That night, with Richie Havens, once again, singing “Motherless Child” from the Woodstock Soundtrack album way playing on the radio. An album I bought the day it hit the shelves almost as much for the photos as the music that showed us thousands of people frolicking in the mud naked on the cover, we lost our virginity. My cock had entered uncharted territory. With a little fumbling, and more than one missed shot, I finally entered NIRVANA. Her legs shot open from the initial pain and loss of her “cherry” but she held on tight and the passion swelled to new heights in both of us. We made so much noise my dad came out to see what was going on and we almost got caught. If it hadn’t been for the timely entry of a cat from behind the shed we would have surely been caught, literally, with our pants down. There we were crouched down in the shed with our bare butts showing peering through a crack in the shed door hoping he’d just go back in…which he did. How appropriate it was at that moment we were hearing Crosby, Stills and Nash just then. They had just taken the stage and were talking to the audience trying to get the courage to play when David Crosby blurts out “I don’t know about you…but we’re scared shitless up here!” (The radio bleeped that part but we knew the words by heart and broke out laughing.) We sat there quietly holding each other afterwards and drank the wine and talked about Woodstock more to give us something to talk about other than what we had just done. That was an awkward conversation best left for another day at that moment. And POOF…in an instant our childhood was gone. Neither of us had any regrets, but we were innocent no more. We would break up a short time later. Our lives would eventually go in separate directions after college, but we would run into each other now and then over the years after that. She looked even more beautiful than when we were in school. Jill married a man of great wealth and it showed. We’d always be glad to see one another and promise to call and catch up, but we never did. Then she would walk away alone. I saw the movie Woodstock when it came out. I saw all of the people dancing naked in the rain and mud getting high, making love. I saw Richie Havens take the stage alone with just his guitar to confront four hundred thousand people and WOW them with his songs. I sat there in the dark and thought about Jill and what she and I had experienced together that summer and fall and felt a kindred spirit to those people in the mud. I was too young to be there, but on the other side of the country I had had my own festival of awakening. The other night my wife and I were at a party drinking and playing the night away with old and new friends/ playmates. While my wife was off in a room occupied by several women and her who were doing their damndest to see who could make whom cum the hardest while being cheered on by various husbands and boyfriends. I was getting to know a rather attractive, leggy, woman in a cute little school girl skirt better in a hallway just outside an empty bedroom. Our conversation was quickly progressing from less talking to more playing which prompted me to move her from the wall she was leaning on to a vacant bed through the door behind me. Our hands began to explore each other’s bodies as we un-did, un-zipped, and un-hooked clothing in record speed while attempting to gracefully free ourselves of the confines of our attire. My fingers found the beginning of her inner thigh just above her knee and they began a long slow caress up the length of her thigh to her pussy. I could feel the heat between her legs intensifying as my fingers inched slowly closer. Suddenly her back arched off of the bed and a quick gasp escaped her mouth. I began to hear the opening bass and organ refrain of “Inna Gadda Da Vida” echoing in my head as her body began to quiver and her breathing became harder. Thirty-five years start flying away and the fifteen year old starts to return by the time I’m sliding my cock inside her. The thrusts, the movement, the experience is the man I am today, but the passion and enthusiasm is very much the boy of my youth. “Whole Lotta Love” is now playing in my head and the rhythm of my motion matching the beat in my head. Before long we both begin to cum hard and collapsed in a heap on the bed sweating and breathing heavily. We untangle ourselves from each other and just lay there for a moment giving each other kisses and “thank-you’s” before I begin to jump up off the bed and go in search of a drink and my wife. Her husband magically appears through the door just as I’m getting up and slides on to the bed next to her and quietly holds her while she continues to gain her composure once more. “It looks like you two had a good time.” He says to her. “Fabulous!” she gasps out, still trying to catch her breath as she did so. I exit the bedroom and down the hall towards the kitchen and the bar while the thoughts that had accompanied me moments earlier were not lost to me in any way. Our host (a fellow photographer) has framed photos he took of various rock stars performing in concerts. The visual imagery seems very appropriate at the moment and validates my thoughts. I stop at a photo of Jerry Garcia as I found myself quoting from a Grateful Dead song…”what a long, strange trip it’s been.” I thought about how all of this had begun for me and I gave Jill, that girlfriend of the past, a silent toast. A particular summer of love, the passions of youth and great music largely shaped the beginning of who and what I am today. The time was golden as were the experiences. For all of the experiences I have had since. For all of the love and happiness I have now with my wife, family and friends, those moments have never lost their luster. They have been built upon, and always will be special, but never replaced. Our experimentation had gone on for about a year as we learned every possible pleasurable way (and place) we could find to get each other off. Then Jill and I broke up. No fanfare, no broken hearts, just a realization we’d gone as far as we could at the time. We both felt it was time to learn more from other people and we couldn’t see how we could do that together. From time to time after that until college we would remain somewhat close and “touch base” with each other to see what we had learned but we never had a full time relationship together again. (Jill died of cancer a few years back. I didn’t know that until recently. The first thing I did was find a copy of the Woodstock soundtrack and put on “Motherless Child”…) My sophomore year in high school started off with a resounding THUD. I was bored from day one. I couldn’t relate to the friends I had made the year before. My relationship with Jill was winding down and the pool of potential girlfriends didn’t do a thing for me. As the school year started I was getting this ever growing feeling of being a “stranger in a strange land” to borrow the title of a book we would end up reading that year that seemed almost all the more apropos after reading it. Fall was fast approaching and I knew things were going to change for me yet again, it always seemed to happen that time of year for me…I just couldn’t imagine how. I had a new young English teacher who was making English fun for the first time and I was actually looking forward to his class every day. We were reading serious authors and serious books from Orwell, Bradbury, Bellows, Thurber and more. Gone were the lame assed pre-teen books and the cutesy Kipling stories of the past few years. We had discussions on what the authors thought or might have thought and he wanted us to pick a book, read it and write about it but not like the typical book report. He wanted us to write about what we thought about it, what we liked or didn’t like about it, what we thought the author was trying to say. I was excited…and stumped. I had no idea what I wanted to read or write about. I had taken a part time job as a grocery bagger at a nearby store. Next door was a five and dime I liked to hang out in because of Bambi. Bambi was a year or so older than I was and went to a different school but she was the textbook version of the Playboy centerfold of that era. Blonde, curvy, big boobed, beautiful and… she liked me. So I’d hang out and talk to her from time to time. She was worldly compared to what I, and most everyone I went to school with, was at that point. Her last boyfriend was a professional baseball player who took her all sorts of places and hip parties and she wasn’t at all bashful about talking about her exploits so it was always entertaining to listen to her. She would eventually be my date to the prom the next year because none of the girls I knew interested me as much as she did even though we weren’t dating. (She made the sixteenth hole at the Country Club quite a memorable place that night with grass stained knees for several days afterwards as a souvenir.) That afternoon I’m looking through the circular racks of paperbacks while we were talking desperately trying to come up with a book to read when a title hits me so hard it almost knocks me over “Tropic of Cancer” by Henry Miller. I couldn’t grab it off the rack fast enough. I quickly said “I gotta go” to Bambi, dropped the buck and a quarter on the counter jumped on my bike and raced home leaving her mid-sentence about one of her exploits. I read the entire book twice in two days, had the outline for my report, notes, footnotes and quotations, the whole thing by the following Wednesday…which was a good thing because my dad found the book and took it away from me (I found it still in the top drawer of his dresser several years later, very well read). I vividly remember the day I turned the report in and watching my teacher as he looked through the reports. When he saw mine his eyes nearly popped out of his head and his jaw crashed to the desk. When he finally gained his composure he signaled for me to come to his desk. Once I got there he leans over and whispers “Are you sure you want to use this as your report?” I emphatically said “Yes!” and he suggested we talk after class. When we talked he said during my oral discussion I couldn’t use any profanity and should refrain from any detailed descriptions of the sex acts or any references to the sex acts at all. That not only told me he’s already read the book but that he was willing to see what I’d do with it without getting either of us in trouble. I promised I would do what he asked. I kept my word. I talked about all the usual bullshit stuff like how it took me away to another time and place I had only seen pictures of and how raw and honest it was to me. I loved his use of free association and his “everyman” language instead of lofty prose which amazed my teacher and confused my classmates. Most all of whom went out and got the book later when I mentioned it had been involved in an obscenity trial during my report which created a small disturbance. (Some parents who found their kids with the book were outraged and made some noise which caused my teacher and the school to apologize and say they wouldn’t let that happen again and the whole issue quickly went away. Here, nearly forty years later, the teacher would have been fired, possibly the principal too and I would have been on the six o’clock news in a “How could this have happened?” segment.) I found myself the most popular guy in school for a while. I was “That guy with the book report”. Needless to say I got an A on the report and the teacher became an unexpectedly lifelong friend. He even ended up teaching two of my children many years later. One of the last questions my teacher asked during my report was “Did you like the book?” My answer was “Yes and No…I liked it overall but something about it disturbed me and I don’t know what it is.” When I got home I went through my desk and found the letter Henry had sent me a few years earlier. With his full address in hand (444 Ocampo Dr) I sent him another letter asking him about the book. Now that I had read it I understood what all of the flap was about it. Some things still confused me about it (and would for a few years yet to come). He sent back a three paged letter answering my questions and a polite but stern warning not to try and live my life through his books (books? I didn’t know he had more than one). I was still young and had plenty of time to make my own life my own way. I took the letter to school and showed it to my teacher who read it to the class (in a somewhat edited fashion) which prompted a new, albeit brief, discussion about the book. Most of the class had read the book by that time and they had questions of their own (which unfortunately couldn’t be answered at that moment). It was probably the best classroom discussion I ever had again and caused other people in the class to start writing their favorite authors. Something we all continued to do for the rest of the year and something our teacher continually did until he retired nearly thirty years later. I never wrote Henry again after that last letter. Part of me wishes I had. I did eventually read all of his books though yet it still left me feeling strangely about his writing. A few years before he died I was in LA on business and stopped by the west coast office of Playboy looking for freelance work as an illustrator. I didn’t get any work that trip but I had a great conversation with one of the editors. During our talk I mentioned how much the magazine had influenced me (part truth…part bullshit to try and get work), especially that September ’64 issue with Henry in it. He got this funny smile on his face and laughed as he said “Strange you should mention that Doc. He was sitting in the chair you’re sitting in now not more than ten or fifteen minutes ago before you walked in. He may have walked past you in the lobby as you were coming in.” I didn’t remember or hear a word he said after that and I left with a need to see if I could meet Miller in person. Armed with a road map and a full tank of gas I drove to Pacific Palisades and drove by his home which was much larger than I would have imagined. I, somehow, expected it to be a small nondescript bungalow common in that part of LA. I had imagined him in my mind to live and be the way he was when he wrote those books. Instead his home was an intimidating house flanked by similar homes throughout the neighborhood in a well to do subdivision a mere six blocks off of Pacific Coast Highway and the beach. I suddenly felt like I was intruding just by driving down the street so I didn’t stop. His fame had served him well, as it often does for creative people brave enough to survive and excel at their craft. I had failed to account for that in my opinion of him. No longer was he the occasionally caustic, struggling, despondent, impoverished man in his books reliant on everyone he knew to survive. He was now, by outward appearances, a respected elder statesman of sexual enlightenment reaping the rewards of those struggles and I should leave him alone. He had nothing to offer me he hadn’t already given me or that I couldn’t find for myself without his help. I had figured out why his books disturbed me a few years earlier. Henry was, as near as I could figure out, a swinger. They didn’t call it that back then but he and his close circle of friends would have qualified for the moniker. His friends like Lawrence Durrell, Anais Nin and their spouses as well as Henry, his wife June, along with June’s live-in lover for a while artist Jean Kronski (to be replaced off and on by Anais Nin for several years), and others preferred to call themselves “Bohemians”. He was definitely a Hedonist. He sought pleasure in everything and everyone. That was the only common thread between himself and a swinger today. Most swingers have never heard of Henry Miller. The few that have had only a passing knowledge of who he was and what he represented to the Lifestyle, most swingers would be shocked, appalled, insulted and possibly sickened from the subjects he wrote about and by his selective lack of a moral compass. That part of him represented things that swingers today would steer a very wide path around. The society he lived in at the time of his writing was what might be called today morally corrupt but back then seemed rather commonplace and people really didn’t seem to know any better. They pretended they did, but the truth shows otherwise. Miller spent his life being un-apologetic about what he saw, did and wrote about, sometimes coming off as sleazy. In spite of that we owed him a great deal of respect for showing us where not to go and what not to do in our own searches for pleasure. The honesty he showed us, even though there were times we might have preferred not to see it, taught us the importance of such honesty in relationships. As I drove away from Henry’s house that day the light went on in my head just like it had several years before when on that trip back from Vegas I thought I knew what he had been saying. Now maybe I also knew what he was doing as well, I was now ready for what would lay ahead of me. It was now time to close that book and chapter and start writing my own. Those memories are still fresh as I sit here this morning listening to the ocean find the shore. Con finally has risen from the dead and comes out on the balcony in just her heels to flop down in the chair next to me. “I’m Starrrrrrving!” she says dramatically as she drapes a leg over mine before saying “Let’s get something to eat.” “How about if I order something from Room Service?” I ask. “Perfect!” Con is many things but a good cook wasn’t one of those things. She’s great at ordering from a menu and excels at ordering room service. Besides…I want to get this conversation over with…privately.

WHEN DOES A PARENT STOP BEING A PARENT?

WHEN DOES A PARENT STOP BEING A PARENT?

I’ve had to ask myself that question at least a hundred times in the past twenty-four hours and probably a thousand more times at various times over the past several years.
My eldest daughter (who will be thirty-five in May) dropped a bomb on me last night. Being the well educated, universally accepting and understanding father I’ve always been…freaked out. She caught me so off-guard I actually behaved like a father. Hind sight being 20/20 I’m not so sure my reaction was wrong…out of character…no doubt, but wrong? I’ve spent all day trying to make sense of it and have no better answer as I write this than I did when I went over the parental edge last night.
The daughter in question is the “brainiac, academic” of the three daughters I have who were all A+, accelerated over-achievers in school. In some ways she followed in the footsteps of myself and my ex-wife. She’s talented, creative, articulate, personable and fun to be around. In many ways she’s been more my favorite than the other two even though I’ve treated all of them equally and don’t play favorites with any of them. Like any Dad…they’ve all pissed me off on more than one occasion but I love them all just the same. The eldest has always traveled to the beat of a different drummer and I’ve kinda admired her for that.
My eldest has my love of art and history which is why she went to Cairo Egypt to study Archaeology and Anthropology under the renowned Dr. Zahi Hawass who was Egypt’s Minister of State for Antiquities up until recently when he was forced out of that position by the new military government of that country. (You’ve seen him crawling through mouse holes in some pyramid on National Geographic over the years.) While there she developed a love for all things Middle Eastern going so far as to convert to Islam.
Sometime after her stay there she met and married a really nice young man from Syria. Just before all hell broke loose over there he had to go back to resolve some Immigration details to be able to stay here permanently. You know what’s happened over there the past year or so so it isn’t a surprise he’s still there and trying to get out. The odd part is he seems to be able to travel freely from Syria to Jordan without issue through all of this. Why he hasn’t just gotten on a plane and gone anywhere else and sought asylum is beyond me.
My daughter works here for Child Protective Services here trying to keep kids out of harm’s way (see some irony here? I do.) Last night she called to say she wouldn’t be able to get together with me for my birthday (no big deal…I don’t celebrate them either these days) because she was going to meet her husband in Jordan…
He had wanted her to come to Syria but she wisely refused but was nuts enough to agree to Jordan. Is it just me being a Dad or am I missing something here? I did something I’ve never done in my life with my kids…especially this one. I told her that was the most “Insanely Dumbest” thing I’ve ever heard her say. Was I wrong? Was I behaving too much like a Dad or should I just pat her on the head and hope she doesn’t come back in a body bag? I know she always thinks she’s the exception to the rule when it comes to the Middle East…but they don’t particularly like Americans in that part of the World right now and as nice as her husband is…the kid can’t protect himself much less her and when the shit hits the fan (and it will) he’ll be the first running in the opposite direction with or without her.
So I’m asking you my friends…am I being an over-reactive Dad or is there something else I should do? I really, really don’t know right now.

Travels with Yoda Part 1

PART 1

For Christmas the daughter who was crazy enough to take my wife and I in gave me an unexpected surprise. She had to come up with an inexpensive “Secret Santa” gift for a co-worker of hers she had drawn from the hat. She came home with this amazing little “Yoda” backpack sized for a four year old. I have long thought that was the coolest backpack on the planet because the San Diego Padres have used it in their rookie hazing ritual.
To those unaware of what I’m talking about every year the Major League teams find the most atrocious backpack they can find and assign one of the rookie pitchers to carry this backpack every game to the bullpen filled with candy bars, sunflower seeds and such for all of the other pitchers (the D-Backs had a Hello Kitty one last season as a comparison). They’re responsible to get said backpack to and from the bull pen throughout the season. Needless to say it gets a lot of camera time and I fell in love with Yoda…even though I’m not a Padres fan.
I threw such a fit the kid at our daughter’s office almost didn’t get his. Come Christmas morning under the tree was my very own Yoda backpack. Now mind you, this is designed for a short person so it doesn’t hold a lot of stuff. The cavity only holds enough for a wallet, a cell phone and maybe an energy bar or two. For many of the things I have to cart around these days that’s generally not always quite enough but I promised the kids I would use it (I know what you’re thinking and you’re probably right…the meds are being adjusted as we speak). Having said that though understand that, from time to time, Mr. Messenger Bag will have to stand in for Yoda but Yoda will still be there…if only in spirit.
After much research (and a discussion with my best friend the lawyer) you won’t get to hear Yoda’s comments through my journaling. There’s a very high powered Producer/Director and a well known Director/Puppeteer who might take issue with what I understood Yoda to say so you’ll just have to accept my interpretation of his comments.
This last week Yoda and I had a couple of interesting adventures. I had to go and have my broken finger X-rayed to see how bad it really was from the fall I took on New Year’s Eve. Since I’m no longer allowed to drive my health plan had to arrange transportation for Yoda and I to and from the Imaging Lab and wouldn’t you know it…we got picked up by Philosopher/ Cab Driver Pete who reads self-help and philosophy books between fares. Yoda and I had a glorious time comparing fate/free will and the power of positive thinking on our twenty-seven point three mile trip to the Imaging Lab. Pete was on a quest to “re-invent” himself at this stage of his life. Something I could wholeheartedly relate to. Because of my hearing disabilities I couldn’t tell at times if he was saying he was Agnostic or a Nazi half the time so it made for an interesting conversation none the less. Yoda looked at Pete and I as if we were clearly delusional but said nothing. The sky was blue, the air was warm and all was right in the world so who cares.
Pete dropped us off at the Lab and was disappointed we couldn’t continue the conversation further and had hoped we were only going to be a few minutes because he could then wait and return Yoda and me to our humble domicile when done and talk more on the way back. Sadly that wasn’t to be the case.
At the Lab I had to fill out a few forms while Yoda wrangled a date for Saturday night with one of the office staff. (You know what they say…big stick, big…personality.)
The TODAY show was playing on the big screen TV on the wall. As luck would have it they were interviewing a fascinating young woman named Christine Rouse who, like me, has Cerebral Palsy. Like me she was near the top of her class throughout her academic life, graduated from college and has gone on to form a program for people with disabilities who allows and encourages them to explore their creative side through music, dance, theatre, the visual arts and so on. I was impressed and envious at the same time… and to be honest guilty.
She was a charming young woman. She had the visible effects of a stroke on the left side of her face (something many people with Cerebral Palsy display but I, somehow, dodged that bullet.), her speech was forced and at times garbled (a trait we share, although mine usually only shows up when I’m really tired which is why many times people thought I was high or drunk when in reality I’d had little if anything to take or drink.), I didn’t see her walk but I knew inside she probably walks like I do with a pronounced limp (more so when tired) and favoring one arm or the other to maintain a decent balance (something that caused many people to wonder if I were gay a large portion of my life). Yet here she was doing what I had often talked about doing but never had gotten around to doing yet for less than admirable reasons. To be completely honest I was feeling humiliated and dejected right that moment and all Yoda could do was shake his head at me in disgust. Fortunately they called my name and I was spared any further emotional discomfort…physical was another story. Let’s just say I used a whole new vocabulary while they were messing with my finger and leave it at that.
The ride home was less than interesting. My driver barely knew how to get around and I ended up playing tour guide and navigator which amused Yoda to no end. The next day I would get even with his humor as we both took our first ride ever on a city bus, but that’s a story for later.
The TODAY show and Christine Rouse haunted me all night. Just when I thought I might have a handle on where I was headed these days my life has taken an abrupt turn yet again and now I feel like I’m back at square one for the millionth time in my life. I’m still asking what I’m going to do when I grow up, do you? I kinda hope so… because misery loves company.
And Yoda smiled knowingly.