Category Archives: Love and stuff

Back, After A Brief Absence

31 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by in Health Issues, Love and stuff

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Here it is All Hallow’s Eve. We have yet to have Trick or Treaters knock on our door. We are lacking a porch light due to the exterior siding job currently in progress. We have little Paydays and Butterfingers ready to distribute as our contribution to The Pediatric Dentists’ Boat Payment Fund. Having a Registered Sex Offender in the neighborhood tends to depress our turnout. 

This is a tough time of year for me. It is the first anniversary of Ex-wife #2’s death. I miss her.

We are also coming up on the first anniversary of my spinal fusion. There is some happy reflection with this that centers around getting closer to Mrs CorC?. We would hang out in the bed watching Seinfeld, Andy Griffith Show and I Love Lucy. DVD’s. 

Close counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and relationships.


October Lust

20 Thursday Oct 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff, seduction

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This is one of those Virginia tricks, when the leaves have almost turned,  but it is down right hot outside. 

Again?  Yes. And the sweat collects in our hair and when I kiss the back of your neck, I taste the salt and smell the sweat and I wonder why we still have our clothes on.

Here?  Here.  And my hands slide up your skirt to pull your panties down. And place them on the rail, a simple rag to the untrained eye.  I feel your naked buttocks, then stroking your cunny with my middle finger til the little dew drops betray your lust. 

I rub against you, but frottage is not my game as the dusk gives enough concealment to unbutton my jeans, then slide my hard wetness in. I pull your hips to me and  thrust, while you frig your clit and grind back harder.

And after I come, I pull out while you grip the rail, your legs too weak, just yet, to walk, as the semen drips out on the deck.

Loneliness

16 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff, Sexual Identity

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I would say I’m starting my day in a fog, but that’s not quite the word. We can feel the Autumn early in the morning. There’s no color change yet with the trees. There is a bit of a draft at my ankles as I sit and write.

I feel an overwhelming loneliness almost every waking minute and I think everything I do during my waking hours is done with the intention of keeping that loneliness at bay. 

I feel shame for my sexual desires, yet those desires are for nothing more than a sexual dimension to my marriage. 

As I write, my wife sleeps. She sleeps a lot. 

Another day in this Hell. 

Musical Prompt: Ella Fitzgerald Sings The Rogers & Hart Songbook

12 Wednesday Oct 2016

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I read where this is National Coming Out Day. I’m an LGBT-friendly heterosexual male, who also happens to be, more or less, conservative politically. I moved beyond being conflicted by the Trump candidacy weeks ago to down right repulsed and ashamed. Good luck Hillary. Remember that people are going to vote for you who don’t like you or your politics one  iota but simply want the country led by an adult.

Back to the music and coming out. Lorenz Hart was a gay man, also an alcoholic. Being a drunk, I therefore meet a goodly number of lesbians and gays in the rooms of recovery. Bottom line, they are damn good people. 

Rogers & Hart.  These are wonderful songs. I listen to them and I want to slow dance, cheek to cheek (that’s an Irving Berlin song reference) with my wife, the woman who loves me and whom I love.  Alas she doesn’t dance. Nor do I. These songs are just too romantic to go to waste. If no dancing, just maybe some necking on the couch before we adjourn to bed. Is that asking too much?

Streaks

20 Saturday Aug 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff, Sexual Identity

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Love is nothing without forgiveness and understanding.-Pope Francis

I wanted to tell the story of my two cousins, now deceased, who were both born on 21 August, but 10 years apart. That is going to have to wait.

I have to write about streaks. We all have them. There are those times when everything is going well, or not so well. It seems that the good stuff, or the bad, will go on forever. Then it stops. All of a sudden, our mojo isn’t working any more or starts again, just as enigmatically.  I was cruising along, swimming every day, dropping weight, feeling good , taking my vitamins. Then it stopped. You might say I got too deep “in my head”, wondering.   I’ve been feeling not so good since the colonoscopy. My first swim after the procedure the following Monday ended at 100 meters when some nausea  came on. The next day I did a decent workout. The next day, Wednesday,  my  younger son and I had dinner at my sister’s and I was all jazzed up about seeing him.  Then Thursday brought the trip to Baltimore.

Baltimore includes The Things  about which I haven’t written. How I wanted to reconnect sexually with my wife. How it did not happen.  Is she afraid? Am I? Are my fears in a dance with hers?  I am afraid she will reject me sexually, verbally,  with finality, and I will be left with pieces of a life to reassemble at age 65.  I am afraid, in that case, I lack the courage to move on.  I am afraid that my sexual needs, wants and desires  diminish what we do have. Laughter. Conversation. Family.

Then again,  how much longer am I going to step over the garbage? Literally. That’s what it is when you live  with a slob. And slob-ness is infectious.  There is crap accumulating in my respective micro-habitat. Kitchen has crumbs. Trash can is full. Sinks and toilets need a once over.

What’s up? Swimming with tears in my eyes, for sure. Coming back home, doing something to make the house a little cleaner.  Avoiding the pop psychology “Self-Esteem” game, but, rather, doing the next right thing,  whether I feel better afterwards or not.

This  morning on Instagram was a post from Pope Francis, not that he went online and posted it himself.  “Love is nothing without forgiveness and understanding.” Thank you, Holy Father, for another  growth experience.

Hiding

02 Tuesday Aug 2016

Posted by in cooking, Exercise/ Fitness, loneliness, Love and stuff, Sexual Identity

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I do all kinds of things to hide out.  Mostly they are “activities”.  I’m being busy, waiting for the chance for something exciting, exotic, or just plain memorable to happen.  This is not unique to me and it’s certainly not a waste of time. Because there’s a lot of time between the exciting, exotic or memorable events of life. There are gaps to be filled.

So I swim. In the water I get lost. In my thoughts. In time. In my workout. I love feeling the water on my body as I swim. I love how my muscles feel.  I don’t care much about my pace or whether I am moving quickly or slowly.  I fantasize that a woman desires me because I swim, that she finds me attractive, that I’m wanted.

And I cook. I love the smells, the sounds of a whirring blender, vegetables frying, the colors of the vegetables and fruits.  I love to see heavy cream turn into whipped cream.  I love sharing what I cook with others.

And I try not to think about the void in Passion. The Love is there. Good old Love. Old Love, soon-to-be geriatric Love.  Selfless Christian Sunday School Love. But I need Passion, too. Passion that can flower because that Love is there.  Put all the chips on Passion.  Tattoo your name inside a heart on my bicep Passion.  Staying awake after one fuck, just so we can have another go Passion.   No “good” manners, dirty-talkin’ Passion that would make your friends blush on the outside, while they die of envy.

“Life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone.”– John Mellencamp

Saturday Miscellany

23 Saturday Jul 2016

Posted by in Health Issues, Love and stuff, personal grooming

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( I wrote this post two years ago when I thought Senator Kaine had a modicum of decency about him. That was before his moral cowardice on abortion truly disturbed me, before his going along with the travesties of of the current Democrat coup d’etat in slow motion has crippled this nation, before the FBI and DOJ’s perversion of the FISA process brought shame to that great law enforcement agency. So long, Tim)

The buzz around Richmond today centers around Mrs. Clinton’s Vice-Presidential selection, Tim Kaine.  He is well-liked in these parts. Republicans who don’t agree with him respect him as a decent guy who lives by his principles.  A friend of mine who went to high school with his wife admires him tremendously.  His father-in-law,  Linwood Holton, was the first Republican governor since Reconstruction.  Governor Holton kept his children in the Richmond Public Schools when white flight, accelerated by a mandatory busing court order, dramatically changed the demographics of the schools.  Tim’s a good guy and the son-in-law of a good guy.

But enough politics. Today was my Weight Watchers weigh-in and meeting. I lost another 1.6 pounds and could break the 200 pound barrier as early as next week.  There is one remarkable lady at this meeting who is always cheerful, shares from her heart and invariably has something wise to say. I told her that she was the reason I came to this meeting, even though it starts at 7:30 AM. She was genuinely touched and cried when I told her.  I was surprised at her response because I thought everybody in the whole wide world could see that she was a truly remarkable woman and that she must have heard that praise day in and day out.  Moral of Story:  Do not ever hold back praise! Never. Ever.

I got a haircut yesterday and I really like what Karina, my barber at Sport Clips, did. She did something to the back that looks pretty good.  Hopefully I got it to post right.  There were several young boys in there with their mothers getting haircuts and it was fun to watch them. One little boy, maybe 8, looked very, very serious when told  to sit still. And still he sat, as if he were sitting on a land mine that would go off if he so much as flinched. He looked pretty sharp, cleaned up.

My big plans for dinner evaporated when Mrs C or C? worked late again.  It was OK. I was basically too tired to cook. There is a nice piece of sockeye salmon waiting in the fridge I can cook tonight or tomorrow.

The sex piece with Mrs C or C? is still a work in progress. Don’t think for a moment that the only people messed up around sex were raised Catholic.  She was raised Southern Baptist.  We shall see.  (Note: Both parties being awake and in the same room at the same time increase the likelihood of meaningful dialogue taking place.  Baby Steps)

 

 

Laundry Day, Circa 1958

28 Tuesday Jun 2016

Posted by in Love and stuff, memoir, seduction

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On the vinyl-covered flossy line,

Stretched between two iron T’s

Painted with silvery aluminum paint,

Are their secrets, of a sort.

Her slips, brassieres and panties, pristine white as a wedding gown.

His button-front cotton drawers,  archaic as a shaving brush,

Hang pegged to the line with wooden pins, by spring-loaded tension.

The wind blows on this sunny day,

Evaporation is magic as shirts and chinos change to cotton boards,

As another metamorphosis, by shiny electric iron, awaits.

Night finds the bed  clothed anew, sheets infused with outdoor smell,

The fragrant aphrodisiac invites repose, compels arousal.

He removes the propriety of pyjamas, as she sheds opacity of nightgown.

And, confident of sleeping children and plaster walls,

With caress and kiss,  pant and cry,

They create, at the very least,

…..another load of laundry

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.

Story-As Yet Untitled Part 2

31 Thursday Mar 2016

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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