At the end of October, I got the Type 2 Diabetes scare. So I got back to Weight Watchers (WW) and to regular swimming at the Y

I have lost around 18 lbs and my swimming schedule has me in the pool 5 times per week for a distance of 2050 meters each workout.

I can’t believe the difference in how well I sleep, how my appetite has changed, how my attitude has improved, and how my overall fitness has bounced back.

If you are older, 55+, and you aren’t moving around, start. Even simple exercise like walking makes a big difference.

I had no idea how aggresively damaging inactivity can be as we age.

Repeat: Get up. Move around.

NSFW Obscene, Frankly

Feeling your naked skin against mine, Kissing the nape of your neck as my fingers pull your nipples erect. I take the lube to prep your waiting slit. And yet my lewd and wandering mind saves a dab to push a finger into your anus. And two fingers tease your cunt as one taunts your asshole.

I long to taste your cunt and feel your clit harden.

Prick hardens, thrusts, your legs upon my shoulders and, as your crisis rises, you cry out when I come.

NSFW    Not appropriate for minors, the emotionally immature, or those lacking imagination.

Marta completed her evaluation.

” I know what I have to work with here. Left to your own devices you have become an indolent wretch, seduced not by a woman, but a recliner, a TV, and a remote control.  You had sense enough to end the booze and reefer without my intervention and you did get your sorry ass back to the pool. But if you want to take your physical fitness and your attitude to the next level, you will accept my tutelage. This is your chance right now to walk away.  If you accept my discipline and methods, you will be fit again, desired again, and, most importantly, you will love yourself.”

She took out her cell phone, pressed one key, a speed dial number obviously, began a conversation of which I was privy to but one end.

“I have a candidate. I’ve used him myself in the past. When he is at peak form, he is vigorous, flexible, and obedient. He is independent, no family. No debt. There’s nobody who will miss his absence. Holidays? I suppose we can send him to his mother’s with an ankle bracelet on, so we can, uh, retrieve him should the need arise. How soon can I expect the van? 15 minutes. He will be ready”

“This is your chance. You can turn me down, put your gym clothes back on, get in your car and drive home. Or you can work with us for the next few months, then see what worlds will open for  you.”

What could I say, but YES.

As the van pulled up the drive, she told me to kneel up. She blindfolded me, placed a velcro collar around my neck.  I heard a sliding door open, a strong hand around my bicep led me up and into the van. It was a simple cargo van. I could feel no seats. 

“Kneel, boy!” I knelt near the bulkhead of the van and felt straps bind my arms behind me as I was secured to a tie-down rail that ran the length of the van. I felt something scratchy on my knees, smelt the smell of straw.

“If you need to piss, just piss, the straw is there for that. It’s a long trip. your bladder and, I dare say,  your bowels might not hold up the whole trip.  Just remember your dignity stays here, along with your clothes.”

Seeing I was secured, the van drove off.

I am watching it rain on the Railfan camera in Ashland as the Amtrak train #66 headed to Boston pulls in. Beautiful with reflected streams of light. And the allure of travel.

All of my good vibes, positive stuff from the prior post have left me. A feeling of loneliness replaced them. A burning desire for sexual intimacy fills me. My wife, at this point, is sleeping, exhausted from her work. She loves me but is indifferent to my passion simultaneously. That makes the emotional pain excruciating. Yet I know how affairs turn out. And separations. The fractures bring no relief.

That is why there are dreams.

What am I doing awake? I got up to urinate and I went back to bed, but it seemed hot, so I changed shirts, from a flannel pyjama top to a tee shirt.

Then my mind got all ALERT on me. I read some Word Press posts, fix a cup of decaf, watch the Virtual Railfan camera in Ashland.

It is almost Winter. Already my skin feels dry. It is cracking as little nicks appear on my hands. Yuck. It may be almost Winter, but a freakin’ wasp is crawling across the carpet on the floor. I crush it.

Maybe I am sleepy now. A warm bed would feel nice.

Later.

It is 8:45 here in Western Henrico County, a suburb of Richmond, Virginia. Virginia was first settled in 1607. The County of Henrico was formed as a “shire” in 1611. This makes it a very old political subdivision by American standards. As a reference, Shakespeare was still living at the time. The King James Version of The Bible was published in the same year.

Virginia, until very recently, has been strongly Anglophile. We have two manor houses, one from the 16th century, Agecroft Hall. and one from the 13th Century, Virginia House, that were disassembled in England and reassembled in Richmond in the early Twentieth Century. Quite lovely.

It is nigh on impossible to understand Virginia unless you consider this profound Anglophilia. The great legacy is our respect for English law. John Marshall, the Chief Justice, who established the strong role of The Supreme Court in our system of governing was a Virginian.

As I warned you, this is of no particular importance.

I may not be perfect, but at least I can parallel park.

Most of us love, not by some prescribed and established protocol, but in a singular, personal, private, jumble of gestures, thoughts, sentiments, caresses, and embraces.

How is a chunk of bronze sitting on a chunk of granite dedicated to somebody who has been dead upwards of one hundred fifty years controlling your life? It didn’t control Dr King’s or Rosa Parks’ or thousands of other nameless people who went about the business of ending segregation. And if you still feel oppressed, only you can change how you feel.