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I am often 'online' but not really here. So if I don't answer an email or chat request do not take it personally. I am often online doing research for work or school and have CM minimized. |
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Ok, am I the only guy who is nonplussed over 'action' photos in submissives' profiles? I get it, you've seen and tasted a cock or two. However, I don't think I want the image of a cock buried to the balls in the ass of a woman I might be interested in floating around in my head. Or that might just be me. |
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perhaps I should capitalize Me, My, and Mine... |
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Words and phrases that are instant turnoffs for me:
- Brat
- I am not a doormat
- People tell me I am a born slave
- My submission is a gift
- Bitch
- no limit slave
- online submission
- tax audit
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September is world Alzheimer's month and today world's Alzheimer's day so if you have someone in your life you love tell them today because tomorrow they might be able to remember you... |
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Things I miss about lacking a partner episode 127....
Having my girl snuggled in my lap, her bottom still warm from my hand. |
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Change the words...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hzgzim5m7oU |
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Ok, I just spent the last hour getting facebook updates from my friend in Texas regarding her daughter's regional spelling bee. It was amazingly nervewracking, she finished 2nd. Amazing, I cannot type the simplest of memos without hitting spell check 3 times. |
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Women respond to men who treat them like crap. - Stewie Griffin |
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I started watching The Walking Dead last night, interesting show. I came to the conclusion that in order to survive the Zombie Apocalypse one must be either an extremely attractive or a quirky and ethnic. |
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This is my first Thanksgiving without my father. It is a strange thing to contemplate. Thanksgiving was always about Dad and his turkey leg, his meal so big it needed a serving tray and not a plate, watching him fall asleep as the football played in the background, knowing if we even thought about changing the channel he'd awake with a grumbled "I'm watching the damn game."
I worked this year for Thanksgiving. I don't need the money, I just needed not to be in the house wondering who was going to eat the turkey leg and what were we going to watch on TV. So reheated Italian and cold apple pie for me. |
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Ok, maybe this is minor but I have noticed something that tweaks me. Women have photos on their profiles and when you look in the background the place is a complete disaster. WHy would someone want the first impression she makes on people to be "Hey, I have a pushup bra and am a complete failure at organizing my home?" |
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I wonder about this. You have 10 highly explicit photos of yourself, face included, in your profile. You enumerate a list of kinks that makes me blush (which is quite the accomplishment). Yet when I ask for a nilla photo you say you are not comfortable because of 'your job'. How does that work? Are you some sort of fetish model that will get fired if a photo surfaces of you in jeans and a sweater? |
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A couple of new pics.... but nothing enormous to report...
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I am not just looking for someone to do things to I am looking for someone to do things with. If all you are looking for is empty role playing kink please move on.
Tom |
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If you are going to go to the problem of using fake pics please have a clue of appropriate height/weight ratios. |
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Sometimes hi is not enough, and sometimes it is everything. |
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It is amazing just how dangerous coffee is to some people. |
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Unless you are going to seriously burn some frequent flier miles please be within 90 minutes driving distance... |
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Things I miss by being single: Washing another's hair. |
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Just a few new pictures... |
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Going to the Guggenheim this weekend. Anyone want to help me appreciate pre-WWI impressionists? |
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In August
When I was 10 or so we'd camp out
In my nylon tent and fantasies of dinosaurs
or vampires or aliens
stranded inside our cocoon of childhood
chattering in the pale green light
of lightning bugs, pulsing annoyance
at their mayonnaise jar captivity.
Around 2 A.M., after hours of black
and white Chiller Theatre
and nervous laughter of imagined bravery
washing over the dew stained ground
silence would come. My hand still
sweaty from clenching, would struggle
to open the lightning bug prison
and watch the sky blink green again. |
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Someone sent me the nicest note. I do hope it is true.
Hello....just wanted to drop you a note to say "you get it" I cant seem to get people to understand what im talking about when I say I need more than orders to submit. I dont need to submit to be happy, I need to be happy in order to submit. |
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New pictures, nothing fantastic. Some snow shots and a flower. |
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Midmorning Inventory
Items in my pockets:
A pine cone;
a startled fox, lost in a second
half a bag of M&M’s;
tomorrow I’ll diet, perhaps)
3 quarters, 2 dimes and a penny;
change from a dinner best forgotten
my hand still warm from yours. |
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Pet peeve of the day: Why do young girls think the Paris Hilton pout is at all sexy? |
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Posted some pics from my trip to Tulsa. The Art Deco is wonderful. |
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Just a snippet, do not know if it will ever be anything...
Tree Swing
The man sat alone beneath the willow as he often did, spending his suppers eating cold meat and watching the moon filter though its long lean branches. He watched the oak tree, the one with a limb as big around as a rich man's belly. Sometimes she would come to that tree and sit on the swing that hung sadly from its limb and swing high, her hair a flock of ravens chasing the moon. He waited for those times, his life bracketed by a beautiful girl swinging in the moonlight. Often he would play his flute low and soft wondering if she heard it. To him it didn’t really matter. She was beautiful; the air was fresh and his belly full. That was enough.
He was a peasant, a man. The sun had taken years from his face. Too many seasons of stooping had bent his back. He was 24. His hair was still dark as the earth in the flower gardens and his hands, oh his hands. They were wondrous, with long lean knowing fingers. How they danced always. Sometimes it seemed he weaved baskets out of the air. Mostly he used straw and clay and wood. He’d leave little grass baskets beneath the tree, gifts for the field mice. For his hands had to be always moving, building things. To still his hands would have killed him.
She knew him of course, and he her. She’d pass him in the garden on the way to the barn. His hands were always black with dirt. Usually she would just sit in the loft and read poetry. She was fond of Shakespeare in that silly way girl’s whose hearts haven’t been broken yet often are. Years later, her heart broken, she was still fond of Shakespeare but in a much different way. Sometimes she’d mount her horse, the big white stallion, for him those where the best times. Her body brown and lean would melt around all that muscle. His fists would be clenched in the warm moist soil as he watched her ride off. The beauty of it hurt. |
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Ok, nothing very wonderful just some words...
Sometimes
In Manhattan on Halloween
sometimes I feel like loving you
is holding water in my fist
my fingers clenching
straining, till you leak out
your smile became a rare thing
that I sought to lock up
in chains of promises
but there are no chains
tight enough for smiles
a little green and black
skeleton happy with thoughts
of marching storm
troopers somehow makes
you beautiful for a moment
how do I hold a sunbeam?
my hand grasping just
leaves the outline of my
fist on the pavement below.
one day, soon I wish, perhaps
I will stop grasping at sunbeams,
and smiles, and allow
my heart to hold them |
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Pet peeve of the day: Neverendering emails. |
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Ok, pet peeve of the day: people who go to great lengths on their profiles but cannot spell out you, your, and other fairly simple words. Come on people, you write a 1500 word treatise on whom you are and cannot type out an extra couple of letters to spell out you? |
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