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Dispatches From Dystopia

~ "What man by worrying can add one cubit to his span of years?"

Dispatches From Dystopia

Category Archives: Sexual Identity

Prurient Interest

02 Tuesday Jul 2019

Posted by David in Sexual Identity, Sexuality

≈ 2 Comments

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# Eroticism

That phrase figured in the legal language in determining what was obscene back in the day when the prosecutors and the courts cared. If dicks got hard or cunts got moist, then something was obscene. You don’t need so arcane a phrase as that when one is dealing with kiddie porn. Since we are rapidly moving toward a post-literate age, nobody is particularly worried any longer about Molly Bloom’s soliloquy from Ulysses.

I’m having one of those afternoons where J is home, decompressing from work. Part of relaxing from work is watching The Waltons, a preachy show about liberal virtues that J finds heartwarming and I find annoying. I’m in one of those lazy moods, still a little groggy from the pain meds. There is a certain virtue in letting things pass that aren’t important. I learned that from a hair stylist in Georgetown, who was dying from AIDS. I remember those days.

Which takes me back to prurient interest. I can create a sexual fantasy around darn near anything, the smell of Lapsang Souchong tea, a rose, a Monroe. Letting desire build, letting our environment invite erotic reverie are not lost arts, just neglected activities. I’m just sitting with no TV on, no access to the web, except what I am writing now.

And my mind has wandered to how thrilling it is to engage in a deep, lingering, and spit-swapping kiss, or to revel in the feel of naked skin on naked skin, or the sound of my lover moaning with pleasure. Intimate. Yes. And totally life affirming.

Blog Posts Of Sex Bloggers

12 Wednesday Jun 2019

Posted by David in Love and stuff, Sexual Identity, Sexuality

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

# Polyamory, #Blogs, Sex

I have been reading sex blogs as long as I have been reading blogs. I do not know if any sexual activity posted on a sex blog actually happened to that blogger or not. I’m just sceptical.

Tell me it’s so, if it is, bloggers,

The Truth

04 Friday May 2018

Posted by David in Politics, Relationships, Sexual Identity

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I have been hiding out for about ten weeks. The Lenten sabbatical worked well, but not posting frequently when Ascension Day is one week away requires an explanation.

Here It Is

About ten weeks ago, a man whom I counted as a friend for thirtynine years ended our friendship because I told him that I really didn’t care what Donald Trump says or tweets. I still don’t. For someone who has followed politics since I was thirteen, this is a radical departure. Truth is I am burned out.

When that friendship ended, part of me died. I had deluded myself into thinking friendships are some sort of indisolvable bond. They are not. After two failed marriages, I should have known better. So my enthusiasm for life has faded. Maybe it will return.

I can no longer fly “under the radar”, pretending that adultery doesn’t contradict my values. The fact that many of the blogs I follow are from bloggers in sexually unconventional arrangement may seem hypocritical on my part. Maybe it is. But by now, after a couple of years of reading, I’m rather engaged by the narratives.

So I’m a hypocrite. At least I won’t die of loneliness.

From Archbishop Sheen.

11 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by David in Catholic Life, Exercise/ Fitness, Love and stuff, Sexual Identity

≈ Leave a comment

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celibacy

https://book-and-rifle-papist.tumblr.com/post/170743049874/celibacy-is-not-the-renouncing-of-a-person-outside

This is one of those challenges that puts my narcissism into focus. I have been living as half a person, waiting for my dormant sexuality to awaken and flower again, except that never seemed to happen, unless I wanted to destroy my marriage.

So I would live a vicarious sex life through various sex blogs, or watching pornography. I wondered if I would ever regain the intimacy that sexual pleasure with my wife would afford.

It never entered my mind that there was perhaps a “still more excellent way.”

Sex is pretty damned exploitative and self-serving, the way we pursue sexual satisfaction in this culture. Tear out the procreative motive and the exploitation is even worse.

I never thought I would be writing this. Please don’t think I am preaching at you. This is my choice, decision and perspective. I was simply trying to find happiness down a path I was not meant to walk.

End Of Third Quarter

29 Friday Sep 2017

Posted by David in Exercise/ Fitness, Family, Sexual Identity, Sexuality, Uncategorized

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Ramblings, Sex, Writing x

Yes Sirree, Boy!  Where did the time go?  It seems like only last week I was hip deep in the muck of a Presidential Election, but that was 11 months ago.  Now…  

It seems like I was just buying Hallowe’en candy to give away to the urchins pounding on my door, (or, most likely, eat myself).

It seems like only just the other day, I was wondering if I would ever see my abdominal muscles again or weigh under 200 lbs, much less 185.  Had you told me six months ago, I would swim two miles, without stopping, and think nothing of it, I would have laughed. Since April, I have shredded a lot of notions I held about what a 66 year old retiree is supposed to look like and what his capabilities are.

I have also become quite comfortable living with conflicting ideas about politics, relationships, the very nature of love itself.  Try truly not caring about what somebody else thinks, but just love them, not in a superficial and/or a sentimental way. Love someone in the sense that you care about their welfare, that you want to see them live another day. Love someone, expecting nothing out of it for yourself.

Right now the  figurative elephant in my cranium I’m avoiding writing about is sex.  My sexual imagination is rich, deeply influenced by ideas of domination and submission and their accompanying ritual acts.  Yet my sex life is chaste.  I wrote a little story House Boy , detailing a fantasy I had.  There are more up there.

Would I like to act out?  Hell yes, in the worst way, but I know how the real world operates.  I also love the woman I am married to.  That Love and that vow of love I made controls taking any action that contradicts that vow.

And you wonderful people who stop and read what I write, thank you. I read what you share. I am in awe of your courage and willingness to sit at a key board, pound the letters, and sweat blood. 

I am on my way to becoming a writer of online erotica, the least likely job/avocation I thought I would have.  It will be fiction.

“Don’t try this at home, kids!”  will be my motto. But sometimes it just needs to be written.

Saturday Reveries

02 Sunday Apr 2017

Posted by David in Sexual Identity, Sport

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Tags

walking. sensuality.

Late today, close to dusk, I decided to walk. It was after 7:00 PM when I began. It was clear, with a breeze, and what I would call a perfect temperature, 60° F. The sun was beginning to set and it grew a little darker with each circuit of my neighborhood.

Our vocabulary, definitions, and concepts around sex are filled with irony and paradox. Every time I exercise, my libido awakens and I fantasize as I walk or swim. I’m not just a dominant male, but a dutiful submissive perhaps. As a cool breeze blows, my tactile sense awakens, and my skin is erotically charged. 

With the increased exertion of the walk, comes the eager anticipation of the hot shower, the scent of soaps, cologne. Peppermint, patchouli, sometimes sandalwood. 

The erotic is what we create. It is a bridge to the world, a link to our lovers.

Enjoy.

Sometimes I Need To Just Express Myself

17 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by David in Sexual Identity

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True Confessions

Mistress Keyboard is demanding her due as I sit before her.  All she wants is for me to pour out my very soul to her.

1). I was completely unprepared to work in the world of business-to-business sales for as long as I did. All through it I felt the way I did when I walked into a fraternity rush event at a house that was interested only in  old family money and a Social Register pedigree. Out. Of. Place.  I only worked in that environment for thirty-five years. Go figure.

2). Sex without Love is totally inauthentic to me. On the other hand, my sexual desire can  delude me into thinking that I am in love with a woman, so I can have guilt-free sex.  What happens, of course, is that I create havoc in the lives of others and myself. Then  I ultimately fall in love with a lady whose libido is a casualty of menopause. Can you say irony? Still being in love  beats the alternative any day of the week.

3). A sexual imagination (aka Dirty Mind) is a marvelous resource.  It turns the mundane into the exotic in the firing  of a neuron.  Loading the dishwasher can become an exquisite ordeal.

“Have I pleased you, Mistress?”

Morning- 9 March 2017

09 Thursday Mar 2017

Posted by David in Classical Music, food, Sexual Identity, sleep

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

goat cheese, repression.

I wish I could say my day started at 8:30. But that is merely the most recent time I woke up. Maybe it started at 1:51 when the pain of being in one position for too long jarred me awake.  I thought it would show some sort of noble effort if I tried to go back to sleep next to MrsCorC?; that I actually wanted to be there with her, her, wearing her beige cotton granny panties and her forest green turtleneck with little gold  Brooks Brothers sheep embroidered on it.  But no.  Her nightwear is whatever remains on her body after she takes off her trousers (khaki) and bra (beige) after work. Reality speaks volumes when I awaken in the dead of night.  I do so desire  to love you, have you, goddammit, FUCK you.

I get up, go downstairs. I’m sort of hungry. I rummage in the fridge for the log of goat cheese I bought at BJ’s, find it. I ignore the little bit of blue mold growing on the leavings of  chevre  already consumed, making slices to add to the rice crackers, gluten-free, I bought at BJ’s yesterday. Crunchmaster.  A Master, forgodsakes!  Is there a Crunchmaster General? Is there some little Crunchsub, out there, eagerly yearning for the Crunchmaster to take him/her in sordid, kinky, gluten-free cracker defilement and depravity?  I digress.  I have my little snack, topped off with dates, purchased at BJ’s. (Where else?)  for some insane reason, I fix a pot of decaf, thinking I might just drink some.

Then I go to my tan leather Danish reclining chair and just sit.  I don’t read, turn on the TV, or make an attempt at The Rosary (Thursday: Luminous Mysteries). I just sit and revel in the stillness and the silence.  Finally 3:00 AM rolls around. I go back upstairs with a mug of decaffeinated coffee I won’t drink. I go to the other bedroom, take off my pyjama top and scapular, put on a CD of Schubert Lieder, sung by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau.  I am reluctant to take off the pyjama bottoms and sleep,  completely nude!  Why? Is sexual repression contagious,  like some bizarro-world version of the clap?

Next thing I know it is 8:30. I am awake. I hear the shower running.  Mrs CorC? is getting ready for work. I get up, embrace her.  She remarks that I am strong. I infer that that comment is an acknowledgement of my sexuality. My hopes are raised  Maybe we will be lovers again.

Free.

01 Wednesday Mar 2017

Posted by David in Gender Roles, Love and stuff, seduction, Sexual Identity

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

nude

I walked four miles in warm, windy weather under a bright sun. The weather would change to blustery, with dark clouds and rain after I finished.

Inside, after my walk, I stripped off my sweaty clothes and savored the free feeling that only nudity offers. My imagination put aside the reality of differing libidos and values and inhibitions as I fancied myself deliberately making love with my wife. Tasting her body, caressing her, feeling her kisses on my skin. Taking her with certainty, authority, and power.

Curiosity

14 Tuesday Feb 2017

Posted by David in memoir, Sexual Identity, Suburbia

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

"Rated X" Adult films, Film, Porn Stars, Sex

Adult Content

Way back in the early Seventies, a movie was released from Sweden entitled  I Am Curious- Yellow.  Shortly thereafter came its sequel, I Am Curious-Blue. Blue and yellow are the colors in the Swedish flag. Get it? The curiosity centered around sex, naked people having intercourse.  I remember going to the Rose Bowl Drive-in to see it. The Rose Bowl had an incredibly cool sign, red neon roses. The sign was the most memorable aspect of every excursion to the The Rose Bowl.  Watching this “fine” Swedish import was no exception. Viewing Porn was just beginning to go mainstream in the Seventies, for better or for worse.  Visual, cinematic pornography is now ubiquitous.  But in the Seventies, you had to go out of your way to see porn. It was an excursion into some seedy, sketchy places.  Porn still existed on the periphery and  The Rose Bowl sat on that edge.

The Rose Bowl was on Rte 1, the “Number One Highway”, as it was known then.  Near it was the Wigwam Motel, a tourist court of small one room cabins, spaced in a semi-circle around a larger building that served as office and restaurant.  There was a wooden representation of a “tipi”,  that comprised the roof. Hence the name “wigwam” could be justified. Further up Rte 1 was the Jamaica Country Club, a swimming pool for African-Americans in the days of segregation.  Simply put, it was a different world. The Rose Bowl is gone, as is The Wigwam. The Jamaica Country Club remains, at least physically, if not as a business. The area is giving way to suburban commercial encroachment, a Sonic Drive-in, Taco Bell,  Arby’s, several mini-storage places, antique shops galore.

There were other venues for porn back then. A fraternity house would acquire some “stag” films and show them to male collegians, for a fee. They were black and white, silent films with various sex acts (never sexual activity between males, however) depicted. The college boys (yes definitely boys!) would watch and make comments, predictably as juvenile, immature and sexist as the films, location and  context would inspire. I watched, because I was curious. Here was sex depicted, mysterious, daunting, powerful.  The filmmakers were not Henry Millers or Anais Nins or Joyces.  There was no thought to “art” in these grubby, grainy shorts.  Yet they were, in their way, art. The films were forgettable, except for one which featured two women who were having penetrative sex with a double headed dildo.  It must be said that the performers were not silicon- enhanced “stars”, but rather ordinary women, not particularly attractive, not ugly either.

The main location for “X-rated ” films in Richmond in the 70’s and 80’s was a movie house near  Virginia Commonwealth University called the Lee Art Theater, later called the Lee “X” Theater.  The films were from Essex or Caballero and starred Seka, Vanessa del Rio, John Holmes, John Leslie, the usual suspects. I remember going on slow business afternoons, the theater incredibly dark, the smell of Pine-Sol in the air. Occasionally there were “strippers”, usually female porn stars, like Vanessa del Rio, Annie Sprenkle, and Juliet Anderson, aka “Aunt Peg”. I vaguely recall Vanessa being busted for cocaine possession during her visit to Richmond, but I could be mistaken.  She took off her costume to the song She’s A Latin From Manhattan.   Gathering up the pieces of her freshly discarded outfit was “Dirt Woman”, a transgendered individual, notable for his obesity and a  crude similarity to the late Divine (aka Harris Glen Milstead), the John Waters “superstar”.  He did this for all the travelling performers. Annie Sprenkle did her show against a back drop of slides, one of which featured a Renault Le Car.  She was working on her doctorate at this time. The announcer mispronounced her name, calling her Annie “Sprinkles”.  When Juliet Anderson appeared, she stripped down, put on some kind of cover-up, then sat down for a Q & A with the audience. She did ask that the audience members not smoke.  She had a second hand smoke issue.  She shared that the porn business was rough; women had to buy their own underwear. I asked her if her parents knew she was in the adult film business. She said they did.  All in all,  she was representative of everybody’s sexually liberated individual living in San Francisco.  This was before AIDS, before porn was shot direct to video; when adult films were still marginal.  Eventually VCU bought the building and uses it for something other than showing sleazy movies.

With the advent of the VCR, “Adult” cable channels and finally the internet, porn went mainstream and arguably ubiquitous.  Now I have seen it all. I am no longer compelled by a perverse curiosity.  Yet I still yearn for the erotic, for love expressed through sexuality.  The sexual drama lives, as it always has, between my ears.

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