Author Archives: David

LGBTQ Literature?

23 Saturday Apr 2016

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I just read a novel, Nightwood by Djuna Barnes. I cannot be too enthusiastic in praising this book. There is a powerful prose rhythm in Barnes’ writing. It is a compelling story, a telling, from one perspective, of a dysfunctional relationship. The facts from which the fiction derives is Barnes’ love affair with the artist Thelma Wood. The relationship was characterized by alcoholism, sexual infidelity, and abandonment. Wood would disappear for days at a time, only to return with no explanation for her absence. While Barnes was lesbian, Wood was bisexual,but with a preference for women.

That the characters are lesbian is what, I suppose, makes this a “lesbian” novel. But wait. If I can read this book, empathize with the plight and pain of Nora  (Barnes’ character in the story), and identify with this recounting  of human experience, just how “lesbian” is it? It isn’t written in lesbian secret code, if there is any such thing.  That phenomenon of human experience makes it possible for people of varying backgrounds to understand and relate to each other, if they make the effort. I had a similar experience reading  Samuel Steward’s Parisian Lives, an openly gay book about homosexual life in Paris in the thirties and forties.  Again, here I am relating to these men, liking them, hoping they will find something akin to happiness.

If I qualify and select literature on the basis of descriptors, what a narrow world I would be living in. Gerard Manley Hopkins was a Jesuit priest. If I didn’t care much for Catholics, not reading him would be my great loss. And so it goes for so many writers.

Two Words

22 Friday Apr 2016

Posted by in Pie Crust

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There are two words when used together can strike fear in the heart of any aspiring cook. Those two words are “Pie Crust”. I had made crusts before and I have always found their preparation to be a daunting experience. My concern is that I will work the dough too much and the crust will be rubbery. This particular crust from The Joy of Cooking is a pate’ brisee, formulated to work with a quiche Lorraine, my dinner choice for last Thursday night. The recipe calls that I work flour into a chilled stick of butter and 3 tablespoons of lard, add water til a dough forms and let it rest chilled for 2 hours. All went well, until I started rolling out the chilled dough. Then my life became filled with questioning and self-doubt. Am I handling it too much? Bearing in mind that the chilled dough is only slightly more pliant than a radial tire, I begin rolling away ever so carefully with the rolling pin. It seemed to be getting thinner and thinner and pretty soon it fit inside the pie plate.  It looks like I am good to go. I put in the bacon, then the cheese, and finally the milk/cream-egg mixture.   Into the oven it goes and pretty soon, Bob’s your Uncle, a lovely quiche all golden brown, is ready for our enjoyment. It turned out quite tasty. Now here’s the irony. The yummy, custard-like, cheesy quiche more than concealed whatever shortcomings the crust may have had. It was certainly flaky, if you scraped off the filling to savor the crust. Then again, only a nosy mother-in-law of a newly-wed bride from a Fifties sitcom would be so anal as to do that.

Pie Crust Verdict: Pass.

Confession

09 Saturday Apr 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff

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Some of you may wonder about the title of this blog  Celibate or Chaste?. It refers to the fact that my marriage has been without a sexual component for nearly 13 years. Crazy. During this time, my adult son moved back in with us for 2 years; my younger son finished high school;  we have lost parents and other dear family members; I’ve undergone 2 major orthopedic surgeries; she has had lithotripsy for kidney stones; I’ve celebrated 21 years of sobriety. We both entered the Roman Catholic Church. In other words, life went by us.

What I have been is a sneaky little bastard who never quite got the knack of communicating how and what I feel to the person who loves me the most. Until today. I told her about my sexual frustration. The miracle of this communication breakthrough was finding a context for communication that 1) would not blame her and 2) show a correlation between my frustration and my behavior.  That miracle occurred earlier this week.  I looked at a Facebook post that I found insulting and went ballistic. The angry part of my personality is an aspect she is more than familiar with and quite frightened by. So when I said to myself, “This anger is your sexual frustration that you have repressed all these years.”,  I knew I had an opening and a context.

This morning, I shared this rather large nugget about me with her. And a world opened up.  She put her head on my shoulder and just rested a bit. That felt great.

Now I know life and our marriage will not become rainbows, lollipops, puppies and balloons by this. It might not turn into a passionate nonstop sex romp, but I won’t rule it out. But it is out there, the truth. One good part is, I don’t have to get angry at total strangers or FB nonsense to express my frustration. That frustration’s grip over me has also disappeared. For now at least.

I have used this blog to share who I am with you wonderful people. I have read your stories. In some respects, we are different, but at our cores we are all human. Thanks guys.

The Community of Soup

07 Thursday Apr 2016

Posted by in Soup

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Tuesday, here in Richmond, we had a cold snap.  We were all settled in and excited about Spring; birds singing, flowers blooming, the smell of freshly cut grass in the air. Then Mom Nature offered her two cents about our vernal reverie. It got cold again and once more it was Soup Weather.

With an early Easter, I still had a recipe that I had meant to use during Lent but had not had an opportunity to fix. It was for Manhattan style clam chowder, the tomato-based type. Since Mrs CelibateorChaste? is lactose intolerant, she doesn’t enjoy the milk-base New England style. I am Bisoupual , can go both ways, and went Manhattan style for her. I had downloaded a pretty good recipe from the Betty Crocker website and started the prep.  Nothing goes exactly to plan when I cook, and by the time I finished the preparation, I had doubled the recipe. My trip to the store for missing ingredients yielded the fresh parsley which made the chowder.

Chowder simmering away, I took my walk. Upon finishing the walk, I covered the azaleas to protect them from the freeze. I was all settled in when Mrs CorC? came home from work.  We both enjoyed a fine and simple mid-week supper, more than compensating for the inconvenience of the untimely cold spell.

In the making of soup, stew or chowder, bountiful leftovers are a given.  Here is where the community piece comes in. Soup is meant to be shared!  Running down my list of likely beneficiaries, I decided my stepmother Dorothy would be the recipient. She is 90, and in no way feeble, but she has lived alone since Daddy died  in 2011. So when I dropped by the next day to take her to the YMCA  for her exercise class,  I brought the soup.  I felt good sharing it. I hope she liked it.  Simple Gifts.

A Memory, Both Painful and Poignant

05 Tuesday Apr 2016

Posted by in memoir

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Years ago, one Saturday, my ex-wife’s friend came down from the DC suburbs. They very tearfully talked for a couple of hours. My ex reported the gist of the conversation, about how the friend’s husband was into kink, but she wasn’t.  The handcuffs during sex did not excite her.

I had visited their house  a couple of times. What struck me as odd was the comprehensive and well-maintained collection of Playboy magazines. They were on shelving, sorted by year, in the basement.   The husband was paunchy with skinny arms and a goatee. Really creepy looking, like he was sporting this Dominant Look that didn’t really suit him.

The really weird thing was all this talk about handcuffs and rough sex got my ex totally turned on. She was hot; we went to bed in the middle of the afternoon. She begged me for anal intercourse and I complied. It was a very passionate, unforgettable encounter. And, yes, she did have an orgasm.

I was dumb then. I didn’t really talk with her at length about this whole experience. Was there a need she wanted fulfilled?  I didn’t really see this as an opening to explore her sexuality in a way that would enrich our marriage. I was selfish and fearful of change.  There is no doubt that these are two of the reasons why she became an “ex-wife”.

The years went by. We had been divorced over twenty years when she died of cancer last Fall.  Our incomplete relationship went to the grave, or in this case, the crematorium.  And I deeply regret that incompletion.

Story-As Yet Untitled 3

04 Monday Apr 2016

Posted by in seduction

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The stroll back to the car was filled with chit-chat of the beauty of Spring, the food at the diner, and whether the person in the booth next to them with the heavy makeup in the miniskirt was a cross-dresser or not. They both agreed yes. The Adam’s apple was the giveaway, although she wished that person would come do her make-up, just once.

“I wanna see if it works, if more guys would come on to me.”

“Let’s see whether you need more guys, OK?”

“Are you auditioning for Boy Friend?” she asked, half-teasing.

“Yes I am”.

“Well I guess it’s time for the Elimination Round,” she announced, as they arrived at her car. “Get in.”

He could hardly believe he was ever this excited about any other woman as he was about her. He climbed in the passenger seat, clicked the seat belt, wondering where they would go.  A half hour later, the car rolled into her driveway. She turned off the engine.

“We’re here,”. They casually walked to the front steps; she opened the door; they walked in.

“Didn’t see cars in the neighbors’ driveways. Hope they’re at work. Don’t want to be known as the neighborhood slut, bringing men home at high noon.”

‘Wouldn’t be prudent”.

As soon as the door closed, he took her in his arms, and kissed her the way he had wanted to since the morning. His tongue and her’s were quickly  probing, dueling, joining,  as his hands stroked her back. She was still wearing his white shirt and he felt no bra closure when he caressed her back.. His hands moved further down, slipped in the back of her jeans. No panties either. His erection got even harder at the realization she was going “commando”.

“Undress. I want you naked,” she commanded. He complied. The Brooks Brothers blue oxford button-down went first, then the wife-beater, (although she wouldn’t have minded if that stayed), then  the khakis fell in a heap at his ankles. He took his Weejuns off to make getting the trousers completely off that much easier. No socks, she noticed.

“Got me a Grade A Preppie White Boy!” she exclaimed. “Pulling those boxers off will be my pleasure.” Her hands jerked them down in one motion and as they fell, his cock sprang out.

As he reached to unbutton her shirt, she stopped him.

“What’s your hurry?” She began kissing his body slowly, while he stood there. Her mouth and her hands went everywhere,  everywhere except to his erection, which she very deliberately ignored. Her fingers trace the crack of his ass, one probing just a bit, to see if he liked to have his asshole teased. At the slight push to his anus, she felt his cock jerk. He smiled. She smiled.

She finally grabbed his penis and led him to the bedroom by it.

“Lie down. On your back.”  pointing to her bed.  It was then that she unbuttoned the oversized white shirt, revealing her tits. Then she wiggled out of her jeans, pushing them over her hips and stepping out of them.

From the foot of the bed, she crawled to him, til her pussy was by his face. Straddling his head with her thighs , he inhaled her odor.

“I see you like to sniff cunt.”  he nodded, showing astonishment at her  use of the “C”-word.

“You see, women have cunts.  Silly girls and  cock teasers have pussies. Now let’s see if you can use that tongue for anything better than talking or licking ice cream cones. Oh. and take your time. Fucking is not a timed competition”.

He never thought it possible to lose himself in cunt, but he did. He gave up every idea he ever had about cunnilingus. His standard Fucking Formula suddenly left his repertoire.  Her labia became his Universe and he traced them with his tongue; she lifted his head to bring it to her clit and he worshiped it lazily, picking up the tempo of his licking only when her breathing increased. He sensed her crisis coming.

She cried out, “Don’t you dare stop!” and he licked and sucked on as wave after wave of her orgasms swept her.

As he felt her relax, he made his move, lifting her off of him, turning her onto her hands and knees and mounting her, his penis filling her hungry cunt, and as he thrust, he slapped her ass, the stings eliciting moans. As he felt his orgasm approach, her spread her ass cheeks, rubbed a gob of spit on her asshole and inserted a finger, probing as his cock shot his hot semen up her vagina.

They collapsed in a heap.

“Guess you don’t need help with your makeup from Princess I-Wonder.”

“Guess not. Let’s get under the covers. I’m cold.”

 

Story-As Yet Untitled Part 2

31 Thursday Mar 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff, seduction

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He had lived in this fashionable (read over-priced) neighborhood long enough to know the ins and outs of The Parking Game reflexively. The Green Signs read “2-HR Parking, Except by Permit  Mon-Fri 8 AM-6 PM”.  Here it was Friday Morning at 9:57, The Parking Enforcement People were lurking, ready to pounce, when they found her car, started it and motored off to the diner on Broad.

The diner was one of those places that was almost too “Home Town”. Politicians would show up there for grits, eggs, country ham and a photo-op, eager to show that they were of the Common Folk, despite being multimillionaires. But the food was good, the coffee was drinkable and the waitresses’ tattoos were interesting in their own right. As they walked from the car to the diner, he took her hand. She gripped his as if this little intimacy was completely natural.

Karen was working this morning. “You again?” she teased him  “Got your Rolaids under the counter all ready, Darlin’.” She pointed to an empty booth. And they sat down.

“What are you doing off on Friday?” she asked. “I know. You work from home and set your own hours.”

“Bingo. How about you?”

“I’m a nurse. This is a long weekend”

“Where do you work?”

“Orthopedics. Lots of old ladies with hip replacements. Spinal fusions. You know. And what do you do at home, when you claim to be working?”

“I’m a writer, but I’m only doing it until I can get a part-time job waiting tables.  I’m one of those lucky stiffs who has a trust fund. I keep quiet about the money. People think I’m a vet with bad PTSD, so bad I can’t work. I say nothing to stop them thinking that. I’m a vet all right, Marines, Iraq, Fallujah. But my head’s on pretty straight. I know plenty who aren’t so lucky. I volunteer at the veterans’ outreach.”

She looked at him, trying not to be too obvious in her approval. “This may be the last unmarried man out there not totally stuck on himself”, she thought.

For a few minutes, they discussed ordering the salt herring and decided to get them. That they were salty and fried were bad ass enough reasons to get them.  Both secretly rejoiced at being on the 10 Most Wanted List of The Food Police.

Suddenly, in the middle of the small talk, he grew quiet and looked her straight in the eyes. It was one of those scary moments when she knew what he was thinking and he, in turn,  was aware of her thoughts.

“This is nice.”

“Yeah, nice”

As they ate, she took off her Dansko clog and rubbed her foot on his shin, moving to his calf muscle. He smiled. He swore to himself that this was the sexiest thing any woman had ever done to him.

When they had finished and he had paid, they walked out. She reached in her purse, took out the Camel pack, looked at it as if that camel had told her to fuck off, and then tossed them in the trash barrel at the corner.  She looked at him and said. “Have you ever had one of those moments when you know you’ve had enough?”

To be continued

Story, as yet untitled

31 Thursday Mar 2016

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He wished he hadn’t drunk so much the night before. Puking is such a turn-off. But it happened.  C’est la vie. That sure sounds classier than “What the fuck”. The only redeeming aspects were that  a) she was as drunk as he was and b) his condo had two bathrooms.  Now, sitting at the dining room table,  his hand gripping his coffee cup like it contained gold, he simply stared at the ash tray beside him. There they were, the butts. Hers had her lipstick on them, that shade that drove him crazy. What woman smokes unfiltered Camels? She does.

He heard the shower running.

“Better get her a toothbrush.” Walking to the bathroom he found the stock of new toothbrushes in the vanity and put one on the counter. Beside it, he placed a cup of coffee, cream with sugar. He liked anticipating her needs, and what was this, their third date?  He worked quickly, the noise of the shower, muffling the minimal noise he made, the opacity of the shower curtain preventing her seeing him. Completing the little tasks, he went back to the table, sitting down just as  the shower turned off.  He heard her bustling about in the bedroom and was surprised when she crept up, kissing the back of his neck. He noticed her perfume first. When she came in to his view, she was wearing one of his white dress shirts she found hanging in his closet. Crisply starched, she had rolled the sleeves a couple of turns. The shirt was long enough on her to cover her butt.

“Thank you. That was sweet to bring me coffee, and just the way I like it. You remembered.  I thought you were too drunk to even remember your own name. And the toothbrush. Not too hard to figure out my mouth tasted like the bottom of a bird cage. Where did you sleep? I woke up alone in that big bed.”

“The  couch. Just because you were too drunk to drive home and you crashed here doesn’t entitle me to a freebie.”

“Your Mama raised you right. You aren’t a pig.”

“How about we move your car before they tow it, then go to that diner up on Broad for breakfast?

“Sounds like a plan.”

To be continued.

Dramas Managed-An Update.

30 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by in Big Business, Health Issues

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Last week’s little sagas continue.  They are like a miniseries or those old “cliff-hanger” serials from the movies, where our hero(oine) is rescued from one near-catastrophe at the start of an episode, only to be ensnared in another by that episode’s end.

As our story left off, Mrs Celibateorchaste? was on her way to the dentist and physician to see what the deal was with the lump on the side of her neck. The dentist ruled out a tooth issue, but suggested that, by the way this lump swells when eating, a salivary gland below the jaw has a stone blocking the duct.

Who knew salivary glands can develop stones? Apparently, NOT  medical doctors. Next came the visit to the medical doctor, who had no idea what the situation was, but if the dentist said it was a salivary gland stone, that sounded pretty good to him. He then referred her to the Ear Nose and Throat specialist. That appointment was yesterday and Dr Salivary Gland Specialist was NOT THERE!  Dr Everything But Salivary Glands did think it was a stone, scheduled a follow up with Dr Salivary Gland Specialist and a CT scan three weeks into the future.  Meanwhile, back at the neck, the lump seems to be shrinking. I suspect these stones pass through the duct, just as kidney stones pass, though much less painfully.  Good news is, most likely, no cancer, and not a big deal. Whew! Another bullet dodged.

In the world of insurance, the hospitalization/medical carrier was presented with an appeal of their claim denial, for the hospital charges related to the wisdom tooth extractions. Not only did the oral surgeon’s patient notes  clearly show the medical necessity of an outpatient hospital procedure under genral anaesthesia, but they also showed where his office called the medical insurance carrier and the peon who answered the call said no pre-certification was needed!  So Big Heartless/Mindless Insurance Company said one thing and acted in the exact opposite manner when the time came to fork over the dough.  Those of you who are surprised at this turn of events can gather inside the telephone booth in the lobby.

Insurance Drama  #2, the Long Term Disability Claim Still Unpaid, has the claim still unpaid, but they are going to check with my employer and I should see my money in a week.  Thank Heaven! I was getting worried that I would not be able to go yachting with the Vanderbilts and Astors in Newport this Summer.

Finally Asperger’s Bonehead #2 Son contacted me on Easter Sunday with this text message, “Happy Easter“.

Life does go on, like it or not.