Do you know what it feels like for a girl/ Do you know what it feels like in this world/For a girl

Dearest B.,

In 2001, the high priestess of pop her Royal Madgeness asked the $64K question in a pop diddy, “Do you know what it feels like for a girl?” While there have been many times in my life, I’ve speculated that I know the answer to that question. I think this week I have truly discovered what it feels like for a girl. Let me see if it’s possible for me to properly explain.

It’s no secret to you or any of my closest friends that I’m a big old Craigslist whore. And this week was no exception. I was feeling particularly in need of some strange this week so I posted the following advert on Wednesday.

Assplay
The title says it all. You love to get it, I love to give it.

I’m looking to host. You on all fours ass is the air with your throbbing cock and balls hanging nice and low to be stroked and tickled. Big plus if you’re a moaner or massive shooter. Nothing is hotter than listening to a guy whimper and moan as his sweet little pucker hole is being worked over. Or a guy who can hit his face when he cums. I can use my fingers or you can chose from any number of toys.

Even bigger plus if you’re willing to return the favor with a hand job or a little head.

Looking to do this anywhere between noon and 4.

Stats for stats.

One of the first responses I got was from a guy who sounded quite promising he described himself as 36, BiWM, goodlooking, 6’1”, 175, in-shape, jock type. Ummmm. Just the kind of guy that I like and whose butt I *really* like to pleasure. He was in my apartment about an hour and a half later and in my bed on all fours.

As part of our email negotiation of the activities we were going to partake in for the lunch time fun. He agreed he would provide me with a hand job in return for the prostate massage.

I have to say the boy didn’t lie as to his stats. He had a nice compact build on him and an ass sweeter than clover honey. And a dick that made my mouth water just looking at it. I worked his yummy derriere over for about 40 minutes with ye olde Mr. Stilo and brought him to an amazing if somewhat quiet climax.

As I always do, I got up from the bed and headed to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with hot water to clean him up. When I got back to the bedroom to clean him up he was out of the bed and standing in the middle of the bedroom. As I handed him the wash cloth he said, “Thank you.”

“So what are you doing out of the bed?” I asked in a mock shocked tone. “You still have to take care of me.”

He looked at me rather sheepishly and said, “Ummm. I’m not sure I can.”

“What?” I asked in an ever more mock shocked tone. “You can’t give me a little old hand job? You’re going to be a typical guy and get yours but leave me hanging?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m kinda the typical guy in that regard.” He chuckled, “I’m kinda whiped out. Can I take care of you first next time? That is of course if there is a next time.”

I laughed and said, “Yes baby, you’re very cute and a lot of fun. So there can be a next time whenever you want.”

He quickly dressed and I sent him on his way into the cold afternoon.

This morning I had another guy come over who answered the same advert. And nearly the same damned exact thing happened again. I worked 40 minutes to get him there. After I cleaned him up as I was coming back from the bathroom, he was getting dressed. I was so dumbfounded by the fact that such a thing happened twice in one week, I didn’t even think to mention he agreed to give me head before coming over.  To say I was shocked would be an understatement.

As I have reflected on this today, I have to wonder WTF is going on. While, as I told my sexy gentleman caller earlier in the week, I am typically always GGG as Dan Savage would counsel and I’m perfectly okay with giving a good orgasm without expecting anything in return. However this week, damn it, I wanted someone to give me one! And I have to say, there was some kind of strange and twisted cosmic irony in the fact that it didn’t happen.

So yes Madge, I certainly know what it feels like for a girl. To be left hanging by some greedy menz who only are looking to get a little for themselves but not return the fay-vah.

Bass-tads!

As always, sending you much love.

Harry Potter and the Ghoti Stone?

Dearest B.,

I had the most amazing experience yesterday. My friend R. and I decided to get together and see a movie as part of our sliding into the New Year groove. We both wanted to see Rabbit Hole and agreed to meet at Bethesda Row to see the 4:55 show.

We were both blown away by the performances of the cast. What I was struck with the most as I watched the film is how much the understated and subtle performances are the greatest strength of the film. Both Nicole Kidman and Diane Weist were exceptional in delivering an emotional punch in their respective roles as mother and daughter. Each of whom had lost a son and now have the common bond of the associated pain and grief resulting from each of their losses.

The scene that resonated with me the most was the one in which the Becca character asks her mother if it ever goes away. At first the mother looks rather startled and confused, which then transforms into a look of understanding and says, “No. It never goes away. But it gets easier.” And goes on to explain that eventually rather than being unbearable, it becomes like a brick that you carry around in your pocket. You feel it, you know it’s there, but it doesn’t overwhelm you. But it never let’s you forget that it’s there.

I found that exchange between mother and daughter and the idea expressed to be so brilliant in so many ways. Firstly, the fact that it does perfectly express what it feels like to be overwhelmed by grief. And secondly, that the metaphor was quite apt as to what it feels like to carry grief of any kind. Whether it’s the grief that one might feel for the loss of a loved one or the grief that one might feel for the loss of a relationship―it never goes away. However, it does get easier with time and there comes a point where it’s just a part of you.

After the movie, R. and I headed over to a most amazing Lebanese restaurant in North Bethesda to have dinner with her significant other H. After we’d ordered and while we were sitting and chatting and waiting for the first course to arrive R. suddenly said, “Oh, I almost forgot.” as she reached into her purse, “I got you something in Costa Rica.” She laid a small white gift bag, with a smaller blue bag tucked within it onto the table.

“If you don’t like it. It’s okay.” she said with a look of chagrin. “But it made me think of you.”

“I’m sure I will love it.” I said as I pulled the small blue bag from the slightly larger white one. “Oh my God. This is AMAZING!” I said as I pulled a necklace from the bag which was made from a bit of rubber cord, silver findings and a small tear drop stone with a fish like design in the center of the stone.”

“I’m so glad you like it.” replied R. relieved.

“Wow. I can’t figure out if the design is inlayed.” I said rubbing the stone. “Or if it’s a fossilized image.”

“Supposedly it’s a fossil created by a squid.” R. offered.

“Oh my god. I love it. Thank you so much.” I said reaching over to give R. a hug.

“You’re very welcome.” she smiled.

After I got home I examined the stone more closely. It appears to be a piece of obsidian with the fossilized image within it. I’ve since done some research on the interwebs and I’ve discovered it’s an Orthoceras.  And according to a web site I found they’re good to increase life span, reduce toxins, anxiety, stress, balance the emotions, make one more confident. Containing supernatural and physical healing powers, they promote a sense of pride and success in business. Healers use fossils to enhance telepathy and stimulate the mind. Traditionally, fossils have been used to aid in reducing tiredness, fatigue, digestive disorders, and rheumatism.

What I was blown away the most about receiving this gift from R. was the synchronistic nature of the gift and the fish fossil that is a part of it. She was in Costa Rica the week of Christmas which she told me included doing a ritual on the beach on the Solstice/full moon/eclipse. While she was there in Costa Rica doing her ritual I was here in the States a doing a similar ritual several days later on Christmas Eve. And what I included in that ritual was the desire to continue to let go of my feelings of hurt with D. and transform those feeling into ones of love.

While I’ve mentioned D. to R. and discussed the situation and my residual feelings many times, I’ve never mentioned the connection with fish and his email address. Nor have I discussed with her the fact that I write this blog which includes a derivation of fish (ghoti) in the name and that I use the nom de plume Ero Ghoti to write the blog.

So needless to say when I opened the bag and saw the design in the stone, the significance was not lost on me. There are times that R. amazes me as to how connected she is tho’ she hasn’t any kind of distinct mystic practice. She meditates and has had a great deal of training and experience with mindfulness. But for whatever reason has never really focused on mysticism in her practice. I believe she once told me that the reason she doesn’t explore it that much is that she uses her practice more for being grounded―which I can totally understand and respect.

But me, on the other hand, we both know what an airy faerie thing I can be. 

I can’t wait to begin wearing the necklace and see what magic the orthoceras holds for me.

As always sending you much love!

Ummmm. Looking for Bustin' Brown!

Dearest B.,

What I want to talk about here is bustin’ brown. No, I’m not saying that I want to let loose on UPS. However, I will say the driver who delivered my packages the other day was quite a cutie and I wouldn’t have minded busting a sweet load or two with him.

But I digress.

What I’m talking about here is butt play, ass fun, working the back door, the mysteries of anal pleasure. As I have no doubt mentioned in other letters these days, I find myself all about the ass play. Not penetrative anal sex per se, but more giving a guy a nice long prostate massage.  I find it gives me some kind of kinky perverted pleasure to have a guy on all fours and working over his sweet little tunnel of love ‘til he screams in ecstasy. But what I think I enjoy just a much as the actual sex play in the crazy-assed adventures that are associated with finding a willing partner or two.

I’ve mentioned in several letters before that I most often use Craigslist to find my vic…erh partners. Invariably it always becomes a bit of a free-for-all freek-fest as I attempt to weed out the guys who are serious and who will show up. And the guys that are either players or use Craigslist as source of some kind of endless entertainment for themselves by answering ads. Then there is the ever growing number of affiliate marketing bots that attempt to get me to sign up for the services they’re hawking. I think those annoy me more than the players and freeks.

Back in the summer in a letter to R. I mentioned a guy who’d contacted me via Craigslist to came over for ye olde prostate massage. But rather than getting naked and enjoying the activity he’d contacted me about. He instead transformed into an uber-freek and nearly ran screaming from my apartment.

So week before last, on Friday, I posted an ad on good old CL and who responded to the ad? But Mr. Bolt. Of course I chuckled when I saw his email address. He mentioned that he’d found someone to give him a prostate massage and he enjoyed it very much and was looking for someone to do it again. I responded that I was glad to hear that he’d found someone and I was game to try it again. His response led me to believe that he didn’t recognize me, so I explained at greater length we’d met before and that he’d nearly gone running screaming from my apartment. I heard no further response from him.

For whatever reason, I got quite a few responses that day―nearly thirty to be exact. The gentleman who came over the day I posted the ad was quite a cutie. It was one of those mystery date kind of situations as we’d not exchanged photos before he showed up at my door. It was quite a pleasant surprise when I opened the door to see him standing there. He was 33, about 6’3”, with short brown hair, a killer smile and the sweetest shy nerdy kind of personality. And once we got naked and in the bed he had the nicest little derriere that was big fun to work over. I had him moaning within a matter of minutes.  I need to send him a follow up email and see if I might get him back in my bed again for a little fun.

Meanwhile, B. whom I’d not heard from in months answered the same advert and came over the next day. As we exchanged emails setting up the exact time he mentioned that he had a story to tell in regard to his disappearance. When he arrived at my place on Saturday he told me that his wife had discovered his dirty little secret of loving butt play with other guys. Apparently she was a tad bit shocked to say the least.

What’s rather sad is it sounds as if she’s rather bitter and angry as well. Which I suppose I can understand in a way, however from what B. has told me she is engineering a situation to use the kids as leverage between them as they head toward divorce. That makes for a truly nasty situation. I really feel for him right now.

I must be careful with him tho’. This is a situation I could truly find myself getting my heart broken as I really like B. a great deal. It’s one of those situations where I feel had we met each other at a different time in our lives, he might have been willing to live his life in a gay relationship. But as things are now, I don’t see that happening. And even if he were to come to terms with the sexual ambiguity thing and want to have more of relationship than one limited to sex. I’m not sure I’d be up for it with all of the complications.

I have a new guy coming over tomorrow morning and it should prove to be interesting as he’s been a little flaky on me. The funniest thing is that he keeps asking me how much I charge. I’ve have had to tell him twice. “Baby I don’t charge. I love playing with the big C too much to charge for it.”

Apparently he thinks that I’m a whore. Okay, maybe I am. LOL

As always, sending you much love!

Santa Bear-bay

Dearest B.,

So last week one of Santa’s kinky helpers in brown delivered the latest object of my affliction from pinkcherry.com―the Nexus Stilo. I’ve not had a chance to give him a whirl yet. I always like to try out any toy I purchase before offering them up to a playmate (or two). That way I have an idea of how it feels and how to use it on a partner. However, I did get a chance to give a couple of the FleshJacks I ordered a spin.

I must confess, I was not completely enamored with the FleshIce at first use as much as I thought might be the case. I think this was mostly due to user error. Before use one is supposed to soak the insert in hot water for several minutes. I opted to not do this and instead wrapped it in a hot towel as was suggested by user in an on-line forum. Doing so left the insert feeling rather sticky to the touch.

Also, I attempted to “ride” this particular model by using what is called the “work out shoe technique”. Which essentially is to place the FleshJack in a running or walking shoe that is then anchored with several pillows, mount it, then ride it like the wind. I couldn’t seem to find an angle that worked. The FleshJack kept rocking back and forth and feeling like it was going to pop out of the shoe. The big O was good. It just wasn’t the earth-shattering experience I had created in my mind in anticipation.

However, a couple of days later I had greater success with a different model. This one made out of the standard pink real-skin. It has a mouth orifice and the wonder weave texture. This time I warmed up the insert as suggested in warm water. And instead of attempting some kind of acrobatic move with the device, I simply laid back and enjoyed myself with it and the sensations it produced. Again, while the moment of lift off still wasn’t as earth shattering as those I’ve experienced in the past. It was better than my first experience.

And I can definitely say using a FleshJack is better than choking the chicken with my fist any day.

Of course as a result of my experience with these toys, I’ve became rather intrigued with sex toys overall and began to do some poking around on the internets. I discovered there are on average 1.8M global searches a day for the keyword “sex toys”, 2.2K for “strap on” (sounds like there’s a whole lot of peggin’ goin’ on all ‘round the world) and a whopping 4M for “masturbation”. I then discovered that apparently sex toy sales are one of the few things that are on the up turn even in the bad economy.

It’s funny. I read a couple of years ago that the sales of sex toys were projected to increase within the next decade. I had read about several women who had started successful companies selling sex toys with the at home party model that has launched many a network marketing company. When I became intrigued (okay obsessed) with the idea, I ran the idea to start such a company to have parties to sell sex toys to gay men by my former friend D. He immediately gave me his stereotypical Debbie Downer routine of how gay men are too shame-filled about their sexuality, blah, blah, blah. I knew I should have never listened to him!

So I have once again become smitten with the idea of selling sex toys, both on-line and through parties. I mean, hey, I loves me some sex toys as much as Santa. So I figure I might as well sell ‘em. Right?

I have done some quick research and it appears existing companies that operate on the shop-at-home party model don’t allow men to be consultants or attend the parties. It seems they prefer the “girl’s night out” kind of approach. Which is guess may be good in that it allows many of the girls to relax and not be worried when their boyfriend or husband might think.

However, I have to wonder if a different approach might be just as useful, if not more so. Which is to have/host parties where couples can shop together for merchandise after all they will be using the products together. Since they will be incorporating the toys into their sexual routine buying them together would make more sense. That way each of them will be more inclined to incorporate them into their sex lives. I’m hoping I can find an existing program that will allow me to create and host such parties without having to start from scratch.

Okay time to get the rest of the day started here.

As always, sending you much love!

Three Is a Magic Number

Dearest B.,

It has been far too long since I’ve written a letter and posted it in ye olde blog. I need to be far more diligent about being properly motivated to write and post. Not sure what is creating the resistance currently. More than anything it’s most likely just a bit of laziness on my part and somewhat to do with my obsession as of late with everything associated with sex and sexuality.

I’m not sure what has come over me as of late other than being a victim of male biology. But boy howdy I have to say that I’ve been out of my mind horny the last few weeks. I always forget how bad the hormone rush is this time of year and it nearly drives me to crawling the walls at points. Some days I’m itching like Whitney Houston touring a crack pipe factory.

Given that my mind seems to be single tracking it these days with little regard to anything else but sex. I’ve been listening to quite a few podcasts about the subject. The affect seem to be of the brain being kicked into overload to consider all of the sexual experiences I’ve denied myself and the fact that perhaps I might consider endeavoring to explore them.

The result? My first three-way week before last. It was with two friends who are married.

It was an interesting experience. Of course, when someone expresses such a statement it has a bit of an undertone of there being something wrong or unpleasant about the experience. It’s not that I found the encounter to be unpleasant. It’s just more that I was not able to relax and really enjoy myself throughout. My queen-sized bed really isn’t big enough for three people to stretch out and enjoy themselves comfortably. While I’d engaged in limited sexual exploration with the one gentleman the other I’d not. So there was a bit of being unsure with a new partner. Also at points it was a bit of sensory overload and it became too much to experience in the moment.

I’m not averse to the idea of having another three-way. However, I think optimally to do such a thing on a regular basis would work better with a couple of regular partners or FBs who are open to such activity, so I would be able to relax and enjoy myself more.

As a result of this rekindled interest in sex, I have become obsessed lately with sex toys. I’m not sure what has ignited this interest but I have become consumed with these varying objects of my desire.

The first one I purchased was a Nexus Glide prostate stimulator at the Pleasure Place in Georgetown. I like the shape of it and the stimulation it provides. However, it’s made of hard plastic and tho’ it’s medical grade plastic it can’t be sterilized. So I began to search for another toy that could be boiled and bleached. I had settled on a glass item and headed out to Night Dreams in Tysons Corner the weekend of Thanksgiving to pickup a lovely glass toy. However, when I got there I became enamored with a Njoy Pfun stainless steel model which I purchased instead. While I love the look and the feel of the toy, I’m not a big fan of the curved nature of the design.

Shortly after I purchased the Glide, I found a stainless steel model that is made by Nexus as well, the Stilo. For reasons that I’m not able to comprehend, U.S. distributors of adult toys do not stock the item. I did find a Canadian company that stocks it. So I purchased it with part of the funds I received as an unexpected Christmas bonus by way of a $500 Visa gift card that I won at work in a drawing. He’s cleared customs and should be making his way to my door any day. I look forward to getting my hot little hands on him.

Meanwhile, while I was obsession over finding the perfect P-spot stimulator, I also became intensely interested in the FleshJack. So, I took the remaining balance after purchasing the Stilo and bought several models (Hey, they were having a sale). Last I checked they are on the way as well and should be here by Wednesday. There is going to be big fun in this apartment by the end of the week.

Another thing which seems to be bubbling up from the depths of my subconscious is the desire to begin writing and publishing about sex and sexuality. I think I want to start producing a podcast as well as publish erotica. I have secured a URL for the podcast/blog. But I haven’t explored what is necessary for publishing erotica. I need to do some research in that regard. I figure at the very least, I can publish through Amazon as Kindle books with the option of getting printed versions on demand.

Somehow I managed to get a killer cold over the weekend. It sucks in a major way.

As always sending you much love!

Landslide

Dearest B.,

I received news the other day at work that simultaneously broke my heart and nearly knocked me out of my chair. I got an email from my boss one afternoon telling me that the significant other of one of our team members committed suicide earlier this week. Reading her words sent a jolt of electricity through my body. This reaction due to varying reasons, the least of which was my strong desire to do the same thing nearly three years ago around this time as well.

However, I think the main reason this news affected me so much is the fact that I’ve been considering creating a video to post to Dan Savage’s It Gets Better Project. I realize this sounds like a rather odd juxtaposition. However, what I’ve realized through the experience of hearing about the partner of my co-worker committing suicide is that struggle is struggle regardless of when we experience it in our lives. I don’t say this to diminish how difficult it may be to cope with being bullied as a teen as I experienced the same myself. But living can become overwhelming for any of us at any point in our lives.

For the partner of my coworker,  it was the recent death of his mother, for whatever reason her death became a downward spiral for him from which he was not able to recover.  He lost interest in every day being and stopped going to work. Shortly before he killed himself he was spending most if not all of the day in bed. Classic symptoms of depression, I can only suppose my co-worker assumed his partner was going to pull out of it eventually.

He never did.

Nearly three years ago I was in a similar situation. I was deeply depressed. Not because of anything nearly as stark as the death of a parent. I had been out of the bunker for just over a year and on anti-depressants the entire time. My shrink had been modulating the dosage and I was all over the map emotionally. There were days my moods would range from euphoria to utter despair. There were several moments I seriously considered committing suicide as I could not imagine a future filled with days of such existence. I thought it better to be dead.

I began to search the internet to gain a better understanding of what might the best and most effective way to kill myself. Since I don’t own a gun, shooting myself was out of the question. Exsanguination was a tricky proposition as if one doesn’t slit their wrists properly it merely creates a mess. I concluded my best bet was the entire bottle of Ambien I had stored in the medicine cabinet. However, I read often an overdose of the hypnotic sleep aid is not enough to induce death. So I concluded my best bet would be to consume the entire bottle of pills and wrap my skull in a plastic bag sealed with duct tape.  Slow asphyxiation, that was the way to go.

The only two things that prevented me from doing such were this a. the thought of my family discovering me in the aftermath in my apartment and b. the possibility my cat would have been without food and water for several days before someone found me. In that moment, I realized how selfish such an action would be and how much it would affect others.

In retrospect, I can’t believe I was so close to killing myself. Because as the project started by Dan Savage states, “It does get better.” I’m living proof. I have returned to the place I had been nearly a decade before. One in which I find each day of life to be filled with such amazing joy and opportunities for discovery. Most days, I am overflowing with immeasurable gratitude for being alive and the many opportunities that are presently to me daily to experience the wonder of this experience we call human.

My coworker’s partner shot himself. He did so while my coworker had gone out to dinner with some professional colleagues of ours. He left a note as to where his body could be found and went to the garage and shot himself in the car. I can only assume to keep from making a mess in the house that would be difficult to clean up. Funny how the mind can consider such odd details when one is in such a state.

My heart aches for my coworker at the thought of such a discovery. They had been together for 14 years. It sounds as if his partner was an incredibly sweet and loving man. He took care of the house. Tended a garden they had in their yard. And took care of the three dogs they had together. A huge hole will be left in the life of my coworker and the lives of others they shared.

A hole ripped through the fabric in that particular corner of the universe in a mere second with the pull of a trigger, the flash of gunpowder and the impact of lead to flesh and bone for one. The reverberation of which will last the remainder of a lifetime for others.

I feel the need to say, should anyone find this letter through whatever circumstance, a keyword search, a random link that may result from it being posted here and should you be seriously considering suicide, I implore you to reconsider. While it may be difficult envision at this particular moment. It will get better. However, it will take time and it will require you be patient with yourself and find a path toward healing and recovery.

Please take whatever that first step might be for you. Reach out to a loved one or friend. Find a counselor or speak to a member of the clergy should you be a member of an organized community of faith. But most of all, consider how special you are and how much you have to offer to world by being here.

And remember you are loved!

Out the Otherside taken by EG

Dearest B.,

I had the strangest experience on Tuesday that I relayed to A. the other night when he was over. While he was on the table and I was working on him we began to discuss the weekend. I told him I had headed into Old Town to pick up a few things. And as a result, I had taken a bunch of photos many which were taken in a tunnel on Wilkes Street. “Oh you mean the haunted tunnel?” he asked.

“It’s haunted?” I asked. “Oh yeah. They say if you take photos in there of people you get orbs.”

“Drat,” I replied. “Had I known that I would have waited until after dark.”

I then went on to tell him the following story.

As I was walking to my office Tuesday from the parking garage, I decided (for whatever reason) to walk outside rather than through the mall. I was about halfway to the building when I noticed there was a man standing at the edge of the sidewalk who appeared to be homeless, but I wasn’t sure. And a little beyond him there was a man who suddenly stopped walking and turned his direction.

I assumed he did this due to the fact the gentleman closest to me appeared to be homeless and the guy who turned his direction was either going to a. hassle him or b. give him money. He however did neither, but instead began to yell at yet another gentleman who was crossing in the middle of the block. “The cross walk is at the corner down there!” he screamed while pointing toward the intersection. All the while the gentleman crossing the street appeared to ignore him. But this did not deter the fool as he kept yelling, “I said. The crosswalk is at the corner down there!”

I had to chuckle as it reminded of the fact the card I had pulled the day before from the “Innovative Whack Pack” which was all about the ego. This card in particular describing the ego, like many guys in a video or two on the internets, gone wild and out of control. And in this moment before me I witnessed a gentleman who was letting his run riot through the neighborhood.

A little over a year ago, I was at the same intersection and witnessed an exchange somewhat similar. I’d had a friend over for the afternoon for a massage swap. He has a keen interest in massage and wanted to learn more in regard to technique, etc. We had a perfectly lovely afternoon together and decided to have dinner at a nearby Mexican restaurant.

On the way home we were stopped at the intersection mentioned before, and I noticed there was a gentleman standing next to our vehicle and motioning to the driver in the car next to us to roll down his window. As the driver rolled down the window, the gentleman standing in the road yelled, “Turn on your headlights!”

The driver the car calmly replied, “Sir, when it gets dark enough the headlights will turn on automatically.”

The gentleman standing in the road then became belligerent and yelled, “You can turn them on manually you son of a bitch! Turn on your fucking headlights!”

To this the driver of the car calmly rolled the window back up and began to ignore the gentleman standing in the road. About his time the traffic light changed and we pulled off. As we did so I told my friend C., “What ever you do. Don’t get behind that guy.”

To which C. replied, “I’m not going to get anywhere near him.”

A co-worker of mine also told me a story of witnessing two guys get into an argument while crossing the street at the very same intersection, one of them a pedestrian and the other a biker. The argument escalated to the point of the pedestrian pushing the guy on the bike into some bushes. Of course, to which the guy on the bike jumped back up and began cursing at the pedestrian as he kept walking.

These experiences are to me a classic example of energetic resonance and the fact that energies can become trapped in certain areas and affect the organisms that may happen to encounter them. It makes me wonder what may have happened in that intersection. It’s a major intersection therefore there may have been any number of accidents that have occurred there and many deaths as a result. If it were possible to find it, it would be interesting to examine such data about that intersection to get an idea of how many potential spirits may be haunting that block.

Currently, I am having some amazing experiences with energetic resonance with the living. Some of them pretty wild and astounding even me. I hope to write about them in a letter to you soon.

Until then, as always sending you much love!

What a Fool Believes

Dearest B.,

I had one of those experiences last week that as always it seems can only happen to me. Let’s see if I can properly explain.

As with nearly everything with me these days, it started with Craigslist. You see about a week ago I posted the following poem as an advert in the Misc Romance section.

Love in the Concrete Jungle
Is it possible fellow Netizen? To find. Here, in the concrete jungle. Love?
To find. Amongst the downtrodden. The dejected and the disaffected masses. One?

Free spirit. Yet to be cast upon the pyre. A kindred. Who is open. Willing. Seeking.
To discover. A connection. Flint to stone, a strike. A spark. To ignite. And release an inherent potential.

Energy. Of E=MC2. A tug, a pull. Electron to proton. A force. Like gravity. To move, with speed.
Of light. A body. Electric. To dance—in the dark. Thigh to hand. Ear to tongue. Lips.

Pressed gently into flesh. The taste. Sweet!. The scent of musk lingers. Then fades with the afternoon light.
It begins. Again. A hunger. Flames. In the belly. An insatiable desire. For more. To reconnect. With the beloved.

Again, I ask you fellow Netizen. It is possible? To find. Here? In the concrete jungle. Love?
Make me a believer.

On the Saturday following the Wednesday I posted the advert, I received the following reply from a lovely gentleman living in southern Maryland.

looking for cd or ts to have fun with its possible to have fun in a concreate jungle

40 190 6-2 7 inch hiv- in good shape looking

While I found his response to my advert to be rather odd, I replied just the same with the following.

Sorry sweet-thing, while I’m very in touch with my feminine self. Not so much into the cross dressing/gender bending thing. Well, anymore than happens naturally with me. Would totally be down with a little play sometime tho’. As your words don’t lie. You are quite a hottie.

Me attached. The hair is a little longer these days.

We exchanged a few more emails and he eventually asked me for my phone number. The request for which I was more than happy to oblige and we talked on the telephone shortly thereafter.

Based upon the brief phone call we shared, to say the boy is a little slow on the uptake would be an understatement. But I decided to give it a chance, and in our conversation he reiterated the most interesting fact about himself the fact that he claimed to be well endowed.

I was intrigued.

We came to agreement that he would come over the following Wednesday. He asked me to send him the address and directions to my place. I told him I would confirm with him on Monday and would send my address and directions then.

When Monday came, I sent him an SMS to inquire as to whether we were still on for Wednesday. He confirmed that we indeed were. I sent him my address and directions. As Wednesday rolled around, he sent me an SMS in the early afternoon stating he wasn’t sure when he’d be getting off work. I returned with the reply to let me know when they cut him free. Later in the afternoon he sent me an SMS letting me know that he’d be heading my way at about 8 and if he didn’t arrive by 9 to give him a call.

As 9 came and went there was no sign of him, so I gave him a buzz. He answered the phone and told me that he’d got a late start. I then heard the sound of a horn blaring and the phone go silent a second later. I hung up the phone figuring he would call me back when he was closer or had arrived.

He called about 15 minutes later to say he was lost. After discerning where he was located, I guided him in and he was jumping out of his pick up truck about 5 minutes later.

As he sprang forth from his vehicle, I was somewhat shocked to discover that he was not the swarthy demi-god of potential smoking hot sex that he’d claimed himself to be. But rather the long lost cousin of Rumpelstiltskin. To say that I was slightly dejected would be an understatement. However, I decided to roll with it, after all he’d driven nearly an hour to get to my place. It would have seemed rather inhospitable to send him back off into the night without at least making an effort to be a gracious host and to spy his supposed massive missile of love.

After a few nervous moments (mostly on his part), we chose a movie and settled into the couch to ostensibly watch it. After a few moment we were making out on the couch and clothes were shed. After about 10 minutes of attempting to make out while listening to the soundtrack of The Crow, I suggested we head to the bedroom. We did.

As we lay in the bed making out, we began to talk about the sexual activities we were comfortable exploring. In this discussion he suddenly blurted out, “Well, I don’t really like giving head.”

“Excuse me?” I inquired. “I don’t really like to give head.” he responded back.

“Ummmm. I’ve never encountered a gay man who doesn’t like to give head.” I shot back.

“Well, I gave this guy head once and he busted his nut in my mouth. And well. I didn’t like the taste of it.” he replied.

“Sweetness. I don’t really like the taste of it myself. That’s why I don’t swallow. And I would never come in your mouth.” I comforted.

“And I’m not gay. I”m bi.” he returned.

“Ummmmm. I think you told me you were gay on the phone.” I responded. “No I didn’t.” he shot back.

I reached to run my hand through his hair and he swatted my hand away. “Ummm and just what was that?” I asked,

“I don’t think I want to do this.” He replied. “You’re free to go.” I answered. “I certainly can’t keep you here against your will.”

“I just had to find out.” he replied. “Find out what?” I asked.

“If I’m gay. I’ve never had sex with a gay guy. And I figured if I did and enjoyed it then maybe it would mean that I’m gay. But I think this is god’s way of letting me know that I’m not gay.” he answered.

“Okay?” I responded.

Ten minutes later he was dressed and out my door. WTF? I thought as I closed the door.

He’s the second guy to go running from my apartment in the last three weeks.  What I’ve found so tragic, for lack of a better word, in both of these circumstance is how sad it is that both of the guys allow themselves to feel so tortured about their attraction to men.

Why?

Why not just accept it and let go of the crap that society leads them to believe about it. Truly sad.

As always sending you much love!

Wag the dog...

Dearest B.,

One of my paternal uncles died last week on Sunday and I attended his memorial service last Saturday with the sis and my brother-in-law. I had mixed feelings about attending. However, in retrospect I’m extremely happy that I chose to attend the service.

I have been telling friends, or anyone who will listen for that matter, that there are few things in my life I can say I regret. However, while listening to my aunt give part of the eulogy I can now say there is something that I truly regret. And this is the fact that I didn’t make an effort to keep in touch with my Uncle W. and get to know him better when my parents divorced. He was a very cool man.

Let me see if I can explain.

As Aunt J. was giving her portion of the eulogy she shared some of her memories of uncle W. with the attendees of the service. As she went down the list of things about her brother that she loved and admired most, it was as if she was reading a list of characteristics about me.

She said as a child she loved to watch him “doodle” on pieces of paper drawing caricatures of fellow members of the high school baseball team. She mentioned that she admired his skill as she didn’t have it. While I don’t practice nearly as often as I might, I have the natural ability to draw as well and loved to draw as a child.

She shared that he had the most amazing sense of humor and loved to make others laugh. That he had a way of relaying a story of something that may have happened to him with impeccable delivery and in a way that always made whoever heard the story laugh with delight. I too have such a sense of humor and love to make others laugh and feel good.

One of the things Aunt J. said she admired the most about her brother was that he was generous to a fault. When he and his second wife moved to Myrtle Beach, he built a guest apartment on the property and it was always there a welcome for anyone who wished to visit. If anyone needed assistance in any way, and if he was able, he never hesitated to lend a hand. I too am generous to a fault. Often giving of myself and my time far more often than might be good for me, however, I could not imagine being any other way.

As Aunt J. continued to deliver her eulogy, and explain how Uncle W. had taken an interest in intarsia it became evermore apparent at the depths of his generosity. As she concluded her story about his interest in the woodworking technique by telling the attendees  that Uncle W. had made pieces for each of his siblings and their children.

It was then I began to sob.

When Aunt J. called the names for the bag that was for the sis and me, I walked up and the got bag for us. When I returned to my seat and opened the bag and retrieved my piece. I was greeted with the face in the photo above. That of a golden retriever—once again I burst into tears.

While Uncle W. had no way of knowing it, I have a bit of connection with golden retrievers. As a friend of mine who shares his name used to have two golden retrievers and has a tile on his kitchen counter with an image that is very similar to the piece of intarsia Uncle W. gave to me.

After she finished distributing the pieces of work to everyone, Aunt J. requested that everyone leave their pieces in the sanctuary so that anyone who wished to view them might do so. As everyone made their way down to the basement to have lunch, I stayed behind to view the pieces that Uncle W. had made.

While I viewed the various pieces that he’d made all sorts of memories came flooding into my consciousness. An image of a clown reminding me of my fear of clowns as a child. Stained glass with praying hands which brought to mind a drawing of the same in the house of his sister. A marlin,  a nearly perfect copy in miniature of one Uncle W. had on the wall of his den when I was child. With which of course I was utterly fascinated.

As I was getting into my truck to leave the memorial service, my brother-in-law asked what I thought the significance of the pieces that Uncle W. gave us might be. I told him our uncle hadn’t seen the sis and me in many years, so ours were most likely just random. I mentioned, however, that mine didn’t seem so random to me. And mentioned that my friend W. had golden retrievers at one time and was always telling me about them. So for me, the gift from Uncle W. was yet another example of the connections made within the collective unconscious.

On the memory card that was printed for Uncle W.’s memorial service there was this statement, “So if you need me, call and I will come. Though you can’t see or touch me, I’ll be near. And if you listen with your heart, you’ll hear all of my love around you soft and clear.”

I feel you near WGW.

Once again B. I miss you more than words can express.